Sector: Atravis
System: Mustafar
...
Mustafar—red, hot, and angry—appeared before us as soon as we exited hyperspace.
Cutting off the pop music channel I'd been listening to inside my helmet proved to be a bad idea. I could now hear the rhythm of my breath. The sound confirmed what I was dreading; I was anxious.
I'd never been so nervous in my life—in my two lives, even. There was a part of me that was tempted to cancel this whole thing and just return to the safety of my normal, mildly exciting life as a freelance slicer in Daigu. I still had time to turn this ship around and book it out of here at the speed of starlight.
But I didn't.
Instead, I activated Argent.
He appeared in a flicker, a dark-skinned Human male with a blue hologram overlay. He was tall, long-legged and lithe. He had a long mane of dreadlocks that fell down his back, brushing against his fur coat with every move he made. His face was angular and proud, with a permanent smirk etched there.
"Ike." He greeted me, using that stupid nickname. "Took you long enough."
"'Lo, Argent."
Argent was a fully sentient holographic lifeform. Sentient programs would often use holograms as a method of interacting with living creatures. Sometimes, as in the case of Argent, the program would use holograms as their primary method of communication.
But Argent was special. He was the only one of his kind.
My co-pilot, Lieutenant Vash, didn't react to the sudden appearance of a six-foot-three holographic man wearing a lion fur coat. Only I could see Argent. Only he could hear me.
It was a good system.
Lieutenant Vash was a quiet, blond-haired woman who'd seen a lot of both sun and battle, judging by the tan, scar-covered skin of her face. She hadn't spoken more than three words to me since the start of our trip. I'd returned the courtesy.
That, too, was a good system.
Argent turned around and stared out the viewport. "Mustafar," he acknowledged, "It's ugly as the devil's backside."
"Probably smells like it too," I muttered in the safety of my helmet.
Ground control immediately hailed us as we neared the planet's outermost atmospheric layer.
"This is Mustafar Station. State your name and code."
Lieutenant Vash opened the ship comm. "Mustafar station. This is Vessel Nine Oh Oh Three Nine. Code One Four Six Eight Six Five. Requesting permission to land."
There was a brief silence before the comm crackled again. "Permission granted."
She turned around her chair to address me. "Approaching destination, sir. ETA 10 minutes."
I didn't show a reaction and she didn't wait for one, returning her full focus on getting us planetside. We encountered some turbulence while breaching the troposphere and I gripped the armrests of my seat.
There it was; the point of no return.
The landscape was dotted with rumbling volcanoes, arid craters, acidic pools, and rivers of liquid fire. A literal world of fire. When we got so low that we could see the ridges in the giant outcropping of rocks two clicks from the landing site, Argent dived into a brief recount of the planet's history.
"Millenia before the advent of the Empire, Mustafar was a garden world, powered and preserved by what the indigenous Mustafarians call the Bright Star. One fateful day, however, Mustafar came under attack, and a human lord fell in battle, sword in hand. Struck with grief, his wife, the Lady Corvax, stole the Bright Star crystal, to power her Aeon Engine, which she hoped could resurrect her love. That attempt, however, utterly failed." He shook his head. "What was once a lush green planet, turned into a burning wasteland. All in the name of love."
And all I said was, "Guess every paradise can turn into a hell."
I got up and made for the opening hatch. The landing went smoothly. But I realized something crucial when the hatch opened and I got blasted by hot, hot, hot air.
My ass wasn't built for this hundred-plus-degree weather.
Lava planet. It's in the damn name, moron. Mood slightly soured, I descended the ramp and was greeted by a squad of Imperial Lava Troopers, who seemed visibly unsettled by my appearance. Understandable. In my tactical gear of gray and black, I knew I didn't look like a typical Imperial officer, or any kind of trooper, really.
Personal deviations weren't appreciated in a military defending an authoritarian regime, much less an Empire that valued conformity, so I patiently waited as they insisted on checking my Imperial ID two times before leading me to the only structure in sight: Vader's Fortress.
An obsidian stronghold of angular design and evil vibes. It loomed over us like a strong foretaste of its namesake. My steps got heavier the closer we got to the main entrance—a pair of sliding doors, eight feet tall.
In the shadow of the monstrosity waited a dark hooded figure. "Captain Sparda?"
"In the flesh." I eyed his hunched form. "You are?"
Yellow eyes and jaundice set in a gaunt face as pale as a corpse peered at me. "I am Vaneé." He gave a slight bow. "Lord Vader's attendant. I'm to take you to the meeting room. Follow me."
The interior of Vader's Fortress was just as dark and sleek as the outside promised. Our steps made crisp clicking sounds on the polished floor.
"Must be a tough job, being the Supreme Commander's attendant. So am I, starting today. It makes us colleagues, huh? You here. Me up there." I pointed up.
Vaneé cast me a glance. "Yes… Lord Vader mentioned there would be a new one. You're the third in as many months."
"What happened to the previous one?"
"Killed herself, and the one before her got himself killed."
"Huh." I feigned surprise, despite it being old news to me. I said, "Seems a less than ideal job for me."
"Indeed." He nodded in acquiescence and then gave me a curious side-eye. "One wonders why you accepted the position."
"I like a good challenge," I said.
He scoffed.
We entered a meeting room that held an oval table and twelve chairs. Vaneé told me to wait there before leaving me on my own which was fine by me. I made myself comfortable in one of the rolling chairs.
Argent materialized again. "I was going to hold my tongue, but the ominous decor of this wretched place compels me to say, once more, that you're making a colossal mistake." He leaned against the table and crossed his arms.
I grinned. "You mean you don't count signing up for the Imperial Navy as a mistake?"
"Signing up? Might I remind you that you spliced your way in?" He made a show of tapping the insignia on my chest. The effect was lost due to his incorporeality. "And up."
"Cheat the rules. Beat the machine. Fuck the system," I said.
That earned me an eye-roll. "Eloquent as always."
I shrugged.
The door slid open, revealing Vaneé and a purge trooper. What's this? A captain, judging by his insignia. Still not the one I traveled lightyears for. He immediately snapped to attention upon seeing my insignia... and the gleaming black pin. Technically, we were of the same rank, being both captains, but I was the nasty sort. I kept silent and stayed seated.
"Captain Sparda, this is CT-9639, patrol captain of East Q. He's to brief you on the assignment Lord Vader set out for you. Consider this a test to succeed in the time allocated to you." He smiled nastily. "Or to fail it."
"A test?" I asked. "Where's the Commander?"
"Did you think Lord Vader has the time to entertain every youth with grand ideas the Empire produces?" Vaneé sniffed haughtily. "He is the commander-in-chief of the Imperial Military and his attention is demanded in matters of actual importance. Should you pass the test... Perhaps then, Lord Vader will deign to meet you."
