(So, I was gonna write the whole piece before sharing, but I realized just the first half was gonna be the longest post I've shared yet, so have the first half of our first interlude!)
Nevarro was, without a doubt, the worst posting Lieutenant Commander Graff Hafi had ever been stationed to. The planet was a ball of molten rock, obsidian, and ash - ash that managed to find its way into every nook and cranny of his armor, quarters, and taste buds. Sweltering heat made spending any time outside the climate-controlled central hub and research laboratory intolerable, whether it was their spartan quarters or the patrol routes around the outside, whose metal plating kept the temperature around the base a balmy 49° Celsius at all times. The reason the garrison was built in the first place was because the only living beings sadistic enough to call this place home were bounty hunters, pirates, and that manner of ne'er-do-well who required constant supervision from the Empire, lest they rampage across the Outer Rim. The labs were a fairly recent addition and the lieutenant was only informed that they were conducting biological experiments related to the climate of the planet.
Such a garrison rarely saw any notable activity and it was easy for the weeks and months to start blurring into each other, as if the haze of the heat filled his memories and obscured the face of time. The death of the Emperor was a sobering anchor that brought Graff back to reality and he could now note where he had been at any given moment over the next couple days. The initial flurry of fear and confusion quickly gave way to mundanity and grief while the garrison's commander spent all day in meetings and calls with Imperial officials in his vault-like office. When he emerged that evening, he instructed Hafi to be up early tomorrow; the base was going to be visited by a VIP and every trooper and scientist needed to be ready to greet them. This was going to be a rare opportunity and Commander Predann wanted to make the most of it.
While Graff configured the probe droids to oversee the night patrols, the technician handling the final maintenance checks looked over to him (so he assumed; it was difficult to tell what anyone was thinking under that teardrop-shaped bucket). "So, do you know who the visitor's going to be tomorrow, sir?"
He glanced back at the ground crewman. "No, Corporal. And I'd advise you not to stay up all night thinking about it; we'll be up before the sun."
The tech gave the droid he was working on a whack on the dome and stood back as it lifted up and drifted away to start its patrol. "Well, who do you think it's going to be, sir?"
"I'd assume someone's coming to inspect the labs. There were quite a few people who never came back from Mertath; doesn't feel like a stretch to suggest we've got a new boss who's gonna want a new report on our facility."
The tech shrugged. "We'll see, sir. Rest well." He picked up his toolkit and the two of them went back inside, the thick hangar door sliding closed behind them.
Graff did not rest well. Despite his advice to the corporal, he spent much of the night staring at the ceiling and going through every possibility in his head. Could it be a surprise inspection? Was a new scientist coming? Did the rumored shake-up of the military extend all the way out to Nevarro? What if someone was suspected of disloyalty? Was this VIP coming to take someone away? Who would it be?
Given the eyebags all of the other officers and scientists were wearing the following morning, it seems most of the base had the same questions. Graff had known Commander Predann for two years and he had never looked more haggard. His dirty blond beard was fuzzy and unkempt, his uniform was loose over his barrel frame, and he had the eyes of a Hutt, likely from a night of little sleep.
Graff quickly straightened his uniform and came to a rigid standstill just on the edge of the Commander's field of view. "Commander Predann, ready to perform an inspection of the garrison before our VIP arrives, sir."
"Hmm?" He grumbled without taking his gaze off the datapad in his hands. "Oh, yes. Go ahead, Lieutenant."
"... Yes, sir," he stuttered. He'd led several inspections of the base before, and never had he heard the Commander give the order, 'Go ahead.' Whatever this visit was had the Commander distracted, so it had the Lt. Commander distracted.
Calling it an 'inspection' was generous, as Graff essentially just took a quick head count of the ten scientists and sixty Army personnel present at the outpost. No obvious uniform infractions, no rudeness or insubordination from the troops, so Graff gave them the thumbs-up of approval and dismissed them all until the VIP was set to arrive. The only ones who didn't look completely exhausted were the quartet of death troopers, stalwart and mysterious as ever.
The morning passed without incident, though each hour made Graff regret the early awakening. The Lieutenant Commander spent most of the time prowling the outside of the base on patrol, combing the area for any potential sign of infiltration. It was boring, uneventful, sweltering work, and he barely had time for a five-minute shower before the base's intercom announced that the VIP had entered the system and would be landing at noon. Commander Predann would take the Ubrikkian and lead the welcome party while Graff was tasked with whipping the base itself into shape.
It was a task he'd take to heart, as the base's troopers were an easy outlet for all of the confusion and fear that Graff had felt over the past few days. He arranged the welcoming procession in the main garage the way a toddler might arrange action figures - with petulant rage anytime a toe was slightly over the lines of the floor panels. Each trooper was perfectly positioned, backs perfectly straight, and rifles held at just the right angle, lest they receive an earful from the Lieutenant Commander. By the time the transport had arrived back at base, the procession was all ready, even if Graff was out of breath and flushed.
He had no idea what to expect from the VIP, but certainly the last thing he expected was a droid wrapped in the crimson robes of the Royal Guard. The android had a glassy dome-like head, and even though Graff couldn't see any eyes on it, he couldn't shake the feeling it was watching him as it glided down the ramp from the RTT, Commander Predann right behind it.
The commander greeted the procession with a faux-energetic clap. "Listen up! We have a very special visitor today." He cleared his throat. "This droid is a Messenger unit, here to pay us the privilege of helping plan our next steps. While the Emperor may be… deceased, his plans for us and his Empire have not died with him! While it will likely take on new forms – as the Messenger is here to help us plan – we will continue to advance his vision for the galaxy! Long live the Empire!"
"Long live the Empire!" the assembled troopers chanted in unison.
A pair of scientists and two of the Death Troopers moved over to flank the Messenger, shepherding it away deeper in the facility while the commander walked over to Graff. "An inspiring speech, Sir. I'm optimistic for the future of this base, Commander."
He grumbled. "If we're lucky, we won't be at this base for much longer. Big plans, Hafi. Big plans."
"Sir?"
"I'll fill you in after the meeting. Right now, Lieutenant, I need you to take a patrol out to the landing pad, make sure the shuttle's secure and ready to go… just in case."
Graff saluted. "Yes, sir." The commander gave him a pat on the shoulder before moving away to join the little clique assembling in the laboratory. Graff looked out at the troopers still in formation and gestured at a pair of scout troopers and the technician who he'd briefly chatted with last night. "You three! You heard the commander, with me!"
It was a ten-minute walk under the blistering Nevarro sun to the landing pad, as the base didn't have one built in (despite Command's repeated promises to send out a module). While the other members of his makeshift squad chattered about the new arrival and speculated about the future of their unit, Graff marched on in silence the whole time. There was… something about this entire affair that he couldn't help but chafe against. The loss of Emperor Palpatine was tragic, but the perpetrators had already been punished and the new Emperor already crowned. Was this Messenger sent by Emperor Vader? What did this backwater outpost have to do with the deceased Emperor? There was something going unsaid in all of this, something crucial, and the fact Graff's life and career were in the balance unsettled him to no end.
Lt. Commander Hafi's squad eventually came upon the Lambda shuttle parked on the massive slab of concrete settled in one of the less volcanic parts of the barren plains. The noise of the shuttle's fans - seemingly left running the entire time the Messenger was present - drowned out the grunts' idle chatter, which Graff used as an opening to order the two scouts to maintain watch while he and the ground crewman inspected the shuttle. While the corporal crawled beneath the shuttle to check its fuel levels, the Lieutenant excused himself to 'inspect the interior," which was, in all honesty, an excuse to sit in a proper leather chair for the first time in years while luxuriating in the air conditioning.
After a quick once-over of the interior, Graff made himself comfortable in the cockpit, leg slung over the arm of the co-pilot's chair, and picked up his comlink. "Specialists, status report on securing the shuttle pad."
The comlink clicked back a moment later. "All clear, Commander. No one else in sight."
The second scout chimed in, "Affirmative. Shuttle pad is secure."
Graff stretched over and activated the shuttle's comms, sending his message directly to the base's main holotable. "Lieutenant Commander Hafi to Nectar outpost. Shuttle has been secured, waiting on final checks from ground crew. Stand by."
"Standing by, LC."
Graff sighed as he leaned back in the cushy seat and caught his breath. With any luck, the afternoon would go by with nothing to w-
His musings were interrupted by a violent bang against the underside of the hull, jolting him out of his peace. He scrambled out of the seat - now slick with Nevarro sweat - and made for the ramp out of the shuttle. "Corporal?" He marched back out into the sun to confront the technician when he saw the crewman and the two troopers huddled around the engines, gawking at something in the crewman's hands. "Corporal! What is going on out here?"
"Sir!" The huddle broke and the technician gestured for him to come over. "I was inspecting the fuel gauges and I found this clamped next to the intake." The corporal handed over a small piece of machinery, resembling roughly half of a thermal detonator with a small cluster of razor-thin metal feelers dangling from the dome. Despite the scorching heat, Graff's blood ran cold while the corporal continued. "Didn't want to come off, so I had to take the prod and zap it to get it to come off."
"You two!" He spat at the scouts, who immediately squared their backs and stood at attention. "I want constant vigilance of the landing site, have blasters armed, don't take your eyes off the wilderness for a second. Corporal, I want this shuttle ready to take off as soon as possible!"
"Yes, sir," the technician responded as the two scouts fumbled for their pistols. "I'm just confused, why?"
"Because, Corporal, this is a homing beacon," he gestured with the device," and it's not Imperial standard. This has been planted. Either the landing site's been visited in the past fifteen minutes and we didn't know, which I highly doubt, or… someone wanted to follow the Messenger here, in which case, we've been compromised." Graff sprinted back into the ship and frantically turned the shuttle's comms back on. If he was correct, the garrison was about to have company - the only question was who.