Bid Against the Thunder || ONC 2020

Chapter 1 - Never Say Goodbye

 The whirring of the lift was all Lieutenant Marric Tabraile could hear above the pounding of his heart. He stood at attention and tried to breathe against the fitted collar of his Imperial Navy uniform. His brown skin accentuated the gray tunic as he ran his hand across the breast of the fabric to smooth a wrinkle. 

"We're dead men!" Yates hissed, standing beside him. "You've undone us this time, Tabraile."

"The Grand Moff is dead. Moff Dhube is dead. Moff Bristel is submerged in enough bacta fluid to resurrect a dead sun." Tabraile adjusted the second lieutenant insignia plaque at his breast. "Of the four transports that left Dantooine, we're the only one that made it back to Omman. If we had answered that transmission, the Rebels would have found us, and we'd be dead, too. We saved Moff Calder's life. So you're welcomed."

Sweating profusely, as he always did in difficult situations, Yates wiped a hand across his pale forehead and tucked his thinning blond hair beneath the black officer's cap. "I'm so sick and tired of following you around on your reckless adventures. I knew being partnered with you in flight school would not end well for me."

"And I'm sick and tired of dragging your dead weight around. Listening to you take credit when things go right or tolerating your whining when they don't."

"You really are broken, Tabraile, aren't you?" Ten centimeters shorter than his partner, Yates jabbed his finger in the air in front of Tabraile's face. "It's like you have a death wish because of your bro—"

"If you want to live long enough to get through this review, you better not say another word!" Tabraile glared down into Yates' face. "Now do what you've always done. Keep your mouth shut, and let me do the talking."

Chided, Yates dropped his eyes to the deck and took his place beside his partner.

The lift slowed to a stop, and the door slid open into the executive hallway. Tensions were unusually high after the assassinations of two Imperial Moffs and so was the need for security. In squads of four and six, stormtroopers patrolled the annex hallway with weapons drawn. Others were positioned around an E-WEB emplacement turret.

"Lieutenant Tabraile? Lieutenant Yates? I'm Ensign Hammond. I've been waiting for you." Dressed in a black uniform and wearing round, wire spectacles, the junior officer addressed them without looking up from her datapad. "This way please."

Eyeing the heavy artillery, Tabraile glanced at a slack-jawed Yates, who swallowed convulsively. Hammond punched the keypad code, and another door slid open. She moved aside and gestured for them to go in.

Tabraile took a deep breath and proceeded into the tribunal chamber. He had been there on numerous occasions to answer for disciplinary infractions. His assignment to Imperial Headquarters on Omman had been fraught with charges of insubordination and dereliction of duty. Admiral Derin had made it clear he was not fond of him or his Socorran heritage.

The admiral sat at the center console on a raised platform. An unfamiliar man in a black uniform and a hooded woman dressed in black robes sat to his right. There was a frigid air about them, as if the temperature at that end of the table was ten degrees cooler than elsewhere in the room. At the other end of the table, Moff Forrest Calder sat with his wife and 6-year old daughter. Wearing a pink flight suit, the child jumped down from the Moff's lap and sprinted across the chamber floor.

"Tabraile!" she shouted and leaped into his arms.

"There's my wingman! Tactical Officer Pari," he said with a grin after saluting her. He brushed cinnamon crumbs from the corners of her mouth. "Rishi honeystix for breakfast? Again? Keep this up, you're never going to fit inside a TIE Fighter."