Before
The Wandering One emerged into realspace with its companions trailing closely behind. The cluttered assembly of freighters and transports that was their Wandering Home floated in the darkness before them.
“One last time,” Jarvis stated to his command crew. “Today we met a Bothan named
Kolir Dha'tey, leader of a
mercenary organization known as Inferno Fleet. He and his organization have
business in Hutt Space, and we have agreed to aide him so long as his goals and ours are the same.
This is the story I have told you, and so it is now the story that is true. Do you understand?”
Everyone present offered their assent, and Jarvis nodded approvingly in response. Beyond the command crew of
The Wandering One, no one in the organization knew Bandor Kre'fey's true name, and no one ever would. This had been Jarvis' promise to the Bothan, and it was a promise he intended to keep.
Jarvis took a deep, calming breath, and gave the order: “Okay, let's do this.” The comm officer gave him a thumbs up, and Jarvis tapped his commlink, now speaking to all his followers.
“This is Jarvis Ragnar; I have something that needs to be said.
“I have made myself a liar; I have broken my promise to you. My only hope is that I have done so because that promise was poorly made.
“You see, I have allied myself with an organization known as Inferno Fleet, and in so doing have abandoned the solitude which I had promised you. I know little and can tell you even less, but I have decided that this alliance represents an opportunity to cause our enemies
so much pain.
“I don't know where this new path will lead us; I can't promise that we will continue to hide from the Empire. Much will change, much will stay the same. This much I know for sure: two against ten thousand is twice as good as one. So long as Inferno Fleet's goals are in line with ours,
I will assist
them.
“We are now in this for the long term. Do not expect a speedy end under my command. I remain committed to fighting until my inevitable death, but now more than ever I seek to stave off that inevitability for as long as possible. If you have joined us seeking freedom from this life, if you have come here to cast aside your mortal bindings and embrace the eternal darkness; I suggest you leave, and I now give you this chance to do so.
“I have changed the rules. I have altered the goals. I have embraced a new path, one that I hope runs for much longer and passes many more dark and vile places. You have three hours to express your desire to leave. That is all.”
* * *
After
The door slid open and Captain Lunewell rushed through it, stumbling to a stop at the sight before him. Jarvis Ragnar knelt before some kind of
shrine, smoke rising gently from it as the Ryn sat cross-legged, his tail curled around himself on the floor. Before he had been startled from his unusual ritual, Lunewell was sure his head had been bowed. “What?” He barked aggressively, all but snarling at the human intruder.
“The
Assassin corvette's been repaired, thanks to our new friends.”
“
And?”
“And we need you for crew selection,” The man clarified.
Sighing heavily, Jarvis uncrossed his legs and stood up, glancing one last time at the shrine before nodding and leading Lunewell out of the small quarters. “Next time, you knock.”
“Sure thing, Boss. Sorry to have―”
Jarvis cut him off with a gesture, walking to the bridge in silence. Whatever he had been doing, it was obvious that being disrupted was not a good thing.
“What is it?” He asked finally, the now-familiar array of holoprojectors staring back at him the moment he stepped onto the bridge.
Slippy blinked her overly large eyes several times, then spoke up when no one else did. “We've got to put a new crew together, Boss, and it isn't working out all that well.”
“Remind me how many people we lost, after I told them the new way of things . . .” Everyone glanced about in confusion, obviously not seeing where this was going. “Come on; you can do it. I believe in you.”
Finally the Barabel, Sheish, answered: “None, boss. Nobody left.”
He nodded, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If we were shorthanded, then this would be a problem. We aren't, so it's not. This is the rule:
“Bother me when there's a problem;
don't bother me when there's not a problem. Just because Slippy is pathologically indecisive doesn't mean you have to call me every time you need to choose between iced cubes and iced chips. I gave it a captain, you gave it a command crew; pick the rest and let's be done with this. I'll be in my room.” And with that he turned and left.
Walking down the corridors of his ship, his mind still focused on the smoke rising softly within his quarters, Jarvis shook his head in bewilderment. These people were the kind of beings who had been cut so deep that they couldn't imagine ever being whole again, ever being healed again. They came to him seeking an
end to it all, seeking the sweet embrace of infinity. Jarvis had promised that to them not so long ago―promised them death in the midst of killing―and then he had taken that away and put their fates in the faceless hands of some Bothan none of them had ever met. He had rewritten their destinies without thought or consideration for those who carried out his every command.
And still―undeniably, unyieldingly, inexplicably―they follow him.
