The medical bay within the Basilisk was sleek, organised with military precision, and humming with machine ambience. Rows of medical cots followed the walls, each equipped with state-of-the-art diagnostic and life-support systems. The bay was immaculately clean: its white, sterile walls and floors routinely decontaminated by droids.
Viszt stood by a console, reviewing the day’s analytics. Since the Basilisk had been put out of action several months ago, each day had been near-identical. Operating on somewhat of a skeleton crew, the Empire had uprooted the majority of medical personnel, leaving only a handful to tend to the daily requirements of the imperials garrisoned on Lotho. What the bureaucrats had failed to acknowledge, however, was that running medical facilities on a ship of the Basilisk’s size did not become drastically easier when stationary. There were just as many plates as before, and significantly less hands to keep them spinning. Thus, Viszt spent the majority of his waking hours working himself to exhaustion. Today, it was only himself and his supervisor, Dr. Benaire, an old, quiet human, who manned the med bay.
The doors to the bay slid open, and with a swift, clicking footsteps, a rigid figure entered. Viszt, in his state of fatigue, took several moments to realise the visitor was Admiral Kara, executive officer of the Basilisk. Kara was a real fierce bastard according to just about every crew member who’d incurred his wrath firsthand. Luckily, Viszt hadn’t ever had a one-to-one interaction with the man. He snapped to attention, observing Kara, who seemed to look through him like a phantasm, focusing his attention on Dr. Benaire.
Benaire swallowed dryly. A visit from Admiral Kara was seldom a good sign.
“Good evening, Doctor,” the Admiral said, annunciating each syllable emphatically.
“Ahem, good evening, Admiral, sir,” the Doctor replied. “How can I be of assistance?”
“I assume that you were briefed this week on the lowered availability of energy during the current stage of maintenance? Though your frail old mind may betray you from time to time, I assume you are quite aware of the importance of these repairs?”
“Yes, sir,” the Doctor said as any hope of a positive interaction quickly dissipated.
“Then please explain to me why, exactly, good doctor, that your department seems to have made no effort to reduce its power consumption since you received the aforementioned briefing?”
Dr. Benaire twitched a little. There was a perfectly good explanation for the power consumption in the medical bay. The technology they utilised couldn’t just be switched off and on again, and they had a wealth of expensive chemicals kept in cool storage. Viszt knew this, but he could only watch: it was not his place to correct an XO.
“My apologies sir. We have shut down anything deemed non-essential by regulations --” said Benaire.
“Curious. You seem better versed than I in imperial regulation,” Kara spoke, his words venom-laced. “Perhaps I am undeserving of my station.”
“No sir, I only mean --”
“Your cold storage: shut it down. I have arranged a storage in the nearby settlement to have its contents kept. Send your blueskin down with the chemicals on an ITT.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, doctor, if I have to do your job for you again, I will begin to to consider your value to the Empire. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the doctor repeated.
Viszt watched quietly as Kara left. The old man before him had always been dependable and respected, but in this moment he shrunk before Viszt’s eyes. He thought to console him, but he didn’t want to risk coming off as patronising. His mind quickly shifted to Kara’s mention of the chemical relocation. He cursed internally - not for the slur aimed at him, and not even because it would require him venturing into the potentially dangerous settlement nearby, but because it would prolong his shift for at least another hour.
“Right, boy,” Benaire said, having sobered himself from Kara’s admonishment. “Let's get everything down to the hangar and I’ll set you on your way. I’ll make sure the cold storage is powered down.”
Viszt merely nodded. He was sure Benaire didn’t need to be questioned any further.
Within fifteen minutes, the contents of the cold storage was emptied, moved into the hangar, and loaded on to a Imperial Troop Transport. Benaire slapped Viszt on the back, quickly rushing away to make sure Kara’s orders were seen to.
Before long, he arrived in Derrivan's Point along with several troopers - some of which were instructed to accompany him to the delivery point, and a few others that split off on unrelated business.
Viszt winced as he stepped out of the ITT. The place had an unwelcoming odour, its buildings seemed to just about qualify as buildings, and its people, even the children, looked ancient and weary. Disgust washed over him, but quickly receded into a sense of shame. It wasn’t these peoples’ fault they lived in such squalor. The Empire clearly wasn’t doing much to assist them -- and probably even contributed to the degradation.
The stormtroopers handled the interaction with the fellow who owned the storage, instructing Viszt to “deal with the delicates” and “let them do their job.” Though he was sceptical of the rickety cold storage unit’s ability to maintain the integrity of the chemicals, he put them away without argument. He had no interest in pulling up trees. He did his job and kept his mouth shut.
When he returned to the drop-off point, the ITT was gone, and he was informed by the troopers that it would not return until the next patrol shift change in several hours. Though they offered for him to remain with them on their watch, he kindly rejected, deciding to find a nearby cantina. Yes, to an extent, the locals intimidated him: but he was too tired to care about consequences. He just wanted a drink, and perhaps a hand of sabacc.
Whether or not what he found qualified as a cantina, he wasn't sure. It was more a collection of various table-like objects that had been assembled in an unstable-looking, one-story building. A reprogrammed astromech droid played grainy, low-quality jizz recordings. He ordered a drink, which seemed to be watered down, and made his way over to the biggest table in the room, which seemed to be the wing of a TIE-Fighter painted grey. Seven ripe locals swaddled around it, chips gathered around them, cards in hand.
"Might I buy in?" Viszt asked with a polite, charming smile.
"Ha," a portly twi'lek man grinned, flashing red-brown teeth. "Fancy yourself a gambler, Imperial?"
"Not really, friend," he lied. "Just looking to pass the time."
The twi'lek gestured at an empty seat, pleased by the answer. Viszt handed over the required credits, and recieved chips in their place. As he waited for the next hand, he swigged his drink and grimaced, the unlabelled beverage reminding him of stale rain-water.
For a little while, they played. Viszt kept his head low, eager not to seem a threat, but as the game progressed, his chips mounted. He fooled and baited the patrons, one by one, and his pot ripened.
"Schutta..." the twi'lek frowned. "You've played before, haven't you?"
"Once or twice," Viszt smirked, lying again.
His smile was snatched away as his comms buzzed.
"Viszt, I need you --" Benaire's voice sounded. "There's a problem with the cold storage. I shut it down, but there's been a leak. I need you over here, right now. I've asked for a transport to be sent."
Viszt sighed, holding the button down on his comms. "I'll be right there."
He looked to his left and right and smiled warmly. "Well, my friends, it seems this game has been cut short. It's been a pleasure."
"Hm?" One of the humans looked over, disgruntled. "You can't just walk away, the game's not done!"
"Look, it's clear that I'm winning, and it's not particularly close," Viszt gestured at his abdunant chip haul. "But, tell you what, you give me back my buy-in, and keep the rest. I don't want any trouble."
"Or what?" the twi'lek spoke lowly.
Viszt peered back. Good question. He supposed he might be able to drag a stormtrooper over and fill him in on the story, but should his superiors learn of his mingling with the 'local scum', he might get in some kind of trouble. Bluffing couldn't hurt, though, right?
"Well," Viszt gestured to his uniform, attempting to angle a threat at the man. "It would be rather unwise to try and swindle an Imperial."
He was met with seven glares.
He came to his senses. This wasn't the time, nor the place, to assert power. "You know, on the other hand, keep it... as a thank-you for your... wonderful company."
He hurried up, and made his way out of the door. He wasn't sure of his best course of action for making it back to the Basilisk, but Dr. Benaire needed his assistance. His pace increased, but he must have been flustered by his cantina encounter, and made a wrong turn. He realised he did not know his way back to the dropoff point, and he felt the seed of panic bloom within him.
As he stopped still in the street, he sought to compose himself, to get his bearings, to --
"Schutta," a voice from behind him spat. The portly twi'lek, flanked by two of his cronies, stepped out, blasters exposed. "You should be careful who you threaten."
