“You’re an idiot.” Luis says in greeting.

  “I know.” I answer as I take the crate filled with everything I’d need from him.

  “I mean, I knew you were an idiot, because who gets dared to go to a party, drinks himself into a stupor, then starts yammering about some fiction he’s been working on since Maker knows when?”

  “Yes, I know. Not my best first impression.” I mutter as I put the box down and remove my officer’s badge.

  “Honestly the only upside was the dress and the fight with the mudpuppy over a piece of jerky.”

  “Bastard stole it out of my hand, what did you expect me to do?” I object.

  “I expected you to let it go! You never let anything go! That’s your fuckin’ problem Thraken!” Luis spits.

  “He was undermining my authority in front of my crew and peers.” I object.

  “Then file a complaint! There’s no karking reason for a duel!” Luis doubles down.

  “He was insultin’ my mother!” I bark back at him.

  He stops for a moment, glares at me, before turning to the open crate, pulling out the sash with the family’s dark blue, speckled with white stars and placing it around my left shoulder. He’s still clearly upset, but I am too, so it’s fine.

  “I don’t still have to meet with his second, do I?” Luis asks.

  “You already met ‘em when you disembarked. So the introduction is already done.” I mutter.

  “So two chances left.” Luis mutters.

  “All I want is an apology.” I say firmly.

  “Your ma’ wouldn’t want this.” Luis objects mildly.

  “My ma’d have caved his nose in.” I counter.

  Luis hesitates before nodding: “She would’ve. Then your pa’d have challenged Voll to a duel with the knives.”

  “Better we do it with pistols.” I mutter. Knife duels were brutal, short and almost exclusively to the death. They were the execution method for scabs and monsters after all. Duels with them were for those who had lost any chance at recourse.

  “Fuck it. Be sure not to use anything other than your slugs.” Luis says, pulling out the case with the eye and nose protection next.

  “Ain’t my first time.” I mutter as I change into a different belt and remove my cylinder codes.

  Luis was marching back to me from the center of the hanger. Having just had the first actual round of discussion between seconds. He shakes his head at me and I frown. All I had wanted was an apology, not even a token repayment.

  “At least he confirmed he isn’t gunning to nail you in the head.” Luis mutters to me.

  “Could be worse. Forfeit then?” I ask.

  “Looks it. No shooting to kill.”

  “I’ll do my best not to hit any vital organs or arteries.” I say in jest.

  Luis sighs before speaking back: “You know, if I’d known flirting with you’d get me in this mess I’m not sure I’d’ve still done it.”

  “Oh shut up about the dress already.” I scoff, “It’s been literal years and you more or less lost interest in fuckin’ me the moment you learned I wasn’t a gal.”

  “Was a scary few minutes there.” Luis says dryly.

  I roll my eyes at him before noticing the time’s up. I step away from the wall and nudge him to walk with me towards the center of the hangar bay.

  The Captain’s second is slightly younger than him, another Captain based off the badge. Though I wasn’t entirely sure which ship he was from. As the quartet of Fondorians stand across from one another Luis clears his throat slightly.

  Voll’s second speaks up first: “I would ask, on my own behalf, that this entire thing be left in the desert. Both parties have shown bravery, there is no need for bloodshed.”

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  “I fully agree with you.” Luis says, “However I’m afraid to say, the insults leveled on my friend were not inconsiderable, especially those towards his mother. I will not repeat my opinion on your fortune, Captain Voll, that it was done in the presence of Heir informal Dericote, rather than the presence of Head Dericote.”

  “Then it appears we are at an impasse.” The Captain says, before handing me back my slugthrower. I double check the chambers and nod in appreciation, the same happening with Voll’s slugthrower.

  “Well, just so we’re on the same boat. Nothing to the head, no purposeful targeting of vital organs and arteries. This fight shall be to the yield.” Luis repeats.

  “Yes, that’ll do well. Would the duelists please stand back to back?”

  We stand back to back, maybe an inch between us as the protocol droid, an RA-7 by the look of it, takes over the proceedings.

  “Please take twelve large steps away from one another each.” The droid orders, we follow the instruction.

  “Please face one another.” The droid requests and we slowly turn to face one another.

  “Please place your weapons back into your holsters and keep the holster unlatched.” And we comply.

  “Please bow to one another.” The droid asks and the two officers bow slightly, the minimum for the duel.

  “On my mark, you are to fire a shot. If neither party does not yield you are to take three steps forwards and repeat until one party yields, a party is unable to continue forward, or there is six steps between you.” The droid informs us. It wouldn’t come to six steps.

  “Any day droid.” Voll says calmly.

  My fingers twitch above the holster, for once placed on my right for quicker access. I was staring down the fool who had undermined my authority and slandered my ma’. His sash is a simple sand yellow with a single green cactus on it. That symbolism can’t mean anything but defiance, fitting for another impoverished ten thousander family.

  Deep breath in, slowly let it out. Let everything fade away other than your target. His right shoulder.

  “Mark!” The droid barks.

  The slugthrowers leave our holsters. I bring it up to shoulder height, Voll goes to shoot directly from his hip. There’s a solid second of a delay between our shots and I feel a punch right into my gut, through the sash. My aim’s true, my slug impaling Voll’s right shoulder.

  “Two hits.” The droid says in monotone. The medics are just outside the doors. Now comes the endurance part. I take my first step, its shorter than I’d like, the pain in my gut slowing my down more than my shot to Voll’s shoulder. I swallow thickly, tasting blood and feeling it soak my uniform and sash.

  I take the final step, chamber the next slug and reholster my slugthrower. I need a better target. I’ve slowed him, now I need to gut him.

  “Slugthrowers away.” The droid reminds us.

  Shallow breaths serve me best.

  “Mark!”

  I pull the slugthrower out with practiced ease and fire from the hip, it’s unstable and inaccurate, but I want this to be done with. Again there’s a second between the cracks of the slugthrowers. Then a thud as Voll falls onto his back. He missed, grazing my right arm while I nailed him in the gut.

  Voll’s second rushes towards him and checks him. After a second he jumps up and barks: “HE YIELDS!”

  “MEDICS!” Luis barks and the doors open to see two teams rush forward. One towards Voll, who’s still lying, bleeding from his arm and gut. I think I nailed him in the liver.

  I push the fucker off me as I slowly walk towards the man. My hands on my gut and I think I’m growling at anyone who gets too close. I somehow make the eighteen odd steps between us and look over the man. I try my best to remove any malice from my eyes.

  I put more pressure on my gut wound as I speak: “Hope you live. Hope you learn. Maker keep you.”

  “Good shot.” I hear in reply.

  I nod and finally let the medics take me away. Maker I hope there’s some grog or whiskey about.

  Waking up in a medbay is never exactly fun. Neither is being assaulted by R4. That makes the combination a sort of misery I hate to partake in.

  “Quit it already!” I bark at her as she goes for another smack. I’d stop her, but she’s learned that the docs remove my artificial arm whenever I need to get in the bacta tank. I fuckin’ reek of the shit.

  Her reply can be shortened to two words. A simply ‘no you’.

  “I swear, if I didn’t karking need ya’ I’d’ve scrapped you for parts for the caf machine!”

  ‘If I didn’t help raise you I’d’ve served you as rations.’ is the reply she gives.

  Someone clears their throat and I turn to see Medical Officer Tevre standing over me. A mean look in his eyes as he speaks: “Admiral. How happy I am to have you grace my medbay once more with your presence. I am afraid to say your return to the Little Revenge lacked the usual ceremonies and you have multiple people wishing to talk with you.”

  I grunt an affirmative just before R4 hits me over the side of my head with a datapad. Tevre stifles a laugh and I glare at my head medical officer, then my droid of a sister, then at the datapad.

  The first two fucks who interrupt my reading are Krugwolt and Wessex. Krugwolt looks annoyed and still has a large bactapatch over his lip and nose, though something seems off about his face. It appears the holograms made his wounds look less bad. Wessex meanwhile has an annoying look of superiority marring his otherwise neutral face.

  “Gentlemen. I apologize for not standing, but it appears my disciplinary action took more out of me than I had anticipated.” I say in greeting.

  “Stars Dericote. You must run a very loose ship if this is what happens whenever you attempt discipline.” Krugwolt teases.

  “Yes, yes. I assume you’re here for more than ribbing me.” I state.

  “Well you had the reports, but I figured a personal touch would do us some good. The enemy has been fully forced from the system. The world’s populace appears to have been fully evacuated. We sadly only managed to seize half of the world’s shipyards and dockyards alongside two defensive stations and all three anti-orbital batteries.” Wessex begins.

  “I lost some four thousand men, with another seven thousand wounded.” Krugwolt adds.

  “We lost the Earldom, four Venators, all from the Open Circle, an MC80, two Dreadnoughts, both former Rendili defense ships from Baros, an Acclamator one from your Rapid Response Squadron, six Acclamator twos, four Hammerheads, three Arquitenses, seven MC30c frigates, one from Poseidenna, two from Mon Cala, one from Ruisto and three from the Tidal Circuit, three Peltas, all from your Rapid Response Squadron, twelve Consulars, from varying formations, a CR90, from your Outer Rim Squadron, six Sphyrna class corvettes, three DP20s, two of those Dornean gunships and an IPV-1.” Wessex pauses to take a breath before continuing, “Then there are a handful of Venators, three Acclamators, five Dreadnoughts, three Hammerhead cruisers and an MC80 which will require extensive repairs. Most of the light ships also could use a couple days in the docks for repairs.”

  “Crew casualties?” I ask.

  “Some fifty seven thousand dead. Another fifty thousand wounded.” Comes the answer and it feels like a punch to the gut. Worse than the slug that had punched a hole into my stomach.

  “In all honesty, it could have been worse. There were some solid evacuations, especially on the Earldom, though we are missing the remaining skeleton crew along with her Captain.”

  I sigh as I place my hand on my face: “That never gets easier. I’ll get started on the paperwork during my recovery.”

  “Very good. We’ll be getting new orders soon.” Wessex says.

  “Wonderful.” I mutter, “Wonder what Therbon will expect next. Maybe to use a fifth of the forces I had here to take Jabiim.”

  “Best not jest about Jabiim,” Krugwolt says, his tone teasing, “Jedi are still sore about it.”

  “Oh thank the Maker we didn’t have any of them here. With my luck we’d get another idiot.” I mutter.

  Wessex nods in affirmation: “Oh yes, they can be quite the handful. How you managed to have so little exposure is quite the miracle.”

  “More a curse. At least if I’d’ve had some Jedi about I would’ve had more ships about in the first months.”

  “Though your career certainly will be one for the history books without them.” Wessex prods.

  “I’d have been much happier working on my histories, but no. Instead I’m fighting an interstellar war and getting maimed doing it too!” I exclaim.

  “At least you only have to work with Skywalker and Kenobi on a case by case basis. I would happily give up my current command for something more sedentary.” Wessex bemoans.

  “I’ll put in a good word for you. I think after this battle it is the least I owe.” I offer.

  “I’ll happily take you up on that, Dericote.”

  Doctor Tevre interrupts us then: “I’d like to take another look at my patients, please. So if it is little trouble. Krugwolt, back into your bed, you need to be checkup up on, and Wessex, please leave the medbay.”

  “I know better than to argue with a medic.” Wessex admits before fleeing with a quick salute, “Good day and a quick recovery.”

  “I’ll get back to my bed now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Go ahead. No need to keep me entertained.” I offer.

  “We’ll see each other soon, Dericote.”

  “Sleep well, Krugwolt.”

  “Rest! Both of you!” Tevre barks.