“Well,” I thought to myself, as my Lambda Class Shuttle made its final approach towards the Eriadu Governor’s Palace, home and headquarters of Wilhuff Tarkin. The Grand Moff of Oversector Outer, and one of the few people in the entire Empire to command influence equal to – and in some ways, greater than – the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader. “Here we go.”
It wouldn’t be my first time meeting the man, of course. Back during the Clone Wars, I’d attended many briefings and staff conferences with then-Admiral Tarkin in attendance. The trend continued after the Clone Wars, though he was no longer admiral by then, but Moff of the Seswenna Sector, before finally achieving his current post. This would be the first time I’d be meeting him one-on-one though, and given his reputation (and what I knew of the man from my memories of my past life), I could be forgiven some measure of…anxiety, at the coming evening.
That, and this would apparently be a dinner between the two of us, with only his household staff and our adjutants present.
Glancing out the viewport, I looked on as the shuttle circled once around the ziggurat-like structure of the Eriadu Governor’s Palace, before alighting on one of several landing pads built on and around the titanic structure. Undoing my safety harness, I took the lead out of the shuttle, trusting in my pilot and copilot to handle the shuttle’s disposition on their own. Sara followed my lead, of course, being the good staff officer that she was.
Twin files of Stormtroopers greeted me on my arrival, an honor guard led by a man with a commander’s rank plaque, Grand Moff Tarkin’s adjutant no doubt. The man greeted me with a salute as I approached.
“Admiral Targaryen,” he began. “I am Commander Travar Silth. Welcome to Eriadu.”
“At ease, commander.” I said while returning the salute, Sara doing the same behind me.
“If you will follow me, admiral,” Silth continued while gesturing invitingly with one hand. “The governor has asked me to escort you to the dining room. He apologizes for not being here to greet you on your arrival, but he has a number of tasks to attend to.”
“Understandable,” I said, while following the commander’s lead. “He is Grand Moff of Oversector Outer, after all. And far from me to criticize a superior officer’s pursuit of his duties.”
“As you say, ma’am.”
As the commander fell silent, I took the opportunity to take a look at the city around us. Eriadu City was the capital not just of the planet, or even of the surrounding Seswenna Sector, but of the whole Oversector Outer. Eriadu was also a major trading hub, and the capital city reflected both that and its political importance.
All the heavy industry in the city left visible banks of smog drifting with the wind though, blowing away from the manufacturing districts and over the working class habitat blocks. The financial district’s skyscrapers glittered in the afternoon twilight, brightly reflecting the setting Sun’s light, windows shimmering with internal lights, while speeders sparkled as they flew in neat lanes between and around the buildings. And then there were the high class residential districts, surrounding and including the government buildings. Complex mansions in various sizes languidly stretched out amidst expensively-kept greenery, protected by high security walls, and in many cases, no doubt sporting private security forces as additional protection.
Not that the local nobles had much use for them, even with the games of intrigue common to nobles all over the galaxy. Not with Grand Moff Tarkin in charge here, for the man had little patience for feudal chicanery of any kind.
One unquestionably-respectable trait of the man, no doubt about it.
Then we were passing through the doorway and into the palace, so I turned away from the sights of the city. That said, I now found myself thinking of the images that intelligence had provided of the cities of 24th Century Earth. Then I found myself comparing them to the great cities of the galaxy I’d grown up in in this second life of mine.
And then I found myself comparing them to my fading memories of the 21st Century.
Strangely enough, I found myself comparing the cities of the galaxy favorably with what had once been during my first life. I’m not really sure what it said about me, but I found the cities of the 24th Century to be…
…too clean…
…squeaky-clean, I might even say. Toy towns…
…not real cities, devoid of the hustle and bustle, controlled chaos, and frantically-paced life that cities should have.
Even Nar Shaadaa was preferable to any of 24th Century Earth’s toy towns. I internally made a face at the notion. When the slimy, filthy, disease-ridden underbelly of the galaxy had more life in it than the utopian metropoles of 24th Century Earth…
…where did Humanity go wrong?
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I rose from my seat as Grand Moff Tarkin entered the dining room, standing to attention and giving a smart salute. Sara did the same next to me, the both of us holding position while the governor made his way to the opposite side of the table. Then Tarkin himself stood to attention, returning the salute along with his adjutant.
“At ease.” He said, before dismissing his adjutant. I did the same to Sara, the younger woman sharply turning and walking to stand against a wall. The governor then gestured for me to sit, before he himself did so.
Waiters then arrived, taking table napkins from in front of us and spreading it on our laps for us. Another opened a bottle of wine – Algarine White, from the smell of it, well, if so then the governor had good taste – and poured for the both of us.
“It seems congratulations are in order, admiral.” Tarkin said, toasting me. “Your campaign seems to be proceeding as planned.”
“Thank you, sir.” I said, returning the toast.
The two of us took small sips of our wine, even as the waiters returned with a bowl of salad. “I must admit, admiral,” Tarkin began, while the waiters dressed and seasoned our salad. “I had my doubts when the Emperor appointed you as the commander of the expeditionary force through the Belsavis Gateway. Your combat experience was limited to hunting down Mid Rim pirates before the Clone Wars, and your specialization in logistics is more suited for a staff officer than a field commander.”
I took another sip of wine to moisten my lips and brace myself. “I cannot deny my relative lack of combat experience.” I began. “It is only a matter of fact, after all. That said, I lack the wisdom to know His Excellency’s reasoning for giving me this command. All I can do is be thankful for the opportunity, and to fulfil my responsibilities to the best of my ability.”
“That you certainly have done.” Tarkin said with genuine approval, as the waiters began to serve us salad. “I read the report on the Battle of Earth. At first glance, it appears nothing more than a well-conducted but otherwise orthodox fleet engagement. But then one comes to the final phase of the operation…Admiral Targaryen, what is beginning to be called the Targaryen Gambit has set tongues wagging across the Imperial Armed Forces, especially in the navy. Whether it’s in the conference rooms of Admiralty, or in the officers’ lounges and academy classrooms, the implications of your…inspired tactic, has tacticians furiously debating with one another.”
“While I’m flattered that the navy thinks so highly of me,” I said. “It was a major gamble for me.”
“A gamble that paid off.” Tarkin said.
“Well, yes,” I agreed. “But it required extensive simulations by multiple tactical computers working in sync with one another, and indeed, taking the better part of a day to calculate the proper positions of our interdictors to ensure the Special Attack Force would be pulled from hyperspace at the proper location to commence bombardment, and not too far or worse, be thrown into the planet’s atmosphere.”
“True,” Tarkin agreed in turn. “But gambles, while dangerous, are what are sometimes called for in order to achieve victory. If they fail, then of course one must take responsibility for them. But if they succeed…well, there is no reason not to accept due praise for one’s achievement.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Tarkin nodded and took another drink of his wine. “If I might ask,” he began. “What inspired you to come up with the Targaryen Gambit?”
I hesitated for a moment, but making it appear as just veiled embarrassment. I could hardly admit I’d poached the tactic from someone who wasn’t even an officer in the Imperial Navy yet, not for several more years at any rate, and who wouldn’t come up with it for at least another decade if not more. I mean…how would that even be possible?
Well, I knew the answer to that, but I couldn’t give that answer either. Fortunately, I knew I’d be facing this question sooner or later, and come up with an answer.
“To be honest sir,” I began. “The inspiration was an academic question.”
“Oh?”
I nodded. “I was thinking of how to best use interdictors in this campaign, with their ability to pull ships out of hyperspace or other forms of traveling at light-speed.” I said. “And then I found myself asking: if interdictors can pull enemy or rebel ships out of light-speed and right where we want them, can they also not do the same for our own ships?”
Tarkin digested that answer for several more moments, while I braced myself with another drink of wine. And then he chuckled and smiled. “I suppose there is a lesson to be learned there.” He admitted. “Not to get too caught up in complexities that one misses simple solutions, and which more often than not work best. Or for that matter, are less prone to going wrong at inopportune moments.”
“As you say, sir.” I said.
“Oh dear me,” Tarkin then said, setting aside his glass and picking up his utensils. “It seems we’ve gotten too engrossed in our conversation that we’d forgotten our meal. We can continue after this course.”
“Yes, sir.” I said, while also picking up my utensils.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“I have to say though,” Tarkin began while dabbing at his mouth with his table napkin, while the waiters replaced our china and silverware. “The most impressive part of your campaign is less the one major fleet engagement you’ve committed to so far, as much as the rest of your ongoing operations.”
“You speak of Operations White and Typhoon.” I said.
“Indeed,” Tarkin said with a nod before giving a wintery smile. “Typhoon’s first blow in particular was most impressive. You not only succeeded in destroying a major fuel production and storage facility, or even the surrounding industrial facilities, but devastated the enemy capital planet.”
I hummed at that, struggling not to let my discomfort show, or the way my stomach turned at the reminder of how Typhoon’s first blow had turned out to be so…devastating. I expected a massive explosion, enough to leave a crater visible to the naked eye from Earth, considering all that antimatter. I didn’t know there was enough antimatter there to blow a large part of the Moon to bits, much less release enough energy to fry Earth’s infrastructure across the whole planet.
Kriff it, why the hell did the Federation even put that much antimatter on the Moon anyway?
…
…
…
…
…
Okay, never mind that. I’m a logistician, I know the answer to that. Stupid questions and all…
…still, I never expected that big an explosion. This is going to make a mess of things to put back together for when the war is done.
Chaos damn it all.
“With all due respect, sir,” I began. “I consider that a major miscalculation on my part. The goal was to destroy the enemy’s fuel production and storage capabilities on their capital planet’s moon, and limiting their ability to support a fleet in their home system. And while I expected significant damage to the local industrial capacity, I had planned to capture most of what was left when we finally launch Operation Blue.”
Tarkin hummed and nodded slowly in thought, as the waiters brought in hot soup. Other waiters refilled our glasses, though I drank water for now, to keep my head clear. Tarkin sipped at his wine, and then tapped a finger thoughtfully at the table for several moments. Finally, he smiled.
“Economic plunder, admiral?” he asked. “Is that also why no shipyards and other production and manufacturing facilities are among Operation Typhoon’s targets?”
“That is correct, sir.” I said with a nod. “It doesn’t matter if the enemy is still able to build ships and armaments, if they cannot fuel their fleets, much less have field bases to operate from. And if their fleets are immobilized, then their armies are trapped on their worlds. The initiative will belong solely to us, and we can set the tempo of the war at will.”
“Destroy the enemy one by one.” Tarkin said with a nod. “Yes, a basic principle of warfare, and one that allows for efficient concentration of force.”
“As you say, sir.”
Tarkin nodded while taking a drink of water as well. “Your admission of responsibility for the miscalculation at the beginning of Operation Typhoon does you credit.” he eventually said. “Though I see no reason to hold you accountable for it.”
“Sir?”
“The operation’s goal is to break the enemy’s supply chain.” Tarkin said. “For all that it was a miscalculation, the opening blow of Operation Typhoon has succeeded in that goal. As has the rest of the ongoing operations’ actions. Between Typhoon and White, the Imperial Fleet operates freely across Federation space, destroying their fleet’s logistical train and their subspace communications network at will. This, together with the devastation of their capital planet, proves the Federation to be a broken reed.”
Tarkin paused, and smiled knowingly. “Fear,” he said with emphasis. “Fear of the Empire…fear of the Imperial Fleet, now spreads across the Federation.”
I swirled the water in my glass before draining it. “It will certainly make discussing terms for surrender much easier.” I said, and Tarkin smiled wider.
“Indeed.” he said with an approving nod. How could he not? That was the Tarkin Doctrine in a nutshell: rule through fear of force than by force itself.
Not a bad idea…
…so long as you could back that fear up with actual force should the enemy call your bluff, that is.
With that thought in mind – though taking care not to let it show – I started on my serving of soup.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“What are your postwar plans for the New Territories, admiral?” Tarkin asked while the waiters were serving us a fish course.
“That is a matter to be decided by His Excellency and the Ruling Council, and not myself.” I said at once.
Tarkin raised an eyebrow, and looking at me in the eyes. I made sure to meet his gaze unflinchingly and without hesitation of any kind. “Perhaps,” he finally said. “But surely you have some opinions on the matter. And what of the Imperial Senate? Things have changed with the rise of the New Order, but the Imperial Senate continues to provide oversight for the bureaucracy.”
I hummed in thought for a few moments. “The former Federation territories are vast.” I finally said. “Not nearly as vast as any of the galaxy’s major regions, but large enough to warrant being made an Imperial Oversector under a grand moff, answering directly to His Excellency. Individual sectors, of course, are to be assigned under the governance of moffs under the previously-mentioned grand moff.”
“And…senatorial representation?” Tarkin pressed.
“I would hold off on senatorial representation for at least a decade.” I said. “Maybe two or more…we must make certain that imperialization of the local population is firmly rooted, and an explicitly pro-Imperial upper and middle class established. Until then, senatorial representation for individual sectors would be premature, and would cause more harm than good to Imperial interests in the region.”
Tarkin nodded in thought. “A prudent course of action,” he said. “I find myself inclined to agree.”
I bowed curtly. “Thank you, sir.” I said.
“Earlier though,” Tarkin continued while starting on his serving of battered fish. “You mentioned discussing terms of surrender for local polities, did you not?”
“I did sir.” I admitted. Oh boy, here we go.
“And what would you offer them?” Tarkin asked.
“The same rights and privileges all subject systems and planets of the Empire enjoy.” I said. “Though of course, they will have to understand that there will be obligations on their part as well.”
“Such as?”
“Imperial taxation, for one.” I said, and to my credit, I actually managed to get Tarkin to give a wintery smile of amusement at that. “They must also understand their place in the governing structure of the Empire, that is, individual worlds and systems within a given sector answer to a regional governor appointed by His Excellency. And that those regional governors then answer to a higher-ranked governor, who then answers directly to His Excellency.”
“Good starting points…is that all?” Tarkin continued.
“All worlds with major industrial capabilities and population centers will require Stormtrooper garrisons.” I continued. “Minor worlds will most likely be left to the Imperial Army, barring major insurgencies. Of course, the Imperial Navy will require bases to operate from.”
Tarkin nodded with approval. “The new sector and oversector fleets will certainly need ports to call home,” he said. “In order to enforce the New Order within the New Territories.”
“As you say, sir.”
“I notice that you leave out the economic side of things.” Tarkin continued. “Especially as from what I can tell based on various reports, the Federation appears to have adopted some kind of…communal, system, in place of a proper economy.”
“With all due respect, sir,” I began. “I’m not an economist. I do think the Empire will have to build a proper economy from scratch…”
Kriffing Communists…whether it’s in this life or the previous one…they always make trouble where there should be none…
“…but the details will have to be left to economic experts, perhaps with assistance from major, and previously-vetted, corporate interests.” I continued. “Though I suppose we could start by nationalizing key industries, such as metallurgy, shipbuilding, the public utilities, the aerospace industries, and armaments production, and then form new corporations, with shares split between the regional governments and private shareholders. I…I might be able to come up with some more ideas, but…again, with all due respect, sir, I’m a soldier, not an economist. I never really thought much about this, beyond privately cursing the Federation for not having a proper economy in the first place.”
“Understandable, admiral.” Tarkin graciously said. “Still, that idea of yours, of corporations with mixed ownership is an intriguing one. I’m sure there will be quite a few people interested in hearing about them.”
“I…yes, sir.”
“Rest assured, admiral.” Tarkin said with a hand raised reassuringly. “I do not hold you responsible for not having thought much of this matter, because as you say, you are an officer of the Imperial Navy, and not an economist.”
“Yes, sir. And thank you, sir.”
Tarkin nodded. “Still,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve given much thought about the planned occupation, and while I’ve read the details in your report for what you call Plan Zerek, I’d like to discuss it in further detail. Along with what you call Plan Mern-Osk, with regard to the Federation’s neighbors. Later though, for now let us continue with our meal.”
“Yes, sir.”
