Backwards Logic
Emperor Palpatine
Backstory, Part Five:
Captain Charles Whitower emerged from the Brig with a look of grim determination on his face. If there were Rogue Agents aboard his ship, he would personally take care of each and every one of them. He stormed past saluting sailors; some realizing the uniform had non-regulation red stains on it and others realizing this was not the time to get in the Captains way and point them out. Whitower pressed on toward his personal stateroom and once inside slammed the door shut to deliberate.
He ripped off his now ruined uniform top and pulled out a fresh one from the dresser. Folding the shirt over his chair, he removed a bottle of 24 year-old Scotch from his desk and poured himself a generous glass. Truth be told hed much rather take a hot shower and enjoy his drink, but undoubtedly rumors would have to begun to circulate and his presence would be necessary to address them. If there was anything the crew of any ship frowned upon, it was when their Captain clammed up and refused clear the air of any dubious events that surrounded him. Leaning back in his chair and slowly sipping his Scotch, he pondered just how he would go about fixing the mess he was now in.
The problem was Chandrasekhars last bloody words were spot on he was a traitor for personally executing them before a court hearing could be had. Sure, the Chaplain had pulled a weapon on him first and it could be argued it was all in self-defense. Fact of the matter was Whitower had consciously chose to place the final bullet in Chandrasekhars temple and there was no question the camera footage in the Brig captured his dying breaths. In any event, it was likely the Captains naval career was over. The only thing he could hope to salvage was his legacy as a leader and a knock on his door reminded him as such.
Captain, your immediate presence is required on the Bridge.
Whitowers knees groaned as he got up from his chair. He considered bringing his drink with him, but ultimately decided to leave the half-finished glass on his desk. Ill come back to that later, he thought. Throwing on the new uniform top, he exited his room and began the climb up the narrow staircases to the Bridge.
It would seem rumors had been circulating just as Whitower had predicted. As he passed various sailors, he could not help but notice them quiet at the most awkward of times. It did not take a mind reader to figure out what they were talking about. He just hoped the rumors would not be blown too far out of proportion with reality. Before he could finish the thought, the General Quarters alarm sounded. With his shirt was halfway buttoned by the time he reached the top of the staircase, he wondered aloud, What the devil is that all about? Things were getting serious.
Upon entering the Bridge, he began barking orders mostly to find out what had just transpired. Strangely, most but not all of the displays in the Bridge were dead and there was a flurry of activity by the other enlisted sailors to find out what caused it and how to go about fixing it. Fortunately he still had the comms and navigation controls online, so communicating throughout the ship and steering it was still possible. He turned to one of his personal friends already present and tried to keep his voice as close to a whisper as possible. Whats going on? What rumors have been flying around unchecked?
Hell Charles, Ive heard every rumor in the book so far. Some think you just killed the two in cold blood. Others think there was a shootout in which you sided with the Rogues. And the best one Ive heard yet is the Rogues killed you and now are loose on the ship.
Before Whitower could respond, an enlisted man raised his voice so the Captain could hear. Apparently he had something important to say that could not wait.
Sir, we just got a report from below decks. Seems a ship wide voltage spike occurred and fried a number of electrical connections. Weve lost all of our satellite feeds and external long-range communication arrays as a result. Also it would seem the Aegis Weapon System is offline along with our minesweeping sonar equipment.
Great, thought Whitower. I can steer my boat anywhere I want, except I cant defend it from anything, cant scan for those pain-in-the-ass mines those insurgents love to deploy, and I cant tell anyone my ship is screwed until I get it fixed. Hell, it could be worse. My ship could be sinking too.
Whitower knew staying in the battlefield was close to pointless with the ship in this condition. His ship ceased to be an effective fighting platform, though fortunately he still had control of the nuclear payload stored aboard. He had two legitimate choices. The first of which involved staying in the theatre of operations until his damage control teams could repair the damage caused by the spike. The downside was he had no idea how long that could take. The other was to cut bait and head for home, thus letting the dockyard technicians deal with the fallout. Before he had time to weigh both options, an answer was selected for him.
The ship suddenly shuttered violently. Lights in the Bridge flickered, dimmed, and then went back to full power. Anything not bolted to something sturdy toppled over. Alarms on a handful of consoles starting ringing incessantly, alerting everyone within earshot something was amiss. The Captain grumbled. Whats going on now?
Sir, getting reports of a series of explosions below decks in the stern section. Engine Room, Electrical Room, and Pump Room have been damaged. Hanger has also suffered damage and our Apache is currently not flyable.
Is it related to the voltage spike we suffered earlier?
The sailor scanned the few displays still functioning. No, it looks entirely separate. Fire Control teams are tackling the fires below decks. It will take time, but early feedback from these crews suggests the explosions were deliberate.
Deliberate? As in Sabotage? Whitowers mind had trouble grasping the situation. Were the Rogues now trying to sink his ship, or was it another group with a totally separate agenda? He recalled his conversation with Chandrasekhar. No, the Rogues want the ship for something. No way they would be behind trying to sink it. Saboteurs and Rogues. Awesome. While he still had steering controls, he knew what order he had to give.
Set our course for home port. No point sticking around here when we have some traitors aboard hell-bent on sinking my ship. He ran some quick calculations based on the Impending Retributions projected speed and current weather conditions in the area. If the reactor could keep a consistent output, it looked like the ship could be docked at the end of twelve days. Of course disengaging meant leaving the rest of Commands fleet to do battle operations and thus the trek back home would be done without the benefit of any escort. After doing the math, he looked up at the other men still hanging around the Bridge. He was a little frustrated the bulk of them were still here despite the fact most of the screens were out and there was little they could do until they were operational again.
Clear the Bridge. Everyone get below decks and help with the damage control. Tend to the wounded, if there are any.
The enlisted sailors got up from their battle stations and headed below decks. Whitower stayed behind and stared blankly out to sea. So this is how my career ends, he thought. By committing treason and losing my ship in the same night. Movement outside on the deck caught his eye. Rain continued to pour down as two sailors dragged a pair of matching black bags to the railing. Each bag was opened and a third sailor, now illuminated by a flash of lightning, placed what looked like a five-inch shell used for the forward and aft guns into each of the bags and zipped it back up. Whitower had seen this done before, though much more ceremoniously. It was a burial at sea, except this time the bodies of Chandrasekhar and Nahkarma were the ones being dumped. Two sailors grabbed one bag and with some struggling managed to get it to clear the railing. A distant splash could be heard as the bag begun its final decent to its watery grave. A few moments later a second splash could be heard. In total silence, save for the thunder still rumbling, the three men then worked their way back out of sight. Whitower shrugged. He looked toward a display panel for an answer to something. It was blank, just like his mind.
He heard footsteps behind him. I thought I gave the order to clear the Bridge.
So Ive heard. Im just here to deliver a message.
Whitower turned. Something was off, and by the time he figured out was it was, it was too late.
Two bullets slammed into the chest of Whitower, knocking him back into the display hed been looking at not a moment earlier. He tried to regain his footing, but his legs betrayed him as he fell to the ground. He reached for his revolver but his fingers fumbled as the world around him went cold. Blood filled his mouth and he attempted to spit it out to clear his airway, but he could not clear it fast enough. If he did not bleed out from the two holes in his chest first, suffocation was a real possibility. His assailant stood over him brandishing a silenced pistol, mocking the Captain with a sarcastic smile.
Its been an honor serving you, sir. His lip curled at the last word. Your services are no longer necessary.
The pistol was raised once more to the temple of Whitower. Whitower spent his last moments locking eyes with his attacker, determined not to die a coward. The final bullet entered his skull through a freshly made hole in between his eyes.
After finishing the old man off, the attacker searched the Captains person for something. Disappointed, he got up empty handed and left the Bridge, leaving Whitower alone to stare blankly ahead.
~~~
