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Hux's day just seemed to be going from bad to worse.

To start off with, breakfast in the canteen had been Nylaxian oatmeal. Everybody hated Nylaxian oatmeal. Even Nylaxians. But since that damn transport ship had gotten blown up, Starkiller Base was running out of just about everything- building materials, soap, food that wasn't terrible... about the only things that were properly stocked were the medical supplies. Amazingly enough, other than Ben's case, there hadn't been too many complicated illnesses or injuries in the past few months. While it might have sounded terrible to say, it was in some ways a good thing that the construction accidents on the base tended to be immediately fatal- it prevented the injured person from holding on only to remain in great pain, and it prevented running up too much of a cost.

But the more he thought about it in those terms, the more uncomfortable Hux became. Was that how his father had viewed his mother? Even before she had contracted the illness that took her life, she had not been in the best health- likely a result of being caught in the bombing run that had taken her eyesight. Who knew what being caught in the explosion had done to her body, even before she had become fatally ill? Hux remembered his mother as generally being cheerful and lively, at least when it came to him, but she did tend to tire easily. Had Commander Hux seen his wife and the mother of his son as a useless financial burden? The only time Hux ever saw his father strike his mother, he had thrown her to the ground while screaming at her about her weakness, her pathetic fear of the Resistance, and her recklessness in distrusting the Supreme Leader. But he also hadn't seen what went on between his parents when he wasn't around, and his mother did often need help that his father would provide- it was not a stretch of the imagination to realize that possibly his mother had been silently suffering under his father's cold and calculating personality, even if he never did hit her at any other time.

Hux found himself wondering- was that how he came off to his men? Was he a distant, unapproachable figure with a personality colder than the outside temperature? He didn't really mean to be- but it might just have been his nature. While people said he did tend to look a bit like his mother, except for the hair, he had always viewed his father as a powerful authority figure, and had tried to model his own behavior on him. But now that he thought about it- was that really such a good idea? If his suspicions were correct, and Snoke had murdered his mother- how much knowledge did has father have of that? Had he been complicit? The implications were unsettling.

While he was mulling over these disturbing thoughts, his datapad beeped twice in rapid succession. The first was a message from the medical bay- Dopheld Mitaka had recovered enough from his bout with the Kuyper pox and risk of transmission was low enough that he was being discharged in order to finish his recuperation in his own quarters- all he'd have to do was make sure to take the pills the doctors had prepared for him to kill off any remaining pathogens that might have been lurking around in his system. The message also went on to inform him that they had completed surgery on Ben, removed a strange metallic object from his lung, and that they were cautiously optimistic that when he completely regained consciousness he would begin to show marked improvement.

The second message had been sent to all command officers on all major ships within the First Order. A small cargo vessel delivering supplies to an Outer Rim planet stumbled across one of the star destroyers- the Annihilator, floating in space, seemingly dead. Concerned, the crew had docked with the ship and gone aboard to investigate.

Every single person, from the lowest maintenance worker right on up to the general in charge of the ship, was dead. Seemingly from coughing up blood.

Well damn! An update on Star Wars day! Very nice, and an interesting update it is!

OP: ohhh the plot thickens even more!

Horrified, he clicked through the images attached to the message. While it was impossible to tell from the images alone what had caused the carnage, none of the corpses showed any sign of external damage, and Hux couldn’t look away. One image showed a Stormtrooper lying face-up in a puddle of his own congealed blood, the source of which seemed to be his nose and mouth. Another, a glassy-eyed petty officer slumped over her console, which had gotten the brunt of the blood flow from her mouth. Two IT technicians, who seemed to have been trying to comfort each other in their last moments, their death spasms locking them into each other, unable to tell where the blood from one ended and the blood from the other began. A medical officer, collapsed on his side, the surgical mask he’d been wearing dyed completely red. A lieutenant who’d died in the bath still sitting nude in the tub, the water turned red with blood that poured from her mouth.

The image album went on and on, getting more graphic and disturbing as the images wore on. It appeared that whatever had caused this had happened very suddenly- so many pictures showed people who’d been going about their mundane daily lives when they’d met their end unexpectedly, and through such a bizarre mechanism. Death wasn’t exactly unheard of in the line of duty for First Order members, but death from disease, or whatever this was, was fairly unusual. Certainly on a massive scale like this.
Clicking back to the original text of the message, Hux skimmed through, looking for anything that might have made more sense, or at least provided an explanation, but he came up empty.

“…no external trauma was visible on any of the bodies…”

”…no known survivors at this time…”

”…medical officers from both the Exonerator and the Rectifier conducted autopsies on a random sample of victims from across rank, age, and gender. Autopsies did not reveal anything that would serve as a definitive cause of death, although all cases did show extensive damage to the internal organs, especially the lungs and linings of the nasal cavities…”

”…no known pathogens or chemical agents match the damage seen in these bodies…”

”…incident is being recorded as a climate control system malfunction; other ships are advised to monitor their climate control systems closely and evacuate if errors arise.”

Hux stared as he read that last line. A climate control system malfunction? What kind of idiots did they take him for? Climate control was one of the most stable technologies that existed- that had existed for hundreds, probably thousands of years. It just was simply impossible to be a space-faring society without useful climate systems. The idea that one would fail so catastrophically and kill everyone onboard a Star Destroyer, of all things was simply absurd. Clearly something else was going on there.

His first thought was that it must have been an insidious plot by the Resistance. He knew that the organization’s precursor, the Rebellion, did not think twice about murdering children or ordering airstrikes on refugee camps- his Uncle Nico had been in his first year at the Imperial Academy and they’d killed him, hadn’t they? And hadn’t his mother been injured in a New Republic bombing run? But then logic reasserted itself. Despite what had happened before he was born, he logically knew that the Resistance most likely was not likely to resort to biological weapons- there was too much room for error (and the possibility of infecting yourself). And they also did not seem to approve of indiscriminate attacks like that, instead preferring to use precise strikes to remove whatever they deemed to be a threat at that time.

Granted, it was possible that the Resistance had deemed the crew of the Annihilator to be a threat that merited quick removal, but somehow Hux still doubted it was something they had done. It just didn’t seem their style.

But that left even more troubling questions about who or what had caused the deaths. And maybe it was simply the fact he’d met Ben, who claimed to have been tortured through a purposely-induced, protracted illness that had the same symptoms, but somehow Hux couldn’t stop his suspicions from turning bit by bit towards the Supreme Leader.

Still, that made even less sense than an attack by the Resistance. Why would the Supreme Leader attack his own people?

Commandant Brendol Hux sighed as he put down his datapad. Like all officers of the First Order, he’d gotten the message containing the images and official explanation of the death of the crew of the Annihilator. Unlike other officers of the First Order, however, he knew the truth behind the strange deaths.

Truly, it was regrettable. But it had been necessary. Just more in a long line of regrettable but necessary deaths. His cadets, countless Stormtroopers, Moa… everything had been for the good of the Empire or the First Order.

It was regrettable, the case of the Annihilator. Lieutenant General Matthias had been a truly promising young man- perhaps if he hadn’t gone poking his nose into where it didn’t belong he would have gone on to beat the Commandant’s own son as the youngest full general in the Order. Unfortunately, the young man hadn’t had the sense to know when to leave something well enough alone, and his entire crew had paid the price for it. At least it had been a successful test of the Supreme Leader’s plan. Now that they knew it was feasible, they might not even have to bother with completing Starkiller Base.

Of course, if it wasn’t necessary to complete the base, his son’s role would be entirely superfluous, and the First Order didn’t get to where it was by keeping superfluous personnel around… or even alive.

It was regrettable, truly, it was. But sacrifices were necessary for the good of the Order, and Brendol had been rather unhappy with his son as of late. If Tarkin was really worthy of his status, the boy would have finished the weapon more quickly and such drastic measures would not have been necessary. Like Moa, Tarkin had always been a little too cautious when it came to what was necessary. Oh, both Moa and her son had talked a good talk, but when it came down to it, both were hesitant to actually make a final decision, or to make the proper moves. It had cost Moa her life, but Brendol had hoped that Tarkin wouldn’t fall into the same trap. Reaching general rank at his age had been a good sign, but the Starkiller was now behind schedule, and now that the Supreme Leader had perfected his technique of releasing biological contaminants directly into the bloodstream of individuals via the Force, without needing a physical locus, the Starkiller was obsolete.

It was regrettable, but it was how victory was achieved.

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PROMPT POST #4

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