Aftermath: Empire's End (Star Wars: Aftermath #3)(101)
“Has your father explained to you what’s happening?”
“No, sir.”
“Hm. Brendol does not much like you, I suspect.”
Tears line the boy’s eyelids as he nods in agreement. “I suspect that is correct, sir.”
“Listen to you. The pinnacle of a private education. Such a crisp evocation of words for such a young lad. Even in fear you speak clearly and plainly. Well done, Armitage.” The man sighs and kneels down. “I was not initially so fortunate as you. I was born here on Jakku. This horrible world. Those born here are already dead, or so I once thought. But I was reborn. I was brought into the Empire by our late Emperor and made anew. I was turned from the little sand-scoured Jakku savage into something considerably more civilized. I was like you in one way, though: I, too, was scared.”
“I am scared, sir.”
“Yes. That is wise. Fear is useful when it guides us—but it becomes dangerous when it governs us. I am here to tell you what is going to happen. We are taking this ship to a location where a second ship awaits. You and these other children will be taken far away. Your father will come, as will I. We will meet others at our destination. Together we will begin something new. We will leave all of this behind. Do you understand?”
The boy does not, and he says as much. “No, sir. Not truly.”
The man laughs softly. “That’s fine, Armitage. It will all become clear one day. For now, I leave you with a gift.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“These other children? They stare at you, don’t they?”
“Y…yes, sir.”
“They want to kill you, I fear. They want to slash you with their fingernails. They want to bite you until you are just unrecognizable pieces. They would, if given half a chance, beat you with common rocks until all your limbs were broken sticks. Just as I was once a savage of Jakku, so too are these children savage in the same way. Your father’s work has only heightened that impulse. He has sharpened them the way you do a knife.”
The boy is truly afraid. The urge to go to the bathroom rises, and he is suddenly sure that he is going to wet himself. And he knows, too, that when he does, the other children will pounce upon him at this man’s command. They will smell his weakness and they will slaughter him.
“I…”
“The gift. You want to know about the gift. Here it is, Armitage: You will lead these children. They will serve you. And one day soon your father will pass down his teachings to you, and you will learn to do what he did. It will be your life’s work to take children like these savages and hammer their malleable minds into whatever shape you so require. They will be tools built for the work at hand. That is my gift to you, boy. One day your father will die. One day soon, I fear. And you will take his place.”
He stands then and speaks to the other children. “Listen to me closely. This boy, Armitage Hux, commands you. You will do as he decides. You will give your lives for him if you must. Nod if you understand.”
They all nod in a simultaneity that both disturbs and thrills Armitage.
“Thank you,” Armitage says to Counselor Rax.
“It is my pleasure. The future of the Empire needs you. Now sit tight. We’re almost at the Observatory. Our destiny isn’t long now.”
With that, Rax turns on his heel and walks back through the rows of children and back out of the transport hold. The door seals shut behind him.
The children all turn once more toward Armitage to stare. He fears that this has all been some trickster’s ruse, some game played upon him—they won’t listen to him. He doesn’t command anything or anyone. They’ll laugh at him and, as the man said, they’ll beat him, claw him, bite him.
He draws in a quick intake of breath and points to one of the children with a wavering finger—the child is a boy like him, but with tar-dark hair and sun-marked skin. “You,” Armitage says to him.
The boy says nothing.
“Do you agree to do as I say?” Armitage asks.
The dark-haired boy nods.
Armitage balls his fingers into fists as he steadies himself. “I want you to hit the boy to the right of you. Hard.”
The dark-haired boy turns to a sandy-haired, sallow-cheeked lad. Then he raises a fist and clubs that other boy in the side of the head. The boy cries out. A line of blood crawls from a small gash in the victim’s cheek.
Armitage feels a strange and sinister buzz of excitement.
Once again the light of Jakku presses hard against Sloane’s eyes as she and Brentin are ushered forth by Norra Wexley and that mad droid. When her eyes adjust anew, the first thing she sees in the sky is her ship.
The Ravager.
Sloane has a pang deep inside, like a string being plucked, the resultant vibration humming in her marrow. Regret courses through her like a poison. A choice presents itself, now: She could run, or overpower Norra, in order to steal a ship. She could take that ship up to the Ravager. She could land and regain control. Not an easy task, no, but she is confident in her ability to get it done. Then she could take her ship and just…go.
It would not be an act of cowardice. It would be one of survival. The Ravager is a Super Star Destroyer—a dreadnought of mighty proportions. It is by itself a massive flying city. It has enough room to contain a powerful remnant of the Empire. It has the weapons to hold off a whole fleet—as it is doing right now by pushing back the New Republic armada. She could take the Ravager. She could spare some portion of the Empire and flee into the stars with that massive vessel. With it she could start over again.