Descent, A Poe x Hux Fanfiction Chapter 4
Plot Synopsis: The collapse of the Empire brought not peace but chaos. The New Republic has given way to power lust and corruption. War wages on with rekindled desperation between the Resistance and the First Order, the spawn of the Empire turned disenchanted military branch of the Republic. A new generation must enter the battle, bound to one side or the other.
Amidst the inferno, the teenage corporal Armitage Hux is faced with unstable authority over a doomed mission. Meanwhile, the Resistance fleet’s most promising young pilot, Poe Dameron, finds himself climbing enemy ranks for the sake of a tenuous “greater cause”. In the most fortunate of cases, chance meetings in troubled times strengthen both parties. At other times, one man’s rise to fame will mark the other’s descent into madness.
Rating: Mature
Chapter 4: Protocol
Pelacia
Under most circumstances, a 2 AM briefing would be considered inconvenient to say the least. However, after hours of lying awake in his bunk, bleary eyes fixed on an arbitrary notch in the ceiling, Armitage counts the odd timing a blessing.
By right, he should have been exhausted enough to slip into deep slumber as soon as his head hit the pillow. He does feel exhausted, but it still isn’t enough. Sleep hasn’t come easily for him for years now and the sleeping pills can only do so much. Some of the doctors attribute the insomnia to “stress”, others to the erratic schedule that comes with travelling between bases. He would like to believe them.
Whatever the cause, being awake and occupied is a welcomed alternative to another long, restless night. The tangled orders from consecutive briefings and the previous day’s drill routine pound in his head as he clambers down from the bed, making sure to tuck back the covers into a presentable arrangement afterwards.
He’s ready after a quick trip to the refresher to straighten his uniform. He’s been in the habit of wearing a clean uniform to bed, partially for convenience, partially because he doesn’t feel comfortable in anything else. Usually, he can get away with it; he doesn’t toss and turn enough for there to be noticeable wrinkles.
Nonetheless, he always feels a little guilty for deviating from protocol. It certainly isn’t the sort of routine his father would approve of. He still remembers the first incident when he forgot to take off his uniform before bed. He was ten at the time and had stayed out far later than any boy his age ought to for reasons he would rather not think about.
He remembers being tired and sick enough from the night’s events to drop dead as soon as he reached his bed. He woke up the following morning to a hand wrenching him up by the collar and his father’s shouting…
He returns to the barracks to retrieve his coat and datapad, leaving quietly before anyone notices him. He’ll have more than enough snide remarks to handle in the morning.
He squints as he steps out into the glaring lights of the hallway. Though the common areas are relatively deserted at this hour, the base is never fully asleep. Even now, the footsteps of patrolling Stormtroopers resound throughout the building.
The meeting is set to take place in the area adjacent to the barracks. There should be more than enough time to get there, though Armitage keeps up a brisk pace just to be safe.
He takes the elevator up five floors. The doors open on one of the colonels and two troopers. He salutes. The colonel returns it with a critical frown.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing loitering around?” she demands.
“I have orders to attend a briefing at 2:00 in the southern wing, ma’am,” Armitage replies.
“Oh, is that so?” the colonel says, raising an eyebrow. “Let me see your confirmation papers then.”
There must be a special kind of schadenfreude that comes from pinning down subordinates under forgotten rules. In any other case, the colonel would have had him, but these are extraordinary circumstances, and Armitage is even more careful than usual.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, pulling the requested documents from his coat pocket. Attached is the print copy of his ID from the labs on Eadu.
The colonel’s mouth thins into a tight line as she inspects the papers. She mutters a few discontented words to herself before shoving them back at him.
“Carry on,” she snaps before departing with the troopers.
The remaining walk to the briefing is blessedly uninterrupted. Armitage finds the meeting room with little difficulty. In the time since his arrival, he’s gotten a fair idea of the base’s layout. He’s still on edge in the foreign environment but knowing his way around is a start.
He keys himself in with his code cylinder. The doors part with a smooth zip to reveal a cramped conference room, furnished with nothing but a few chairs and a long table with a hologram projector. A single oblong lamp illuminates the space with an unnatural, white glow, casting shadows against the grey walls.
The briefing’s audience appears to be as sparse as the décor. There is no sign of an officer, not even a protocol droid to take note of attendance. The only person present is a pilot seated at the end of the table who has taken full advantage of the solitude by sprawling his legs across two seats. Unruly curls fall over his face, as he rests his head on his shoulder, making Armitage wonder whether he’s interrupted the pilot in the middle of a nap.
He’s heard of the fighter pilot trainees being a little more relaxed, as some had tactfully put it. Their training is no less extensive than that of the army, but the attitude is different, allowing for just enough lenience in the protocol to leave room for a more reckless psychology. Armitage supposes that one would have to be quite reckless to fly out in a TIE Fighter to begin with – there is a reason the ships have been regarded as suicide vessels since the days of the Empire – and so it makes sense that the pilots should lack some of the prudence of other recruits.
But this pilot, this level of casualness is too much.
Armitage heaves a sigh and takes his seat on the other side of the table. The pilot is staring at him, whether with curiosity or expectance, he can’t quite tell.
He tries to ignore the other man. The problem is there isn’t really anything else in the room worth paying attention to. For once, Armitage wishes there were more people around.
“Are you here for the briefing?”
Armitage reluctantly looks up at the pilot.
“Yes,” he replies.
“So… I’m assuming someone will be coming to start it,” the pilot says, glancing at the door.
“Perhaps.”
Armitage only notices he’s been glaring at the pilot’s boots when the other man rests them back where they belong on the ground.
“Is that better?” the pilot asks.
“Yes.” Armitage isn’t quite sure why he honors the question with an answer. He immediately regrets doing so when the pilot smirks at him.
In all fairness, it isn’t a malicious smirk, not like the looks he’s been getting from far too many of his fellow soldiers. One could almost call it a grin. He doesn’t know what to make of it.
He checks his watch. One minute to 2:00. Still no sign of an officer. The hologram should light up anytime now, unless they’re delayed at the source of the message. If it’s coming from the lab on Eadu, delays could mean anything from a trivial demonstration running overtime to an undetected air raid.
“I’m Poe.”
The introduction seems to come out of nowhere. The pilot’s tone is far too amicable for a military briefing. Armitage responds with a dubious stare.
“Poe Dameron,” the pilot goes on undeterred. “Enth 06 Squadron, First Order Flight Academy on Ganthel.”
“Oh, is that right?” Armitage says.
“I should hope so.” Poe pauses, inviting Armitage to give his own introduction. He gets none but pushes forward anyway. “You have a name?”
“Armitage…” He hesitates. He doesn’t feel any immediate need to disclose his surname. Perhaps the accusations of nepotism are finally getting to him. “Elite Onith Squadron, Arkanis Academy.”
“Arkanis Academy.” Poe frowns. “Didn’t they abandon that site years ago?”
“They abandoned the planet, but not the program. Most of the training was relocated to the Herald, and the program kept the name…”
Armitage stops there, realizing he’s only encouraging the pilot. Again, he questions why he even bothered with an answer in the first place.
“Huh,” Poe says. His eyes dart downward before looking back up at Armitage. It’s a miniscule motion, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. “So, what brings you here?”
The question sounds nonchalant, too nonchalant for comfort. Before Armitage can answer, the hologram projector illuminates with a beam of cobalt light.
“Insert code cylinder for scanning,” a robotic voice instructs.
Armitage moves to the center to hold his code cylinder against the hologram. He can see the pilot watching him from the corner of his eye.
Poe scans his own code cylinder with no difficulty. The hologram confirms the security clearance with a single-note tone. The figure of a man in an officer’s uniform appears in the projector. Judging by the lightning and resolution, the hologram is prerecorded.
“Greetings,” the officer says in a sterile voice. “You have been called here today to receive instruction on your recent assignment to Eadu, code X408, classification: Routine with Precautions. Listen closely to the following details. Should you wish for clarification on any of these instructions, you are to direct your concerns to your commanding officer or squadron leader.”
The pilot has returned to his seat. This time, he sits upright, his attention focused on the hologram. The change in demeanor shouldn’t be a surprise. After all, Poe must have had at least some sense of etiquette to climb high enough in the ranks for individualized missions.
“The Orson Krennic Institute of Research, located on the planet of Eadu, provides invaluable services to the First Order,” the message continues. “The Institute requires the fuel coaxium anthracite to run the laboratories’ experiments and manufacturing projects. The First Order Base on Pelacia serves as an intermediary shipment point between the mining source on Nilash III and Eadu.
“Coaxium anthracite is a highly valuable compound, processed and shipped in small quantities. Due to the rise in assaults on the main supply rounds by Resistance forces, the Krennic Institute has requested that its supply of coaxium anthracite be transported in separate shipments.
“You will be tasked with the secure transportation of 700 kilograms of processed coaxium anthracite from the Base on Pelacia to the Institute on Eadu. You will depart at 04:00 from Pelacia on the sixth day of this month. Your starship assignment for this journey is Xi-Class Light Shuttle Number 136, located on Landing Bay A9. The journey has an estimated duration of 40 to 50 hours, depending on the route selected.”
Armitage considers the task. He’s familiar enough with coaxium anthracite, having witnessed it’s use multiple times. The mineral is indeed a vital resource, and one could easily believe that the Institute would not wish to depend solely on the main transports for its supply. The reasoning is just valid enough to make for a good excuse.
“Although precautions have been taken to keep information of this journey classified, the possibility of an attack by the Resistance remains a threat. Be alert and cautious at all times during this journey. Should you encounter a hostile starship, you are to shoot it down or, should doing so put the shipment at greater risk, evade the enemy and contact the Institute for support ships.
“You are expected to familiarize yourself with the controls and security features of your assigned starship prior to departure. Assignment details will be available in written form on your datapads as of 12:00 today. If you have not yet registered your datapad with the central database on Pelacia, you must do so prior to 12:00. Should you seek clarification on any of the assignment details, you are to direct these to your superior officer.
“Good luck. The First Order thrives on your loyal service.”
The hologram flickers to an end. Armitage feels the pilot’s eyes on him again. He shouldn’t think twice about it. He shouldn’t be bothered by it.
He’s learned well that attention is not always a blessing. Stars know he’s experienced too much attention of the wrong kind. Now, the pilot is certainly paying attention to him. Armitage can’t tell whether it’s the good kind.
He can only hope he’ll find out soon. The hologram made no mention of any other crew members onboard the shuttle. If this is indeed a two-man mission, whatever misgivings he may have about the pilot are of no importance.
“Well, that would be it then,” he says, sure to keep his tone even. “I suppose you plan to see the shuttle in the hangar today?”
“I… yes, I do.” Poe frowns as if the idea of visiting the shuttle disturbs him. “Sometime in the evening… I guess you plan to do the same?”
“Saying that I am required to do so, yes,” Armitage replies dryly, wondering whether orders are optional at the Flight Academy.
“Hmm. Alright,” Poe hums before adding, almost as an afterthought, “You know, you didn’t strike me as a pilot…”
“I’m not,” Armitage says with a hint of umbrage.
“That’s what I thought, looking at your uniform and… well, your attitude,” Poe smiles. For a moment, Armitage half-expects the pilot to burst into laughter. “You’re in the army, obviously enough, but you do have some kind of piloting experience, don’t you? I didn’t know they taught that kind of stuff in the army…”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just the basics…” Poe’s smile wanes almost imperceptibly. “Enough to operate a light shuttle.”
Armitage recognizes the underlying accusation immediately. Had the pilot’s doubts been unfounded, it would have made his blood boil. As it is, however, Poe has a point, a point that is growing increasinly worrisome the more Armitage considers it.
“Of course, I know.” The lie slips out instinctually, leaving him to hope he won’t regret it. “Why else would I be selected for this assignment.”
“You never know,” Poe says with a shrug. “Just wanted to be sure you weren’t planning to pile two sets of controls on me in case we run into trouble.”
“I try not to shirk my duties, thank you very much,” Armitage replies.
“Well, I’m relieved,” the pilot says. “Would you like to come with me then to see the controls?”
Armitage straightens his posture and answers steadily, “I should be finished with my routine by 22:00.”
Poe is grinning again. It isn’t scornful, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that Armitage can’t quite ignore.
“That won’t be past your curfew will it?” Poe asks.
“I have a certain degree of flexibility in my schedule,” Armitage replies. “You?”
“I’ve got a similar excuse.”
Armitage grits his teeth. He resists the urge to argue, though the very idea of his qualifications – his earned qualifications – being dubbed as “an excuse” grates at him like a thorn.
“Well, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance… Dameron,” he says, a stoic courtesy.
“You’ve got places to be, Armitage?” Poe asks.
“Yes.” Armitage stands up to leave. “I suppose you don’t?”
“Some sleep if I can get it,” Poe replies lightly. “Might stay here a bit longer just to wrap some things up.”
He indicates his datapad. Armitage gives him a slight nod and turns to leave.
“I’ll meet you at the landing bay at 22:00 then?” the pilot calls after him.
“Yes,” Armitage says, keeping his back to the other man. “22:00 today, Landing Bay A9, I shall be there.”
The door slides shut behind him. To his relief, the hallway is empty.
He thinks of the pilot. There’s an insouciant air about the man, one that Dameron seems cocky enough to project, at least around those of equivalent rank. Presumably, the pilot is different around his superiors. He must have a favorable record to receive this assignment.
Perhaps it’s simply a matter of different standards for separate military branches yielding different personalities. That seems like the most probable explanation.
But for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint, Armitage isn’t satisfied with the common answer. His kinder superiors viewed his paranoia as youthful anxiety, others saw it as cowardice disguised as nerves. He doesn’t care either way. Suspicions are only natural, and instincts, especially adaptive ones, are not easily silenced.
Poe waits for the soldier to leave before switching on his data pad. A short scan around the room reveals one standard surveillance camera but no other security precautions. The First Order does know how to keep things simple when they want to.
He considers the hologram’s instructions. The assignment is fairly straightforward, no more than a glorified cargo run with the usual dangers of any interplanetary mission. True, the cargo is exorbitant, definitely not the kind of supplies the First Order would risk falling into the hands of Resistance smugglers.
Still, it doesn’t seem practical to entrust something so important to a crew of two young recruits, one of whom isn’t even a pilot by training. Armitage doesn’t quite fit Poe’s image of a soldier either for that matter. He’s too thin, or maybe it’s just the way he carries himself that makes him appear delicate. He seems better suited for a sedentary job on the Bridge, judging by the way he speaks. Not the kind of man one would expect the First Order to put in the trenches.
But that isn’t all that worries Poe. It isn’t too difficult to tell that Armitage is the wary sort, the way he sculpts his answers. The First Order recruits don’t tend to be the most trusting of people. Poe has had a few uncomfortable encounters with other recruits in the past, but he’s always been able to ward away any rising suspicions. His commanding officers have noted “differences” in his attitude. He’s been lectured on deviation from protocol a few times, but nothing more has ever come of it.
This time, however, Poe fears that Armitage is the kind of man who’s suspicions not so easily supplanted.
Keep an eye on that one, he thinks. Can’t have him running off to the interrogation squad to report you after a little slip…
He tells himself he’s only joking.
He makes a mental note to send a message to the Resistance’s contacts in the Senate. Hopefully, some extra information on the Institute’s fuel shipments will get him somewhere. From there on, it’s all the usual procedure of saying and doing the right things at the proper time. He’s been playing this game for years now. This next assignment is nothing new. He’s confident of it.
And a little confidence never hurts.
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