Chapter Text
The thing about having a meteoric rise is that there’s an inevitable fall. I hightailed it out of the capital before I could be pulled back down. The way I seen it, two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less travelled by. Family and coworkers were informed the day before I shipped out.
It was my old flatmate, Ignatius, who first asked me about my grand master plan.
I say asked, I mean accused.
“Why are you going to work for the First Order?”
I shrugged, not looking away from the screen in my lap. He pressed the issue.
“Aren’t they a little extreme for your tastes?”
The great thing about moving away from everything and everyone you’ve ever known and/or loved for what could be the rest of your life, you see, is that you can be as blunt with people as you like. But Ignatius was – well, not a friend, but certainly an ally – and I didn’t have many of those left in the capital. So I looked up and flashed him the signature, shit-eating Alyan smile.
“Iggy, you know I’ve always liked a challenge.”
He snorted.
“Is that what you told their recruitment team?”
“As a matter of fact, yes it is.”
He shook his head slightly, before heaving himself out of his raggedy armchair that he’d had since his very first year at the conservatory with a groan. He walked into the kitchen, returning momentarily with a second bottle of wine.
As he poured the deep burgundy into each glass, he stated, softly, “Lena, you know, I sometimes wonder how you’re still alive.”
I snatched my glass, clinking it against his still on the table. I took a deep, inelegant swig before winking back.
“Sheer audacity.”
“You spilled wine on your shirt.”
“It’s black. No one’s gonna know.”
It became evident within the first five minutes on board the Finalizer that not only was my presence not appreciated, but neither was my sense of humour.
The Stormtroopers that served as my escort from the wilds of my home to the big black boat in the sky responded to any questions, riffs, asides, with terse, neutral statements. If I hadn’t skimmed the briefing sent before my deployment, I would have assumed they were just incredibly lifelike droids.
Within hours I’d gotten settled in the officers’ zone and unpacked what little I’d brought. Clothing, cosmetics, and physical copies of essential documents, personal or confidential. Everything else was provided for. The end result, I thought, surveying the minimalist space, was impersonal at best. There was no time – nor, honestly, inclination – to change that, and my first debriefing with top brass was in an hour.
I kept personnel waiting for exactly eight minutes before arriving. Five seemed too calculated, ten too risky. Eight is always just right: it shows that you are important enough to try people’s patience, and competent enough to arrive before the real meat of the meeting begins.
That, and those extra eight minutes were the perfect amount of time to do a light face of makeup. The First Order personnel guidelines claimed it was a luxury item, but I disagreed – people listen to you when you’re prettier, and my livelihood depended on getting people to listen to me.
With a final look in the mirror, I slung my bag – a briefcase was too formal – over one shoulder and walked out the door, striding down the corridor with the purpose of a woman on a mission. Stormtroopers swerved to avoid me, which was just as well, because I wasn’t going to move.
It would take at least a week before my biometrics were input into the First Order’s security systems, so until then, I was relegated to the humiliating task of knocking to enter any room with a high clearance level. After a few light raps against the heavy durasteel, the door slid open with a whoosh. The top brass of the First Order were sat around an oblong table – black, everything on this fucking ship was black – some masked, some not. The briefing hadn’t mentioned that, but now was hardly the time to ask questions.
Without wasting a second, I made my way to the far end of the table which contained the only empty seat left, across from the Order’s military head, General Hux. His default facial expression, I’d gathered, could best be described as ‘consistently displeased.’
“Ms. Alyan. How thoughtful of you to allow us a few minutes to collect our thoughts before arriving,” he spoke, his voice brittle and dripping contempt.
I was convinced that at some point in his childhood, the general sneered so hard his face froze that way. I stayed standing.
“You can relax and slow your roll, hoss. I’m not military, precision’s not my expertise.”
“I suggest it becomes so.”
“I’ll take that on board.” With a heavy thud, I slung the bag from my shoulders down into the seat, breaking eye contact with the red headed menace. While rummaging through it with one hand, I grabbed what I had been looking for – an old print given to me before I left for the conservatory. Other children got pets, two-person ships, jewelry, substantial drug habits, but my family knew me. I got the print.
“To begin, I’d like everyone to take a look at this lovely piece of art. I’ve gathered from my time aboard already that the Order as a whole has little appreciation for this sort of thing, but I assure you it’s a very valuable piece of material.”
Nothing.
“I take it none of you recognise this portrait?”
Still, no response came, not even from the sullen carrot opposite me. I looked carefully over each face, each mask, for any signs of thought, but they were all blank.
“This man, pictured here-“ I shook the print – “is the greatest general to ever grace any generation, present company included. Apologies. Napoleon Bonaparte.”
With a deep inhale, I launched into the same story I’d told a hundred times, the same story I heard from my father, the same story I’d repeated in my most visionary moments of inebriation.
“Napoleon. Bonaparte. Funny name, to be sure, but we’ll have to forgive him that. Back before we had even the earliest inklings of baby-steps in spacehopping, back before humanity had agreed that this Earth idea was a noble, but failed experiment, back before Basic was a twinkling in some clever linguist’s eye, there was Napoleon.”
I laid the print down on the table, sliding it towards the centre. I needed both hands for this.
“Born to a family of little importance on an island of ill repute, battered and bruised by a war he was thrust into by virtue of his birth, the man struggled and fought and crawled to power. By twenty-six he was a general. By thirty, he was running a country. By thirty-five, he was emperor.”
I pace up and down the sides of the table, relishing my now-captive audience.
“The question that’s been on every savvy mind since is: how’d he do it?”
I paused, again waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come.
“No doubt a clever tactician, no doubt a skilled combatant, no doubt a bloodthirsty warmonger, no doubt a war criminal. But this little corporal was so much more – a schemer. A spinner of tales, half-truths, and convenient fictions. Napoleon was a man who understood that if you control a story, you can rewrite it at will. A man doesn’t conquer half a planet without good publicity, let alone a galaxy.”
I slid into my chair, back resting against my bag.
“Do you follow my meaning?”
There was a brief silence. I met the eyes and helmets of everyone in the room again, daring them to speak.
“Ms. Alyan, we have full control over an elite army of highly trained and fully committed troopers. Not one of them would think from straying from the First Order manifesto. I don’t think I do follow your meaning,” the general retorted.
It was not an admission of ignorance. It was a taunt. I didn’t blame Hux for thinking it impossible that any authority could rest outside the military, but was hardly going to let the power of the pen go undefended. I cracked a lopsided smile, mainly because I thought it would annoy him.
“As far as I understand it – and do correct me if I’m wrong – war’s an expensive undertaking. The weapons, the medics, the corpses – it all adds up pretty quick. Multiply that on the scale of an empire’s worth of skirmishes, clashes, and battles. Planet’s worth of expenses at a time. War is a fortune that I’m sure even the First Order doesn’t have. But seduction is cheap, and that’s why you’ve hired me.”
“Yes, you’ve made that very evident.”
Catty fucker.
“I’d like to think so. All I’m here to do – and all you have to help me do – is make the First Order an appealing prospect. Inviting, not oppressive. Just flash a smile, give a nod, and planets will be flocking to join up. No conquering necessary.”
A rasp came from one of the masked officers, clad entirely in black. Must have just returned from the field, as - his? Hers? its? - garb was distinctly non-uniform and, to be completely honest, scruffy.
“The woman has a point, Hux. Cut expenses in battle and you can put that much more funding to your pet project.”
Ah, he.
“I would hardly call Starkiller Base a pet project, Ren.”
If looks could kill. I might have made my way onto the general’s shitlist, but I was clearly far down the ranks.
“Gentlemen. If I may,” I started, propping my chin up on my hands, “I think I’ve made my point. There’s no need for extra agitprop within the system, you’re right about that, general. It certainly seems like you and your subordinates-“ I gave a friendly nod to the room, “have done their jobs well in this respect. But there’s plenty to be done on the outside. Give me free rein over the streams of communication between the Order and its provinces and I can promise planets by the score will be lining up to provide troops, resources, and sweet, sweet green to the Order.”
Scanning the room for dissent, I found no obvious signs of distrust. Most of Hux’s men and women seemed to be on board. Military minds are easily swayed.
Hux cleared his throat before responding. “Very well, Ms. Alyan, free rein is granted. We do, however, expect a contingency plan to enlighten us as you how you plan to seduce these scores of planets by your next debrief.”
“Easy. I’ll just borrow a few lessons from my close friends,” I grinned, tapping the print, before sliding it off the desk and into my bag.
“That’s been my time, ladies, gentlemen, miscellaneous. Have fun in the war room.”