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aeon2407 · 1 year

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Pyro's Pyrotechnic Love Life - Chapter 2

For @contentment-of-cats. Also on AO3.

There will be some, in my opinion, important character building for the next chapter or so. I need you all invested in Artur for this story to have the appropriate impact.

Mando’a Translator: https://lingojam.com/Mandoa-EnglishTranslator

Mando’a Dictionary: http://mandoa.org/

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Senior Officer Quarters, ISD Chimaera, Seventh Fleet

Artur had a feeling that Commander Hammerly didn’t like him much as he was left alone in his new room to unpack. They knew each other from the voluntold social events on Coruscant his aunt dragged him to, her family being immortalized next to his in the Avenue, and she was cold and disinterested then, but never agitated like he’d just seen her.

And to think Aunt Domina honestly thought she could finesse the two of them into a marriage. He’ll readily admit that she was gorgeous, and if anything time in service has only made her prettier, but if his aunt thought that was all it would take to get him chasing after her, then he’ll readily let her keep underestimating him.

Getting into that publicity stunt of a relationship with Syal after he and Pyro split got the head of house off his back easily enough, although that too ended soon after he introduced her to Soontir. The wedding was nice though, and she seemed genuinely happy, which was good.

A chime at the door pulled him back into real-time and he didn’t even have time to turn around fully before getting slammed ass-first into his bed by a gray projectile with the strength and velocity of one of Revy’s left hooks. And that comparison unfortunately came from firsthand experience.

“You’re here. You’re actually here!” Aylin screamed into his face, causing him to hiss and flinch slightly as the noise punched against his bacta-coated eardrums. Aylin noticed, but then when did she ever not notice, and pulled away from her tight hug in concern, allowing him to see Domini standing still at the doorway, at attention and pointedly eyes-front.

Artur felt his heart break. They’d had an argument on Tepasi last year, an argument that resulted in a fractured jaw, a vibroblade being drawn, his body being slammed through the dining table, three crashed speeders, a night in TPD lockup, and nine million credits in public damages. They’d both said things that should never, ever be said to family, things Artur wasn’t even sure he’d say to a rebel.

His father deployed him around Hutt Space for two months as punishment the very next day. Damn near busted him down to Captain for ‘conduct unbecoming an officer’ and only just about stayed his hand.

The worst part? He remembered what they argued about. Gently lifting the older, and much shorter, twin off his lap and onto the mattress, he walked slowly towards Domini. “I’m off-duty, Domi. At ease and come in.”

She stepped through the threshold, allowing the door to slide shut behind her without a word. He gently tapped a finger under her chin to make her look at him. They simply stared at each other in silence, and two minutes later he had an armful of hysterical ensign squeezing the life out of him. Her singular rank tile was digging into his chest. He didn’t care. He simply squeezed her back and let the guilt bleed out of them both. Apologies can come later; they needed this now.

A genuine smile spread across Artur’s face, his first smile since the recent botched Gerrera mission that took two of his best. He felt the smile get wider as Aylin wiggled into the middle of the Tagge sandwich. They were home.

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Army Operations Room, ISD Chimaera, Seventh Fleet

He was late. Not the best first impression he could’ve made, but he ended up hugging the twins all the way back to their transport, on the other end of the ship, before their favor runs out.

Artur made a note to see what he can do to repay Gilad Pellaeon. Commander should do nicely, maybe Commodore once Faro inevitably gets promoted into the Admiralty. Those snots in High Command hate the idea of women in command, especially the Core World naval ones like Motti, but they were also pragmatic. They’ll promote her eventually, and if not then some strongarming is par for the course with flag rank.

Fixing the collar and doing a quick onceover of his uniform, making sure he had the small bag for later, Artur handed his cylinder to Miro. “How are they?”

The new sergeant, his first draft pick fresh from SCAR School barely a year ago, looked at him, featureless through his helmet but perfectly readable. “Relkus is stable and sleeping off his meds, sir, but Lieutenant Pryl has been fading in and out for the past twenty minutes. Emiri’s with them now, and Captain Maklar will be coming over as soon as the meeting is over.”

“I’ll be there after a tour of the bridge. Notify me immediately if there are any developments.”

“Yes sir. Permission to switch post and stand guard at medbay, sir?”

Artur smiled gently. “Permission granted, Sergeant Golovan. Open the door, then you’re dismissed.”

Right on cue, the door slid open. Miro returned his cylinder, gave him a customary salute, and basically bolted down the hall.

Chuckling at the man’s eagerness, Artur stepped into the room and immediately felt five important sets of eyes on him, along with every other officer on their post.

Both his XO and OPSO were here, Pik and Waffle he recognized as adjacent upperclassmen from Scarif, and the last person was wearing a Major plaque atop a standard, with the exception of the stylized chimaera on his right shoulder, Army Green uniform, the only spot of color in an otherwise Special Forces Black group sitting around the central holotable.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone. Had some personal business to sort out first.”

The Major rose from his seat and extended a hand, which Artur shook. “Cherric Carvia, 2nd Battalion, 504th Infantry Regiment. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Artur Tagge, 1st Battalion, SCAR. Pleasure’s all mine. I trust you’ve been introduced to my senior captains?”

Carvia nodded, sending Vix Shenaad a small smile, one that she returned with a saucy wink. Artur’s eyes widen slightly at the exchange. Vix was infamously flirtatious, if not promiscuous, but already!?

Pushing the surprise out of his mind, he tried to focus on the matter at hand. “So, what is this about? Why are we all here?”

Revy smirked, Vix chuckled, Pik and Waffle stood to attention. What the hell was going on?

Carvia slid a datacard over, looking noticeably miffed. “An informal ceremony. New orders from High Command… sir.”

Artur physically jolted at that. ‘Sir’? Why the hell was his promotion early? Or at all? His father made it clear that there wouldn’t be another tile on his plaque for a while yet.

Gingerly slotting the card into his datapad, he silently read over the lines of Aurebesh.

Oh. Oh. Much appreciated, Your Excellency.

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Commanding Officer’s Office AKA ‘Thrawn’s Gallery’, ISD Chimaera, Seventh Fleet

Yissa took her time getting to Thrawn’s office, taking every chance she could to stop and check on operations. A new lieutenant here, a fresh and confused ensign there. Eventually, though, she had to suck up her shame and ‘face the music’, as the Coruscanti saying goes. Professional pride denied her the option of dragging her feet, and as such it took no time at all before the second officer found herself standing in front of the surprisingly unguarded door, wiping sweat off her palms as to not dirty her cylinders before slotting one into its slot.

“Commander Hammerly reporting, sir.”

Thrawn looked at her from his chair, features somewhat obscured by the holographic map projected atop his desk. He gestured for her to come in, and while approaching the desk she recognized the map as a troop movement diagram of the infamous San Diego Offensive.

“Have a seat, Commander. Tell me what you see.”

Yissa complied wordlessly, grateful for the deviation from what she was sure was going to be a brutal dressing down. At first glance, it seemed to be a standard battle map, but upon closer inspection someone, presumably Thrawn himself, has highlighted 3rd SCAR Battalion.

Gently turning the fob, she rewind the chart and let it play out again, taking note of the positioning, movement, and engagements between the battalion, the accompanying 501st Legion, and enemy troops, sorting the decisions into order of quality, then as either proactive or reactive, then by death toll, so on and so forth.

Yissa winced as Companies A, B, and D misjudged and got slaughtered in a pincer maneuver. Most of C Company fell shortly after that. 2nd Platoon held out impressively though, retreating into the city center and adopting shock-and-awe guerrilla tactics for the next four hours before the 4th and 6th Armored Divisions arrived.

Pausing the map, she looked up at Thrawn to see him looking at her expectantly. Taking a moment to sort out the information and her corresponding thoughts, Yissa made her report.

“The commander failed to account for enemy movement and led his battalion to a disadvantageous position here, west of this hill.” She pointed to the position. “Once the Major is killed, the captains saw fit to crest the hill, either to take the high ground or reroute towards the residential area where their specialty training can be utilized fully. This decision was a mistake as they failed to notice these two regiments repositioning themselves on both flanks, here and here.”

Pause to breathe, point to relevant locations on the map, then continue. “Company C was rearguard and as such survived slightly longer than the rest, but the lieutenant in command of 2nd Platoon seemed to be the only one who realized that relocation to and bunkering down in an urban environment was the most viable option. The guerilla tactics used afterwards to prevent Terran military reestablishing a foothold in the city contained multiple errors and left the platoon exposed to enemy fire on several occasions but were overall quite impressive given the situation.”

“As astute and observant as always, Commander. Everything you said was correct. What else do you see?”

Frowning, Yissa leaned forward and let the battle play out again.

And again.

Finally, she saw it. “The lieutenant didn’t retreat. He repositioned for a counteroffensive.” That revelation recontextualized the entire final four hours and her impression of the lieutenant in question, which she realized was Tagge himself. He wasn’t reserved in combat, he was brutal. He inspired loyalty, evident by the way his troops didn’t show any sign of hesitation in their movements. Those same movements indicated that he has a brilliant mind for tacti… No. Oh no.

She looked at Thrawn with dawning horror. If she knew him, and she was somewhat confident that she did, he did in fact had a punishment for her and forced her to figure it out herself. That smirk, that very rare, very smug victorious smirk, confirmed it.

“Yes, Commander. For the foreseeable future, you will be mentoring him in exospheric and fleet force warfare.”

Sometimes, she really wished the ICMJ didn’t frown upon the homicide of one’s commanding officer.

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Command Bridge, ISD Chimaera, Seventh Fleet

The entire bridge officer corps was looking on in silence and a hearty dose of ‘what the kriff’ as the Chimaera’s WSO slam into Major Tagge for a hug with the velocity and accuracy expected of a Pyrondi Firing Solution, trademark pending, causing him to stumble back a step. The ‘what the kriff’ factor doubled when the senior officer wrapped his arms around the tiny lieutenant and squeezed her tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you”, Pyro could be heard muttering rapidly into his chest. It took Woldar a full twenty seconds to comprehend the situation unfurling before his eyes, and another ten to muster the willpower necessary to separate them. Pyro obviously needed this, whatever this was, but that didn’t change the fact that main watch doesn’t end for another two hours and there were professional standards to maintain.

The Commander decided that in this case basic was best and took a second to fill his lungs. As third officer, he didn’t get many chances to do this.

“TEN-HUT”

Detach, on her feet, attention. Woldar glanced towards the helm at Agral, who held up his chrono. One-point-eight-one. Not too bad.

Tagge, on the other hand, took his sweet damn time straightening out his tunic before doing the same to his posture. “Commander Woldar, I assume?”

Woldar took the offered hand and shook. “You assumed correctly. Welcome aboard, Major.”

They exchanged some customary words and the current bridge commander was just about to give Tagge a brief tour before realizing that Pyro was still standing at attention.

“Oh, at ease, Pyrondi. Back to your post.”

“Thank you so much, sir.” There was no mistaking the friendly snark in her voice, and Seffric smirked. The smirk turned into a full smile when he saw Tagge leave a giant packet of Tepasi taffies on Pyro’s console and into a chortle as the man quickly made his way out of the bridge before the lieutenant realize that the candy was sugar-free.

The eventual tantrum of that realization was spectacular, but that’s a story for another time.

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Kuat Drive Yards, Kuat

0815 Hours – Galactic Standard

Five Months Later

Ah, mandatory retrofits, that biannual two-week period mandated by High Command (read: Trohren Kuat) when specific ships have to report to KDY for maintenance and upgrades and when crewmembers use their mandatory shore leave to either spend quality time with their dependents or get absolutely shitfaced and publicly make terrible adult decisions. Sometimes both, as was demonstrated when Pellaeon had to discretely post bail to get a very drunk and very naked Marinith out of CSF custody.

It was the Chimaera’s turn for a retrofit, and with a scheduled upgrade to Class-II that stretched out to a month of the Harbinger and by default Pellaeon leading the Seventh. It was Faro’s turn to draw from The Cap, and out of twenty-two resort and entertainment worlds inside Thrawn’s white kepi, she drew Canto Bight.

Canto. Kriffing. Bight.

Now, no officer ever went broke serving on an ISD, except for that one Captain in the Fourth getting scammed that one time, and without much in the way of creature comfort or physical temptation in their portion of the Outer Rim they all had quite a chunk of credits squared away, especially with a decent number of senior officers in their little group. But Canto Bight, contrary to the myths and endorsements and adverts of being an affordable resort world, was the epitome of indulgence, which meant absolute luxury, which translates to absolutely atrocious prices, barely cheaper than Coruscant.

And, according to the rules their young naïve selves agreed on when The Cap came into existence, they now have to spend their leave there. And Odo Lomar would cycle himself out of an airlock before he, or any of the others, let Hammerly use her blueblood status to pay a single credit beyond what her paygrade allowed.

Which leads to today, when all personnel are expected to be at least planetside by 1200 hours standard, and they’ve yet to find a place to stay.

The nerd herd, as the rest of the ship has taken to calling them, were all huddled into a corner table in the officer’s mess, staring at Faro’s datapad as she scrolled through three different booking applications looking for a decent ISB-approved hotel or even a residential unit for rent that they can afford but still has enough room to fit them all.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Thrawn and his gigantic pay was here with them, but he was on Coruscant, voluntarily for once, to get in touch with an art curator, some guy named Luthen, about ancient star maps. Woldar went back home to see his parents, and Cherric was with his new girlfriend and SCAR Company D on a training session and hunting trip to Bogano. Pik was already drafting his eulogy.

The housing situation has gotten to the point where Pyrondi left to get Tagge for consultation, much to her wyf’s reluctance, and Phyrre already proposed sleeping in the ship to cut costs. That one earned her a flick under the nose from Faro.

Agral 14 – 15 Yve. Jashin was doing better than his wife for once.

They were just about to give up, break tradition and draw a second location when Pyro came busting in, Tagge stumbling behind her, being dragged by the sleeve. It made for a hilarious sight that put an amused smile on everyone’s face and drew a snort from both Yve and Agral, seeing the Chimaera’s new Stormtrooper Commander being dragged around like a disgruntled tooka by an officer half his height, a third his size, and three ranks his junior.

Odo laughed right alongside Faro when Pyro got onto her tiptoes and pushed him down into a seat by the shoulders. Artur Tagge was damn tough and took shit from no one, not even Faro, but Pyro, and Pyro alone, had him by the heartstrings and everyone on the ship knew it. Yissa especially so.

“Tell them what you just told me, sir.”

Tagge made a show of sighing dramatically, blatantly taking and chugging half of Pyro’s caf, the lieutenant’s indignant protests bouncing off his kepi, before looking around the table. “My family has a penthouse in Canto Bight. It’s high up, private, and within walking distance of every attraction you could think of. No one’s using it right now, and there are more than enough beds if you want it, but I’ll have to come with you to actually get you through the door, which means I’ll probably be butting in on your vacation too.”

Lomar looked around to see everyone, even Yissa, seriously considering it. On one hand, he was offering a high-class place, seemingly without a catch, and Pyro has vehemently vouched for him since he first got shipboard.

On the other, having him and Yissa in the same place may very well end their vacation early and force Thrawn to deal with a court martial offense. Those two haven’t been on good terms since they started working together. Or, rather, Yissa wasn’t entirely on board with Tagge, most likely some remaining jealousy, while, as far as he could tell, the SCAR Commander was genuinely trying to bridge the gap. The two were professional enough when necessary, but the undertone of tension and hostility during their training sessions, why Thrawn thought that was a good idea was beyond him, was hard to miss.

“Where is this penthouse, anyway, sir?” Agral asked, already pulling up a detailed map of the city on his own datapad.

“Mon’t Car’l Tower.”

Appreciative sounds all around, but no one was really surprised. Mon’t Car’l Tower was the pinnacle of residential luxury in the Outer Rim, famously housing military leaders and purrgils of industry such as Conan Antonio Motti, Raith Sienar, Trohren Kuat, Wilhuff Tarkin, and yes, Cassio Tagge, during their rare trips to Cantonica.

Agral typed in the address, eyebrows and hair merging into a singular fiery mess atop his head as he spun the map around and highlighted a few other locations. Yve looked down from her seat atop her husband’s shoulders and her eyes widened with a soft “wow”

Lomar leaned over to see the screen and whistled. Fifteen-minute airspeeder ride from port, across the street from the Canto Casino, surrounded by clubs, bars, and nudie bars, and right on the beach with a private slice of the coastline. This was convenience of location like nothing he’d seen before. It was perfect.

“I say we go for it”, Faro spoke up. “Could do everyone here some good to get to know you better, Artur.” Lomar definitely did not imagine the side-eye she sent Hammerly at that statement.

He glanced at her, amused. “No-plaque leave, Auntie Karyn?”

“No-plaque leave.”

He looked around with a relaxed smile, putting his plaque on the table as everyone else did the same, gesturing their assents to let him join. “Well, in that case, everyone please call me Artur.”

Odo smiled. As long as Hammerly behaves, there shouldn’t be any problems.

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Jashin ought to punch Lomar in the mouth for jinxing the whole damn thing, because this right here was a massive problem if he’d ever seen one, but his beloved wife’s already beaten him to it, and now Yissa and Yana are taking turns slapping him upside the head and cursing him out like the sailors they are while Faro gives him her you-kriffed-this-up-and-I-am-holding-you-accountable glare, the one that has seen countless incompetent enlisted, NCOs, and officers alike disappear from the Chimaera. It wasn’t his fault really, but sailors were a superstitious lot.

He wanted to contribute to the violence, he really did, but Yana stuck him with pulling their storage cubes out of the wrecked shuttle while Phyrre tries to get a fire going nearby using some oil from the ship’s secondary reserve tank.

Maybe she can still be spaceworthy with some fixing, but for now, lacking the proper resources and tools, the Disciple was just a giant chunk of dead weight, the newest feature in this dense and snowy forest they’ve found themselves in, somewhere in the Mandalore sector. Artur had a theory and had ventured offsite to confirm it. They can still use the ship for shelter if needed, but other than that it was useless.

Solar radiation storms. The scourge of all spacefarers and the magnetic property of which the Interdiction Program was originally based upon before the nerds at Sienar decided to use gravity wells instead. Throughout his twenty-four years of living almost exclusively in hyperlanes and six years of Imperial service, Jashin has never been through one. So of course, his first encounter with the dreaded phenomenon would be getting yanked out of the Hydian Way with their engines burnt out on a flimsy little Lambda instead of the tough-as-Faro Star Destroyer he’s been helming for the past five years.

They got lucky, though. If the momentum of being forcibly returned to sublight hadn’t carried them into a nearby planet’s atmosphere, the storm would’ve left nothing for the fleet to find. It was a sobering thought.

A rustle behind him got Yissa and Faro aiming their holdout pistols in his general direction and Yana pulling an unholy amount of ‘blaster’ out of her ass, both hands needed to lift the rainbow-tipped RSKF-44 she previously had hidden… somewhere. He didn’t really want to know.

“Nice reaction time everyone, but it’s just me”, Artur said as he emerged from the bushes, white tunic covered in snow, and stopped suddenly to stare at Pyro’s arm cannon.

A deep, resigned sigh. “I can’t convince you to get something that actually fits in your hands, can I?”

A grin, the slightly manic grin of a trigger-happy gremlin. “Nope.”

Pop the ‘p’ for extra effect.

“Okay. So, good news: I know exactly where we are”, Artur said.

“And where’s that?” Lomar piped up now that the two small but violent officers had stopped their brutal assault on his skull.

Another sigh. “That’s the bad news”, he said, looking straight at Yana. “We’re on Krownest.”

Never in his life has Jashin seen a person go through so many emotions in so short a time. Pyro’s skin must’ve paled at least four shades in the time it took him to realize why Krownest sounded familiar.

The reports of Mandalorian Clan Wren leading an insurrection and killing Viceroy Saxon just a few months ago came to mind, and he suddenly realized that they’d crashed deep inside rebel territory, where the general reception for Imperials was a blaster bolt between the eyes.

Oh, as they say, shit.

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Evergreen Forest, Krownest

It took an hour for Wren’s cadre of soldiers to reach the crash site, another five minutes for them to notice the blaster barrel sticking out of the ground nearby, and by then the Chimaera crew already had their shots lined up.

Artur, having learned from Terran snipers the hard way, took point, hitting unarmored necks with frightening accuracy. Pyro wasn’t far behind, barely wasting a shot as her pistol ripped a hole through the beskar plates. Karyn, as ranking officer and with multiple deployments in the Clone Wars, coordinated the rest. The cadre of Mandalorians, supposedly the greatest warriors in the galaxy, dropped like flies.

“I hope you have a plan, Artur, because if you don’t we’re dead.” Karyn said, the briefest hint of nervousness slipping into the edge of her voice. The man in question was busy digging around the bodies’ pouches, pulling out a comlink with a triumphant grin and flicked it on.

“Gar verde cuyir kyrayc, an ashi ti aru'ela narser kelir me'dinuir te adla vencuyot.” Artur spoke clearly, his voice carrying an authority only found in people used to issuing commands. “Ni echoy dayn sha'kajir bal jorhaa'ir at Ursa Wren.”

Yana’s eyes widen at the demand, which made Yissa’s eyes widen at the previously unknown fact that her wyf knew Mando’a. A female voice, young and very obviously confused, traded words with him for a moment before the line went dead.

The group stood there in stunned silence for a second before Karyn decided to break the silence.

“Do I even want to know what you just said?”

He glanced at her, and was that guilt in his eyes? “Basically, I told them that their soldiers are dead, if they send more we’ll just kill more, then asked for a cease-fire and an audience with Ursa Wren. Her daughter just accepted on her behalf.”

…

“You asked for WHAT!?”

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