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Wilhuff Tarkin was satisfied. Even for his high standards. The crew looked a bit worse for wear, granted, but nearly everyone of them was sober, appropriately dressed and looked like the short travel through the canal wouldn’t kill them.
The procedure of loading the cargo on board was ahead of schedule as well. The grey-haired captain turned to Needa, his satisfaction hidden in his usually commanding voice.
“Gather the crew, all of them on the foredeck.”
Needa nodded once and disappeared to carry out his orders. More words weren’t necessary. I was custom for Tarkin to give a short speech to the crewmembers before departing, detailing how long their trip would take, what their cargo was and a few more little details. Like the trio of young seamen that lingered around near the ramp leading up to the ship.
Tarkin wasn’t too pleased with these additions, but they could use the extra hands. He prided himself with running a ship like this with a crew of well-paid, English-speaking men. Of course it would have been easier to hire a few local men or Filipinos. They would be much cheaper, but Tarkin was a man who based his decisions on a bit more than cold logic. He had traditions to uphold.
Also, it always felt a bit like exploiting these people. The communication was rough sometimes and they needed to be a close-knit team on board. Most of his men were absolutely reliable. Not easy to deal with, but reliable.
There were a few exceptions though, he was reminded, as the one crewmember who had failed to show up when he had should stumbled towards the Kenley .
Conan Antonio Motti - what blithering fool had conceived that name - looked very much bleary-eyed as he made his way to the ship. His ugly shirt was missing a few buttons, his hair was disheveled, his trousers stained. No doubt he had been drinking too much and afterwards once more failed to satisfy his sexual partner. Even Tarkin had heard the rumors.
Yet he could not fire Motti. His mother was a cousin thrice removed and as Wilhuff actually liked their mother more or less, he had been obliged to give Motti, a chronic underachiever and blowhard, a job. Motti was loud, annoying, got nothing done and tended to get seasick a lot. He was universally disliked by the crew and more than one officer had complained that Motti seemed to have a perverted interest in the personal lives of each crewmember.
“We’re ready, Captain.” Needa’s voice cut through his chain of thought. Tarkin gave a brief nod to signal he had heard him before turning around, hands behind his back, and marching out of the bridgehouse and down the steps to the foredeck.
While waiting for their captain to arrive, the crew had split up in several small groups who stood a bit apart from each other, silently chatting about the weather, the last night, the new trip, sports fixtures, food, sunblocker, chess and the news of the world. As always, there were certain groups: The older officers, Krennic’s engineers, the bridge group and Thrawn with his devoted circle of followers.
Motti, still a little under the weather, was left out as always. His headache - born from the couple with the names “too much alcohol” and “falling down while climbing a fence” - was pounding and the mumbling only made it worse. Oh, how he ached for the simple liberty to tell all of them to shut the fuck up. But he couldn’t.
As he could not harass them all, he let his eyes wander over the foredeck and finally spotted a new, small group, consisting of four young seamen. If you could call them men. One looked like he was still in school, the other was kinda cowering and the last one had the trademark red hair that made it easy even for a person as dumb as Motti to identify him within moments.
(They were four, but the fourth was forgotten as Motti recognised the red haired boy.)
Armitage Hux. Son of the infamous Brendol Hux. Didn’t his ship sink some days ago? It would make sense that young Hux would now be part of the crew of the Kenley . As much as Tarkin and Hux hated each other, there was some sort of oath back from the time when both had been at the officer’s school. Motti scoffed. He abided such outdated traditions just as much as he abided straws in drinks.
“Hey, you. Irish boy. You are Hux’s spawn, aren’t you!” Motti bellowed as he slowly tottered over where the small group stood.
The boy jerked around, eyes only briefly looking at Motti’s face before the boy crumbled and shifted his view to the floor, nervously clenching his arms behind his back.
“Yes, Sir.”
A pushover. Excellent . Motti’s smirk grew as he came closer. “You will address my as Chief, is that clear, ginger boy? Or you’ll scrub the men’s room for the next few weeks.” Of course the boy didn’t know Motti did not have this rank. But some fun at the expense of this child was the only joy he would get today.
“Yes, Sir. I mean, Chief.” The boy blushed and his skin slowly but surely got the same colour as his hair.
Motti pushed on. “Brendol Hux’s son. A truly pathetic captain, no wonder his ship went down. A good captain goes down with his ship, boy, did he at least manage to teach you that. Huh?” Motti had moved in even closer, looking down at the slightly trembling young man and underlined his final words by poking his finger into his chest.
“Cat got your tongue? You better speak up. I’m basically in command here and I can make your wretched life even more miserable. It wouldn’t cost me a thing, Irish boy. It would make my day.”
“Enough of this. Motti, leave him alone.” Tarkin’s cold voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chatter nonetheless.
Motti gave Hux a last condescending look before turning around and trotting to the railing, picking the dirt from his fingernails.
That blasted fool Motti had been at it again. Even if they only were young, new recruits, leaving such a bad first impression wasn’t something Tarkin desired. There couldn’t be any worse start than Motti.
He fixed the man’s retreating form with an icy glare and not for the first time cursed whatever events had to led to Motti’s conception. Then, he concentrated his attention on the list and the clipboard in his hands.
“Well, gentlemen,” he began, confident that the rest of the crew was intelligent enough to have stopped their conversations once their captain appeared. “I will make it short. We’ll have a load of cargo for transportation to Panama City. We should be arriving at 1700 local time. The journey is brief, through the Canal and nothing more. I expect no problems and I don’t want to hear about any.” His voice had become more sharp towards the end.
“And last but not least, we have four new crewmen to welcome, Steward Assistant Thanisson, Ordinary Seaman Mitaka, Oiler Adema and Qualified Member of the Engine Department Hux”, Tarkin looked up from his list as the four new members stepped forward, one after another.
“Gentlemen, Third Officer Veers will show you your quarters and give you a first introduction to your stations. Afterwards you are to report to Second Officer Romodi for a brief overview of the regulations.”
The four men replied with a smattering of “Yes, Sir!” and followed Veers along, who gave Tarkin a casual salute, before he lead the young men away.
“Very well, then. If there is anything else, all men on their stations.”
As soon as Veers had handed his young charges off to Romodi, he returned to the deck where Needa was supervising the seamen. “So, happy that you’re getting one more pair of hands, Lorth?” he clapped his friend on the shoulder.
Needa, however, was not so easily convinced. “Let’s wait and see if he’s going to be any good.” He quickly looked around to make sure no one listened to them. “By the way, have you ever been on shore leave with Krennic? I mean accompanied him?”
“Oh no, definitely not. That’s one of the ground rules, Lorth. Never be alone with Krennic.” Veers scrutinized the boatswain more closely. Needa looked positively flustered even a bit jumpy.
“What happened, Lorth? Did he proposition you?”
“No… no he didn't thank god, but that club was not a normal establishment, Max.” Interested, Veers leaned in closer as Needa lowered his voice even more.
“I think it was a gay club”, the boatswain whispered. Veers waited for him to continue with a more scandalous story like Krennic pole dancing or something like that but Needa had finished apparently.
“That's it?” He asked more amused than anything. “That's not exactly a surprise, Lorth, it's an ongoing bet whether or not Krennic is gay.”
“See that's the thing, Max, I asked him if he'd realised that he is in a gay bar and he said it's only because they have the best salad bar.” Veers blinked, confused.
“The salad bar? Right. That makes no sense at all.”
“That's exactly what I thought, because I didn't even see this salad bar.”
Veers thought about the whole thing for a moment, pondering what to do. Asking Krennic directly was out of the question, he would just lie. But what else could they do?
“I have an idea”, he suddenly grinned.
Meanwhile Romodi had delivered each of the new crewmen to their respective stations and Hux got the chance to be a witness to one of the famous “Krennic outbursts”. Said chief engineer was deep in discussion with captain Tarkin.
“I told you last time that we need to upgrade the motor as soon as possible. At some point a repair won't cut it and this thing is overdue.” He emphasised his words with a quick kick to said machine, which resulted in a hissing expunge of steam.
Captain Tarkin seemed to be torn between impatient annoyance and mild amusement from the antics of his engineer. “You know, everything that still works in a tolerable way won’t be replaced. That’s why you’re still working here after all.”
Krennic snarled, but Tarkin held up a hand and continued completely unfazed. “Enough of this, Orson. We will see about a replacement in Ciudad de Panamá. Until then keep it running. In the meanwhile you have a fresh pair of hands to assist you. Young Armitage here already made QMED, so he'll surely be a valuable asset for you.” The captain's voice did not leave any room for further argument. Without further ado the Tarkin turned around and stalked from the machine room, leaving an irate Krennic in his wake.
Finally, the engineer sighed loudly and turned his attention to Hux, who swallowed nervously, afraid that he would be the target of the man’s ire now. Instead Krennic merely mustered him for a moment.
“Well,” he growled finally. “Let’s see what you actually know. Didn’t follow your daddy dearest into the deck apartment?” Krennic had met Brendol Hux a couple of times and the late Captain had never impressed the engineer with his sadistic style to run his ship. ‘Well good riddance to him’, the engineer thought without pity.
Maybe his son was different. There had been rumours of illegitimacy and Brendol’s subsequent contempt for his son, but since the man wasn’t of interest to Krennic, he had never bothered to catch more of the gossip. Young Armitage certainly did not look as arrogant at the moment as his father used to.
“No, Sir, I was more interested in engineering”, he answered carefully. He seemed tempted to say more, but ultimately returned his gaze to the ground in front of him.
Orson sighed. He was not being paid enough to play babysitter to a troubled teen. “Eyes up here, kid. When I’m having a conversation I usually expect people to look at me. Now then, let’s go through the list of your duties.”
Bodhi Rook felt decidedly unwell.
He had had his doubts about the entire trip to be honest. Sure, spending their semester break travelling the world sounded like a great idea. Bodhi had feared he would be a third wheel though. After all, the first part of their trip had been visiting Cassian’s family in Mexico and while Bodhi was more than welcome, the focus was clearly on Cassian and his girlfriend they all met for the first time.
It had been pretty great nevertheless, warm climate, wonderful nature and some of the best food Bodhi had ever eaten. Near the end of their stay, they had gotten a call from Jyn’s mother, Lyra. Her old friend Saw had mentioned he would be in Panama and she suggested visiting him as they were “close”.
(For Bodhi, the distance between Panama and Mexico wasn’t all that close, but he knew better than arguing with Lyra Erso.)
Saw was Jyn’s godfather and an old friend of Lyra’s from her own study days. Both had been environmentalists, but while Lyra decided to fight the world’s pollution through a scientific career, Saw had quit his policy studies and became a radical activist who had made it into the headlines of more tabloids than the newest Hollywood dream couple.
Gerrera was irrenowned when it came to most people, politicians, CEOs and even other environmental activists as his actions - ranging from the usual chaining oneself to trees to guerilla style sabotage - used to create more damage than good.
The hulking, grim and scary man who had picked the trio up at the airport had fulfilled Bodhi’s expectations. Most of his limited affections were shown to Jyn. With Bodhi and Cassian he wasn’t unfriendly, but a bit gruff and taciturn. Which suited Bodhi quite nicely.
While both Jyn and Cassian were keenly interested in Saw’s views on politics, corruption and what was wrong in the world, Bodhi was more fascinated by the nearby Panama Channel. True, his main interest was flying, but any means of transportation had long since been a hobby of his.
Two hours ago, a badly-shaven man had stumbled into the storehouse that served as headquarters of Saw’s group, the “Partisans.” They were a mixed bunch from all over the world, some hippies from the 70s, young locals and adventurers from Europe or North America. Currently sitting next to Bodhi were Jyn and Cassian and a hulking man who sweated more than a human should be able to. His name was “Bohr Gulleth” or something like that and Bodhi felt somehow unwell being next to this man, though he could not say why.
Well, if you didn’t count the body odour.
“Comrades,” Saw’s husky voice, the result of a lot of smoking in the past, cut through the chatter of the assembled people. “I have received grave news. One of our archenemies is in Panama!”
The murmuring started again, but it wasn’t cheerful anymore.
“One of my men has been at the docks in the morning and through fortune, fate smiled upon us! He overheard this fiend discussing his evil plan with one of his cronies.”
Bodhi looked around, not really moved by the speech. Jyn and Cassian were more interested, though less than the rest of the crowd, who hung on Saw’s every word. The man had an aura, yes, but to Bodhi, all the murmuring, the empurpled periphrases were rather tiring. He would much have preferred to leave the airless storehouse and have a walk close to the sea, get some fresh air and wind.
“While we sit here speaking, no other than Wilhuff Tarkin is leaving shore onboard his rusty ship with his crew of environmental sinners. His cargo: cocaine plants destined for Panama City, no doubt to sell to some shady friends of his! Damned be he! Damned be his ship! Damned be his crew! Damned be his duck pond!” Saw’s voice, clear and strong at the beginning, had turned more and more intense and fanatical.
“Our next step is clear! We must stop this ship from reaching its destination! Who is with me?” he roared, hammering his fist on a small crate that served as an impromptu table.
All around Bodhi, everyone who hadn’t been standing jumped to their feet, rising their fists into the air and screaming in confirmation. It felt weird and a little bit frightening to be honest. He tried to establish eye contact with Jyn and Cassian, but couldn’t see them.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he mumbled, his words swallowed by the turmoil that hat taken over the storehouse.