The Calculus of Power | Destruction of Harper's Courage

Rafan Shoan watched in horror as a crown of flames burned atop the hill outside Harper's Outreach. The flames painted the morning sky a harsh orange.

Yesterday, that hilltop had been a symbol of Sith power. Garrison Besh-1138, home to several dozen Sith Legionnaires, had raised its banners there. They were an extension of the Empire's shadow looming over the people on this barren rock. A reminder that the Sith maintained absolute authority even at the outermost edge of their Empire.

Now, that garrison had become a blackened, burnt-out husk collapsed into cinders and ash while dying flames consumed all remnants of the Sith's presence.

The people of Harper's Outreach watched the fire from the edge of their small town. Fifty-eight souls stood there that morning, with Rafan at their center, comforting his niece.

"Grandpa, what happened to the Sith's home on the hill?"

"It's gone, child. Burned down."

His niece mulled that thought over in silence. The smoke from the garrison obscured the edge of dawn, extending the night's darkness.

"Will the Sith be angry?"

Rafan turned to his niece, uncertain. The curiosity in her eyes held a depth of innocence long lost in the adults around her. They'd grown up under Sith rule and knew well the harsh realities it entailed. She'd been born here, on a colony at the farthest edge of Sith space, ignorant of the truths about their Empire.

When a garrison burned, someone had to bleed for it. Not for justice, but because a message had to be sent: no one could oppose the Sith. Truth and justice were often secondary concerns in matters of Imperial stability.

Rafan had seen it before. Entire towns purged in the name of public safety. The Sith didn't care who lit the match, or why. What mattered was that no one ever dreamed of doing it again.

But the people of Harper's Courage had always been loyal to the Empire. None of them had been involved in the garrison's destruction. Not a single soul had ever even spoken a seditious thought. The people of Harper's Outreach were innocent, and they would maintain their innocence for the simple reason that it was the truth. The Sith would see their record of loyalty, and understand there was a threat out there, still looming.

"Don't worry, they won't be angry," Rafan said.

He squeezed his niece's hand, pulling her into a hug as he watched the smoke rise from the burnt husk of the garrison. Even as he clung to the knowledge of their innocence, he could feel the tremble in his hand as he held his niece close.

————

Razmir watched the first turbolaser blast impact the planet surface. The size of that blast alone would have been enough to destroy the series of huts and buildings that comprised colony Besh-1138, or Harper's Courage as the locals had come to call it. But the Sith-Imperials were thorough, and so they spared a full salvo of twelve shots to ensure their mission would be carried out to completion and no one survived.

The people of Harper's Courage had never stopped serving the Empire. Razmir and his crew had destroyed the garrison under the cover of night. The colonists' hands were clean and their devotion had never wavered, but they'd mistaken innocence for immunity and loyalty for safety. What they, and his crew, hadn't understood was that neither innocence nor loyalty mattered to those who ruled through fear.

When the Sith had come to investigate the destruction of their garrison on Besh-1138, they'd found several dozen dead Legionnaires and a colony of people who claimed innocence. To the Sith, whether they truly were innocent or not didn't matter. Their guilt had become a foregone conclusion. It wasn't a matter of proof, but one of political necessity.

To the Sith, the idea that their Legions could be challenged by anyone was a dangerous one. If a Sith garrisons could be destroyed and no one was made to bleed for it, that reality could threaten the perception of absolute power vital to the Sith's rule. If the people thought their masters fallible, or worse vulnerable, they may begin to dream of resistance. Of rebellion. The notion was dangerous enough that swift retaliation became a necessity of survival.

Without a culprit to punish, however, the Sith's power would fall into question. The Empire couldn't be seen as incapable of enforcing consequence, so the deaths of their Legionnaires needed to be avenged or else the reign of fear could falter.

The matter of blame, then, became one of proximity.

In the calculus of power, the death of fifty-eight innocent souls meant nothing if it silenced whispers of the Empire's weakness. The people of Harper's Courage had nothing but their innocence and loyalty to protect them. So the choice of whom to punish became simple.

Those fifty-eight souls had to be silenced before the seed of sedition could take root. As an example and a message to anyone who dared oppose the Empire's might.

And as the tragedy unfolded on the surface of Besh-1138, Razmir didn't allow himself to cut the feed. All he could do was watch as the people he'd condemned to death faced their execution, never knowing the cause they died for.