I N - T H E - S H A D O W S
DAEDALUS TARKIN
Daedalus Tarkin's voice cut through the static silence like a vibroblade: cool, precise, and dangerous.
"
Captain Victra," he said, turning to face her with hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"
Stay." The word was not a suggestion.
His eyes, pale and calculating, shifted to the Confederate officer next to him. "
Leave us, Lieutenant Dreylis. I’ll contact you at a later time." The other man hesitated, perhaps out of pride or maybe even fear, but Tarkin didn't repeat himself. The lieutenant made his retreat in silence, leaving only the soft hiss of the closing door behind him.
Tarkin studied Victra then. Not how one evaluated a subordinate, but like one examined a newly acquired asset. "
I've read your service record. Your skills are most impressive."
He stepped around the table, posture stiff with Core Worlds discipline, and motioned to the seat across from him. "
You've seen things the others haven't. Done things they wouldn't admit in session. That makes you valuable." His tone remained neutral, but there was something behind it—something measured and weaponized. Tarkin wasn't here to flatter her.
"
I find competence increasingly rare within Confederate ranks. I don't intend to waste it." His implication was sharp. He poured a glass of water, but didn't offer one.
"
This base, this… sun-bleached illusion, it offends you. That's good. You see the rot. I intend to replace it."
Tarkin took his seat at the head of the table, folding one leg over the other with mechanical precision. "
The Tarkin Initiative is here to build something better than this fractured pantomime of governance. The Trade Federation knows it. Tambor knows it. Soon, the rest of the CIS will too. But transition requires instruments with sharp edges and steady hands." He fixed Victra with a stare that bypassed every rank and regulation.
"
I have no use for decorum. I need someone who doesn't flinch at proximity to power. You're not here by accident, Captain. You're here because you belong in the room when empires are engineered."
Most military leaders or politicians would have procured a holopad by now, to regurgitate reports and data that often uncorroborated by their intelligence officers; Tarkin spoke swiftly without such a crutch, having committed his observations to memory.
“
The Confederacy's ongoing entanglement with fragile puppet-states like the Foundation and the Royal Republic has become a testament to its chronic strategic myopia. The Foundation, propped up by trade guarantees and rhetorical solidarity, collapsed into total irrelevance mere weeks after signing a truce it had neither the military strength nor political will to enforce.”
He carried on, the only pause being a carefully timed swallow before completing his thoughts.
“
As for the Royal Republic, its leadership recently condemned the military efforts of Supreme Commander Katis. The Royal Assembly too offense to the measures taken by Confederate forces during the assault on Dee’ja Peak. These are not allies; they are liabilities dressed in the rags of sovereignty. And yet the CIS continues to pour resources into their upkeep, mistaking sentimentality for stability.”
Tarkin leaned forward slightly, his voice low but resonant with conviction. "
The Confederacy cannot endure as a sanctuary for weak-willed states clinging to obsolete ideals and ceremonial flags. We stand at the edge of a precipice, not of defeat, but of irrelevance, unless we abandon this fractured model and commit to something greater. The Trade Federation understands this. So do the Techno Union and the Abrion systems now aligning in silence. The path ahead is not paved with compromise or consensus. It demands a singular vision, ruthless in its clarity, efficient in its execution. A strong, consolidated approach is the only viable future—and that future will require an Imperial element."
