VADM Tarsa Doon
Without Fail



These people had lost their bloody minds. A full sweep of the sector in a quarter of the time it would normally take. When she accepted the position with Prefsbelt she expected things to become easier... For some reason. Completely ignoring the actual circumstances regarding her coming here. Rausgeber had thrown her a bone, instead of a rope. Though, more to the point, out of an airlock. More importantly, he had given a woman overpacked with vengeance a warship more than capable of doling revenge in copious amounts with nothing more than mere presses of a touchpad. That was something that sung to her. More so than anything else could. She lived and breathed for the war. There was never a moment in which she didn't consider how she could destroy those that plotted against the order, although she knew now that she wasn't TRULY apart of the New Imperial Order anymore. She had lost the backroom games.
She belonged to Rausgeber now. And he was smart enough to not only hand her a noose, but an iron steed of war. She had ridden it with glee and would continue to do so.
"And that moon, there?"
She pointed with her free hand, the other busy holding her chin, and head up. Slouched slightly in the main chair on the deck of The Exile. Fitting name, now that she saw everything in retrospect. The System map floating above the deck giving a real time read out of the surrounding system with surprising, accuracy.
'If the dissidents were hiding there mam, it would betray our intelligence. They would need much more gear that our intel suggests.'
Her brow furrowed, finger moving to run along her own jawline.
"Dissidents do not care about our intel, Lieutenant. Detach a squadron. Two Squadrons... I want that moon scoured. Report their fin-"
The woman stopped mid-sentence, turning to notice another Ensign carefully walking with another cup of... Something. It was his third time within the hour, and he clearly wasn't drinking it himself. Tarsa literally tracked him with her eyes first, then would turn her head, following his path out of the room. Those on the bridge would mimic this action, interested in what she was looking at. As soon as the doors slid open, Tarsa would rise from the Skippers chair, head snapping onto her Lieutenant.
"You have the helm, and my orders Lieutenant; I have business to handle."
'Mam!'
He sounded off with vigor, taking her place as she left it in sequence, and beginning to bark off orders in her stead. He was clearly psyched to have a little power. She had no problem giving it to him, after all it was these patriotic souls that would ultimately carry on the legacy long after old hateful sods like her had passed on. For now, she trailed this Ensign who was seemingly playing the part of errand boy today. Following him for what on this ship was a decent walk, roughly eight minutes or so. Finally, he would walk into a private quarters, and she was on his heels, stopping just at the corner to listen.
This was the Officers' quarters, which of her people were dragging men away from their stations so frequently for such a trivial matter?
'Your Coffee Officer Rites, I made it just as you requested.'
She rolled her eyes at the words, turning around and facing away as he left. Looking completely away from him as she knew he would go through the script. She didn't want to hear it. The Zeltron inside was much more of interest to her at the moment. As such, just as he was passing her, she turned again ignoring the salute he offered and strolled into the womans quarters uninvited. Hands behind her back, wrists clasped together.
"Officer?"
She questioned, voice dripping with contempt, and sarcasm. Though the slight smirk on her features betrayed her presence, or stature.
