Private The Rising Son

[Zethran Cott]

High in orbit above the planet below was the home of the Home Defence Fleet, assigned to Fleet Admiral Zethran Cott. His storied career in the Imperial Navy, in its various iterations and guises, has allowed him to rise from a simple commissioned officer to one the most decorated commanders in the service of Korvan. His presence at Dantooine and countless other engagements saw his star in the ascendant, set to shine brightly as long as he chose this path of service towards the Imperial goal.

He had seen service with legends of the Empire and gallant foes, many long dead, their names all but lost, save the groups of old men who now sat about mess halls and service dinner parties, drinking whisky and talking of their former glories.

Cott preferred better still the diligence that his work entailed, the actual call of duty that took him again and again onto the bridge of his own Star Destroyer, the Edifice. He sat looking out through the vast viewport as the ship jutted out of the dry dock, into the vacuum of space, hundreds of smaller ships and drones buzzing about it, repairing and maintaining its impressive bulk.

It had taken some significant damage at the hand of an unforeseen celestial phenomenon, so the official report had relayed. What was being squashed was the information that a large force of insurgent remnant Imperials from a distant faction had chanced upon the Edifice and her support fleet whilst making routine sweeps of a neighbouring system and the resulting attack had cost the fleet not only the capability of its flagship but also its Executive Officer, Ahnsan Real.

Real, alongside twenty six other crew, lay buried in coffins, set to be dispatched home to the growing presence on Carlac. Cott was going to take personal command of the ship for its next appearance in the system, with additional support ships in tow, sure to eradicate any further signs of the remnant force. They themselves had sustained a significant amount of damage but not enough to silence their guns permanently. This irked Cott.

He returned to his desk, his private secretary, dressed in crisp grey military uniform, sat at his own desk near to Cott's, finalising the morning's briefing.

Cott spoke in his sing-song baritone.

'Dispatch these to the Commanders, Yeck. Post haste'

Yeck stood, nodding with a crisp movement and headed to the doors, across the hard steel decking. Cott liked his offices to resemble those of his ship's own quarters; he liked to avoid comforts he might miss at a moment's notice.

He opened a paper file on his desk, reserved for only the most secretive and sensitive information.

Beneath the Imperial Ensign was a recommended list of names for the new Executive officer of the Edifice.

Normally the Commanding Officer would appoint this, a rank usually far lower than a Fleet Admiral. In this case, with Admiral Cott set to take personal charge, it was his duty for the taking.

He looked at the list of names and images, most crossed out in various colours, indicating the various sanctions made by various departments. One remained.

He sighed. An instant headache flared in his temples.

'You have got to be kidding.'

Tiberius Korvan

 

[Tiberius Korvan]

The Scion

There was value in anonymity; a truth Tiberius had come to learn for himself as he came of age and took his first steps out from under his father’s shadow - or so he had thought. For the majority of his life, he had served with his father aboard the Ave Imperator; in an unofficial capacity of course in his youth, for he did more observing and learning than actual serving. But as he grew older, some of the senior officers serving under his father had taken him under their proverbial wings. From sixteen on, Tiberius studied the fields of astrogation, capital ship engineering, and battlefield tactics from some of the keenest minds the Empire had to offer - or at least what was left of the Empire.

Studying had only gotten him so far, however. He hardly experienced an average life as a teenager living aboard a military vessel for most of the time. It did not help things that many of his peers looked at him as if he were a live warhead as he passed through the halls of the Imperator. His father did not have to do anything overtly to protect his son, for none dared to lift a hand against Tiberius while aboard Ignacious’ ship. Sure, his father’s reputation had its privileges in some respects, but one hardly wanted to fraternize with the son of the Grand Moff when it was possible that said son would rat out on any perceived infraction.

In truth, Tiberius had longed for the companionship of his peers at one point in his life, particularly members of the fairer sex when he entered puberty. Such companionship came to him eventually, if for no other reason than he was actually fairly pleasing to the eyes of the young women who accompanied him. But as for his male compatriots, he felt a sense of apprehension among most of them, and jealousy among the rest even though they dare not vocalize it.

And so it was that Tiberius had buried himself into his duty as an Ensign at first, once he reached the regulation age to be one at 18. His work ethic and keen mind resulted in him quickly rising the ranks to that of Lieutenant within a year - largely through his own merit. Few people would know that his father was not a man who looked kindly upon favoritism, and that he had no hand in the ascension of his son save for the family name being attached to Tiberius. As he eventually worked his way to Lieutenant-Commander, his peers whispered rumors of token appointments, and a cushy Captaincy in the near future. Such was the drawback of serving on a ship that also served as his home.

It was because of this dynamic, and more specifically the crucial moment in Tiberius’ career, that Ignacious did the one thing he had never done previously - he intervened in his son’s career by influencing a transfer off of the Ave Imperator, and onto the flagship of Zethran Cott . Some would mutter on about such transfer being yet another step to climb on to the earlier mentioned ‘cushy Captaincy’, but the majority of those who knew more about the dynamic between Tiberius and his father were altogether shocked.

Ignacious could never be considered a warm or overly affectionate man, but it was widely known that he cared for his son. As Tiberius walked through the halls of the anchorage in orbit over Carlac en-route to his meeting with Admiral Cott, he couldn’t help but remember the parting words his father had for him. ‘We make our own way in life. You’ve been given the skills and tools you need to be the man you were always meant to be, so go - and become him."

The last bit remained unsaid. 'Or don’t return at all...'

The unspoken expectation was not of exile, but rather akin to an adult bird pushing its young out of the nest in an attempt to force it to fly. Either it would... or it would die. One way or the other, the young bird would not return home.

With a fresh Captain’s placard pinned on his chest, Tiberius could not help but feel the weight of expectation on his shoulders. He had worked hard to be the man his father always wanted him to be - and in truth, who he himself wanted to be. But it always seemed as though whatever progress he had made was, whether by perception or otherwise, tainted by the legacy of his father.

This was his moment to make a legacy of his own, under the command of Admiral Cott.

Tiberius did not know Zethran Cott personally, but rather by reputation. He had served the Empire with distinction prior to the collapse, and was among the first Admirals to join cause with Korvan in the aftermath of it all. He was known for maintaining the strictest of standards regarding decorum and discipline, and further held the reputation for doing things his way above all others.

That attitude was rare within the Imperial Remnant, but it was precisely the quality that appeared to make him so successful. Tiberius did not know precisely what to expect as he neared the door to Cott’s office, but he at least looked the part of a capable young Captain as he approached the desk of the Admiral’s adjutant. He gave the lieutenant a nod as the junior officer stood at attention and gave Tiberius a crisp salute. “At ease.” Tiberius said routinely.

“Captain Tiberius Korvan here to see Admiral Cott.”

 

[Zethran Cott]

The matter-of-fact voice of his adjutant chimed through the intercom, words almost devoid of any meaning or interpretation. That was not his adjutant’s roll.

Cott admitted the Captain into his quarters and brushed his uniform with a curt swipe along the edge of his hand. Why was he so on edge?

Korvan. That’s why.

Two syllables that carried the weight and tumult of a thousand star systems, the whoosh of hundreds of Star Destroyers, the cries of anguish from countless foes vanquished in the name of progress. He did not know the son, not this one at least. But he knew the father.

The name was synonymous with power in this new Imperial order. The name uttered with veneration and with dread, depending on the circumstances the speaker found themselves in. The father carried that name and with it the deeds of his armies.

Cott was proud of his service; he had no reason to fear. He was not going to be intimated by a Captain, no matter the name attached. He was going to show Captain Tiberius that he was not to be ordered around by a junior rating, no matter his benefactors.

He looked up and watched the Captain make his approach.

Tiberius Korvan

 

[Tiberius Korvan]

The Scion​

Tiberius was led to the door of Admiral Cott’s chambers by the Lieutenant. As he approached, the door hissed open and Tiberius alone entered. He made it a point to refrain from inspecting the Admiral’s quarters apart from what he could note through his peripheral vision. His eyes remained forward, with the only sound to be heard being that of his boots against the durasteel floor paneling. The office was, in a word, spartan - devoid of anything that could readily identify it as belonging to Admiral Cott, or anyone else really. It spoke volumes to Tiberius, if for no other reason than to give him an idea of the man he was about to meet for the scant moments that remained as he approached the front of the Admiral’s desk.

He stopped a few paces in front, and his boots clicked as he assumed a rigid posture of attention. His right hand snapped upward in a crisp salute. “Captain Tiberius Korvan reporting for duty, sir.”

Tiberius’ voice was low, and possessed a smooth texture and accent not unlike a fine brandy - a voice of refined decorum as if from another age. The young office held his posture, awaiting the Admiral to properly acknowledge him as he was trained - or more accurately drilled to do.

 

[Zethran Cott]

The salute he gave was firm and resolute, sure in his execution after decades of perfecting the art.

He looked at Tiberius, a handsome man, though he no doubt knew the fact. With his name and position, an admirable face was the cherry on the top of pudding when it came to favours being handed out by the fates. He admired him, little knowing him as Zethran did. He saw a man, stuck under the absolute and total consumption of people with his name, his favour, his access, and yet he put on a uniform and lived to serve.

‘Take a seat, Captain.’

Cott sat himself and began pouring through the files he held in his hands.

‘Your service report is glowing, as expected. Your training and accomplishments within the Imperial Navy are, without question, excellent.’

He looked with piercing eyes, trying his best to read the demeanour of the Captain.

‘However, I am more concerned with the character of the man I see before me. As you will know by now, I am taking personal command of the Edifice, flagship of the Home Defence Fleet. With the passing of the former Executive, it is the High Command’s wish that I replace him immediately. I will be frank; your name is the only one left to me. All others have been found…wanting.’

He looked harder.

‘What do you make of that? Speak freely, of course.’

Tiberius Korvan

 

[Tiberius Korvan]

The Scion​

The Admiral returned Tiberius’ salute, which then resulted in his hand lowering to his side as he eased into the usual stance of attention. His posture only broke when the Admiral invited him to take a seat in the chair opposite of him. His muscles eased and he reached out to the chair and pulled it out from the desk.

As expected, Admiral Cott dispensed with any pleasantries or small talk that other officers may have engaged in, of which Tiberius had usually consigned to some form of ingratiation or gesture of familiarity in the hopes of entering his father’s good graces. Tiberius respected his superior’s professionalism, even though it was a bit curt by comparison.

‘Your service report is glowing, as expected. Your training and accomplishments within the Imperial Navy are, without question, excellent.’

A slight smirk lined Tiberius’ lips at the compliment. He had worked hard to distinguish himself, not because of his name, but rather because of his record. From what little he knew of Admiral Cott, which was mainly by reputation, that compliment meant a lot.

‘However...’

The Admiral’s tone shifted, which caused Tiberius’ smirk to fade to the normal, impassive expression he wore when on duty.

‘...I am more concerned with the character of the man I see before me. As you will know by now, I am taking personal command of the Edifice, flagship of the Home Defence Fleet. With the passing of the former Executive, it is the High Command’s wish that I replace him immediately. I will be frank; your name is the only one left to me. All others have been found…wanting.’

‘Yeah...’ Tiberius thought to himself. It did not surprise him to hear that. Contrary to popular belief, his father did not actively interfere in his son’s career. But given the nature of their departure, he suspected that his father had pulled some strings to procure a commission under an Admiral who would round out the gaps in his experience - or to more accurately put it, get his son away from the sycophants that may well have rubber stamped his advancement. He of course did not know for sure - he had no evidence or direct confession from his father. But he knew how his father operated, and when he wanted something done - he did it completely.

‘What do you make of that? Speak freely, of course.’

Tiberius pursed his lips and stared off to the side for a moment as he pondered how to respond. His father raised him to consider all angles of a situation before responding; to ponder the political niceties and repercussions involved. He did not know Admiral Cott, and this brief interaction thus far was not a replacement for true knowledge of him. But the question itself was interesting. ‘What do I make of that?’

His eyes shifted back to the Admiral. “I can only speculate, sir.” He began, cautiously. “I do not know who else is on that list, so I cannot speak to their qualifications or service record... nor the decisions behind the scenes.” There was a hidden meaning in his last few words, one that was likely not-so-hidden to the Admiral. “I’m not my father, nor am I responsible for his actions.’

“All I can speak to is my record, sir. That’s all I wish to be judged by, even though I know that’s largely impossible.” Despite reservations, he decided to say the quiet part out loud. “You have already read my file, and you know my background. I may not be unique in my life being raised aboard Imperial vessels - many of my peers hold claim to the same upbringing; but I’ve tailored my life to the service. I intend to continue to do so, regardless of what happens here and now.” He paused, meeting the Admiral’s gaze evenly. “T’is true that my father took me under his wing, and gave me what opportunities he could to allow me to prove my mettle. But he, whether you believe it or not, wanted me to succeed or fail based on my own merit - not because of my name. He was a self made man himself, of course.”

“I suppose what I mean to say is... I do not know, nor do I care if my father was involved in my colleagues being rendered as unsuitable, which I’m assuming is what you are getting at. Well, what I make of it is - I respect my father, as well as his legacy. I don’t wish to forsake that legacy, but I am my own man. If he was involved, well...”

The smirk returned. He was feeling a little bold. “Then feck him. Sir.”

 

[Zethran Cott]

He was impressed. He wanted to gauge the measure of the man, knowing full well the measure of the officer. He found his defiance almost inspiring.

'I know you are a product of a generation lost. Your training undertaken by good officers, in action long before your predecessors even set foot on a capital ship. Your metal has been forged in the heat of battle, as opposed to the fine work of an Academy.'

He was feeling wistful, pining for his own youth, how the Empire used to be before everything changed.

'What are your aspirations, Captain? High Command? Your own Fleet? How might serving with me aid you in your progression?'

Zethran was picking at the thread of Tiberius, seeing how he responded. He knew the two of them would have to work impossibly closely, sure in their trust of one another. And Cott had to be sure there would be no reprisals that circumvented the normal chain of command. Slighting or disciplining the junior son of the head of their entire political underpinning had to be done without fear of retribution.

Tiberius Korvan

 

[Tiberius Korvan]

The Scion​

'What are your aspirations, Captain? High Command? Your own Fleet? How might serving with me aid you in your progression?'

The question seemed innocent enough, but Tiberius couldn’t help but think it was anything but. ‘Do I have an officer who is only here as a pit stop, or someone more serious?’ was what Tiberius heard rather than the mere words Admiral Cott spoke. “This is my chosen career, Sir.” He stated flatly. “Granted, my father wanted this for me, that much is obvious. But I want this too. All I’ve ever known is the void, and the examples of the men and women who brave its dangers every day.”

He stared out of the viewport by Cott’s desk, where he caught a glimpse of a Star Destroyer that was being led into anchorage by a series of docking trawlers. “And as you put it - my generation didn’t know the Empire that was. Not like you did.” His eyes faced forward again, his own voice sounding somewhat wistful for the life he never had. “I want to do my part to see some version of that restored. Whether that means commanding a ship, a fleet, or ascending into a role akin to that of my father; I aim to do my part in protecting the legacy of us all - not just that of my father.”

While it could be said that his response seemed, to a certain extent, rehearsed - there was a certain level of sincerity within them. It would probably be hard to understand for the elder generation Admiral Cott was a part of, but those of Tiberius’ age heard countless stories of the Empire that was - embellishment and all. While they were taught ad nauseum of the rich history and heritage of their people, it was a reality that was as far away as another galaxy for most of them. Tiberius would never attend a military academy, and he seriously doubted he’d ever see the majesty that was Bastion with his own eyes. If seeing the potential his father had so often preached he had within him realized meant his people could see some measure of that restored... well it felt more like a sacred duty for his generation, as opposed to a mere means to an end.

It was on that note, that the tenor of the conversation would change. “What about you, sir?” Tiberius’ eyes flashed with renewed confidence. He was his father’s son, after all. “What do you seek from me as your new executive officer? I think it’s plain to see... I’m not afraid to speak my mind, within the bounds of decorum of course.”

 

[Zethran Cott]

'I'm not looking for wilful submission or obedience, I can assure you that. I don't know what may have been said about me or my style of leadership but I'm a pragmatic man.'

Cott rustled some shredded paper in his fingers, clearly a little anxious, though he would not know it himself. His own self-belief was remarkably powerful.

'I know there is some sort of perceived stigma among the junior leadership cadre that we 'old guard' gatekeep the idea of what it is to be a real Imperial, that we alone know of the struggles our burgeoning nation state face because we have seen glory days.'

He smirked.

'That is a fable. Your father of all people knows the fallibility of any one of us.'

He paused.

'Perhaps not your father, of course. Quite infallible.'

There was an air of wicked humour about the remote, showing that Cott both found irony in his circumstance but also walked the line of risking a throwaway comment about the Leader with his son.

'In any case, my former Executive was an astoundingly competent officer. His loss is a blow to our Empire. Thus, your replacing him comes at a time of some tension. I have been charged with taking command of the Home Defence Fleet by the Grand Admiral himself; you will serve as my flagship XO. There will be all manner of ranking officers we encounter from throughout the Fleet but trust that your seniority on that ship will be respected, as flag captain. It is an…unusual set of circumstances we find ourselves in, wouldn't you say?'

He rifled through the command papers once again and found the corresponding orders.

'You will be officially installed tomorrow, if you so wish to accept this commission. If I haven't…scared you away.'

Tiberius Korvan

 

[Tiberius Korvan]

The Scion​

'You will be officially installed tomorrow, if you so wish to accept this commission. If I haven't…scared you away.'

As if to categorically prove that he was in fact kin to the Despot himself, Tiberius cracked a wry smile that seemed all but a mirror image to his father. ‘Oh if only you knew.’ He mused to himself. Not all that Tiberius had said had been a deception, but it did seem that his gamble had paid off. A man who lead his fleet his own way was altogether likely to have a soft spot for a maverick who wished to go his own way from his father’s influence. Of course, that was not to say that Tiberius did not somewhat believe what he had said regarding his motives. He did, in fact, wish to serve... until service paid its dividends through the incubation of time. Who better to learn from than a man who, at the very least, refused to be among his father’s sycophants.

Although it would seem Tiberius had made his way through the proverbial gamut and into the Admiral’s confidence, at least on a basic level; he still had a part to play. “I accept with pleasure sir.” He gave the Admiral a nod, and rose from his chair to offer the man a crisp salute once again. He awaited the Admiral’s dismissal, after which he about-faced on his heel with perfect cadence, and made his way out of the office. His mind began to wander to what awaited him, from the unique lessons he would undoubtedly learn from the admiral, to the equally as unique opportunities he would find himself in. ‘I will make you proud, father...’