Shadow of the Catalyst Aftermath

The Avenger reappeared from its fold jump in Ta’charin space. In the CIC, Greg surveyed the room as the nav officer called out, “Fold complete.”

Hammerly, unaffected by the jump, scrutinized the sensor data. The advanced DRADIS updated, displaying the bustling space around the multiple dry-docks and the planet. “We’ve successfully jumped into Ta’charin space with a drift of two klicks from the target point.”

Greg nodded, noting that most of the CIC crew still seemed to suffer milder aftereffects than their last jump. “Pass the drift info to helm and engineering for fine-tuning.”

Martines shook off his disorientation. “Ta’charin control is giving us a vector to a berth at the blue-docks.”

Greg checked a couple of readouts. “Acknowledge with our appreciation. Helm, follow their vector at best speed for the traffic.”

“Aye, sir. Estimate twenty minutes until we begin docking.”

John stepped over to Greg, still rubbing his temples. “Are you going to see the freed prisoners off?”

Greg rubbed his stubble as he stood up. “Yeah, probably should shower and shave first. You have the CIC, XO.”

Twenty minutes later, Greg finished fastening the sealers on his dress uniform jacket and eyed himself in the full-length mirror. The new “black and golds” felt comfortable and practical—stylish without being gaudy. He still couldn’t believe a renowned Ta’charin fashion designer had refined the rough designs he, Sonya, Blasius, Irena, and Chief Maria had sketched.

He adjusted his cover, his left hand drifting to his right eye—no longer marked by the obvious cybernetic plate. Dr. Richardson had voiced concerns about the functionality and bio-compatibility of the field-cobbled parts replacing his missing eye, leg, and arm. During the Avenger’s last dry-dock stint, Richardson had swapped them for seamless prosthetics that restored his original appearance. It had taken time to adjust to the old whine and noises, and it might take just as long to embrace the silence. He wondered what Sonya thought of the change, hoping she didn’t see it as vanity. Pushing the thought aside, he confirmed everything was squared away and headed to the flight deck.

Meanwhile, Alex entered Stephanie’s Lab Three and glanced around. Sonya lay strapped to a surgical table, emitters and sensors humming softly as they pointed at her. Alien terminals glowed softly displaying medical readouts from a safe distance—the deck plates around the table were scarred and gashed.

“Why am I not surprised they had to strap you down?”

Sonya opened her eyes slowly, her voice quiet and hoarse. “Hey. Sorry, I must look like a mess.”

As Alex approached, he saw the medical gown spattered with blood and fluids. His expression darkened as Sonya stared at the ceiling. “There were some minor ‘complications,’ so I had to be restrained and sedated for a bit.”

Alex shot her a skeptical look. “Yeah, I guess violent convulsions that nearly snapped you in half count as a complication—just not a minor one. Steph told me everything. Don’t push yourself like that again.”

Sonya took a couple of deep breaths, fighting to keep her composure as she stared at the ceiling, ashamed. “I’m sorry. You must feel so betrayed.”

Alex grabbed a stool and pulled it over before looming above her so she had to meet his eyes. “Yeah, I mean, if you lied about that, what else have you lied about? Are you an actual blonde?” He reached down and playfully ruffled her hair. “Let me see your roots!”

Sonya squirmed as he messed up her hair, then sat on the stool. “Look, I don’t feel betrayed—more pissed that you lied. You could have just told me they were beyond saving.”

Sonya coughed. “You would have still wanted to check. You’d have tried everything to save them. I wanted to keep you focused on who we could help, without forcing that hard call on you.”

Alex raised a finger and opened his mouth to protest, then slowly closed his mouth as he lowered his hand, reaching out and flicking a loose strand of hair from her forehead gently, “You’ve got me there...frack...How many prisoners were murdered in those sick experiments before we even arrived?”

Sonya grimaced, “Not sure we want to know that answer.”

Alex nodded. “Speaking of experiments, what’s with the tanning lamps?”

Sonya shrugged slightly. “Reflex energy emitters; she claims they speed recovery. Given how much better I feel, I think they work.”

Stephanie approached from behind Alex, datapad in hand. “I only wish they worked as well on others. You absorb it like a sponge, with no ill effects.” She held up the datapad. “I got good readings when you briefly fired your cutting beam during the convulsions.”

Sonya winced. “Sorry about that.”

Stephanie shrugged. “You didn’t hit anything irreparable. I can confirm you generated pure type-four Reflex energy in your left arm and hand, creating a Reflex Lance like cutting beam.  It was the same wavelength and relative power.”

Sonya tried shifting toward Stephanie, but the restraints held. “How is that even possible?”

Stephanie looked puzzled, “My current hypothesis is that being subjected to type-one and type-three Reflex energy had an additional side effect on you, unlocked something.  Maybe something from the super soldier experiment you were subjected to.  Can you think of anything you saw that they were using?

Sonya shook her head, “No but I was in a coma or unconscious for the whole thing.  I awoke in a hospital bed.”

Stephanie grumbled, “And of course everything they found referred to a code name or reference number.”

“Can I get out of these restraints? I promise to just lie here under the emitters, but I’d like to roll over and itch my nose.”

Stephanie walked to a console. “A normal Tank Man would need weeks to convalesce without emitters, yet your recovery is remarkable.”

Alex’s eyes gleamed with mischief. Glancing back to ensure Stephanie wasn’t watching, he dangled a string, brushing Sonya’s nose with it. “I can’t imagine how frustrating it is to have an itch you can’t scratch.”

Sonya hissed, “Alex!” and tried blowing it away.

Alex smirked evilly, dragging it across her forehead. “Don’t tempt her to use her distortion effect—it could cost you your hand,” Stephanie said calmly, without looking up, as the restraints unlocked.

Sonya batted Alex’s hand away, “You can be such a brat.” She sat up and the room began to spin and tilt, so she lay back down. “Thanks Steph. Once you stop the spinning, I’ll try again.”

Stephanie nodded. “You’re lucky that’s all you’re suffering. I’m starting another radiation treatment... Alex, clear the area so she can get the full effects.”

Alex stood and gently squeezed Sonya’s shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll torture you more later.”

Sonya’s sarcasm dripped. “I’m sooo looking forward to that.” She coughed as Alex chuckled, dragging the stool away. The emitters hummed louder, glowing brighter.

Alex checked the radiation levels, then snapped toward Stephanie. “Uh, you know the max rad limit for Reflex exposure, right?”

Stephanie nodded, monitoring readouts. “Our exposure here is well below acceptable.”

He leaned in, whispering, “Then you know Sonya’s getting hit with way over the limit.”

Stephanie nodded, not whispering. “We know.”

Sonya glanced over. “How else am I supposed to get such an awesome tan?”

Alex shot her a dirty look and turned to Stephanie. “This isn’t safe!”

Stephanie shrugged. “And being in the Special Reconnaissance Division is?” She pointed to a Cartyr console displaying blue bars—one near a yellow line, the others lower. “That’s the true gauge for lethal exposure. It analyzes subjects and baselines safe levels for Reflex types.”

Alex looked concerned. “How do you know it’s accurate?”

Stephanie smirked. “I’ve deciphered the script and tested with tissue and blood samples. It’s spot-on. Look at the other yellow lines.”

Alex noted one lower yellow line and another higher but still below the main. “I have higher tolerance from catalyst treatments... and Sonya’s seems naturally very high.”

Alex gave Stephanie a look. “If she starts glowing in the dark, nighttime missions will be tough.” He patted her shoulder. “Keep me in the loop on her progress?”

Stephanie nodded. “Definitely.”

As Alex left, Sonya slowly rolled toward Stephanie. “Do you think you could whip up something to make me glow temporarily?”

Stephanie chuckled. “I wish—the look on his face would be priceless. Besides the dizziness, how are you feeling?”

Sonya shrugged. “Exhausted at first, but under the emitters, I’m starting to feel rejuvenated.”

Stephanie nodded. “Good. And let me be the first to say: be careful with your cutting beam. You lack a matrix to generate more energy so it draws the energy from your cells.”

Sonya rubbed her forearm. “Has something grown in there to channel it?”

Stephanie shook her head. “It’s innate. Your cells absorb and store Reflex radiation for replication; you draw on it like with distortion orbs, but overuse drains you, thankfully without exploding your head.”

Sonya sighed, lying flat. Stephanie reduced the radiation and approached and gently squeezed her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, you made the right call—as hard as it was. I saw too many ‘failed’ experiments and couldn’t act without blowing my cover. If you want to talk, I’m here.”

Sonya nodded. “Thanks. I’m still processing, but I feel guilty getting off so lightly.”

Stephanie shook her head. “From what I’ve seen, Thrawn weighs actions and intent in punishments. As she said, she believes you acted appropriately. I’ll check back on you soon. Rest.”

An hour later, Greg entered the lab after changing into his duty uniform. Stephanie nodded and gestured him over. “She’s recovering from overexertion, but I estimate she’ll be almost back to full strength by tomorrow. I’ll resume catalyst treatments then.”

Greg nodded, masking his relief. “Good. We’re resupplying and repairing damage from recent skirmishes, probably be here a couple of days.” Greg glanced back at Sonya laying on the exam table facing away from him.  “Would it be possible to get a few minutes?”

Stephanie nodded. “I’ll update Dr. Richardson.” She whispered, “Go easy—she’s still struggling with what she had to do.”

Greg whispered back, “I figured. That’s why I’m here.”

Stephanie nodded appreciatively and left. Greg waited for the door to close, then casually approached Sonya. “How are you doing?”

Sonya didn’t roll over, speaking softly. “I’m alright, sir.”

Greg raised an eyebrow, dragging over the stool. “Sir? After we fought side by side in the Tournament? Well, you did most of the work, but I helped!” He chuckled. “I think Greg is fine outside formal situations.”

He sat, noting her stillness as he rested his forearms on his knees. “The rescued prisoners disembarked. They were very thankful for you and your team’s rescue—the troopers are requesting transfers to the Avenger.”

Sonya didn’t move. “That’s good.”

Greg sighed and reached out, fingertips brushing her shoulder. “Sonya. Look at me.”

Slowly, she rolled over struggling to make eye contact, she didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Hey, hey.  I’m not here as your CO. I’m here as a friend—at least, I hope you consider me one.”

She searched his face, “Even after what I did?”

“Especially after that.” His voice lowered. “Back in the resistance on Earth, my cell ran out of painkillers. They brought in a kid—eighteen, maybe nineteen—guts shredded by shrapnel, crying for his mother. They tried but couldn’t save him or ease his pain.” Greg’s throat worked, “I agonized for what felt like hours, then drew my sidearm... but he died before I got any farther than that. My hand still shook for an hour.”

Sonya reached up, her trembling hand touching his. “I only cried when I realized what I had to do and how they suffered. I didn’t even shake afterward—just collected personal effects for their families.”

“You did what I couldn’t,” he said. “You gave them peace when there was none left to give. That’s not weakness. That’s the hardest kind of strength there is.” Greg laced his fingers through hers and gently squeezed. “You could have said nothing in debrief—no one would know. But you couldn’t live with it. That’s strength and honor.  You don’t have to carry the burden alone, let’s talk about it…”

The next day, Lt. Irola entered Grand Admiral Thrawn’s ready room overlooking the CIC and snapped to attention. Her softly glowing eyes studied Thrawn. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

Thrawn rose. “At ease. I’m transferring you to the Avenger.” She gestured to the tactical table. “I want your analysis of two battles it participated in.”

They approached, and Thrawn displayed the capture of Ta’charin dry-docks. Irola watched. “The weapons officer is slow—reactive, not initiative-driven. Batteries sit idle or fire at wrong targets.”

Thrawn nodded and played the second. Irola observed. “Here, targeting is precise and aggressive once weapons are online. Batteries rarely silent; systems used effectively. Definitely a different operator.”

A thin smile crossed Thrawn’s lips. “Correct. Lt. Blade led the commando team in the first; she manned weapons in the second. You will replace her when she’s unavailable, eventually as senior weapons officer so she can focus on SRD duties.”

Irola nodded. “You want comparable competency.”

“Indeed.  You have proven more than effective during your time as my senior weapons officer, and I think you will continue to do so on the Avenger.  When can you be ready to depart?”

Irola considered. “Less than an hour with essentials, ma’am.”

Thrawn nodded, a thin smile on her face, “Thank you Lieutenant. The rest of your things should arrive the next day.”

Irola stood at attention, “Very good ma’am.  If I may say, it’s been an honor to serve under your command.  With your permission I will go get packed.”

Thrawn stepped around the table and gave her a salute, “Thank you Lieutenant, your talent and skill will be hard to replace.  Report to flight deck two in one hour.  Dismissed.”

Three hours later, Irola disembarked onto the Avenger’s busy main flight deck with transferring pilots amid the roar of launching and recovery of fighters. A tall, redheaded Sylvian in partial flight gear strode over. “All new pilots, this way for orientation!”

As the pilots followed, a tall man with dark hair approached through the controlled chaos as if it was second nature to him. Irola spotted his captain’s insignia and saluted crisply. “Lieutenant Irola reporting.”

Greg quickly returned the salute. “Welcome aboard...” Engine roars and repulsor whines drowned him out as fighters launched. He smirked and gestured her to follow.

Irola trailed him off the deck into a taller-than-standard corridor—designed for larger beings. The blast door sealed, muffling the noise. “We’re running flight training during repairs—hard to converse on deck without the right gear. As I said, I’m Captain Gregory Westner.” He reached out a hand.

Irola shook it noting the firm grip, “An honor to be aboard, sir.”

Greg led her through corridors. “Lt. Blade is recovering from her latest treatment but will meet us in CIC.”

Irola looked quizzical. “Is something wrong, sir?”

Greg smiled. “No, she tested positive for the Enhanced Beings project.”

Irola’s expression cleared. “Thrawn briefed me. I didn’t know she was a candidate.”

Greg nodded. “Recent development, which probably hastened your transfer.  How much did Thrawn tell you?”

Irola shrugged, “Just that I would be filling in for Lt. Blade when she was on missions for the Special Reconnaissance Division with the intent that I would eventually take her place.  I was also to learn under her as well.  I’m guessing something changed that made Lt. Blade more valuable in the field.”

Greg chuckled, “Yeah when you see her you’ll understand.  There will be other things you’ll be read into as needed, but for now just get used to the ship, and its layout.”  He looked over at her, “Tell me about yourself.”

Irola eyed him curiously. “Not much to tell. I served with Thrawn since her first command as weapons officer, promoted to senior a month before defection.”

Greg continued. “Hobbies?”

Irola shrugged. “Reading fiction, assembling model and miniatures kits.”

“Ever played RPGs?”

Irola raised an eyebrow at the odd question. “A few, but Nathal officers frowned on it. Are you a gamer?”

Greg grinned. “When I can steal time. We have groups forming on ship—run the full gambit of play styles, check the recreation subnet if interested.”

Irola looked curious as they neared the CIC blast door. “You have a recreation subnet?”

Greg nodded to the guard at the blast door as he started to open it. “We do.  I thought it would be good for moral.”

As they stepped in Irola noted that the CIC was laid out differently. It was more like a cross between a command carrier and a dreadnought, with its own signal intelligence section and a full flight ops section.  The other thing she noted was that there was no call to attention as Greg walked in, they just continued working until the XO looked up from the tactical table and spotted him, quickly snapping to attention, “Captain on Deck!”

Greg responded quickly. “As you were.” He led Irola to the table. “Commander Wilson, our new weapons officer, Lt. Irola.”

Irola extended her hand. “A pleasure, sir.”

John shook it firmly, squeezing harder than needed. “Commander John Wilson, XO. I look forward to working with you.” He turned to Greg to say something, but the opposite blast door opened. An unusually tall muscular blonde woman with piercing sapphire eyes in a duty uniform hugging every hard-earned muscle entered briskly—over two meters tall, she looked like someone who could tear a bulkhead off its hinges and then apologize for the mess. John’s greeting was curt, “Lieutenant.”

Greg gestured to her, “Sonya, join us. Sonya, this is Lieutenant Irola, new weapons officer. Irola, Lieutenant Sonya Blade, senior weapons officer.”

Sonya’s handshake was warm and strong, but she didn’t squeeze at all. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you. I look forward to working with and learning from you.”

Greg checked status reports. “Sonya, why don’t you relieve David early. Start bringing Irola up to speed on our weapons.”

Sonya nodded. “Yes, sir. Irola, join me?”

Irola followed to the weapons station. The operator—a young officer with a superior air—stood. Sonya introduced him. “Second Lieutenant David Ford, this is Lieutenant Irola. She’ll train as my replacement during my other assignments.”

David sized her up sourly. “Welcome aboard.” He turned to Sonya: “Nothing to report. Station’s yours.” He saluted Irola slightly, then left.

Sonya sighed, adjusted the chair, and sat as she quickly reset some of the parameters. “The Avenger has three weapon tiers, excluding point defense. There are three outliers: Main Gun, Secondary Lances, and Polaris Missiles.” She displayed the various weapons systems; Irola whistled softly.

“That’s serious firepower.”  She leaned in, “The majority of the energy weapons use Reflex Energy or are Reflex Energy powered.  How effective are they?”

Sonya typed in a few commands and pulled up a couple of readouts.  “Extremely effective, they out range their counterparts by a decent margin while still keeping their punch.  Reflective armor can normally dissipate laser weaponry effectively, for some reason it doesn’t affect Reflex Energy beams and bolts.”

Irola nodded looking impressed, “So an optimal one-on-one ship engagement you would be able to get some good hits in before the enemy could close to effectively return fire.  In a multiple ship engagement, it would seem concentrating fire while they are closing would be more effective. With all this firepower it would be tempting to target multiple ships with it, but that would weaken the overall effectiveness.”

Sonya smiled, “That’s how I look at it, plus using the best weapons for a target.  I try not to overkill if I can avoid it when dealing with multiple ships so I’m not wasting shots.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn showed me the tactical simulations of your battle over Ta’charin.”  She leaned closer, whispering. “It didn’t seem like you waited on targeting orders from the captain.”

Sonya nodded, whispering as well. “The captain appreciates initiative, the XO, not so much.”

“Good to know.”

The rest of Sonya’s shift was spent explaining the different controls and weapon power levels with Sonya actually having Irola sit in the chair to get a feel for how everything was laid out.  She explained the CIC layout allowed her to coordinate with both the Helm and Sensor Officer and she was a patient instructor.

Twenty minutes after Sonya’s shift was over and Irola had gone to her new quarters to drop off her duffle bag they finished getting their food in the officer’s mess hall and were about to sit down.  Sonya gestured to one of the tables that had an open seat.  “Why don’t you get to know some of the other officers, I’ll find another spot.”

Irola nodded and started over to the table when she noticed Sonya heading over to an empty table to sit down which she thought was strange, but she continued over, “Is this seat taken?”

One of the officers smirked as he gestured, “It will be when you sit in it.”

Irola nodded in appreciation as she sat down. “I’m lieutenant Irola, I just transferred from the Inquisitor.”

“Ah the new weps officer, nice. I’m Jaden, one of the sensor operators.  How’s the traitor been treating you?”

Irola looked at him strangely, “You mean the woman whose team just pulled forty-five living prisoners out of a research lab, saving them from a fate worse than death?  She’s been very helpful.”

The table went quiet as the officers looked at each other, “Just be careful around her.”

Irola gave them a look, “Why?”

Jaden looked at her funny, “You do know she defected to the Nathal Empire and then only defected back when it suited her needs.”

Irola chuckled, “Really?  Didn’t you hear about the thousands of Earth civilians that were taken hostage and would have been executed if she and the other Wraiths didn’t work for the Empire?”

Jaden looked surprised.  “There are vids of her and the Wraiths willingly joining the Empire.”

Irola snorted, “Well choreographed propaganda.  What you didn’t see were the civilians lined up to be shot if the Loyalty Officers detected any level of defiance.”

Jaden and the other officers looked at her suspiciously, “How do you know all of this?”

Irola shrugged, “Granted I wasn’t there, but I’ve seen the Emperor use that trick before as well as several other underhanded ones.  Thrawn had been working on the groundwork for her defection for months.  She wouldn’t have set one of her linchpins around a person she couldn’t trust.”

Irola watched for a moment as they seemed to process the new information.  She looked over at the table that Sonya was sitting at, a female Shokan wearing a dirty chief engineer duty uniform and another raven-haired woman who Irola recognized as Lt. Commander Hammerly, walked over to Sonya’s table with their trays and sat down.  She turned back to the table, “Trust takes time, but it looks like some people do trust her enough to at least willingly eat with her.” 

She started eating as the others looked over at Sonya’s table noting it was now nearly full, mostly senior officers, but there were a couple of others.  The others quickly went back to eating.  After a couple minutes of idle chatter one of the other officers asked, “So why did you defect?”

Jaden shot him a look, “Damian!”

Irola smiled, “It’s fine.  I’m very loyal to Thrawn, but I was conflicted because like I said, I saw the sadistic brutality and tactics that the Emperor and others use, I knew I couldn’t be a part of it any longer.  I went to Thrawn and voiced my concerns, she told me that sometimes brutal tactics are needed to end the bloodshed quickly, but it should never be done with malice.  She also found the Emperor’s preferred tactics ‘distasteful’ and cruel but asked me to put my trust in her for a little while longer.”  Irola took a sip of her drink, “I think she had been already planning her defection at that point, and that was a month before she included me in her planning.”

Jaden nodded holding up a fist excitedly, “And now because of Thrawn organizing such a large defection we have a fighting chance against the Empire.”

Irola gave a weak smile, “I’m proud to finally be on the right side of this conflict.”

She maintained positivity as they buzzed about future victories, but inwardly knew: despite defections, they were outnumbered. She hoped the Avenger proved the multiplier Thrawn envisioned.