It was boring. Day in, day out, the endless menial tasks for the First Order as it’s last standing Force User had begun to tire Naomai. Her companion was mysteriously missing from her side and she had no one to occupy her quarters. Even all the trinkets and treasures taken from her opponents, war criminals and conquered kingdoms couldn’t comfort her like a simple conversation could. She watched the dangling jewelry tacked to the ceiling become the playground for the numerous AI creatures that had slunk out from the depths of her hoard once they deemed it safe enough. She felt the cold metal of a mouse droid brush against her fingers resting over the side of her bed; a meagre comfort when compared to the warmth of another’s body. Her thoughts drifted to her Master. How cold he must be in his grave without her.
Naomai removed her hand from the droid circling around it to grab the comlink at her belt. “Commander-”She spoke sharply ”-I want someone in my chambers. Make it quick or I won’t be happy.”
All on board The Supremacy knew that the unfortunate worker brought to Naomai would lose their job by their overseeing higher up, if they failed to satisfy her. Or they would lose their life, if they were not so lucky. Thus, the worker had to be expendable in some way, or important enough to be kept alive. It was a tough decision for the commander to make, but he eventually settled on William Hux, otherwise known as Techie. Orders were sent through and Techie was told to make haste to Naomai’s quarters, escorted by two stormtroopers like a prisoner.
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This was his worst nightmare come true. From master to master; Techie was doomed by powers greater than him to a life of servitude, it seemed. He shook like a crisp autumn leaf as two broad troopers led him to Naomai, served up on a silver platter. How he missed the comforts of his brother, of his lover, in moments like these. But Hux had far more important things to worry about,
He’d heard rumors of what went down in her quarters, vague but threatening enough to make him rush into a fresher and cough up his meager lunch. These days, Techie ate little. He may never eat again.
Once he crosses the threshold of her quarters, Techie squeezes his eyes shut and falls to his knees, voice wracked with tremors he struggles to control as he says, “I am h-here…” What should he call her? “MaMa,” whispered a treacherous memory. No! No, thank the stars. But perhaps Naomai would be… worse.
TechieHux 