V.

The personal solar of the Grand General didn't provoke any feelings one would expect. It was finely furnished without seeming opulant. It was utilitarian without seeming sparse. It was fairly small, had only one window, and the desk was a plain wood affair. The most noticable feature was that the desk featured three different computers and five comlinks that Aron could see. Martellus Slifer, himself, was underwhelming in appearance, as well. As the door hissed shut behind the Jedi Knight, the Duke didn't look up or acknowledge him, instead finishing whatever he was typing on one of the computers.

Martellus Slifer was about 5'9" and his body was proportionate and to scale. Even late into his forties, the man had no body fat and a slightly gaunt look to his face, yet he wasn't thin. The general had that perfect "man's man" look, big, harsh blue eyes, perfectly rectangular forehead and jaw, and a face that would never, ever be free of stubble no matter how often he shaved. He kept a broad, thick moustache that was more grey than black, and his hair was buzzed down to a couple milimeters of coarse, grey hair.

Aron Slifer stood at perfect attention, not even blinking as the General tapped away on one screen, looked to the left at another, tapped more, and grimaced silently. Aron watched with no expression on his face. After a minute, he spared a glance at the window on the right side of the room. A dreadnought dominated the view outside, the big, black triangle of the ship hung tilted 45 degrees toward the office building. A 300 meter tall crane was gingerly lowering the main square support of the ship's bridge tower onto the middle. The view was silent. The engines made no noise in space. The only sound was quiet rumbles and thumps that traveled through the metal of the station itself.

Aron quickly set his eyes back forward. The young Jedi was every bit his father's son. Without the blonde hair, Aron shared every facial feature with his father. The same eyes, the same forehead, the same jaw and nose. The son's cheekbones were a little more rounded and not set quite so menacingly high, but he might has well have been a teenaged copy of the father.

The Duke hunched over his desk, still tapping and comparing screens. His posture made him look smaller than he was. The unusual size of his eyes and the cocked over lean made him look more bird of prey than man. Finally, one by one, Martellus shut off each com and toggled all but two of the comlinks off, and closed the wall of screens that surrounded him. Now those raptor eyes leveled straight at Aron.

"At ease, Major." the Duke's voice had a strong, perfectly enunciated feel, but a simple quality. No harsh barking, no cruel inflection, more "weary businessman" than "grizzled soldier." Aron dropped perfectly into parade rest position, hands behind his back and feet just a bit further apart. The general leaned back and smoothed down his coal ingot of a moustache with a heavily calloused hand. His eyes scanned  Aron with no expression, up, and down.

"I made sure to clear one expensive half hour for this, Major. I don't talk enough to the media to change any rumors about myself, so don't listen to any of that "Anti-Jedi" bullspawn. The Jedi are always invaluable soldiers, no matter how little you can tell them what to do." For a long few moments, the General continued to stare at Aron. Aron blinked once every nine seconds or so. He blinked three times before the general spoke again.
"You do have permission to speak freely, Major."

Aron chose his words carefully before speaking.
"I assume you know why I am here, General, sir."
A slight smile that didn't really touch his eyes set onto Martellus' face.
"No, I don't. The Jedi Council asked for this meeting using all the language that screams importance without using the word "urgent," so I took it seriously."

Aron could not restrain the scowl that appeared on his face. The scowl triggered an eyebrow raise from the Duke.
"My order rarely makes things easy for me, either, sir." Aron said.
That garnered a genuine laugh that warmed the surface of his father's face and relaxed the man's posture.
"I see. So it's that damn ugly, is it? Go ahead and sit down, Major." the Duke gestured to a black leather chair in front of his desk.
"I'd rather not, General, sir."
The raptor look reappeared. 
"Don't make me order you to sit, Aron. I get all antsy when people stand and glare at me when I'm sitting down."

With a heavy swallow and a heavier heart, Aron crossed the million parsecs across the twenty-foot square room and sat in the chair. Straight as an arrow.
"Relax, Major. That is a damn order."
Aron settled some into the chair.
Martellus Slifer leaned back and picked at some lint on his cufflink.
"So what is this about?"
"Project SoulDestroy," Aron said without hesitation.
"Son of hellhound, you dumb monks aren't supposed to know about that." the raptor look came all of the way back. "Who told you?"
"The council does have a Jedi consultant to the special weapons division." Aron said, praying for the ability to maintain eye contact.
"He doesn't have access to that information." his father's anger was crystal clear. When Martellus Slifer was furious, he had a way of baring his teeth like a guard dog.
"Someone told Joader. Without permission." Aron said, not hiding any of the truth.
"Who?"
Aron sighed. The career of one of the scientists was over in the next five seconds. He would never work in the republic again.
"Dr. Flees Olreg."
The General exhaled through his teeth with a long, drawn out hiss.
"Thank you for being forthright, major."
Still no emotion on his own face, Aron nodded.
"I didn't come here to lie to you, or coerce you, Sir. I came to discuss the Project."
"You know damn well I can't talk about the project. Not to you." the teeth came back.
"My orders from the Jedi Council were to come here and advise you not to use it. Under any circumstances."
"So this is a peacenik flower parade? Don't shoot the badguys, mister! Just hug them!"
"Trillions of sentient lives are at stake. And that's assuming it's used properly, and nothing goes wrong." Aron remained stoic, hands set palm down on his knees, his face cut from granite.
"Nobody wants to use it. It's the ultimate bigger stick. It won't end this war, Aron. It will end all wars before they ever begin."
"The Jedi don't see any reason for the project to exist. It's too dangerous."
"Cowardly banter, I should-"
"Assume it's time to use it. Hesitate, and whatever force against you will spare no mercy to get to that Cannon and point it right at you. The project is a pure liability. I think you understand that language, sir."
"You dare interrupt me to tell me that?I should discharge you and courtmartial your ass straight into life imprisonment!"
"I dare!" Aron clenched his fists and bared his teeth right back at his father. "That doomsday weapon is even controlled remotely. You can't promise a single sentient in existance it can't be sliced. This is the greatest mistake in  human history, and that's not a Jedi, or a subordinate officer telling you that." Aron's face contorted into a primal sneer.
"That's just me. Your son."
In a nano second, the General was over the desk. One fist clenched Aron's shirt lapel, the other punched him clear out of his chair and onto the floor.

Aron felt his brain come back online and realized he was on his stomach, looking at the yellow reflection of his forehead on the steel floor, and watching blood leak out of his mouth and nose to pool next to it.
"Get out of my office, Aron. Don't make me beat you to a pulp. You damn sure deserve it." his father's voice was barely more than a gutteral growl.
Aron shakily managed to get on all fours, then one knee. With surprising strength, Martellus gripped the back of his collor and hoisted him straight up to his feet.
"You listen to me." His father whispered. He yanked Aron close enough to his face that the young man could smell the cinnemon tart he ate earlier.
"I didn't ask for SoulDestroy. I don't support it. I don't want it to exist either. I'm damn lucky to at least have a little say in the matter." he shook Aron like a child. "You don't. You don't tell me the way things are, or the way they have to be." Martellus glared right into his son's teary eyes, and shook his limp, unresisting body again.
"Now get out of my office!" he shoved Aron into the door.
Aron hit the door, staggered some, but then straightened. He pulled his shirt back down, hit the door button, then turned. Aron Slifer snapped back to full attention, and saluted the general, looking right into his eyes. This time, the Duke looked away first. Aron turned on his heel, and walked away.