Admiral Jhared Montferrat was getting annoyed at all the screaming. It wasn't a noise one usually heard aboard the Devastator. His crew was the best there was, and they took a justified pride in their ship's unique legacy. And right now, that pride couldn't be greater. After months of raiding rebel commerce, the ship was rejoining Vader and his fleet at Endor. The final battle of the war might be in the offing, and that meant that there really wasn't time for distractions. So when the Devastator happened to capture some suspected smugglers on the way into the system, Montferrat's orders were as simple as they were harsh. Which meant there was a lot of screaming.

Montferrat regarded the four shackled men with his single gray eye, his aide stood silently beside him. He'd heard enough of the shackled mens desperate protests about how they weren't rebel spies. Certainly there was the faint possibility that they might be telling the truth about being traders, but ultimately it made no difference. Montferrat had found over his many years of command that it was best to keep a crew focused on their mission. That was one of the many lessons he had learned back in the days when the Devastator served as Darth Vader's personal flagship. A focused crew was a crew less likely to make mistakes, and Montferrat believed in dealing with failures swiftly and definitively.

So an opportunity to demonstrate the penalty for transgressions was always welcome. He gave the stormtroopers a curt nod; they slammed the airlock door, cutting off the screams. One of the smugglers began banging on the window, but Montferrat didn't bother to look-though his aide had, their widened eyes locked onto the window. Montferrat hoped if his day ever came, he'd meet it with more dignity than the men he was dispatching. The stormtroopers cycled the airlock and the banging stopped.