Lacking the intimate knowledge of Alliance values that "Constance" held, Lucifer found no disturbing enigma in the sacrificial behavior of the insurgent pilots. He attributed it merely to their fanatical dedication to their pathetic rebellion. Having never known much beyond the Confederation, Vice naturally assumed the Alliance was virtually the same in its desires and priorities, the only real difference being that it lacked the strength of the Confederation. Their training methods must have been similar, emphasizing the great honor and glory involved in going up in flames for your kinsmen. What a load of bantha poodoo. If these fools sought a heroic end, the cold doctor was only too ready to give it to them. Courageous maybe, but fools nonetheless.

No uneasy suspicions grasped at his thoughts as the final X-wing was reduced to just another insignificant little cloud of debris, the cadet relaxing a fraction with the belief that there were no longer any hot weapons nearby looking to vape him. He was not so foolish as to ignore his screen however, and before Commander Bravil's order had even finished being formed he was riding her tail hard away from the kamikaze cruiser. No illusion formed in his mind that the boarding parties had any chance of survival but this bothered him no more than the certain fate of the Azure's crew. It did however surprise him, this extreme measure the large Alliance ship had gone to. From all he'd seen of naval officers in the Confederation, their own conditioning did not include the suicidal quest for glory that was instilled in the starfighter corps. Few, he imagined, were the black-clad captains who would order the purposeful overload of his ship's reactor core under any circumstances.

Considering the alternatives however, he found he couldn't fault the foolish rebels their final move. He himself had been cordially introduced to the hospitality the Confederation offered suspected terrorists, and his interrogation had lasted no longer than a week before charges had been dropped and he'd been released. The men and women aboard the Quasar Fire-class cruiser would have been given no such reprieve, their own torments lasting much longer and ultimately ending only when their bodies could stand no more and simply quit. One gloved hand moved from Lucifer's controls to his helmet, running down the currently invisible line that marred his face. No, he couldn't fault them at all.

Of all those thoughts not a thing was voiced except for a tranquil assessment of "Fascinating." The only emotion evoked by all that had happened was gratitude that neither he nor his commander nor the Inquisitor had been destroyed. Death would have ended his ambitions rather abruptly, and he didn't fancy being stuck in Alderaan space in nothing but a TIE Interceptor, a ship equipped with neither shields nor hyperdrive. Bravil's death would have been intolerably inconvenient and annoying, especially after (he believed) he'd managed to make a good impression. She was central to his current view for his future, a path that would bring him closer to his goal. An invaluable and appreciated steppingstone to be sure, but a steppingstone she remained.

Immediate threats neutralized, Vice hung in formation with the remains of Red Squadron, awaiting orders. He wasn't certain just how many boarding shuttles The Inquisitor held, but after the results of this last encounter he imagined this little quest was likely nearing its end.