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Do and die
For Lorth Needa, Captain of the Imperial Star Destroyer Avenger, the situation changed from ‘a triumph’ to ‘potentially fatal’ within a matter of minutes. He had been pursuing the Millenium Falcon—after the earlier debacle, he was certain he would catch it this time—when it headed directly for the bridge of the Avenger in what seemed to be a suicidal attack run—what was wrong with the pilot?—and then vanished off the radar.
‘They may come around for another pass’, he said to his crew, but the nagging feeling in his stomach told him that this hope would be in vain, which was confirmed by the tracking officer a few seconds later. Just how had the kriffing ship managed to slip away? Ships of that size were not equipped with a cloaking device. But brooding about this would not help, the ship had disappeared, and Lord Vader would certainly be less than thrilled at Needa’s repeated failure. Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die…
‘Captain, Lord Vader demands an update on the pursuit’, his comms officer stated.
His is to make reply: ‘Needa has blundered’. For someone that just signed his own death warrant, Needa found himself remarkably calm, almost serene. He knew what his duty now consisted of, and though he had repeatedly failed to do it to Lord Vader’s standards, he would not fail now, not this final time.
He turned to his second-in-command. ‘Get a shuttle ready.’
The man looked down, and for a second Needa thought he would try to dissuade him, but the man stayed silent.
‘I shall assume full responsibility for losing them, and apologise to Lord Vader. Meanwhile, continue to scan the area’, Needa added. Some of the crew gaped at him; everyone knew what his fate would be, of course. Nevertheless, it was his duty to apologise to Lord Vader in person: as a captain, he was responsible for whatever happened on the ship and, as this blunder had been his and solely his, apologising in person would hopefully prevent Lord Vader from meting out collective punishment on his innocent crew. Additionally, honour demanded that he accept the consequences of his actions and submit to whatever punishment his commander deemed fit, even if it was the loss of his life. To apologise over comms would be a coward’s move, and while he would be remembered as a reckless fool—if indeed he was remembered at all—he did not want his legacy to be that of a dishonourable coward. He had to content himself with the prospect of dying a good and—most importantly—just death; accepting his deserved fate without showing emotions almost washed out the stain of failure.
There was not much left to do, his affairs were in order—they had been in order for a long time, as naval officers were not exactly known for their long lifespans— and his second-in-command had been briefed. Hopefully the man would be given the captaincy, he had been an able second and would without a doubt make an able captain as well. When it was time to step into the shuttle, Needa hesitated. He did not want to leave the Avenger; she was a wonderful ship with a wonderful crew, and, despite his own rather mixed overall success, he had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of his captaincy. No use delaying the obvious, Lorth, you only make it harder on yourself. The short hop to the Executor still left him with far too much time for his thoughts, but with not enough time to process what was truly happening. Into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell.
‘Admiral, you need not have bothered with playing the welcoming committee for me’, Needa said and saluted Piett.
When Needa had heard of Piett’s sudden promotion to Admiral, he had not been too pleased—not because he had been particularly close to or had liked Ozzel, whatever Ozzel himself had thought—but because he had always been wary of Piett: the man never betrayed any emotion, which made it impossible to know whether he approved or disapproved of Needa (it was probably the latter), and Needa had not been sure whether Piett had been promoted because he was an exceptional commander or just exceptional at shifting the blame onto others. In hindsight, Needa’s first reaction to Piett’s field promotion had been rather churlish: how had he failed to recognise the man’s obvious talents, both at commanding the fleet and at staying in Lord Vader’s good graces?
Piett gave a low chuckle but quickly turned serious again. ‘You don’t need to do this, Captain Needa. You know what he will do’, he said, his eyes conveying the unsaid ‘to you’.
‘I do’, Needa replied. He was ashamed of himself for being grateful that Piett offered him a way out.
‘Then allow me to escort you, Captain.’
‘You don’t need to do that, sir’.
‘I do’, Piett replied and set off before Needa could protest further, leaving him no other option than to follow along. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to turn and run. Back to the shuttle. Anywhere. Just run. His legs stretching, his heart pounding, huffing, puffing, sweat running down his back. Alive. If Piett had not been there, would he have dared? Blast these unworthy thoughts! A craven, that is what he had become, how far he had sunken.
On and on he and Piett went. Half a klick, half a klick onward. Had the hallways of the Executor always been this long? Were the ordinary crew members he walked past aware of his fate? Past the corridor that led to Lord Vader’s private quarters. Past the conference rooms. Past anything that promised a quiet death. To the last, he had dared to hope that Lord Vader would at least give him the dignity of a private execution, but that was apparently not the case: it was to be on the bridge, where everyone could witness what happened to incompetent fools. Perhaps his death was to serve as a deterrent to others; or worse, perhaps it was meant as the ultimate humiliation, to show him just how much of a failure he was. Did he truly deserve such a fate? Would his remains be treated equally undignified? Would they be jetted out of an airlock together with freshly-compressed rubbish rather than be returned to his family on Coruscant for burial? It became harder and harder to ignore his shaky knees and dry mouth. His lungs were gasping for air already and Lord Vader was not even in sight yet. Something touched his arm and he almost jumped. It was only Piett. Piett, who bade him to stop. Piett, who took up a position by his side with a small bow. By protocol, Needa should have been the one bowing.
‘It has been an honour serving with you, Lorth’, Piett said and sounded like he meant it.
‘Likewise, Admiral’. Though far too briefly.
‘Oh, please call me Firmus.’
‘Thank you, Firmus’.
‘I am sorry it has to be this way.’ And for a second, Piett’s well-maintained mask slipped and there was genuine sadness underneath.
Then the respirator from afar… coming closer and closer, the heavy thump of boots, the black cape, until he was stood in front of Lord Vader in all his glory. Silence…except Lord Vader’s breaths, amplified by the respirator. Needa’s command of Basic threatened to fail. He had promised himself he would not be afraid, would not beg for his life, but now that he was eye to eye with Lord Vader, it was difficult to get ahold of himself. Deep breath, Lorth. While you still can…
‘Captain Needa’, Lord Vader rumbled, accentuating every syllable.
‘My Lord, I accept the full and sole responsibility for the Millennium Falcon’s escape. I failed you and for that I apologise.’ Needa tried to keep his voice as firm as possible, but it sounded creaky and foreign, too harsh and too soft, too fast and too slow all at once.
‘You did indeed’, Lord Vader replied.
Needa tried to breathe but no air came. He did not want to die. Not like this. He fumbled and clawed at his collar. Anything to make the crushing force go away. I am sorry, my Lord. So sorry. He gargled. Don’t beg him. Stay silent. Everything turned black. Constancy. Lord Vader said something. Couldn’t hear. Dignity. Knees buckled. Honour. He fell. Fell, fell, fell…