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Chapter Text

The words were starting to blur in front of him. 

Piett scrunched his eyes together and it felt as though sand was lodged under his lids.

How long had he been staring at these screens? 

He rose, muscles aching, and stretched, rolling his neck a few times in a futile attempt to loosen it. 

He glanced at the chronometer and was depressed. 

0100.

But Ozzel had demanded he get these summaries finished by the time he came on shift, and Piett was far too new to his rank as Captain of the Lady to point out that these particular assignments were completely the Admiral’s purview, not his.

And when Vader was off ship on one of his mysterious missions, Piett was well aware that he was unprotected from Ozzel’s ire. The man had been a barely contained vessel of seething rage and resentment the moment that Lord Vader had promoted Piett.  And it wasn’t that Firmus was afraid of Ozzel. Oh no. He had dealt with bullies and oppressors of this sort all his life. 

But he had the responsibility to the ship at large to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Tension and open hostilities between the Admiral and the Captain would not do.

One of them at least, would be professional, and Piett would do his damndest to make sure it was him. 

So he punched the button for his kettle to heat more hot water for the eternal mugs of tea he was downing, and then searched in his drawer for the wooden box containing the fragrant Axxilan spices he favored. 

The door to his office hissed open unexpectedly, and he jerked his head up in surprise to see General Veers entering.

“Max…” he began, a tired smile forming and then fading as his friend didn’t even look at him and instead directed several troopers in with him.

“Search everything,” he ordered coldly. “I will not tolerate a sloppy job.”

Piett blinked, his lungs tight.

“Veers, what’s happening?” he asked, bewildered and wondering if he was experiencing a nightmare.

“Captain Piett, “ Veers snapped, wheeling on him, no trace of the friend present in that iron mask, “You are accused of conspiring with the Rebellion and therefore, treason to the Empire. I suggest you remain silent and submit yourself to the justice of the Imperial Forces.”

He felt physically ill. 

Surely Veers didn’t believe that?

Max had been a stalwart friend for two years now. They had fought side by side. Shed blood together. Worked hard to unify the crew of the Lady, despite her kriffing idiot of an Admiral. 

“I would never…” he whispered hoarsely as two troopers came to flank him while the others began pulling his prized books from the shelves and tossing them to the floor. 

“Please,” he tried. “I will cooperate, but there is no need to just destroy —-” 

“Shut up!” Veers barked, nodding at the troopers, who gripped his arms in a fierce hold and twisted them behind his back so they could snap binders around his wrists. “You have lost any privileges to ask for anything, you traitorous bastard .”

The troopers cleared his shelves with reckless abandon—-various lovely rocks shattering on the floor and books with real flimsi losing pages. He had three tiny trees in his office and these were swept from his desk to be crushed and trampled—the soil smearing his carpet and the little needles giving off their dying fragrance.

“No—” he began as a trooper lifted the beautiful tall ship that Max himself had carved and given to him last life day.

Veers backhanded him viciously across the face, and Piett tasted the copper of his blood as the ship model was flung to the floor, breaking into thousands of pieces.

His chest hurt in ways he couldn’t describe.

“Sir!” exclaimed one of the troopers after sifting through the wreckage. He came forward with a small drive in his hand which he offered to Veers.

The General looked at Piett with a most forbidding expression.

“Bring him. Inform the Admiral that I have some evidence and I am verifying it.”

He plugged the drive into his datapad and proceeded out the door of Piett’s office. 

The Captain was roughly shoved after him and not once did Veers turn to look at him—too preoccupied with whatever he was doing on the datapad.

Piett knew he had done nothing. 

His mind was spinning furiously as he attempted to speculate what he was being accused of and by whom. 

The most likely culprit was Ozzel. The Admiral hated him and if Lord Vader was off the ship, this seemed like an opportune moment for him to get rid of the Rimmer Captain. 

But that Veers should be so whole heartedly part of this…

That did not make sense to him and he was desperate to ask the General what had him so convinced that Piett was a traitor. 

They entered a lift and the lights flickered red at them briefly.

Well she was not happy with the situation either. 

All of the others except Piett looked up and frowned, but the lift proceeded as ordered. Veers narrowed his eyes, meeting Piett’s gaze for the first time since they’d left the office, but then he returned his attention to the data pad.

And Piett wasn’t really certain what the Lady might do here. He was positive that she was far more than her AI. But at the same time, Lord Vader had told him personally that her… unique character, was not to be discussed. 

He doubted she would reveal her nature to the entire ship’s crew just for her Captain. 

And he wouldn’t want her to. 

The doors hissed open and Piett realized that Veers was taking them to one of the main hangar bays.

Why?

If he was under arrest, surely he should be headed for detention?

And then, as they neared a transport shuttle, two officers in the dead white of the ISB uniform stepped forward.

Oh.

Oh kark .

He was the Fleet Captain of Death Squadron. He should have seen this coming. Betrayal at this level was automatically the purview of the ISB. 

Ozzel came puffing up from another direction, his expression warring between irritation and pleasure.

“Ah…yes. Thank you, Veers.” He paused to take in a few breaths, face rather red from his exertions. “But I had thought this was an internal matter…”

“I was under the impression you desired to go by the book, Admiral,” Veers said in cold, professional tones. “Naturally, I contacted the ISB right away.”

“Ah…naturally, naturally,” Ozzel agreed, small eyes darting shiftily to the hatchet faced ISB officers. 

“Here is the evidence I discovered in his office,” Veers continued, handing the data chip to the woman on the left. “And I will, of course, assist and comply with any questions you may have. I realize I have made the egregious mistake of allowing myself to be on friendly terms with the traitor.”

“Thank you, General Veers,” she replied, taking the chip and curling her lip in Piett’s direction. “Your zealousness for justice in this matter has been noted. If we need you, we will be in contact. And with you, Admiral,” she continued, looking over to Ozzel.

Piett felt as though he had been left to soak in ice water. He was numb and could feel his hands shaking in the tight grip of the binders behind his back. 

“ I certainly had nothing to do with his gross betrayal,” Ozzel protested. “I am only too glad to see that my initial impressions of him were absolutely correct.”

“Regardless, Admiral,” the woman said with relentless menace, “We may have some questions for you as well.”

Not daring to vent his ire about this at her, Ozzel glared at Piett instead. 

“Fine, fine. Glad to see the back of him.”

Piett felt like he couldn’t breathe and tried once more.

“Veers—-” he started, silently begging his friend not to abandon him like this. 

“Silence!” snapped the taller ISB agent, motioning for the troopers to take Piett into the hold of the shuttle.

Veers didn’t flinch and didn’t look at him. 

A light in the far left corner of the bay flickered. Piett was certain he was the only one to see it, and he was equally certain that had been his Lady. What she was trying to communicate to him however, he wasn’t sure. Usually, she used that little flicker to let him know she was with him.

But as he was roughly shoved onto one of the passenger seats of the shuttle, he didn’t know what she could do.

They cuffed his ankles to the deck and his wrists to the arms of the seat before the female ISB officer leaned in and ripped the rank bars from his jacket as the landing ramp went up, cutting off his view of the hangar bay.

“You won’t be needing these anymore, Piett,” she told him nastily. 

He felt the last tug of the Lady’s gravity as they passed through the energy barrier and then the familiar pressure of the hyperdrive engaging pushed upon his chest. 

Piett leaned his head back against the bulkhead and stared at the roof of the shuttle.

He was innocent. 

But clearly someone had planted ‘evidence’----enough so that Veers had brought in the ISB. 

It was not pleasant to ruminate on what was going to happen to him. They would not believe him when he said that he was not a traitor. They would do whatever it took to get a confession from him. 

So Piett had a choice. He could lie and confess to his supposed treason. 

Or he could stick to the truth—-that he was innocent of all charges.

And the thing was, he considered, his stomach roiling with nausea, he had no idea what actions he was being accused of. Even if he did ‘confess’, they would see right through it as he actually didn’t know his crimes.

Kark .

Very well.

He hated the idea of giving in to this anyway. To lying and admitting to betrayal. So he would die protesting innocence, and whoever thought otherwise could get kriffed.

But the dying was not going to be pleasant or brief.

He tried not to shudder at this thought. Piett was not new to suffering. But to suffer needlessly…

To be tortured mercilessly for something he had not done nor would consider doing…

He clenched his jaw and his fingers, determined not to show fear if he could help it. 

They would see it soon enough. He knew the human body could only take so much and ISB were very good at what they did. 

Despair was blowing her cold breath down his neck.

It was very tempting to give in to her. 

But Piett had always been a fighter, and even now, when there was no hope for him, he found that he could not just surrender.

He would endure, even if such fortitude was utterly useless. 

He would not die a coward.

Chapter Text

Veers glanced around the Admiral’s office, and considered the individuals present.

Ozzel’s aide—a snivelly, narrow faced officer whose only skill set, as far as Veers could make out, was listening to other people’s conversations and narking to the Admiral. 

The chief weapons officer was also there—a big boned woman with intensely purple eyes and a cruel mouth.

The Captains of both Devastator and Tyrant were also present—-the first, a white haired man with the most Core credentials in Death Squadron and a personal friend of the Admiral’s. The second was an attractive woman from Corellia. Veers had never met her personally, but her reputation as a fiercely staunch Imperial and a rising favorite with the Emperor preceded her. 

Finally, Veers himself, and the second officer—-another Core worlder and an Ozzel syncophant.

Every one of Veers’ instincts warned ‘danger’ and he kept his expression at its most ‘Iron’ as Ozzel began to speak. 

“I appreciate you all joining me,” he said, smoothing a hand over his moustache. It was something he prided himself on and he was always stroking it during meetings. “I am sorry for the nature of this gathering, however.”

He sounded anything but saddened. Indeed, Veers got the impression he was doing his best to suppress his delight. His mouth kept twitching at the corners.

“It has come to my attention,” Ozzel continued, “that we have a traitor among us. Oh, not this gathering—-” he hastened to add with a deprecating laugh. “But within the highest level of command in the fleet. I trust you all the most as individuals with the ah… right backgrounds. I would ask you to discreetly begin looking into your ships, starting with the senior bridge crews. I will of course, make certain that the flagship sets the tone for vigilance, and shall have all senior officers investigated thoroughly. I would ask you to help facilitate this smoothly.”

A traitor.

Veers knew it wasn’t impossible—-even in Lord Vader’s personal squadron. But it was interesting that Ozzel had chosen those assembled based on their backgrounds. 

“General Veers.”

He met Ozzel’s gaze impassively.

“Sir.”

“You have been included in this meeting because of your exemplary record, and the high esteem in which your family name is held within the Empire. I trust you will not allow any personal sentiments to interfere with this investigation.”

Ozzel could mean only one thing by that—-Piett was among those who would be investigated.

A test of loyalty then. 

The General’s mind worked furiously, but outwardly he remained cold.

“Of course not, Admiral,” he replied. 

Was this also a warning to him? Possibly. Though it was a small crumb of comfort that he had been included at all. Ozzel may question his judgment in befriending the Axxilan captain, but the prestige of the Veers’ family name going back several generations was clearly enough to make the Admiral believe he would be on his side.

Ozzel gave him a pretentious little nod.

“Very well. That is all. I trust you all not to speak of this outside your most discreet investigations. I would prefer to deal with this internally.”

A murmur of agreement sounded all around and they rose. 

Veers lingered to say a few forgettable words to Devastator’s Captain. The man had known his father and they were able to explain distant pleasantries. This allowed Veers not to look as though he was rushing from the meeting, though he was keen to do so and warn Piett.

As he was striding toward the Captain’s office, he remembered that Piett was on the bridge and cursed his luck. No chance of a private conversation there without raising suspicion.

He ate his dinner in the officer’s mess alone, still ruminating on all the angles that Ozzel’s meeting had brought up. When he rose and bussed his tray, a very unwelcome thought had won out over all others.

Was there really a traitor at all?

It was not impossible that Ozzel was actually trying to be subtle for once in his life. But…

A traitor in the highest ranks was utterly the purview of ISB. 

Veers’ mind played boonta ball back and forth.

If the Admiral was not certain where the traitor was in the Fleet, bringing in ISB could scare them off.

Typically, however, Ozzel was an incredibly by the book officer. It allowed him to not have to think very hard. 

So why did he want to find this so called traitor WITHOUT ISB?

So preoccupied was he with these thoughts he almost ran directly into Tom Venka who was striding hurriedly in the opposite direction.

He emitted an awkward squawk and flailed slightly on the polished deck.

“Veers! I was just coming to find you! We need to talk.”

The man had the air of a hunted animal, face strained and eyes wide.

“My office,” Veers replied curtly, his stomach rolling with unease. 

He strode toward the office he rarely used as he was usually to be found with his Herd near the hangar bay. He had a small office here in the command tower however, as it could be useful sometimes during busy periods.

Once they had both entered, he activated security protocols and gestured at Piett’s first officer.

“Out with it. What’s happened?”

“Sir,” Venka said, visibly striving to compose himself, hands clenched together tightly in front of him. “I overheard something. Something I would take to the Captain normally, but I—-”

“Venka—” Veers interjected, just about managing not to grind his teeth. “Get. To. The point.”

Tom swallowed and blew out a breath.

“Sir, I have reason to believe that Admiral Ozzel is trying to get rid of Captain Piett.”

And there it was.

The very concern Veers had been battling since that meeting in Ozzel’s office.

“Why do you think so, Commander?” he asked, doing his best to keep his tone neutral. 

Venka wiped sweat from his forehead and Veers moved to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle of the Ryndulan 10 BBY. He poured two fingers into the basic glasses he kept just for this purpose and handed one to Venka.

The man took it gratefully and downed it in one swallow.

“I was just around the corner from the bridge, sir,” he said, fiddling with the empty glass. “I’d realized that I hadn’t finished filling out a requisitions form that the Admiral required, so I was quickly doing it before I entered the bridge. And I heard Admiral Ozzel and someone else I couldn’t see—it sounded like Colonel Jymrea. She was asking him something and I am not sure what as I was only half paying attention. But then Ozzel said, ‘oh it’s done. Shrriever planted it earlier. We’ll be rid of that Axxilan blight soon enough’. And then the Colonel said– ‘and after that?’ The Admiral just laughed, sir, and said ‘the Lady is a big ship’.”

Veers took a measured sip of the whiskey and allowed the burn to fill his senses.

“Sir—” Venka said, lifting haunted eyes to his, “Do you think they planted a bomb? And if so, where?”

But Veers wasn’t worried about a bomb. Ozzel was a fool, but not that much of a fool. An assassination was messy and would require the sort of investigation that could go wrong. No, accusations of treason and disloyalty were far more effective. It was the fact that Ozzel had said that last comment which troubled him the most.

But given the tenuous situation and the need to not reveal what he knew…

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Commander,” he said, draining his glass, “I will take things from here. We must be as discreet as possible.”

“But, sir, if there is a bomb…” Venka protested. Veers appreciated the man’s loyalty to the Captain. But he had to move fast now to get ahead of Ozzel and didn’t have time to reassure Venka.

“It’s not a bomb,” he said confidently. “Ozzel wouldn’t do that. Thank you, Tom. I have this.”

And he ushered the very stressed Commander out of his office, then moved to the middle of the room and frowned in thought.

‘Evidence’ of the Captain’s betrayal would be difficult to plant in his personal quarters. Which meant that his office was the more likely place. The cameras aboard the Lady would show that Tom had come to him in distress. His actions now would make sense for what he had in mind. 

And he hated this plan.

But it was the only thing he could think of to do. Because he was rather certain that Ozzel intended to arrest Piett and then have him… disappear . Dealing with the matter internally…

No, he couldn’t risk that. 

Piett had to get off the ship. 

And that meant Veers must go ‘by the book’. 

So he tapped secure comms to the senior ISB officer. They agreed to meet in the man’s office several decks down to go over Veers’ ‘evidence’. 

By the time they had agreed on a course of action and arranged for transport, it was late. 

Veers rose and volunteered to lead the arresting party. The understanding look of admiration he received from the ISB officer made him want to vomit. 

He was about to betray his dearest friend in the worst way possible. 

Piett’s welcoming smile as he entered the familiar office made his lungs constrict in pain.

It was nothing however, to watching the destruction of Firmus’s office—it was as though little pieces of Piett were murdered before his eyes. But it could not be Veers himself who searched—-to save his friend, he must be the ruthless bastard.

When the ship he’d spent uncountable hours carving smashed to the floor, Piett made a small pained noise in his throat that wounded Veers to the core.

And the betrayal in those hazel eyes when Piett said his name—-willing Veers to be the man that he’d known. 

But he was not the ‘Iron General’ for nothing, and even though Piett could not possibly understand his actions at this moment, he must lean wholly into that persona to save his friend’s life.

So he did not even look at the diminutive figure of the Captain as he was hauled roughly aboard the shuttle by the ISB. Refused to think about what he was condemning Piett to.

He must recall that he had personally placed a tiny tracking device on that shuttle. His friend was not wholly lost to him. But he must endure.

Once it had departed, he swung around, saluted Ozzel and made his way to his office in the hangar bay housing the Thundering Herd.

Only then, with the door closed and no one to witness, did he break.

Veers placed his palms on his desk and bowed his head, taking deep breaths. Then the rage took over.

He flung holo frames and datapads across the room. His low wooden table smashed into the far wall and he yelled before he turned and punched his weapons locker until his knuckles bled.

At last he stood panting in the midst of the wreckage.

This wouldn’t help Piett.

Glaring at the damage he’d caused, he fetched his medkit and bound up his hand. Then he seated himself in front of his computer.

It took him only a few minutes to see that he would not be able to prepare the message he’d been planning on sending. It had to seem as though it was from Imperial High Command, but he could not find a way to eradicate a trace back to his console.

After shouting profanity at the ceiling for thirty seconds, an idea suddenly lanced into his mind so brightly he was almost dizzy. 

Piett had always said she was…more. 

Time to see just what that meant.

He breathed out and looked up.

“Lady…?” he began tentatively. “I feel foolish doing this, but…this is your Captain we’re talking about. And he says you are special. More than an advanced AI. And if that is so—what I’ve done has likely looked pretty bad from your perspective.”

He paused and considered.

“Of course, if you are—-what I think, then you know what Ozzel was planning. I have to save him. I intend to bring him back. But I need this command to look genuine, Lady and I can’t—-”

The screen before him shifted, the heading of the message now bearing the official seal of the Imperial High Command. A new tab opened to the side, displaying the routing—-

—which looked utterly official.

Holy Kark.

He felt hope grow within him. If SHE was on his side…

All things were possible.

“All right,” he said, sending a small smile upward. “Thank you. I’m going to write this and then, can you send both Ozzel and myself a copy?”

The lights actually did the little flicker.

She gave him that little flicker he often saw around Piett.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, renewed energy flowing through him. “There’s another command message I’ll need. But this one— Well. It must look as though Lord Vader sent it. Is that…something you can do?”

Immediately a new tab opened on his computer, this one bearing a heading he didn’t recognize. 

He blinked. 

Just how powerful was this mysterious conscience?

“Is that…are you certain that is his?”

Briefly, a generic image of a woman with a look of utter disdain appeared on his screen.

He held up his hands, still filled with incredulity.

“All right. All right. I believe you. Let’s set about saving your Captain shall we?”

His office was bathed momentarily in a warm green light which he took as approval.

“This is what it needs to say…” he began.

A short time later, he was ready to put everything into action and he prayed that his friend was as strong as Veers knew him to be.

*******************

Piett felt the moment that they exited light speed, but knew nothing else.

They had blindfolded him tightly, so he had no idea which ISB station he was arriving at. 

His arms were gripped firmly and he was hauled out of the shuttle.

The air that hit his nose smelled stale and he suspected, therefore, that he was on one of the orbital stations ISB maintained around the galaxy. 

They walked for a long time in silence until at last he heard the sound of a heavy door sliding open and he was shoved forward, someone ripping the blindfold from his head while someone else used a code cylinder on the binders.

He blinked in the light of a very stark and standard Imperial cell. The officer who had taken him into custody stared at him dispassionately while Piett tried to ignore his incredibly sore shoulder muscles. 

“Strip,” snapped the man. “Then put on the jumpsuit.”

Piett’s face burned, but he knew he must not give in. Must not let them see his humiliation. They would see his pain soon enough. But what parts of himself he could preserve, he would fight to do so.

He removed his boots first and then his jacket and henley. As with all Imperial prisons, his cell was cold and he couldn’t help the shiver as he pulled his white t shirt over his head. 

The officer smirked at him. 

“Hurry up,” he said. “I have more important things to take care of.”

Piett tightened his jaw and removed the rest of his uniform, ignoring the cruel eyes of the guards as he slipped on the white jumpsuit. His feet were bare on the cold metal of the floor, but that was all part of their process.

“I suggest you cooperate fully,” the officer sniffed as the guards gathered his discarded uniform. “Or this will be very long and very unpleasant for you.”

“I have done nothing wrong,” Piett said quietly.

“Hard way then,” the man returned, and his smile was full of awful promise as the cell door hissed closed, leaving him in the dark.

Piett paced for as long as he could stand it. 

The cold was already punishing, but he needed to keep his blood flowing. 

At last he was forced to feel for the comfortless bench and seat himself upon it to keep his feet from getting frostbite. The only positive with his lack of height was that he was able to pull the legs of the jumpsuit over his toes in an attempt to keep them slightly warmer.

He thought of the Lady.

He tried to picture himself on the bridge—-walking around the deck in his mind and noting all the details of a well run crew.

But inevitably as hunger and cold increased, his mind replayed his arrest once more. He tried not to recall the terrible contempt written on Veers’ face as his office had been searched. 

Surely…surely there was some explanation? Max couldn’t truly believe he was guilty?

But as ever, Piett’s doubts were winning.

He’d never been the sort of person who was actually… valued.  

He was a competent leader—he knew that—but that only meant he could be useful. He’d been useful to the Axxilan forces, but there had not been any real friends. Part of that was due to high death rates, but equally, he was not the tall, strong, notable type.

His family had never seen much use for him with the exception of Rilla.

Piett rubbed at his arms, trying to dispel the goosebumps.

It was just the unfortunate truth that he’d merely been useful to Veers. He’d made things more efficient between the navy and the army. Oh, there had been genuine friendly feeling, of that he was sure. Veers was not the sort to have shallow friendships, so the only conclusion Firmus could reach was that the General truly believed Piett had betrayed them all. Loyalty was one of Veers’ most prized values, and if he believed Piett had violated that, then any friendly feeling would be crushed in service to his duty.

He must have slept at some point, but he was not in any way rested when the doors hissed open, blinding him with the light from the corridor. 

“Let’s go,” said a harsh female voice, and his arms were twisted behind his back once more and his ankles shackled with a short length of chain in between.

This made it very difficult to walk, but that didn’t bother his captors. 

He was ushered into a steel grey interrogation room and temporarily freed so that they could shove him into a chair bolted to the floor.

His ankles were locked to the front legs and then they placed his arms on the metal table before him. Cold binders clicked home right above his elbows and the second set closed around his wrists, his forearms facing up. 

He was left alone and he looked around.

Piett had never been in an ISB interrogation room and it was not that different from the standard rooms in any detention facility. He suspected that this was much more secure and that there were numerous cameras around hidden from his view. 

At last, the door opened once more to admit the officers who had arrested him in the first place followed by two burly guards—-the sort who looked like they would be more at home in a wrestling arena than in uniform.

Force give him strength.

“I am Commander Praxis,” said the man, standing opposite Piett with his hands behind his back. “My colleague, Agent Yalla.”

The woman was very tall, easily five inches more than Piett. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“We have gone over the material hidden in your office,” Praxis continued while Piett worked on his most impassive expression. “Very sensitive material, Piett. The type only an officer of your rank could access. To whom were you going to give it?”

Piett breathed out slowly through his nose.

“That was planted there,” he said. “I have not betrayed the Empire.”

Yalla rolled her eyes.

“The evidence is overwhelming,” she drawled. “Even an Axxilan should have the intelligence to see that. This denial is futile.”

“And you will place us in the position to use force,” added Praxis. But he didn’t look reluctant. No, there was an eager light in those pale eyes. This man enjoyed causing pain. 

“I am not lying,” Piett reiterated, glaring up at them both.

“Very well,” Praxis replied, nodding at one of the guards. 

Piett had thought they would start with the interrogation drugs which were standard. Instead, the guard pulled a thick truncheon, coated in nerf leather, from his belt.

A small breeze touched Piett’s face as the man brought it down on his unprotected left arm. It was not hard enough to break bone, but it hurt sharply. Piett pressed his lips together.

Another blow on the same arm.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Piett clenched his fists and bowed his head, fighting the throbbing pain radiating up his arm. The guard was relentless and Piett was shaking a little before the order came to stop.

“Now then,” the woman said, leaning in close. She was a smoker, Piett noted distantly. “Trust me when we say, we are very good at what we do. We have no intention of breaking your bones. Yet. But soft tissue damage? That can go on for days .”

“To whom did you intend to give the drive?” asked Praxis once more, seating himself in the chair across the table and crossing one leg over the other. 

“I am—innocent,” Piett panted.

The Commander nodded at the guard. 

The same arm.

Blow after blow after blow.

Piett could not help but cry out this time, as tears of agony ran down his face. 

His wrists were already raw and sore from his frantic tugging to escape the pain. 

This continued for hours. They switched arms two hours into it. Four hours in they gave him a shot to keep him conscious, unable to escape from the excruciating feeling of increasing nerve and muscle damage. His left arm was already becoming a mottled canvas of bruises in dark reds and blues.

At last, barely conscious despite the drugs, he was released and dragged back to his cell to be dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

Darkness closed around him and he lay bonelessly, desperate to pass out, but unable to. 

He found he could barely move his fingers and the terrible fear of truly being helpless—so damaged as to be unable to move—had him retching even though there was nothing in his stomach.

A distant part of him knew he should move to the bench so as not to risk more tissue damage on the cold floor. 

But he had no strength.

What was the point anyway.

Perhaps he would just die of hypothermia.

No.

They wouldn’t let him.

And he was ashamed of himself for wanting to give up so easily. Even though there was no chance of salvation, he could make it hard for them. Be the stubborn bastard Veers had always said he was. 

He used his shoulder to shove off of the floor. It felt as though he was being stabbed repeatedly, his arms nearly useless. He forced himself to flex the fingers on both hands to try and keep blood flowing.

This nearly had him pass out and he retched again, but it got easier as he did it. At last, Piett regained some semblance of control over his body and managed to make it to the bench, collapsing upon it and welcoming unconsciousness with a sob.

Chapter Text

“Well this is not particularly convenient is it, Veers?” Ozzel puffed, tapping the computer screen on his desk.

Veers stood at attention on the other side of the desk, face impassive as he waited for the Admiral.

“No, Admiral, but it is expected. I will, naturally, cooperate in all ways possible.”

Ozzel nodded ponderously in approval, moving away from the desk and toward the viewport. 

“Unfortunate you did not heed my warnings about the sort of…company you kept, General,” he mused, hands clasped behind his back. 

Veers breathed out slowly, reminding himself of the long game here and keeping his rage at bay.

“It is indeed, Admiral. Once again, you have my apologies for my error in judgement. Colonel Travis has already been briefed that I will be gone for a few days and is admirably suited to running the Herd in my absence.”

“Good, good,” Ozzel agreed, turning back to face him. “Well—who am I to deny High Command a review of their officer?” He laughed in that pretentious way of his, and came to slap Veers on the back.

“Glad you’ve seen the error of  your ways, General. I have put in a good word for you—mentioned your zeal to make things right once you realized the sort of traitorous filth we were dealing with.”

He pictured himself punching Ozzel in the face so hard that his nose flattened. Or—more pleasing—Vader throwing him through a viewport.

“I appreciate that, sir,” he said outwardly, ever the faithful Imperial officer.

“Report in when you return,” Ozzel said, already turning back to his computer. 

“Yes, sir,” Veers replied stiffly and left the office to make his way down to the hangar decks. 

Travis was waiting beside his shuttle, looking quite sober. Understandable. As far as he knew his commanding officer was potentially going to a career ending meeting—kriff, possibly a life ending one if they felt he was complicit in Piett’s ‘treason’. 

But now was not the time to enlighten Travis. 

“Best of luck, General,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’ll be here when you return.”

He put extra stress on that last statement and Veers gripped his hand gratefully. 

“I appreciate that, Colonel,” he said, and returned the sharp salute that he received.

Then he boarded the shuttle and initiated the start up sequence.

And did he imagine that, or did those bay lights straight ahead just flicker at him?

“I’ll bring him back, Lady,” he murmured as the shuttle moved forward. “Or die trying.”

He cleared the energy barrier and then piloted to the edge of the fleet before he pulled on the hyperdrive.

And only then did he allow himself to relax his rigid posture. 

The first hurdle had been completed flawlessly. The next would prove just how capable the Lady was in her forgery efforts.

Veers set his course, following the tracking beacon he’d placed on the ISB shuttle and then slept fitfully, his dreams plagued with Piett’s battered body—his friend having died before he could reach him. In some versions Veers’ shuttle exploded. And in one nightmare, he was throttled by Lord Vader.

At last he got up and spent a long time in the fresher, allowing the sonic waves to soothe tense muscles before he got dressed once again. There was a small water supply for the shower, but he was saving that for Piett. 

He checked all his supplies for the millionth time, and then the proximity alert beeped and he moved to seat himself in the pilot’s chair once more. 

He took the shuttle out of hyperspace and was glad to discover his theory had been correct—-this was an orbital station. He would have been willing to brazen this mission out planetside, but a getaway was easier if one was already in space and could go to lightspeed. 

He’d arranged for the Lady to send his ‘orders’ to the station commander about two hours before he was due to arrive. He had to hope she had done exactly that. 

“Imperial Shuttle, please identify,” came the dry voice over his comms.

“This is Shuttle Achilleus,” he said, tapping the switch. “General Maximilian Veers requesting landing permission.”

There was a brief pause.

“Permission granted, General. Pad 4.”

He followed the landing codes he was sent and brought the shuttle down as smoothly as he could. He was an army man. He stayed current with his piloting requirements, but there was a reason he wasn’t in the navy. 

As the landing ramp hissed down, three officers exited the station and waited for him at the head of the walkway leading to his landing pad.

Veers had no intention of being intimidated by ISB.

He made certain his sidearm was firmly in the holster and then tugged his cap a little before he squared his shoulders and strode down the ramp with a stately pace.

They waited for him, the Commander who had arrested Piett, standing at their head.

“General,” he said. 

“I trust you received the same orders that I did,” Veers returned with a curt head nod.

Had he?

“Quite,” the Commander replied. “Follow me please, Veers.”

He turned and Veers joined the group to enter the space station. It was soulless in the extreme. Veers had seen a great deal of Imperial engineering and architecture, but this made Star Destroyers look positively welcoming. 

Even the flooring was flat, gunmetal grey—no glossy black corridors here. He was led into a very intimidating office full of sharp angles and heavy furniture.

All designed to instill fear.

But Veers was not someone who had been intimidated in his life (with the exception of wooing Myra, but that was different) and he calmly waited as the doors hissed closed and the Commander lifted a data pad from the massive desk.

“Highly unusual, General,” said, frowning at his pad. “I’ve never heard of a senior General being ordered to retrieve a prisoner.”

Veers breathed out and inclined his head.

“Agreed, Commander, but then mine is not to question why. Lord Vader was quite clear.”

The Commander put down the datapad and folded his arms.

“He was your friend wasn’t he? The Captain?”

“That is a stronger term than reality, Commander,” Veers lied. “But it is possible I am being punished for making the mistake of becoming friendly with a traitor. If so, I will carry out Lord Vader’s orders, come what may.”

The other man shook his head, mouth curling a little.

“You’re a cold kriffer, Veers. But that is what makes you an ideal Imperial officer. Any idea why Lord Vader wishes to question the prisoner himself? I can assure you we are doing good work. He’ll break anytime now.”

Veers thought unprintable things.

“Lord Vader does not tend to take me into his confidence, Commander,” he replied glacially. Time to remind this Huttsucking bastard who he was speaking to. “I merely carry out his orders to the best of my ability. And if that includes this task, I am honored to complete it.”

“Very well,” the Commander said. “He’s a stubborn one. A good challenge. I’m a bit disappointed not to crack him myself, but ah well.”

There was one mad, furious moment where a red haze crossed Veers’ vision, and he considered throwing all caution to the wind in favor of murdering every ISB agent aboard with his bare hands. 

Instead he merely smiled his most predatory smile at the Commander and gestured toward the door. 

“Shall we?”

It was minutely gratifying that the man swallowed uncomfortably before he moved ahead of Veers and out the door.

They entered a lift and plunged down ten levels to the rounded cylindrical base of the station where the cells were located. 

It was dark and unpleasant, the only light spots located where guard stations were.

“Wait here,” the Commander said at one of these stations, and then proceeded to go a ways further down one of the corridors to the right. 

Veers was itching to follow him, but he must do everything by the book until he had Piett safely away from this hell.

And so he waited.

********************

Piett couldn’t stop the shivering now. 

He was well aware he had a fever—even in the cold of his cell he would get too warm and then plunge back into near hypothermic chills. 

He lay helplessly against one of the walls, unable to move given the damage they’d done to his right knee with his one escape attempt.

How long had it been?

Likely no more than three days, Piett estimated. They’d given him some water this morning for the first time. But nothing to eat. The ISB knew how to walk the thin line of keeping a prisoner alive for torture, but too weak to resist. 

The fire was growing in his lungs. 

He’d known it would given how cold they kept the cells and his proclivity to chest infections. He’d imagined Henley giving his tormenters a piece of his mind for many happy hours. He might have to tell the Doctor that. That picturing the CMO eviscerating the ISB had kept Piett going.

Of course, he was never going to see Henley again. Or his Lady. Or—-

The door hissed open.

He blinked against the light, unable to even raise his arm to shield his eyes. 

“Well, Piett. Seems that Lord Vader is impatient.”

The Commander stepped into the cell and smirked down at him. 

Piett stared at him, completely confused.

“He wishes to question you himself. You’re going to wish you had told me everything. Now you’ll find out what it’s like to have a Sith Lord turn your mind inside out. And you’ll be conscious while he does it.”

He turned to speak over his shoulder. “Cuff him.”

Two guards stepped in and twisted his arms behind his back. Piett cried out in exquisite agony at this as they placed binders around already lacerated wrists and gripped his ruined arms to haul him upright.

“Stand up, damn you!” snapped one.

“Can’t,” Piett panted, bending over to cough. This caused pain so violent he really thought he might pass out. 

“Drag him,” the Commander said curtly, and Piett was hauled up, his body sliding along the smooth floor and head hanging so that he could only see the boots of his guards and the grooves of the metal joins passing by beneath him.

At last they reached a desk and someone spoke with a voice so familiar that Piett thought he must be hallucinating.

“He is alive , isn’t he? Lord Vader will not be best pleased if I show up with a corpse.”

Laughter sounded above his head, but Piett did not have the strength to lift it and confirm the voice’s identity.

“Oh yes. We’re quite good at what we do.”

There was more dragging and they entered a lift. Piett focused on being able to breathe, the agonies running through his body making this difficult. 

At last they exited, and he was dragged further until he realized they had reached a landing platform.

He was going to Lord Vader.

He supposed he should be more frightened about that than he was, but he found he just didn’t have the strength to care that deeply.

He was dumped on the deck of a passenger hold and his binders shackled to a ring beneath one of the seats.

“Traitorous scum,” muttered one of the guards, kicking the bad leg as he exited and Piett bit the inside of his cheek to stop the scream.

The thud of boots on metal radiated through his body, and then a man moved past him to the cockpit while Piett heard the landing ramp go up. 

The engines whined to life and Piett breathed in the scent of plasma and metal and a particularly Imperial smell that he associated with the Lady.

Gravity pressed upon him as the shuttle lifted and then trembled a little as it achieved distance from the space station. 

Then—

Hyperspace.

The boots were back—shiny Imperial boots right in front of his face. 

Then they bent and someone was kneeling before him, reaching to unshackle his hands.

“I’m sorry . Oh, Firmus. I’m so karking sorry . Those sadistic Sithspawn . I hope they all rot in hell for eternity.”

His arms were free, but it made no difference—-he couldn’t move them anyway. 

He blinked up into the face of Maximilian Veers and found once again, the friend in that guilt stricken expression.

“Is…this real?” he croaked.

In answer, Max slid his arms beneath Piett’s body and lifted him swiftly to lay on the medbunk. The pain this brought had him gasping and keening.

“I’m sorry,” Veers repeated in anguish. “Yes, that pain should tell you it’s real, Firmus.”

“All blurs…” he mumbled. This could be another ploy to get him to talk after all. A hallucination.

Something pinched at his collarbone and he saw that a drip line was inserted. 

“Sorry, but I can’t possibly try to set up these lines in your arms,” Veers said apologetically. “I’m getting the nutrient one set now…there.”

Then he bent close to Firmus, large hand resting lightly on his matted hair. 

“This is real. You can know that because…because your Lady helped with all of it. I could never have done all this without her. And only I would know that, Piett. You told me she was special. And…she is. Gave me um…a green light. I don’t know what it means though.”

Piett processed this slowly with a mind that had been through too much.

The Lady had helped Veers.

The ISB would not know what she was. Only Max did.

“Green…is her color for…you,” he managed. “Max—-”

“Right here,” Veers told him, pulling out several large boxes and removing the tops. Then he lifted out real blankets—not just silvery emergency ones—real thick blankets that he tucked around Piett carefully.

Heat packs were cracked next and laid along his body giving him blessed, blessed warmth. 

“Oh…” Piett groaned. As his circulation improved, the pain intensified.

“Almost there for the moment, friend of mine,” Veers told him, rummaging further. “And then—-”

But Piett had to know one thing.

“Max…” he croaked. Veers’ face appeared over his.

“ Why? ” Piett whispered piteously.

The General closed his eyes briefly and bowed his head before meeting Piett’s gaze again. 

“I’ll tell you, Firmus,” he answered, face unbearably sad. “I will. But not until you have rested and are able to listen. Suffice it to say—I had to save your life and this was the only way I could think of. I wish I had a better plan, but it was all that I could come up with in the time I had…”

What?

“I know it doesn’t make a great deal of sense for you at the moment,”  Veers continued, unrolling a pair of socks and proceeding to slide them on Firmus’s feet with aching gentleness, “And I will not forgive myself for what I have made you endure. Nor do I expect your forgiveness. But you will get your explanation once you have slept and I have dealt with your injuries.”

He opened another kit and pulled out a purple hypo. 

Piett thought about pushing for the explanation now. But his body was already failing him and he merely nodded in exhaustion as the hypo pressed to his neck, sending him into oblivion. 

**************

Veers watched the thin face of his friend tilt away as he lost consciousness. He clenched his hand around the empty hypo and took several deep breaths, wiping angrily at his eyes a few times before he straightened.

It was so much worse than he’d pictured. Not the injuries. They were awful, but not as terrible as they could have been. No, the reality of his friend—so broken and helpless— was threatening to undo him. 

So he must instead focus on Firmus—-on helping him not to be broken. Time to start putting him back together so he could share his plan.

He shrugged out of his duty jacket and laid it on the opposite row of seats before he rolled up his sleeves and dug through his extensive medical kit.

Veers started by checking him for any broken bones, running the scanner slowly over the blanket covered figure. It was unnerving to have Piett so still before him. He paused occasionally to watch the blankets move up and down with his breathing even though the scanner told him that his friend was alive.

A displaced knee with a hairline fracture. 

Numerous bruises to his abdomen and chest. 

But nothing like what had been done to his arms.

The scanner indicated deep tissue and nerve damage. Things that could be repaired, but they needed a full medical facility and surgery to do so. And they were on a clock. If left too long, the damage could be permanent. 

However, if they managed to do what Veers had in mind, he was certain he could give Piett top tier medical care. 

In the meantime, he would do what he could for those injuries. 

He began with the knee, rolling back the flimsy fabric of the jumpsuit and applying ointment for the swelling. Then, following the scanner’s instructions, he wrapped it well, making sure Piett would not be able to bend it.

He replaced the blankets and checked his friend’s temperature. It was coming back to a normal range, but the scanner indicated that fever was present and that the Captain had a growing infection in the lungs.

Kark it.

Of course he did.

They kept those cells at frosty temperatures and Piett was prone to this sort of illness. Veers longed for Henley’s expertise, and pondered his desperation that he voluntarily wanted the company of the Lady’s CMO.

He laid out long bacta strips and proceeded to wrap Piett’s arms from wrist to above the elbow. It was a far cry from what he needed, but it would help with the pain and skin damage. 

He relaxed at last and took several long pulls at a water bottle before he pulled out a self heating ration.

Piett needed to eat real food, but for now the nutrient drip would do. The other drip contained a broad spectrum antibiotic and fever reducer. Veers looked at the chronometer. That sedative would keep the Captain under for another five hours. He would grab some sleep and then see what Piett thought of his plan.

***************

Firmus woke feeling far too warm.

He shoved at the blankets covering him and promptly regretted it. 

If he was warm before, his arms positively erupted into flames now, and he dropped his head back to the pillow, clenching his teeth.

A firm hand rested on his forehead and then removed a few blankets.

“You have a fever, my friend,” said Veers’ voice.

Veers .

Piett opened his eyes to meet compassionate grey ones as the General bent over him.

“Max,” he gasped, reaching for him and finding that his arm would not respond properly. It felt clumsy and strange.

Veers met him halfway, taking his fumbling hand carefully. 

“Really here,” he said calmly. “You are safe. Hold on one moment.”

Something cool hissed into Piett’s neck and the pain drifted away, allowing him to relax.

“Oh,” he said in relief. “Thank you.”

He took stock.

It was a standard Imperial transport shuttle for about twenty people. He was lying on the medbunk that one could pull from the bulkhead in emergencies. 

There were several large crates near the bunk, somewhat haphazardly placed as though someone had been working very quickly. 

The IV lines had been removed from his veins and he found that the pounding headache he’d struggled with had abated thanks to hydration and nutrients. 

Veers reached over and snagged a water bottle, opening it and then sliding his arm beneath Piett's head so he could drink without choking.

He did this and Veers laid him back before he rubbed at the five o clock shadow on his jaw. 

“I had hoped to let you get a warm shower,” he said uncertainly, “but that knee is a mess and I don’t think you have the strength to hold yourself up. So. I can wash your hair and give you a bit of a wipe down.”

This made Piett smile a little.

“Like one of your AT-ATs?” he asked. “A little scrub and polish?”

Veers gave him an unimpressed look.

“Glad you’re more yourself. And it will take a lot more than that to put you right.”

His face immediately sobered again.

“I’m…I suppose I’ll keep saying this, but I’m so sorry, Firmus. For all of it.”

“You promised me an explanation,” Piett replied. “But Veers…I trust you. Yes, it was hell. And…and I wondered…” His voice cracked a little, but he cleared his throat. “I wondered how you could so readily believe the worst of me, I can’t deny it. But also—-here we are. And I have a great deal of questions as to how you left the Lady and proceeded to find me in an ISB station, before retrieving me without a shot fired.”

Max rubbed at the back of his neck, and looked at him soberly. 

“You may still be kriffed with me, Captain.”

“Maybe,” Piett agreed, certain that he wasn’t. Max was here. Had come for him.

“All right. I’ll clean you up and get you comfortable. Then I’ll tell you what happened.”

Veers proceeded to fill a small crate with warm water from the little fresher before he eased Piett onto his side and helped him move so that his head was over the end of the medbunk. He lathered and rinsed Firmus’s hair with swift efficiency, but he was careful even so, not to hurt him.

He spread a towel over the pillow and aided Piett to lie down once more before he simply cut away the hated jumpsuit. And then—miracle of miracles—he pulled out Piett’s own Imperial Navy sweats. ‘

“How…?” Piett began, ridiculously glad to have some of his own clothing. 

“Part of the plan,” Veers returned, running the warm cloth over Piett’s bruised chest with care. 

While a shower would have been ideal, Firmus was grateful for the makeshift bath, and felt tremendously better for getting the sweat and grime of the ISB station off of his skin. 

Veers helped him to slide his arms into the sleeves of the sweatshirt before he zipped it up for Piett. The bottoms were a little trickier with the thickly bandaged knee, but they had enough give to slide up his legs without too much fuss. 

He found he was quite tired after these exertions, but accepted another pillow so he could see better, and Veers gave him another water bottle.

The General then proceeded to give him the rundown of Ozzel’s plan and how he had heard of it.

“Poor Tom was quite distressed on your behalf,” he stated, stretching his long legs out from where he sat opposite the medbunk. “Obviously I couldn’t explain. And I wasn’t sure about your Lady. Would she protect you, do you think? If it came to it?”

“If she thought I was in imminent danger of dying?” Piett mused, sipping at his water. “I…am not certain. I think she is fond of me. But that would reveal her nature. I don’t know what she would do.”

“Well I couldn’t risk it,” Veers continued. “I knew that Ozzel would have you just disappear if he dealt with this ‘in house’ as he said. So…I went by the book. Because I knew you would be removed from the ship for questioning. I placed a tracker on the shuttle and…” he stopped, gesturing. 

“You know the rest,” he murmured, unable to meet Piett’s eyes. “I…had to count on that durasteel spine of yours to endure so I could come retrieve you.”

Piett could feel all he had endured, though the pain killers were keeping it manageable. 

“And the Lady’s part?” he asked.

“I needed two sets of orders to look authentic,” Veers said, looking at him once more. “One was from ‘High Command’ ordering me to my own review for fraternizing with a ‘traitor’. That allowed me to leave the ship with no questions. Ozzel even ‘put in a good word’ on my behalf.”

The thought of Ozzel had Piett’s stomach twist. For someone to hate him so much as to have him accused of treason and murdered…

He shouldn’t be shocked. He had plenty of bounties on his head as a result of his Axxilan Anti-Pirate fleet days. 

“The other set,” Veers continued, “needed to be from Lord Vader. Ordering a transfer of custody from ISB to himself for one Captain Piett.”

Holy kark.

“And…clearly she was able to do that,” Piett mused. “Veers…”

He stopped. This friend of his had just thrown out his career, his life, to save Piett. Had done all these things on his behalf.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

Max shook his head, looking down at the deck.

“I condemned you to such agony, Firmus. And I did it knowing… !”

“You knew me ,” Piett interrupted tiredly. “You’re a tactician. One of the best, it’s generally agreed. You made a plan and you saved my life. Veers. I can’t be angry at you.”

There was a long beat.

“I’m angry at myself,” Veers said in low tones.

“I…can’t pretend I don’t understand that,” Piett agreed. “If this was flipped, I would feel much the same. So…be angry at that bastard, Ozzel.”

“Oh I’m that too,” Veers said, looking him in the eye again. “But Firmus—”

“I forgive you,” Piett said abruptly, giving his friend a small smile. “Does that help?”

Veers snorted. 

“Not sure anything will. But I’m grateful that you’re you.”

“So what’s the rest of the plan?” Piett asked, rolling his neck against the returning pain.

Veers rose and gave him another hypo without asking, the wonderful relief of modern drugs allowing him to be sleepy.

“Are we going to hop around the galaxy as fugitives?” Piett pushed. “Mercenaries maybe?”

This got a smile from Veers.

“Not a terrible idea. But no. I intend to see you reinstated as the Lady’s Captain.”

Piett held his gaze.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“Veers, that’s impossible. You just went AWOL and committed treason in saving me. And no one will believe that I’m innocent—”

“There is one person to whom we can appeal.”

Piett frowned. No one would go against Ozzel. Admiral of the most prestigious fleet in the Imperial Navy. Corest of Core families. A personal pick of Palpatine’s. 

“I don’t follow you,” Firmus said, drinking more water.

“That is because you are exhausted. Or you would. But I won’t appeal to him unless I have your consent to do so, because it does come with risks.”

“Max,” Piett said, a strange and terrible thought forming in his brain. “Where are we headed?”

Veers looked him in the eye.

“Mustafar.”

Chapter Text

Veers watched as they snapped out of hyperspace into the Mustafar system. That red and black planet over there was his target and he wondered how far out Vader would have alert systems. Likely already knew they were here, he reflected.

The General glanced over his shoulder to where his friend slept in the passenger hold. He couldn’t see Piett from here and lamented the design of the shuttle. A lamda would have been ideal, but was also easier to track and he had to be prepared for all eventualities.

A shuttle of this type could be sold more easily on the black market, and because Veers was who he was, he’d made several different back up plans to save the man who was like a brother to him.

He would prefer to just let the Captain sleep, but Piett had been vehement that he be conscious to meet with Vader.

So Veers rubbed at his neck and rose stiffly, snagging his duty jacket off the back of the co pilot’s chair and making his way back to the hold. 

Despite his best efforts, the flush of fever was on his friend’s cheekbones and his hair curled with the sweat. 

A chest infection and Piett were never a good combination. 

He knelt and rummaged in the kit on the floor beside Firmus in order to retrieve and administer a pain killer before he woke him up.

Then he placed his hand on the Captain’s shoulder.

“Piett,” he said, shaking him cautiously. His friend groaned and tilted his head away.

“You wanted me to wake you when we arrived,” Veers persevered. He gently pushed the sweatshirt sleeves up and began to unwrap the bacta bandages running up Firmus’s arms. 

Piett emitted a long sigh and then opened his eyes, squinting as he turned to look at Veers.

“Already?” he asked.

“You’ve been asleep or unconscious for some time,” Veers informed him, removing the bandage to examine the dark bruising. He couldn’t tell if the bacta had made any significant difference but it was better than nothing. 

He rewrapped that brutalized arm and rested it back on Piett’s chest, his friend watching him wearily with fever bright eyes. 

“Last chance, Max,” he murmured at last as Veers got to work on the other arm. 

“To do what exactly?” he replied, snagging a water bottle and allowing Piett to rest his head on his shoulder so he could drink. It concerned him that the Captain clearly still had very little control over his arms. He could only hope Vader’s medical facilities were able to repair the damaged nerves.

“Just…we could contact some of my old Axxilan connections…”

Veers lowered him carefully back to his pillow and regarded him seriously from his position seated on a supply crate.

“If that is what you want, Firmus, I will do it immediately. But I am willing to go all the way down the line to see my friend restored to his rightful place on the ship that he loves with his soul.”

Piett held his gaze for long beats.

“But if you’re offering that to protect me—-then don’t. Both or none, Captain. Always.”

The other man’s jaw tightened and he looked away, throat working.

“All right then,” Piett replied huskily at length. “Max—” He strained to reach out his right hand and it shook badly with the effort, but Veers took it.

“Forward then," he said.

He retrieved the emergency grav sled and prepped it for his friend with lots of blankets before he lifted Piett onto it, doing his best to work with the bad knee. Once the Captain was secured there, he moved back to the cockpit and took the shuttle forward toward Mustafar.

It grew slowly, filling the viewscreen. He could even see some lightning storms at this point when a mechanised voice came over his comms.

“Imperial shuttle. This is restricted space. Turn back now or be destroyed.”

Veers flicked the control switch.

“This is General Maximilian Veers of Death Squadron. Requesting permission to land and speak with Lord Vader.”

There was a long pause.

“No orders for your presence exist in the system,” the mechanical voice came back. “Depart immediately or be destroyed.”

Retreat was not an option here.

“I am aware this visit is unexpected. I am aware of the potential consequences and I am still requesting a moment to speak with Lord Vader on a matter that concerns him personally.”

Another pause. 

Any moment they could be blown to a million little pieces. But then—-that was a risk in this career anyway.

“Landing platform 4. Do not deviate.”

A red lit route flashed onto the small screen on the console.

“Understood.”

Veers breathed out. One step closer. He would at least be heard then.

He guided the shuttle along the path indicated and into the turbulent atmosphere of Mustafar. The little craft shook around them and then cleared the dark clouds to show the lava pulsing and spewing below. 

And there.

Rising from the hellish landscape like a finger pointing angrily at the sky, the infamous black fortress loomed. 

Veers landed the shuttle as gracefully as he could before he rose and tugged on his cap and gloves. 

If this was to be his end, he would meet it with dignity.

He strode back into the hold and tapped the controls for the landing ramp.

Piett gave him a glance and huffed an irritated little noise.

“I wish I could be in uniform for this.”

Veers couldn’t help the slight curl of his mouth. Trust the Captain to be irked by this. Piett liked his naval tidiness. And in many ways, his uniform was a defense. Veers did understand this, but even if he’d had a uniform to give his friend, he was not fit to get into it. 

“I’m aware,” he answered, pushing the grav sled ahead of him as they made their way down the ramp. “But you are you , no matter what you wear. I suspect Lord Vader puts more weight on character than on uniform.”

“Hmm.”

They reached the bottom of the platform and Veers expected violent winds and heat. Then he realized that of course, this was protected from the environment by an energy barrier. 

Two tech droids were standing on either side of the walkway that led to the fortress itself and Veers addressed himself to one of them.

“Is Lord Vader…?”

But that was as far as he got.

The doors at the far end of the walkway opened and a familiar tall figure strode through, cape billowing behind him as he moved toward the landing pad.

All right.

Veers supposed he shouldn’t be shocked that his Commander was going to speak to them out here. This was Lord Vader’s most private sanctum and he would not just let anyone enter for any reason. 

The kish kosh of the breathing mask sounded louder and Veers straightened to attention beside Piett’s grav sled. The Captain could not do the same, but that chin tilted up and he saw Piett’s shoulders square a little on the pillows. 

Vader loomed before them and stopped five feet away, hands on his hips as he surveyed them both, that helmet tilting ever so slightly.

“Because you are one of four officers for whom I have any little modicum of respect, General Veers, I have allowed this egregious invasion of my privacy. State your reasons for being here.”

Veers wasn’t as good at hearing tone through the vocoder as Piett was. If Vader was angry, he could not tell. 

But he knew his commanding officer well enough to know that Vader had no patience with overly descriptive reports. 

“My Lord. In your absence, Admiral Ozzel attempted to have Captain Piett framed for treason and murdered. I intervened and brought him here to you instead.”

A beat.

The heavy fabric of Vader’s cape shifted ever so slightly as he turned his attention to Piett, taking in his very obvious illness and injury.

“You came here seeking mercy from me?” Vader asked, returning his gaze to Veers.

Veers swallowed and remained at attention.

“No, my Lord. I came here for your justice.”

A noncommittal noise issued from the vocoder.

“You risked your life and career for a Captain from the Rim?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Veers answered without hesitation.

Vader moved slowly to the grav sled and reached out to take Piett’s jaw in one black gloved hand, tilting his face a little to see the bruising still evident along his cheekbone.

“Ozzel had this done to you?” he asked.

“No, my Lord,” Piett answered honestly. “This was ISB.”

Vader removed his hand and folded his arms on his chest. 

“And what makes you believe I will help in this situation?”

Veers took a breath. This was the moment and Vader was judge, jury, and executioner.

“My Lord, you personally made Piett Captain of the Lady. The Admiral took advantage of your absence to try and remove him. I felt that was your prerogative and yours alone.”

Vader turned and paced away from both of them, his broad shoulders forbidding.

“But the most compelling reason you are here, General Veers,” Vader said, still facing away, “is your loyalty to Captain Piett. Are you willing to die for him?”

A sharp intake of breath came from Firmus, but he immediately pressed his lips together and waited.

“Yes,” Veers said immediately. That was easy. “And while you are of course, correct my Lord, you must also know that our loyalty to you as our Commander is also why we are here.”

“I admit that your faith in me is…unexpected,” Lord Vader said, turning at last. “What do you believe my justice looks like, General?”

“The reinstatement of Piett as Captain,” Veers said without hesitation.

An odd noise came from the vocoder. Piett frowned a little, but Veers didn’t know what it was. On another man it might have been a huff of laughter, but this was Vader, and he did not do such things.

“You have intrigued me, General,” Vader said. “I make no promises. But at the very least, I would hear more from you both. Which means that Piett will need the care of my medical droids. Follow me.”

Veers exchanged a brief glance with Piett and then obeyed, pushing the grav sled ahead of himself in the flowing black wake of the Sith Lord.

**************

Piett hated feeling like a piece of luggage. But he was too sick and injured to be much else. Veers had been magnificent, and they had come this far. Vader was at least willing to listen to them it appeared. 

If he had been more himself, Piett would have been curious about his surroundings. As it was, he took in just how quiet the fortress seemed. Perhaps this was due to the massive thickness of the black stone walls. Equally, Vader could be using the Force to keep things this way. 

The entry hall here had vaulted ceilings, but unlike much of the architecture Piett was familiar with, these reminded him of nothing so much as a massive magma chamber. Perhaps that was the intent. 

Rather than being inspired to look up and appreciate light and beauty working with something man made, the design of this fortress implied a desire to escape. To have the fire released from within, like the landscape around the building. 

Or perhaps that was his fevered imagination at work.

“Lord Vader.”

A medical droid had arrived. It was a standard make, but instead of a silver coating, it was white—-a stark contrast to the surroundings. Its two ‘eyes’ were a rather disconcerting blue and Piett noted that its body was more like that of a protocol droid rather than the more sparse figure of typical medical droids.

No surprise—Lord Vader loved to tinker with all things mechanical. Piett was reasonably certain it was the only sort of pleasure his commander actually had. 

“This is MD-2,” Lord Vader said, gesturing at it. “He will be in charge of your healing, Captain. Which means you will submit yourself to his orders.”

“I should think so,” MD-2 sniffed. 

Piett blinked. 

That almost sounded like…

No .

All medical personnel, droid and human alike just had a certain sort of arrogance in tone from Piett’s experience.

“General Veers, you will follow me,” Lord Vader ordered and Max gave him a swift look.

“I’ll see you soon,” Piett told him as MD-2 took the grav sled.

He didn’t know if he would see Veers soon. He had to hope that Vader would not just throttle him out of hand. 

What was it Vader had said when they arrived?

Because you are one of four officers for whom I have any little modicum of respect, General Veers, I have allowed this egregious invasion of my privacy.

Firmus would have to hold onto that statement and pray it kept Max alive.

The grav sled moved smoothly through the dim halls of the fortress, lit merely by yellow fixtures on either side. But at last they entered what was clearly a very advanced medical bay—-and here the light was stronger.

“Scans,” MD-2 ordered, and a swarm of orderly droids descended, several with little cutters ready.

“Don’t,” Piett said, struggling to move away. “These are my Imperial Navy sweats. Don’t cut them off.”

“You are badly damaged and it will cause you pain to remove them otherwise,” MD-2 said flatly. 

“I can handle it. Don’t cut them,” Piett snapped, feeling hot and exhausted and so done .

The droid actually sighed .

What a very human reaction. And that was interesting for one of Lord Vader’s droids. He had yet to see any human servants here.

“Very well. I can see you have some foolish attachment to these articles of clothing. Because I can do no harm, you will therefore be sedated.”

“Wait—” Piett began and something cool hissed into his neck.

Darkness.

****************

Vader did not say anything further as he walked through the fortress, Veers at his side. The General was reasonably confident that Piett would be fine, because why else would Vader order him to receive medical care if he merely intended to kill him? 

His Lordship could be capricious, and Veers had witnessed it personally, but when he killed it was deliberate and obvious as to why he did so.

At length they entered a large room with a wide viewport that permitted an impressive, if not a lovely, overlook of the planet.

A heavy throne composed of basalt sat at the far end of the room on a raised platform. Vader did not sit in it, choosing instead to stand by the viewport and stare at the battling magma and pyroclastic flows below. Veers rather thought it was like sitting at the entrance to hell.

“Tell me everything,” Lord Vader said, his hands clasped behind his back. “And recall that I shall know if you are lying.”

So Veers spoke. He repeated all that he had told Piett and explained his plan as unemotionally as possible. Why he had condemned his friend to appalling suffering at the hands of the ISB. How he had tracked the shuttle to the station. How he had spoken to the Lady.

Vader turned sharply at this.

“ What .”

Veers swallowed as the room became distinctly more chilly.

“I…Piett has told me that she is special, my Lord. Because I asked,” he added, lest his Lordship think Piett was betraying a confidence. “I had noticed some things and I asked him about her nature.”

There was a significant pause as Vader regarded him behind that passionless mask.

“And what did he say?” Lord Vader asked him.

“Merely that she was…more than an AI, my Lord,” Veers told him. “I assure you that is all he said. He told me he’d sworn to you not to speak of it and that I should not either.”

“What did you notice, General?” Vader asked him, turning back to the turbulent landscape below them.

Veers considered all the things he’d noted once his friend became Captain. Even some before, if he was honest.

“Piett would often look up when the lights flickered, sir. At first, I just put it down to the fact that naval officers are a bit strange about their ships.”

A small huff came through the vocoder.

“Continue.”

“But…she seemed to have patterns in those flickers, my Lord. And then, on occasion, I witnessed specific colors emitting from light sources that really ought not to be able to do that.”

“Interesting…” Vader murmured. “She has not told me of her methods to communicate with him.”

Told him…?

“My Lord,” Veers began cautiously. “Does she…actually speak to you? With words?”

He held his breath. Perhaps that was too far.

“Not as you are thinking, General,” Vader answered without turning to look at him. “But yes we speak. So. She assisted you.”

“I could not have done it without her, my Lord,” Veers said. “She was able to access…very secure information. It was rather astonishing.”

“I imagine,” Lord Vader answered. “But the fact remains that this entire operation is based upon something Commander Venka overheard and your own deductions from this meeting of the Admiral’s.”

Veers’ stomach tightened, reminding him he hadn’t eaten or drunk in some time. He felt a little nauseated, but maintained his stance. 

“I believe that the Lady can confirm my belief, my Lord,” he stated. “As she is indeed… special , I would imagine she has recordings of all that was said and done. And, due respect, sir, you know me . I am not given to flights of fancy or baseless assumptions.”

Vader remained still for long moments. Then he turned to face the General.

“That is true. But this…loyalty between yourself and the Captain, Veers, while considered admirable by some, does not serve the Empire.”

“We are both here, my Lord,” Veers replied, “because we serve you.”

Another strange noise from the vocoder that Veers could not interpret. 

“That will be all for now, General,” Vader said. “A droid will show you your rooms and we will speak more tomorrow.”

“Sir, the Captain—-”

Veers was keen to see how his friend fared.

His Lordship waved an impatient hand.

“Ask the droids. You are free to see him.”

And with that he swept out of the room. A small hover droid model entered from a hidden side panel.

“This way, sir,” it said, its little arms indicating that he should follow.

Well , the General thought as he moved through the dim and somewhat oppressive corridors behind the little droid, he had done his best. They were still alive for another day at least. And then the Judge would give his verdict.

Chapter Text

“You are not to put any weight upon the limb for another twelve hours,” MD-2 informed him and Piett swore the droid sniffed .

He’d come out of sedation just as they were lifting him from a bacta tank and so he had the distinct displeasure of the overly sweet taste and slimy feel of the bacta on his body.

The first thing he’d asked once the rebreather had been removed was whether Veers was safe. 

He’d been informed that the General was functioning satisfactorily, whatever that meant. 

He was surrounded by medical droids—-no human in sight—-and swiftly dried and dressed in comfortable blue medical attire before they transported him to what he could only presume was a recovery room.

He had attempted to insist on seeing Veers, but somewhere in the process of being fitted with bacta sleeves for his arms, he’d fallen asleep.

Which brought him to now.

“I am quite certain that Lord Vader will wish to speak with me before then,” Piett asserted, already calculating how much time had fled by since arriving here. “My physical limitations will just have to be got around.”

Another droid entered with a tray which was set over his lap.

“I was not informed that you had achieved a medical degree, Captain Piett,” MD-2 replied. “Which allows you to make such statements.”

Piett considered his breakfast, which smelled surprisingly good. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but no one had ever seen Lord Vader eat so…

“You are awfully lippy for a droid,” Piett replied, taking a bite of the spiced oatmeal. He found he was ravenous and forced himself not to eat too fast. 

“I do not have lips,” MD-2 answered flatly, moving around the bed to check on the drip line in Piett’s right arm.

And that . 

Again, that right there—-

“Are there only droids here in the fortress?” Piett asked. “Do no sentient beings serve Lord Vader?”

The droid paused and turned its head slowly to stare at Piett with the two blue lights.

“We are more efficient,” it replied at last. “Obviously.”

Piett tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Right. I don’t suppose there are any droids called ‘Henley’?”

“No.”

He had to ask.

“When was the last time you were wiped?” Piett asked, turning to his nerf sausage. 

“Not that it is a concern of yours,” MD-2 replied, moving smoothly away from the bed, “but I have not been wiped since the inception of the Empire. No droids at Mustafar are wiped.”

Interesting .

The door hissed open and Piett smiled widely in welcome as the familiar figure of his friend entered.

“Max. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”

“And you.”

“I did not authorize the patient to see visitors,” MD-2 declared, and it actually placed its robotic arms on its hips. If it had hips. 

“Lord Vader said I was free to see the Captain,” Veers told it, moving further into the room. 

A remarkably displeased noise emitted from the mouth opening.

“Very well. Do not disturb his knee.”

And with that it hummed from the room, leaving the two of them to stare at each other in mild amusement.

“That—-is Henley in droid form and you cannot tell me otherwise,” Piett stated, pointing his fork at the now closed door.

“As in…you think Lord Vader deliberately programmed it that way?” Veers asked, tugging over the stool by the small medical desk and perching upon it.

“I don’t know that I would risk going that far,” Piett said, though he thought it was possible. “I do know it hasn’t been wiped since the Empire began.”

Veers raised his eyebrows.

“Interesting.”

“I thought so.”

“How are you feeling?” Veers asked more seriously. He himself looked fairly rested, and he had shaved, so Piett presumed Vader had given him quarters somewhere.

“Much improved,” he said immediately. Veers gave him the patented disbelieving stare.

“I am ,” Firmus insisted. He set down his fork and rolled up the blue sleeve. “Look. These are bacta sleeves because obviously my arms need more work. But I can use them. For which I am profoundly grateful.”

Veers winced a little, and Piett knew he was still feeling guilty. But both of them had already discussed that, and the Captain was determined to show his friend that he would recover completely because telling him was not going to persuade Veers.

He lifted his mug and was pleased when it didn’t tremble one bit. 

“You see?” he said, and took a sip, coughing a little in surprise and setting the mug hurriedly back on the tray.

“What’s wrong?” Veers asked, frowning in concern as Piett got his lungs back under control.

“I…” Piett, lifted his napkin and wiped his mouth. “That’s…my tea.”

“Well of course it’s yours. It’s your breakfast.”

“No, Max. That’s my tea. The Axxilan one I drink.”

There was a long pause as they both considered the mug and all its implications.

“So you think Lord Vader knows…” Veers began slowly.

“Who else would?” Piett asked, sipping it again and welcoming the familiar flavors on his tongue. 

It wouldn’t do at this point to reflect too deeply on the fact that Lord Vader knew what sort of tea he favored. That there might actually be a human under that mask. One who had noticed the sort of tea he drank on the bridge. 

“I will take that as a good sign,” his friend said as the door hissed open again to admit the medical droid.

“Over my express advice,” MD-2 stated with what could only be described as a frosty tone, “Lord Vader has summoned you. I have thus acquired a hover chair, Captain Piett, so that you do not have to place strain upon your knee.”

Oh hells, no.

Piett pushed himself straighter in bed, ignoring the twinges up his arms as he did so. 

“If Lord Vader has summoned us, MD-2,” he replied, “then I will require a uniform. Is that possible?”

“Firmus…” Veers sighed. 

The droid stared at him for long beats. If it had lips, Piett was quite certain they would be pressed firmly together in displeasure. 

“I am not going before Lord Vader in pajamas and a hoverchair , Veers. It was bad enough arriving as I did. I will accept a…a cane, but I am going to look like an officer , damn it!”

Max, best of friends, did not argue but looked at MD-2. “Do you have more Imperial uniforms here?” he asked.

Air rushed from the droid’s mouth opening, making an odd hooting sort of noise. 

Its version of a sigh, Piett would wager.

“We are prepared for all things here, General,” it replied. 

“Including Axxilan tea?” Piett asked, not able to restrain his curiosity.

“Of course,” the med droid answered. “You are Axxilan. Your file indicated the tea would be preferable.”

Piett wondered just what was in his file. He had never specified food or drink preferences. 

“Then I would like a fresh uniform and a cane,” Piett said firmly. “Please.”

“The hoverchair—-”

“ Make me,” Piett said rebelliously. “Can someone please move this tray…?”

“You won’t win,” Veers told MD-2. “He’s ridiculously stubborn. I’ll be there to help him. Please do as he asks.”

MD-2 emitted a blat which clearly meant he was offended, and departed the room.

“Is that a yes, do you think?” Piett asked, moving the blankets aside and examining the knee brace fitted over the soft blue trousers.

Veers rubbed at his temple.

“Here’s hoping. Firmus, Lord Vader is well aware you are recuperating. He ordered it. I am certain it doesn’t matter at all to him if you are in a hov—”

“I need this, Max,” Piett told him urgently. “I…look, if this is the last time we face him—-if he decides we were wrong after all—-then I would rather be in uniform and on my feet when he kills us. Please just…”

He didn’t want to sound petulant. But after all he’d been through, it was hard to explain to Veers how much the feel of gaberwool would help him face this like a man.

The General regarded him for a beat, eyes understanding. “I know,” his friend said. “I do know, Piett. So…” He paused and gave Firmus a rueful smile. “Lean on me would you? Give the knee a reprieve?”

Piett wished he were a more eloquent man. Veers deserved profound gratitude and every favor Piett could ever possibly do for him.

“Thank you, Max,” he said quietly as the doors hissed open to admit MD-2 and another droid. “For everything. Whatever happens.”

“Always,” Veers said easily, retrieving the Imperial uniform from the second droid. MD-2 had found a sturdy and polished piece of wood. It stood out rather starkly in a basalt and durasteel fortress. 

MD-2 then dropped a pair of shining boots to the floor from an outstretched metal arm. 

“These will take some effort,” he intoned. “And I will be put out if it disrupts the healing of that knee.”

Piett pictured Henley and had to suppress a smile, meeting Veers’ eyes and seeing that his friend was clearly thinking the same.

“I will help the Captain dress,” he answered calmly. “Thank you for all your assistance.”

“Assistance,” grumbled MD-2. “Assistance to dismantle all the work…” he departed the room, still complaining.

“I see your point about Henley,” Veers said immediately. “Let’s get you dressed and hope this fits.”

*************

The uniform fit perfectly. 

Veers started with the most difficult part—-getting the uniform trousers and boots tugged over Piett’s legs.

They were both aware that Vader was waiting, but Veers was not willing to damage Piett’s knee in the process. The first boot went on reasonably well, but that was because the Captain could help him with it. The second was challenging, and Firmus was stalwart, but Veers knew it was causing pain.

“Just haul it on,” Firmus said through gritted teeth. “I can manage.”

He perched on the edge of the bed and shoved his foot down as hard as he could manage while Veers tugged the boot up. They got it at last, but he hated the white knuckled grip Piett had on the blankets and the tight set of his jaw. 

The Captain was still more awkward with his movements, but managed to pull the henley over his head and Veers assisted with the sleeves so they wouldn’t pull on the pressure bandages around his arms. 

Then the jacket, and Veers did up the latches while Piett dealt with the belt. 

And there he was.

The Captain of the Executor stood before him—-still too thin and pale—- but something uncoiled in Veers’ chest to see his friend as he should be. The officer, not the prisoner or the patient. 

Piett grasped the cane and moved toward Veers clumsily.

“Don’t suppose they happened to have a—” he began as Veers retrieved the cap and tugged it over his head. 

“This fits me rather well,” Piett commented. 

“MD-2 did say this fortress has everything,” Veers reminded him. “This is a fresh uniform I’m wearing as well. Found it in the closet this morning.”

Piett made another experimental step and reached for him. The General moved swiftly to his side so that Piett could grip his arm.

“Sorry,” Firmus panted, coughing into his sleeve. So that wasn’t quite resolved then . “I’m going to need your help.”

“Always,” Veers replied simply, and was rewarded with a broad smile. Those were rare, and he was glad that the Captain still felt Max was worthy of them.

They made their way as swiftly as possible behind the droid which had been waiting for them in the corridor as they stepped out of Piett’s quarters.

Neither spoke as they went along—-somehow this journey to Vader’s presence was not one for talking. 

At length the droid paused and then swiveled its dome to look at them and extend an arm toward the room beyond.

It was not the imposing room where Veers had spoken to Vader when they first arrived.

If he didn’t know better, Veers might almost think this was a dining room. It had a high ceiling, and down the center ran a polished obsidian table which could easily seat fifty people. Abstract paintings nearly the size of the walls they hung on were on both sides of the room. One was done in violent splashes of reds, oranges, golds and white against a black background. But, in a strange contrast, the painting on the other side was graceful swirls of greens, blues, creams, purples, and dots of yellow against a silver backdrop. 

Fire and water, Veers’ mind provided instantly, but he couldn’t say why.

“I have been waiting for some time,” Vader intoned, and he stepped from the shadows at the far end of the table, gesturing a hand at the wall containing the more violent painting.

Instantly, four different window shields shot up, allowing the reddish glow from the light outside to illuminate the room. 

“Apologies, my Lord,” Piett said immediately. “The delay was my fault.”

There was a beat as Vader’s breathing filled the room.

“A hoverchair was provided for you,” he said.

Veers saw Piett swallow, but that chin tilted up proudly.

“Yes, my Lord. As was a cane. I prefer to stand before you to hear your judgement.”

“It makes no difference whether you stand or sit, Captain,” Vader replied, moving closer with the grace of a panther.

Veers squinted ever so slightly. There had just been a certain—- tone there. One that could almost… almost!. ..imply a reference to Piett’s height, and he somehow thought Firmus might think so too, though neither of them dared to say so out loud.

Vader came to a stop before them and Piett pulled away from Veers to stand on his own, his hand holding the cane fiercely to keep himself upright before his commander.

With his usual shocking bluntness, Lord Vader asked one question.

“Did you commit treason, Piett?”

“I did not, my Lord,” Firmus replied steadily, looking him straight in the eye even though he had to tilt his head up to do so.

“This can be proven?” Vader pursued.

“Yes, my Lord,” Piett replied, glancing to Veers. “The Lady can support me, I have absolute faith in that.”

The Lady, Veers reflected, was privy to the secrets of three hundred thousand souls.

“Very well,” Vader replied, moving to stand before the painting that Veers had dubbed in his mind as the ‘water’ painting.

Once again the only sound was Vader’s harsh breathing. 

Then, he turned and regarded them.

“And what,” he said deliberately, “would you say if I wished you to commit treason?”

Veers’ mind went blank.

Beside him, he saw Piett tilt his head.

“I…” Firmus began, then cleared his throat on a cough. “Are you—-asking that now , my Lord? Or is this hypothetical?”

“Yes,” Vader said enigmatically.

Piett glanced to Veers who raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“My Lord,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Do you…intend to overthrow the Emperor?”

“Overthrow,” Vader repeated thoughtfully. “I suppose that is technically correct. But I have no desire to rule a galaxy. Once…”

He stopped himself and turned to pace back toward them and then past them to the other painting—the one that could almost depict the twisting insides of the planet they stood upon.

Veers was not at all sure what to make of this. Vader wished to remove the Emperor but not to rule in his place…?

“My Lord,” Piett said cautiously, and Veers recognized the tone the Captain used when he was aware of the verbal denton field he navigated, “may I ask your reasons?”

Vader stood before the ‘fire’ painting, hands clasped behind his back.

“Would it shock you, Captain, to find that I am weary of conflict? Of death?”

Piett shot a look at Veers, but neither of them could find a suitable answer for that, so they just waited.

“Once I thought I could never be satisfied by the fires I helped to burn across the galaxy,” Lord Vader continued, still looking up at the painting. “But for all my power, I am still—-only human.”

He turned at last, placing his hands on his belt.

“I had a family once,” he told them. “And through a combination of my own folly, and the evil of my master, I lost it.”

Piett blinked, eyes taking on the expression of a man who has found himself far beyond reality.

Veers completely understood this and found that he had stopped breathing for a moment. He tried to subtly draw in air.

“I…am sorry, my Lord,” he replied. The revelations crashing upon them were almost too much. But—-

—-Veers had also had family once. 

So had Firmus.

“You had faith to come to me for my justice,” said the Dark Lord. “I am asking you to extend that faith. Because… it seems that not all of my family was lost.”

Perhaps he was hallucinating this whole thing, Veers thought. He could still be dreaming. Having a nightmare about this meeting. 

Piett recovered first.

“How did you discover this, my Lord?” he asked, muscles in his face strained.

“I cannot tell you that, Captain,” Vader replied. “Only that I know it. The Force was clear. I have a son. And he cannot exist safely in a galaxy that contains Palpatine.”

“What do you wish to do then, my Lord?” Veers asked.

“That is also not something we will discuss yet,” Vader said maddeningly. “And so again, gentlemen, do I have your faith?”

Veers paused and watched his friend.

Because even now, he would go where Piett led.

“You have it, my Lord,” Firmus said, pale but resolute. 

“And mine,” Veers added immediately. 

“Very well,” Vader said. He hadn’t moved, but the General had the distinct impression he was pleased. Or as pleased as their Sith commander ever got. “Once Piett is sufficiently healed, we will return to the Lady.”

“I do not wish to delay your plans, sir,” Piett said, frowning. 

“You will submit yourself to the care of my medical droids, Captain.”

“I assure you, I am able—-” Firmus tried, but Vader held up a gloved hand.

“Have you forgotten, Piett, that I can easily tell liars?” he asked. Firmus swallowed and pressed his lips together briefly before answering.

“No, my Lord.”

“Then I trust I will hear no more ridiculous protests.”

And with that, Vader glided from the room, his cape following him like a retreating tide.

The silver droid that had guided them here in the first place reappeared from somewhere, waiting expectantly.

Piett hung his head and glared at the glossy floor.

“I can feel your smug expression radiating, Max,” he said. 

Veers didn’t bother trying to hide it. 

“Given your wretched track record regarding your own health, I absolutely will enjoy the fact that a Sith Lord just ordered you to take care of yourself. Fair warning, you will be hearing about this in the future. A great deal in fact.”

He offered his arm to his friend who gripped it with a long suffering sigh. 

“We have a future, Veers, so I suppose I shall have to live with your self satisfaction.”

They did indeed have a future, at least for now. But what it held was anyone’s guess.

Chapter Text

“We have you on approach, Lord Vader,” came the crisp voice of the comms officer.

“Make certain my hangar bay is prepared,” Lord Vader replied, gloved hands moving with almost supernatural grace over the controls of the lamda. “Complete privacy.”

“It is done, my Lord,” replied the officer. Likely Creena, Piett reflected. She was very good at what she did and he recalled mentoring her when he was merely the head of comms. Not all that long ago really. That particular professionalism sounded very much like her.

Vader didn’t respond to this and merely nudged the shuttle toward the Lady…

…the Lady who had suddenly changed all her regular blue running lights to…to white .

What the kark?

Piett clasped his hands behind his back and pressed his lips together so he didn’t blurt like a green officer.

White was her color for him .

But he’d never seen her change her running lights before. 

Why now?

And if Vader noticed or cared, he didn’t make any comment.

Beside him, Veers’ shoulder brushed his ever so slightly, and kriff but it was incredible to have Max’s support after everything. 

It had taken Piett another two days to heal sufficiently in order to walk steadily. The knee joint still ached, but he could handle that with some basic pain meds. His arms were still encased in pressurized bacta bandage beneath his henley, but looked worlds’ better than when Veers had first saved him. 

And really, it was astonishing what even two days of proper rest and good food could do. 

After that—- momentous —-meeting with Vader, they had not seen a whisper of their Dark commander. Not until about an hour before they departed Mustafar. 

He and Max had been appreciating breakfast in the massive dining room. It was very odd to be the only two seated at the vast table, but the droids were very attentive and Veers repeatedly held his caf to his nose to inhale before he sipped.

It was a good blend then.

Piett himself was still feeling as though he might wake up at any moment to find this all a fever dream. 

He was eating breakfast at Mustafar.

His tea was utterly perfect.

And outside volcanoes were erupting.

Into this… peaceful? atmosphere, Lord Vader had flowed. He paused as they both stood in respect, swiftly placing their napkins on the table.

“We will depart in one hour,” Vader had informed them. “You will be in command of the Lady once more, Captain Piett.”

And he had turned on his booted heel and strode out with as much grace as he’d entered.

After they had shared a somewhat disbelieving look for a beat, he and Veers had gulped down their respective beverages before swiftly departing to make certain they were both in the freshest and most polished of uniforms.

If they were to face Ozzel and the crew of the Lady after all that had occurred, they were going to exemplify what it meant to be an Imperial officer, at least in appearance.

Veers hadn’t said anything when he entered Piett’s quarters while Firmus was silently cursing the pressure bandages. He’d just entered and proceeded to help him tug the henley on over them before handing Piett his duty jacket. 

At least he had regained enough coordination to take care of his own belt and latching the tunic flap. 

And they were in good time to the landing pad where Vader’s shuttle was waiting.

The Executor loomed larger and larger until they were passing into her shadow, but somehow, Piett found that comforting rather than ominous. 

His Lady had his back.

The shuttle touched the polished deck so smoothly, that if they hadn’t been looking out the viewport, they would not have known they’d landed.

Vader rose and made a gesture at the landing ramp.

It was not often that they saw such casual uses of the Force, but in the last several days, both of them had observed Lord Vader utilizing his power in multiple small ways. And Piett found that these small examples of Vader’s ability were almost more intimidating than his more violent demonstrations.

He was—- other .

A creature of darkness and fire, the Force flowing in and around him in ways that were as easy as breathing and as potent as a supernova.

Firmus had sworn to have faith in him.

Because the Sith Lord had a son .

Blood connections were sacred for many in the Rim. Certainly on Axxila. And it had been on that basis that Piett had made his decision to support Vader over the Empire.

For the first time, he wondered where Vader was from. Mustafar did not hold life other than what had been brought to it. It certainly exemplified what Vader was now . But Piett wondered…who had he been before?

“Your thoughts betray you, Captain,” Vader rumbled ahead of him as they descended the ramp. He didn’t even turn around. “Do not allow yourself to speculate in dangerous areas.”

Piett’s lungs froze.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Veers glanced over at him as they reached the deck, but Piett merely shook his head. 

No one was about—when Lord Vader ordered complete privacy, he was obeyed to the letter.

They moved swiftly, but with dignity, out into the corridors and toward the closest lift. A few personnel turned their heads in shock, no doubt at Piett’s appearance.

The last anyone knew, he had been taken by the ISB.

Vader said nothing in the long ascent toward the first deck, and they exited to make their way to the lift which would take them up the command tower. 

Here, there were a great many more crew. Their small group was subject to more staring and gaping, though not for very long. Everyone on the Executor knew better than to stand and watch Lord Vader.

At one point, young Kelly passed them and his mouth parted a little, his face taking on a hopeful look as he met Piett’s eyes. 

Piett allowed his mouth to curl ever so slightly at the boy. He was promising command material, and it was heartening to know that at least one person besides the Lady was glad to see him.

The lift ride was once again silent, but Piett noted that Vader spent all of it with his thumbs hooked on his belt and his head tilted ever so slightly. 

He was by no means a Vader expert (was anyone?) but he had generally observed those motions when their dark commander was…pleased.

Piett tugged the hem of his jacket as the lift slowed and they reached senior bridge level. Veers gave him a slight nod—thank you, General—and they stepped out into the bustle of the corridor. 

Here numerous officers stuttered and saluted with muted ‘Lord Vaders’ or surprised ‘Captains’ as they addressed this unexpected group.

The blast doors opened for them and Piett followed Vader onto the bridge. His heart was thundering, and he found himself in equal measure at home and tense for whatever confrontation was to come.

The normal hum of the bridge diminished at Vader’s approach, voices dying away and movements stilling as they all strode up the central walkway.

Ozzel was the last to turn, his pale eyes sweeping them and narrowing as he spotted Piett. Then he adjusted his stance and gave Vader a small, condescending half smile.

“My Lord. You have returned early, I am…glad to see. I must confess I am a little confused—-”

“A constant state of being for you it seems, Admiral,” Vader interrupted curtly. “I am given to understand that in my absence, you took it upon yourself to adjust the command structure on my ship.”

Ozzel swallowed, glaring at Piett and Veers now.

“Not at all, my Lord. I regret to say that there is incontrovertible evidence of Captain Piett’s treason. I do not know what you have been told, but I am sorry you were bothered by—-”

Vader casually flicked a hand and the forward viewport displayed a holoimage—-a recording of Ozzel himself speaking to another officer.

Lieutenant Gherant over at Weapons raised his eyebrows and glanced to Piett.

“...somewhere in his office,” Ozzel was saying. He handed over a code cylinder. “This should get you in, no trouble.”

The holoimage switched and this time it showed the officer—-Ozzel’s aide, Piett realized—accessing Piett’s office and looking around swiftly. Then he spotted the ship and moved to it, lifting it down and utilizing a thin knife to carve into the hull of Veers’ gift.

Ozzel was as white as paper, his mouth dropping as though strings had been cut.

“You may be wondering,” Lord Vader said casually, as though he had not just thrown a virtual denton onto the bridge, “how it is that I have these images. And again, Admiral, you forget that this is my ship. You have access to a great deal. But you cannot turn off her AI. Only I may do that.”

Piett was certain this was not the AI. This was the Lady herself, his wonderful Lady, who had provided this information. 

The images disappeared and Vader turned back to Ozzel, looming into his space.

“Since you are so… eager for a shift in command, Admiral, I will oblige you. Commander Venka!”

Tom audibly swallowed, but stepped forward from where he’d been rooted over by the pilot.

“My…my Lord?”

Piett tightened his jaw ready to defend Venka. Surely Vader had to know that his first officer had not been complicit…

“I believe you have been granted temporary status as Captain of this ship.”

Venka’s eyes darted to Piett’s apologetically.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Allow me to make it permanent. Congratulations, Captain Venka.”

“I…but…”

Vader was already turning from the bewildered man toward Piett and Veers.

Firmus was trying to stop the whirling of his brain.

What was happening? He had thought Vader was going to reinstate him. Was this a horrible trick after all? Was he just going to dispose of Piett and likely Veers because they had fallen for his trap?

“Piett. As you were clearly innocent in all of this, I am changing your position.”

Behind him, Ozzel began to cough and his hands flew to his throat. Every eye on the bridge was stretched wide as the Admiral staggered a few steps toward the viewport before he collapsed to his knees.

“You are in command now, Admiral Piett,” Vader said, and his right hand closed into a fist.

Ozzel, countenance now purple, gave a last gurgle and tilted over face first to the deck. His body twitched and then lay still.

With that, Lord Vader strode off down the walkway and out the blast doors.

The silence was thick as every officer strove to process what they had just witnessed.

Veers was a statue beside him, and Venka looked like he might actually vomit. 

Piett took a breath.

“Lieutenant Gherant,” he said as crisply as possible. “I realize the situation is…unprecedented. Please contact the medbay and have them retrieve…” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘the body’. “Retrieve the Admiral.”

Then he turned and moved to Venka, holding out a hand.

“I know this is not how you may have liked a promotion, Tom,” he said sincerely, “But I am most heartily glad to have you as Captain.”

Venka grasped his hand and seemed to come out of a trance.

“Sir…” he managed, then cleared his throat. “Sir, I am so very glad you’re back. I knew you were innocent, Cap—-Admiral.”

Piett smiled.

“Thank General Veers for acting on my behalf. We’ll fill you in shortly.”

Tom gave Veers an uncertain look. Max inclined his head ruefully. 

“Did what I had to, Venka,” he said briefly.

“Sir, med team is on the way,” Gherant reported. “May I reiterate, Admiral, how good it is to have you back, sir.”

Piett smiled at him. “Thank you, Gherant. Incidentally, Venka needs a first officer, and that’s you. Congratulations, Commander.”

A pleased flush spread over Gherant’s countenance.

“Thank you, sir.”

Piett clasped his hands behind his back and nodded at a young ensign who was still looking confused.

“Please get an emergency blanket to cover the body,” he said as steadily as possible. “Venka, you still have the bridge. I…”

Things were becoming a bit much. 

“I need to solidify the transition,” he managed lamely. “General?”

Veers was beside him immediately and they moved off the bridge, Piett doing his best to smile and acknowledge the pleasure of the crew as he went by.

He made it to the Admiral’s conference room and the moment the doors hissed shut behind him, he braced his hands on the glossy conference table and bent over to take deep breaths.

“I’ve messaged Henley,” Veers said immediately, opening the cold storage on the far wall and returning with a water bottle. “You need a check by someone other than a droid. And new rank bars are on the way.”

Piett opened the water gratefully, frowning at the tremble in his hands, before he drank most of it. 

“That…kriff, Veers. I wasn’t…that wasn’t….”

“I know,” Max said seriously. “Didn’t see that coming either. Mind you, I’m not complaining. Bastard got what was coming to him as far as I’m concerned. But that was quite a rank jump.”

Piett nodded jerkily, stomach churning uncomfortably.

“I…don’t know that I’m up to this, Veers,” he admitted, sinking into a chair. 

“You are,” his friend replied immediately. “You’ve essentially been doing at least half his job already. Firmus, most of the crew didn’t believe that bantha poodu about treason. You heard Tom. It does mean we’ll need to give an explanation as to why I got ISB involved. At least to the senior bridge crew. We don’t want more wild rumors than necessary flowing around.”

Piett looked up as a small mouse droid trundled in from a wall port and bumped his boot.

He leaned over and retrieved the shiny new rank bars from its storage.

It chirped at him and departed cheerfully, job done.

“Allow me, Admiral ,” Veers said, grinning at him now, and holding out a hand.

Piett wasn’t feeling as confident as Max clearly was, but he rose and submitted to Veers removing his captain’s bars and then fitting the new rank bars in the same spot.

“I…need to get back to the bridge,” Piett told him, once this was complete. “Can’t have the crew know I’m having a breakdown here.”

Veers clapped him on the shoulder. “I think they’d understand, my friend,” he said. “But wait until Henley gives the all clear. We can say that. You needed official medical clearance for duty before taking command.”

Piett removed his cap to run a hand through his hair and then replaced it.

Yes. 

Veers’ plan made sense. 

But… five ranks. Kark, he hoped he was up to this.

Above him, the lights flickered. He smiled, glancing up.

“Thank you, Lady,” he said. “For everything. You were wonderful.”

The room glowed golden for a moment and Veers blinked. 

“I could swear that means she’s happy you’re here.”

Piett’s mouth curled a little. 

“She is. Nice to see you two getting along as well.”

Veers sighed. 

“I was having a perfectly normal career until I met you, I’ll have you know.”

And at last, Piett managed a full smile.

This loyal friend. His wonderful ship. The two of them had undoubtedly saved his life in so many ways.

“They say acceptance is the first step, General,” he replied mildly.

Veers’ irritated sigh was the first step toward the new normal.

“Both or none,” Max agreed.