The two men regarded each other, Piett’s brain whirling with uncertainty.
Why would he care about Piett’s perspective? Surely all that mattered was what the Imperial Forces thought. If he was being a good little cog, then that was the only relevant aspect certainly.
“What do ya wish ta hear than, General?” Piett asked, waving a gloved hand slightly. The corner of Veers’ mouth twitched and he huffed very quietly.
“I am not a man who wishes to have his ears stroked, Captain,” he said in dry tones. “I would like to hear your assessment of your duties and your people. Not what you think I wish to hear.”
Piett narrowed his eyes. “If we’re spakin’ frankly then—ya wish me ta belave thet ya want tha opinion of a Rimmer Captain?”
Veers said nothing. Didn’t move. Just waited expectantly.
Piett hated being in this position. On the other hand, what more could they really do to him? He may as well be honest.
“Ah am no syncophant, General,” he growled, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands loosely. “Just didna expect thet mah opinion has any weight as a prisoner hare.”