TheBridge

Veers took a few moments to just breathe in the gozanti, trying to settle his rolling stomach and get a grip on the pain in his head. He knew he was dehydrated—no surprise as he’d not had time to drink much water on this campaign.

Vader had been ruthless —-but he could push as hard as he liked, no Luke Skywalker had appeared. The five day hunt in the blistering heat had cost Veers seventeen men. Eight more were in serious condition from sunstroke.

Not all of them had temperature controlled suits , Veers thought bitterly.

His own uniform was stained many times over with sweat rings and his stubble was itchy after too many days without shaving.

The best that could be said was that Vader hadn’t actively blamed Veers for Skywalker’s absence.

“I want you to go with Travus,” he said. “I think you can be useful to him.”

Piett froze and stared. Max held his gaze without flinching.

“General…” he began, stomach churning.

Why?

“Those are my orders, Firmus,” Veers told him, and insight flashed over Piett.

“You…think I will be safer with the Tribune don’t you?”

His friend sighed. “Firmus. There is much I would like to say to you. Some misunderstandings that I wish to clear up. But we don’t have time at the moment so…yes, I would like you to live to do so.”

“I would like you to live as well, General ,” Piett replied fiercely in low tones. “I promised your wife…!”

And briefly, Max placed a hand on his shoulder. “I have a whole Legion who has a vested interest in keeping me alive, Firmus. It is not all on your shoulders.”

“Your Legion did not make a promise to your lady, Ma—General,” he ground out. “I did. And slave I may be, but I am also a warrior and that means something.”

They ate in silence for a few moments and then she leaned back, sipping her water and fixing him with that remarkable gaze.

“Now,” she said. “Please explain why you feel you must leave so soon. Because your friend needs at least four more days in bacta. I cannot in good conscience release him.

Veers raised an eyebrow and set down his cutlery.

“I’m afraid the answer to that is confidential,” he told her, seeking to bluff this out.

“Well that may be,” Yara said calmly, “But the Captain stays put until I say so. You’ll need someone higher up the chain than yourself, General, to override that.”

They held the look—golden eyes vs. grey—-like fighters sizing the other up.

He’d not planned for this.

“Tell me something,” the Doctor said at last, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. “Why did you come here? Why didn’t you seek care directly from one of your Star Destroyers?”

“We were pursued by Rebel ships,” Veers told her, having planned this part of their cover story. “In order to escape I went to light speed. This was the closest outpost.”

“Mmm.” Yara pursed her lips and ripped another piece off of her flatbread. “I looked into the action you were part of. The only Rebel ships there were either destroyed or escaped. There wasn’t really any naval conflict. It was mostly a ground campaign. And you were the one in charge of that, General Veers.”

Piett waited while Sergeant Havell calmly removed his binders in Veers’ office.

“Thank you,” he told the man, stressing the ‘ou’ sound. Max had pointed out that having a less obvious Axxilan accent may help them in their escape attempt and it was a tool in their arsenal if Piett could sound like a different person.

Piett had countered that having an Axxilan accent in the underground galaxy they were striving to enter would actually be more useful. It stung him to hear that Veers felt his natural tones would be a handicap.

“Not denying that in the least, Firmus,” Max had replied, holding up his hands, his grey eyes kind. “But if we are to pose as Imperial officers at some point—and I confess I already can think of numerous scenarios where that will be likely—-then it would be very handy to have you sounding as Core as possible to avoid suspicion. Particularly in the immediate aftermath of our escape. They’ll be looking for an Axxilan, not a Core worlder.”

“Sorry,” he’d sighed, doing his best not to itch at his healing back. It would only make things worse and the skin was still very new and tender. And he shouldn’t take his insecurities out on Max. “What ya say makes sinse. Ah’ll ah….Ah’ll nade help though.”

Veers had grinned. “Happy to coach you in sounding like a pretentious snob, my friend.”

The same big sergeant was there, though for the first time, he looked slightly uncertain as Piett began to unlatch his duty jacket.

“General,” the burly man said in low tones, glancing to the window where Malustan waited impatiently, “I was told forty, sir. Is that…?”

“It’s correct,” Veers answered curtly. “You are not to kill him, Sergeant.”

He swept on, hoping that sounded sufficiently callous, to reach Piett in order to cuff him personally.

His friend was pale as death, but he kept himself straight—no cowering or trembles here. Not for Firmus Piett.

Veers already felt sick at the myriad of scars that crossed that slim back—some white and older and others still pale pink.

The Captain mutely held out his wrists and Veers placed the binders there, looking down and barely moving his lips as he spoke.

“Hold fast, Firmus. I’m going to get you through this, I swear.”

And very briefly, Piett’s fingers tapped his hand in response.

He’d not been to Piett’s quarters since assigning them, so he wasn’t worried if Malustan were to find out he’d been here. Just making certain the Captain couldn’t escape. He was locked into his quarters after 2200, but Veers was rather sure that Piett wouldn’t be stopped by Imperial mechanisms. Not for long at least.

He pressed the door pad even though Piett couldn’t open it himself. He wanted to give the man the courtesy of knowing someone was coming. Veers waited five seconds and then used his code cylinder to enter.

He stopped and took in the situation.

Piett was seated on his bed, uniform still on, though exceedingly rumpled. His cap lay on the floor—in pieces.

Anything that could be broken in here was broken—-the chair and desk a complete loss. Something crunched under Veers’ shoes and he found he was standing on the shattered remains of Piett’s data pad.

And the Captain’s hands…

Veers found the places on the wall where blood spatter matched the mess Piett had made of his knuckles. Currently his arms were resting on his thighs, the blood dripping from his fingers to the floor.

The pad turned green and the door slid open to admit her.

She stepped in and stood at stiff attention as Veers lifted his head from his work and eyed her.

“Sir. Ensign Mina. 513 Cherek.”

“Yes, I know, Ensign,” he replied calmly. He reached over and tapped at something on a datapad and then sat back to regard her. “I can give you ten minutes. What is it I can do for you?”

She would not be intimidated. He wasn’t angry. Just the Senior General in the fleet and…

Get a grip, Mina.

“Sir,” she said, gripping her hands tightly behind her back. “There have been a lot of rumors. All we have been told is that Captain Piett attempted an escape and was…was punished for it.”

“You’re a good officer!” Veers snapped back, coming to loom over him. Piett glared up at him, the disadvantage of his height irritating him further. “You’re doing good work here, Piett, and I know it’s not ideal, but..”

“Tell me ya wouldna done the same,” Piett interrupted, daring to push this stern man who was showing him a side he hadn’t known existed. Veers actually cared. If Piett didn’t know better, he would have said that the General was bothered by Piett’s escape attempt on a personal level.

“Tell me ya wouldna want ta go back to an actual purpose. Somethin’ useful.”

He could see Veers wanted to tell him he was doing something useful in serving the Empire. And he also saw the moment that the General discarded that and made a huff of disgust.

Interesting.

“Captain, desertion bears the death penalty,” he said in low tones.

Piett inclined his head.

“Ah was prepared ta die in tha escape attempt. And Ah dinna see this as desertion as ya well know.”

Veers stared at him for a beat. Then he sighed.

“We need to see Malustan.”

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.”

Captain Piett,” the General said in a voice that was everything Piett hated about the Imperial Forces. “You are now in service to his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Palpatine. You will be in charge of Repair Group 513cherek. While you are technically a member of the Imperial Navy, I have been tasked in overseeing you given your…unique circumstances.”

“Mah unwillin’ conscription, is what Ah believe ya mane, General,” Piett told him, easing himself slowly into a sitting position.

Veers didn’t even blink though the Doctor huffed at this disrespect.

“It would be wise, Captain ,” Veers said in frosty tones, “to respect the chain of command. Naturally you do not wish to be here, but the thing is done, and for your sake, accepting that and keeping your head down is the best option available to you.”

Not likely , Piett thought to himself. He’d always been a fighter. Surrendering meekly was not his speed. The first moment he felt he could make an escape attempt he would. But he must learn this ship and its layout and crew first.

“Be a good little slave then, is it?” he asked with equal chill to his voice. He held himself as straight as possible while sitting down and tilted his chin to stare right at the Imperial General.

She rose but he stopped her. “Fraulein.”

“Thank you. For all of this. And…I assure you I am not in a state to leave and…and betray you if that is what you fear.” He gestured vaguely at the chain at the foot of the cot.

She bit her lip briefly. “Maybe not, Colonel. But I will not be taking any chances.”

He sighed a little. “At least…may I know your name?”

She gave him a hard stare. “I don’t think we’re in a position to be that friendly,” she informed him coolly. “‘Fraulein’ is just fine. Someone will be up to check on you again in a few hours.”

And with that she was gone, taking the light with her. Piett lay and stared up at the beams above his head. He wondered if Max and Tom had made it. Their pursuers could have shot them down as well. Or scrambled fighters to take out the British aircraft….

He must stop. He couldn’t control that and worrying was not going to help him heal any faster. And he was so very tired and hot…

Piett drifted again.

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Scraps entered shyly, whipping off his cap as he did so and fiddling with it as the doors hissed shut behind him.

“Tea?” Piett asked mildly, turning to his galley without waiting for an answer and fetching two mugs. His clever Lady was already heating his kettle again. He turned to lean on the counter and study the flushing boy before him.

“What is it I can do for you, Lieutenant?” he asked, though he was reasonably certain that he knew what Scraps was doing here. He watched the young officer make a decision to be honest and silently scored another point for him.

“Um…sir, General Veers and the Princess thought that you might appreciate some company.”

Piett snorted and turned to sort out the tea bags and hot water.

“What you mean , Mr. Scraps, is that both of them wanted you to make sure I am resting .” He turned and handed a mug to Scraps. “And as you see, I am indeed.”

The poor kid bit his bottom lip guiltily and sipped carefully at his mug.

“Then—wow that’s spicy—sir, I really shouldn’t impose then…”

“You’re here now, Matthew,” Piett said, relenting to give him a smile. “Milk is over there. And I’m glad you are. It’s very good to see you. I believe I promised a tour of the Lady when we met again. I’m afraid I can’t do that at the moment for fear of setting the hens fussing, but I would be happy to give you a tour of the Admiral’s quarters.”

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The door hissed open and Piett squinted blearily as the expected countenance with the pale helmet hair appeared.

“Well, Admiral,” Madine said with false joviality. “I trust you’ve had time to contemplate your options. Or just time to be uncomfortable enough to speak with me?”

Piett glared and blew out a breath. “You’re being a fool, Madine. I’ll ask you again, speak to the princess or Mon Mothma.”

The General smirked. “I intend to find out the whereabouts of the genocidal Sith Lord you answer to. Failing that, Piett, it will be you answering for his actions. You would spare yourself a great deal by turning him in.”

Piett leaned back as far as he could and studied the idiot in a General’s uniform.

“You somehow looked at my file and actions and decided that I was the sort of man who would turn on his commander did you?” he asked. Kark, his voice was a pathetic croak at the moment. He desperately needed water, and not just the dribbles from that awful spray down of…yesterday?

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“A General Madine took Admiral Piett into custody, your Highness. Rather than start hostilities all over again, the Admiral agreed to go with him. But the General refused to tell us where…”

“That bastard ,” the princess hissed, seeming not to care about the raised eyebrows all around her.

“Um…I couldn’t agree more, your Highness. So I had hoped that perhaps the General had reported in to you or your High Command…”

“Tom,” Veers said, leaning in over the commlink. “Where is Lord Vader?”

“Veers. Good to hear your voice. He’s in sickbay. So is Skywalker. Both stable and doing well. I think the Admiral didn’t want Madine to know that, sir.”

Max nodded. If Lord Vader was injured and Madine was looking to make a name for himself, Piett would of course stand in his way. Kriffing hells, he needed to be up there.

“Venka,” he said, looking at the princess as he did so. “We’re coming to you. Can you make sure you don’t shoot us?”

A snort sounded.

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He chuckled and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. But he had to broach a difficult topic and this was their last chance…

“My dear…it is very possible that this is the last time we will speak to each other. You should know that it’s been an honor. That I’m incredibly grateful it was you and Veers that came for me…”

“Do not say that as though you believe it. Admiral…”

He moved to his small trees, wishing that he could have had the opportunity to show them to her—to give her a tour of his wonderful Lady…

“Princess. I am going to place myself and my ship between the rest of the Imperial Fleet and the ships of the Rebellion. Even the Lady cannot hold out for long against that sort of firepower.”

The rest of the Rebels would believe this to be a trap. And indeed, Palpatine intended it to be. They were playing a very high stakes chess game here in order to allow Lord Vader and Skywalker their chance at the Emperor.

She was quiet for a moment.

“Admiral. I want you to promise to try and survive this. I will do the same. And if we both do—and I will fight for that, dear Admiral—I will find you. I swear it.”

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Veers glared fiercely at the laser gun emplacements which were doing a very effective job at holding them off from the last hundred yards.

What he would give to have just one of his Herd here.

The Rebellion had far smaller armored units and thus, they needed to be much closer in order to be effective.

Ground speeders were doing their best to soften up the enemy, but there were just so damn many of them.

He was going to have to ask his people to make a suicidal attack here. They didn’t have time.

“We’ve got to pull out,” Leia said as calmly as possible to Ellery.

“Ma’am, I understand that, but the General just gave the order to fly right down their throats. We have to see this play out.”

Leia pressed her lips together and clenched her fists tightly, gazing at the approaching Star Destroyers.

“We can’t lose you all, Sergeant. Tell Veers he has three minutes and then you must retreat back to the ships.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Leia watched the little dots on her screen, heart thundering.

Please be right, General.

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Wisdom dictated that he leave it. That he had utterly no ground here…

But he knew he was right to assess this plan as foolish. Luke was certain it would work. Vader was not so sure and felt that his daughter may have the more level head of the two. At least wait until Palpatine was disposed of to go after such a worthless target.

And his pride rose as well—that his tiny daughter thought him a coward…

He used the Force to flick the secure comms.

“Admiral dear, this is getting excessive…” came fond and teasing tones. Trusting. Happy to hear from Piett.

It wounded him badly and he didn’t think he was capable of being wounded anymore.

“You ought to wait to retrieve the smuggler until after we complete our plans,” he said bluntly, and heard her hiss of breath.