TheBridge

“You have a high priority comm from Grand Moff Tarkin sir.”

The entire bridge became remarkably still—- that feeling of silent winter chill in the air.

It was highly unusual for Tarkin to contact the Executor, particularly if Lord Vader was not present.

Given that the man had just ordered the death of two different planets in a matter of days, it was perhaps not all that surprising that his name struck such fear.

Piett’s jaw tightened.

“Very well. Please send it to the Senior Conference Room.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He glanced to Tom whose tension was quite apparent in his expression.

“You have the bridge, Commander,” Piett told him in what he hoped were calm tones, before he turned to walk with measured stride off of the bridge.

He made it halfway down the corridor when Veers fell into step beside him from a joining corridor.

“That was fast, even for scuttlebutt,” Piett murmured.

“I was on my way here already when I heard,” the General replied. “You know what he wants.”

Leia felt utterly sick and it wasn’t just because of the stun blast that had hit her moments after she’d sent Artoo away with Threepio. The little droid had been cursing bitterly the whole way, but he understood the urgency of what he’d carried and had absolutely bullied Threepio toward the escape pods.

She had to hope that she had bought them enough time to get off ship.

She sat now in a detention cell aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer, bouncing a knee and rubbing at her dirtied senatorial robes.

Was Bail alive?

How many had died at Scarif?

Her crew—her loyal people on the Tantive IV…

Tears pricked her eyes at this. She had seen so many bodies as she was hauled through the corridors of the faithful old vessel—now damaged beyond repair.

But—

Somehow that Rogue group had managed to get the Death Star plans through the blockade. Against all odds they had done it and given their lives in the process.

She would do no less.

“Stars, I miss everything,” Piett sighed, shifting and resigning himself to be uncomfortable due to the wound’s placement.

Veers gave him the galaxy’s best unimpressed look.

“Painkillers, Firmus. Take them.”

‘Iron General’ the Lady’s waste disposal unit.

“Mother Hen,” Piett responded, pointing a finger at his friend. “I already have one of those. Mother Krayt dragon really.”

“Did I hear you giving me lovely compliments?” asked the Princess, entering his room with a cup of tea and what smelled like a fresh grimbl bun. “Also, I would like to be introduced. Also, I have your painkillers.”

Veers folded his arms on screen and looked smug.

Piett pressed his lips together and stifled his annoyance. He liked both of these people very much, but the fussing over this wound was ridiculous. He’d had far worse in his life. He was counting the minutes until he was allowed to get to his feet and work on rebuilding his strength.

Piett sipped at his tea and watched the monitor. Lord Vader had arranged for surveillance of the Princess’s apartment and there were two possible entries. The front door of course—located in the west corridor of the tall building—and her bedroom which contained double doors leading to a small balcony that overlooked the Yzidri market district.

Piett had set up a system to alert him if the camera noted that the Princess had exited either of these doors.

It had gone off numerous times during his stay here, but none of them had been cause for alarm.

He had just tugged off his boots in preparation to rest when the alarm pinged again. He glanced at the monitor, then did a double take and looked more closely.

The girl had exited her double doors to the balcony. Nothing problematic about that. She’d done so many times.

But.

It was 0100 hours.

She was dressed in black with a hood over her head.

And she’d just shimmied over the side of the balcony.

115 floors up.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48214471/chapters/122366380

“Lady,” he said. “Please adjust the biometric controls in here so I can breathe.”

She complied immediately and he sat on the single chair in this room, removing the helmet and then unclipping the mask, to peel it off and set it aside.

“This is what I am now, Artoo,” he said, his voice sounding weak and feeble to his ears. Well. What was left of his ears. “What Obi-Wan did. No doubt you think I deserve it.”

The blue droid swivelled his camera slowly over him.

[By my assessment,] Artoo told him flatly [you should have died. Why didn’t you?]

Ever gentle and considerate, this droid.

“That…is a good question,” he answered, willing to think about it more in depth for the first time in years. “The Emperor got to me in time. Got me medical aid.”

Artoo gave a blat.

[That bag of poodu can’t raise anyone from the dead . Even if he got you medical care right away, you should not have survived.]

For the first time, Vader could detect a little doubt in the droid’s tone.

“What are you saying, Artoo?” he asked.

[I do not have a conclusion,] his old friend said. [I am merely pointing out facts based on what I can see. Your ship can verify.]