The Imperial research outpost on the verdant Outer Rim planet Floria-veridian had come under attack, important biological research stolen. A small but highly active Rebel cell, led by the insectoid native Florians, was the primary suspect. The Executor had been dispatched to deal with the theft. The troops had returned yesterday, and now the great warship was in steady orbit as interrogators and scientists took care of the prisoners and data retrieved.
Admiral Piett was not concerned with interrogations or scientific research today. It was taking all his concentration to simply perform his own job up to standards. He had started feeling unwell around the same time he met General Veers for dinner in the Officers' Lounge for a quiet discussion of theories and opinions that had not made it into the official, fact-based debrief. A dull ache had started throbbing behind his shoulder blades – perhaps the chair he had been sitting in had somehow gotten damaged, and needed to be repaired or replaced.
Around the time he had gone to bed, the admiral's nose had started itching terribly, no matter how he rubbed at it. Between the ache in his back, his itching face, and a general feeling of malaise, Piett had not slept well – dozing fitfully and restlessly. He had opted to skip breakfast, instead heading straight for the bridge, resisting the urge to keep rubbing his nose or shrugging at his jacket, which seemed to stretch oddly across his painful back.
Once inside, his spirits lifted. The ambiance of the bridge – the occasional burst of soft chatter from Coms, the quiet beeps and taps as everyone else attended to their consoles – felt like home, as much as his quarters. He set a steady course for the looming black monolith staring out at the stars. "Good morning, my lord," he greeted with quiet cheer.
It took the Dark Lord a minute to turn, but when he did, Vader stared at Piett like he'd sprouted wings and a proboscis. Piett stared back self-consciously, resisting the urge to rub his nose. "Sir?" he finally said uncertainly.
"Admiral," Darth Vader rumbled, a curious note in his voice. "You should go check into the infirmary."
"Sir?!" Piett replied, alarmed, before snapping back into crisp professionalism. "Yes, sir!" Turning, he marched off the bridge and straight for the nearest turbolift.
Once safely inside, however, he let the strict efficiency slide just a little bit, and leaned forward to check his reflection in the chromed paneling. What he saw made his eyes widen in horror – his nose had elongated overnight, taking on a rather pointed look. A sudden fear of what might be happening to his back assailed him, and he took a step away from the reflective panel, willing the turbolift to move more quickly to its destination.
So I was reading frodogenic's Meet the Skywalkers the other day, and in chapter 15 she has a line that seized hold my mind and wouldn't let go: "Vader actually skipped an entire breathing cycle this time, staring at him [Piett] like he'd sprouted wings and a proboscis." That line has been rattling around my head for a couple of days, and then last night it met a plot bunny, and this unholy abomination was born.