The very first thing one had to learn when entering the Star Dreadnought known as the Executor was to make sure to never bore the man above every other person, the Admiral Firmus Piett. The newcomer – he was in charge for a few days since – was not really a man of command and he was despised more than feared. The troopers learnt by themselves that to upset him with slowness, misunderstanding or unexpected problems could lead to loud shouts and exaggerate bursts of anger. He was the kind of person who could find no culprit nor inefficient man within himself. Since he was the admiral, he had to be good and efficient or else how could have he obtained the highest rank of the ship? Every problem could only be the result of others' incompetence and foolishness and he was no fool. He also found pleasure in controlling what and who was below him, which was the mark of a man who could never stand the fact that he was below someone else. Giving orders for the sake of giving orders, Piett liked this the most – telling this trooper to go to this place or the other, commanding this droid for it to manage this room or this task. Yes, Piett loved this new place of his. The previous admiral failed, thus resulting in his termination. Piett thought – no, he knew he could not fail. He was not a disappointment. He was efficient. A clever man. He will succeed.
Ambition was growing in his mind as he was standing in the starship's bridge. Facing the glass, the gas giant was like an eye laid upon him – and yet, he was the one watching. The rebels were there. Not all of them, but the Organa princess was enough to strike the rebellion and defeat it completely. Bespin shall be their tomb, everything was set up already. Piett only had to wait. Wait the ship which would bring to him the last remnants of hope the rebels had. He started to wonder – could this grant him the Emperor's praise? Maybe Admiral was not enough. He wanted more. He was a man of ambition. Never a place, a rank will be enough for him. When his hubris went at its highest, he wondered if the title of "lord" suited him – how was "Lord Piett"? A subtle smile began to appear on his mind. His ambition however crumbled as he saw a ship approaching the Executor. The real lord was coming back from the planet. Piett started to sweat; a drop of water was sliding on his forehead, ending up fondling the right corner of his lips. Did he feel cold? Hot? He could not tell – the drop felt like both. But he stopped his fantasies. His foolishness started to fade, his dreams, to collapse. Where did his confidence go within mere seconds? Moments ago, no thing could frighten him. It took him a while before he noticed his right hand was shaking. Panic to invade him. He was deeply scared, for he remembered that heindeedwas the man above every other person in the ship, which meant that he had no authority on what was in the ship coming from Bespin – not because its rank was higher, but because it could not possibly be a man.
He rushed and went to the hangar. When the ship flew down as it came through the entrance, Piett felt his heart beating faster, which had nothing to do with his run. He feared the moment when the ship would open. He feared who – no, what was about to come out. He feared, as if he were already hearing it, the mechanical, inhuman breath. When the door of the ship finally opened, it was as if the coldness of the black void surrounding the Executor went into it. No thing, no one was to be heard – only a deep silence, but not the silence of nothingness. Rather the silence of something waiting. Everything around kept moving, troopers, droids, personnel. But, watching what came from the ship, one could have sworn that the entire starship stood still. It was as if everyone felt its presence. What came out was like the human-like silhouette of space itself, space which everyone in the ship learnt not to fear. But Piett could hardly not fear what was walking towards him. Too tall to be considered organic. Yet too hateful to not be living. Some say that he was born on a planet of fire and lava, that Hell itself spewed this fiend to unleash it on other worlds. How could a demon be still so cold? Piett watched the black masque – the first greatest proof of strength he ever showed – and talked to it – the second greatest proof.
'Lord Vader, have the rebels been arrested?'
During the few seconds he waited before having an answer, he could hear the breath. God, the breath. It was elongated, like the breath of a creature on the verge of death, but still living thanks to the cruel machines prolonging its life. It was the breath of a dead body animated by wrath and wires. It sounded like something the livings feared and Death itself avoided. Something in between. Alive and dead. Human and monstrous. A mockery of nature.
The voice was more horrible, if it were possible.
'It appears Skywalker fled from the city with the help of his group. I want fighters behind them. You may pursue their ship, but tell your men not to engage battle. I want them alive, Admiral.'
'Yes, my Lord, Piett answered. We hope that we can follow them till they give us the position of one of their base, or a fleet.'
'We shall get them, not follow them, Admiral. I only care about the rebels in the Millennium Falcon. Act swiftly and get them now – if we have Skywalker and Organa, then the rest will soon follow.'
'As you wish, my Lord.'
Both went to the bridge. Piett hardly regained his composure – he had to, the battle had to be won efficiently and quickly. The Falcon's hyperdrive had been deactivated, the rebels could not leave easily. As they went, Piett was preparing his orders for the battle to come. Vader arrived at the bridge. The Admiral came moments after. Little did he know the real battle was happening inside the mind of the Dark Lord he was standing next to.
First chapter of a two-shot. It's a very short chapter since I wanted to focus first on the impression Vader gives to others and on the setting of the fanfic. The second one will be much longer, and will be an introspection. Very first fic on this site, I take any criticism, valid or not, constructed or not, as long as it helps me to improve.