ADMIRAL MOTTI
He was none too keen for the arrival of the Sith lord. He had spent careful, concentrated months, years even, to rebuild the image that Lord Vader had shattered in a few precious moments aboard the Death Star. Just a couple of misspoken words to an individual who could not be bothered to verbally argue like any decent human being and Conan Motti's reputation as one of the most formidable leader on the Joint Chiefs Council had come crumbling down. Word spread thanks to the lone survivor of that council, General Cassio Tagge, and his penchant for burying people before they were actually dead.
He had not been made the laughing stock of the Imperial Fleet, but he had been singled out as the man who crossed the Sith lord and was too arrogant to learn from his mistakes. That, and he was branded a coward and a lucky bastard for weaseling his way out of dishonorable discharge, execution, or worse thanks to his family's connections to the fleet's fundings. He was no fool and knew that it was not solely thanks to the achievements he managed on his own that he had been able to climb up this far the Imperial ladder. He also knew that he was far more fortunate than most to still be alive despite everything that had happened to him, but that did not mean he was not resentful of how his life had turned out since then.
By almost all accounts, he should not be complaining one bit. He was ranked second-in-command after Commander Jerjerrod who was more or less a moff in rank if not by name aboard the second Death Star. He reported only to Jerjerrod and by that extension, the Sith lord, and the Emperor himself. He had millions of men under his command, he had unlimited access to the most powerful source of energy in the galaxy, and he had had to accomplish that on his own since his financial backing had been stripped due to his family's disgrace that he had spoken out of turn and upset the Sith lord. While they still contributed funds, they did not associate him with the family name and had not spoken to him since the incident.
Everything he now owned and the position that he held was thanks to keeping his head down, doing as commanded, and by Commander Jerjerrod's good graces, for Motti surely would have talked himself right into the awaiting target of a firing squad if it had not been for the commander beside him.
/ /
Some four or five days he had been in the infirmary, undergoing numerous tests set forth by meddroids and the like until he had been deemed fully mentally competent despite his concussion and the ruling that he had suffered a nervous breakdown of sorts that rendered him unstable and on edge. They sedated him to keep him calm and he was hardly aware of the time, for when he came to and found that it had been nearly a week since the destruction of the Death Star, he was surprised to find himself still alive.
Word had reached him that Lord Vader had escaped the blast radius, contacted the Emperor, and made landing with his damaged ship on a nearby moon until a carrier could be sent to retrieve him. That could only bode ill for Motti, and he thoroughly expected an escort of troopers to arrive to dispose of him via firing squad at any moment, but instead, Jerjerrod was his very first human visitor who joined him in the medical bay looking far too somber for Motti's liking.
"Admiral," said Motti, rising from his cot to acknowledge Jerjerrod, though the act was slightly marred by the fact that one of Motti's wrists was secured to the railing around his bed. Jerjerrod's eyes flickered down to the binder and a slight frown formed across his lips.
"I was not aware that you were already being court martialed. It was my understanding that that would begin once I escorted you to your cell to await trial."
Motti could have lied and said that the binders were more for his protection than to instate rules, but he knew Jerjerrod would know better, and so he shrugged. They both knew why he was being detained in such a way, but could not say so aloud, and so Jerjerrod pressed his thumb to the scanner at the center of the chain linking the binders together. The scanner accepted his input and both ends opened to allow Motti to rub at his left wrist and turn his back to Jerjerrod to begin changing out of his patient gown. He had been forced to don it for the duration of his stay in the medical bay and was eager to be back into his uniform which was now criminally wrinkled and still smelled of stale sweat, but at least he did not feel nearly as exposed in it. He took great care to keep his chin in close to his chest to hide the front of his neck from the admiral. Once he had deemed himself presentable, he worked a look of disinterest on his face, turned back to his commanding officer, and saluted more for the camera's sake than Jerjerrod's.
Sporting an equally unimpressed expression, Jerjerrod pointed him out of the ward. It was difficult to ignore the many curious glances he acquired as they made the journey from the outer decks to the inner ones where the cellblocks were located.
Motti did not pretend to not know why they all stared. They were wondering why he was still alive after word of his insubordination had spread. As far as they were concerned, he was a dead man and awaiting trial was only prolonging the inevitable. They were not his men and owed him no loyalty, but he could not help but feel a great resentment toward all of them for looking down on him when they would have done the same thing if they had been in his position. Not a one of them would have stayed to blow up on a ship if they had even the slightest chance of escaping, yet they were crucifying him for it.
Still, he was determined to surprise them all and make them regret every infinitesimal thought of ever doubting him when he came through his trial and rose to the recently vacated position of Grand Moff. His thoughts and notions of grandeur were short-lived, however, when he and Jerjerrod arrived at what was to be his home for the next indeterminable amount of time.
Motti stepped down into his cell and observed the room: four walls, a ceiling so low he had to crane his neck slightly sideways to stand up, and an elevated platform to lay down on with a thin mat that offered little comfort against the cold metal underneath. No windscreen for a chance at a change of scenery, no sink to rinse off his face or take a drink for his parched throat, nothing to occupy his time as he awaited his trial. The cellblock had been designed with the mind that only prisoners would be held here, not officers, and so comfort had been overlooked in favor of confinement.
"I'll see about possibly upgrading your temporary quarters as befits your status," said Jerjerrod with a note of apology. "There are far worse crimes than abandoning ship and all of them merit such dismal accommodations as this, but you've done nothing so terrible."
"I think the order for the state of my quarters came from a higher authority than you," said Motti in a careful tone to remind Jerjerrod that he should not name names just now.
"Unless you believe you are being deliberately punished for your actions by that higher authority, I see no reason why I cannot make changes to your current state of living."
"At your own peril, then."
He could give little more warning than that. Jerjerrod had no business putting himself out there just for Motti to have more comfortable confinement quarters. The very mention would suggest that Motti was of greater importance to Jerjerrod than just a fellow soldier and such relationships were frowned upon. One did not have friends in the Imperial Fleet; one only had superiors, subordinates, and equals. Despite their history of being schoolmates, they were not allowed to let their friendship interfere with their duties or their better judgment.
Jerjerrod lingered on the threshold as if fighting the urge to say something. With a quick glance out into the corridor, he asked in a low voice, "Truth now; why did you abandon ship? If I am called to speak on your behalf, I need to know why."
"I would have thought it was obvious," said Motti in surprise. If anyone knew why he was the sole individual to flee the doomed battle station, it would have been Jerjerrod, but if the admiral was at a loss, perhaps they did not know each other as well as Motti thought they did. "I didn't want to die; it's as simple as that. I'd believed the Death Star to be beyond any attempts to destroy it but my spat with Lord Vader drastically changed my stance on the subject. When the rebels breached the trenches, I could see them drawing closer and closer to the exhaust port and I knew what they were trying to do. I all but begged Tarkin to take refuge at least until the battle was over and the last of the threat had been eliminated but he held too much stock in our defenses. I ran and commandeered my own ship because I knew that the unthinkable was about to happen. Before, I had been as stupid and near-sighted as the rest of them but by an ironic twist of fate, it was Lord Vader who made me realize how possible the impossible is."
"What spat?" asked Jerjerrod, and then Motti paused, for he had no intention of revealing his disgrace to anyone, not even those who knew him best, or at least, longest. No one needed to know how he had been throttled by the dark lord (though he suspected that Tagge had filled in many awaiting ears by now of what had gone in that Joint Chiefs meeting). In any case, Jerjerrod did not need to know how Motti and Vader had argued, only that they had.
"A minor disagreement," Motti lied, fighting the urge to rub at his collar in recollection of the pain he had felt there. "Divisive viewpoints on the might and safety of the Death Star. Lord Vader was correct in his warnings that the rebels could possibly find a way to destroy the station while I found that hard to believe, but once their ships infiltrated the trenches, I chose to err on the side of caution."
Jerjerrod seemed to be fighting the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation, but asked, "And did you apologize to Lord Vader following your dispute?"
"More or less," said Motti evasively. He had been in the room when Vader and Tarkin continued to muse about the rebels' activity and openly agreed with Vader when the Sith gave further warning, but he did not say any apologetic words.
"Conan…"
"My apology was adequate for the Sith's liking. I am not awaiting trial because I disagreed with him and so whether or not I was sincere in my apology is irrelevant."
"A slight to the Sith is not irrelevant."
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten what fragile egos they have."
Jerjerrod made a cutting motion through the air as a warning for Motti to silence himself. "I say again, a slight to the Sith is not irrelevant." He had a note of what sounded like resignation before adding, "You are to be tried by the Emperor."
In the reflective metal-plated wall behind Jerjerrod, Motti could see what little color he had retained drain right out of his face.
That news alone was enough to make him ill for the next several days to where he could not keep anything down and had to be medically fed and hydrated through a needle inserted into his upper inner left arm. He was not allowed to be taken back to the medical ward and so a meddroid was sent to his cell, but he was too weak to attempt an escape or even sit up when the droid checked in on him three times daily.
Any hopes he had of avoiding execution went swiftly out the windscreen when Jerjerrod delivered those fateful words that the Emperor himself would be overseer, judge, jury, and quite possibly executioner of Motti's trial. Had Motti simply fled the Death Star, that would be one charge and one alone to contend with, but he had insulted Emperor Palpatine's brethren and the very idea of the Force, which was a slight that true to what Jerjerrod had said, would not be taken lightly. It was bad enough that Motti had the most unreasonable, most dangerous man in the universe to explain himself to, but he was going into this trial already with a strike against him and mocking the Emperor's religion would not be doing him any favors.
He had always been quick to wit and to word, but somehow, he knew neither would do him any good here. He had mocked the Force, sampled it, been haunted by it, and would now die by it and it was for those reasons that he could not sleep, could not eat, and was finally given a drug to ease him into unconsciousness at the behest of Jerjerrod who had been in to see him just twice in some ten days and noted his deterioration during that time.
The first time, he had brought a thin pillow and a bin for Motti to contain his vomit so that the floor was not adorned in his own sick but the second time, Motti had not even become aware of Jerjerrod's presence until the admiral had to roughly shake him to rouse him from his stupor of fear and stress. One look at him proper and the weight that he had lost in such a short time and Jerjerrod had sent for the meddroid to change his medication, nutrition, and some other factors that at least made it possible for him to sit up with enough energy on Jerjerrod's third and final visit with a change of garb in hand.
"You need to look presentable for your trial, and that uniform reeks," he said brusquely. "I have a cloth for you to wash up your face, but was not allowed to bring you anything else."
"What difference does it make how I look if he's just going to kill me anyway?" asked Motti desperately as Jerjerrod dropped the uniform into his lap.
"Even if he were to kill you, I would think that you possess enough pride to want to look respectable in your last moments and not like some weak, disheveled hermit. But he won't kill you, so in an effort to at least look like you're trying to maintain a sense of duty and propriety, you need to look more acceptable than…whatever this is." Jerjerrod gestured at Motti's frail and malnourished form.
"I have no chance at all."
"You might, but not looking and acting like that. Here, take these." Jerjerrod held out two bright green capsules to him.
"What will these do?"
"Effectively, the exact opposite of what you are doing, which is panicking. They are a mild stimulant to help calm your nerves without hindering your actions or words. You will need a clear mind going into this. You are not to beg for mercy or plead for a lighter sentence than the one given. You are to speak truthfully and respectfully, both of which I know are difficult for you–and don't look at me like that," for Motti had shot Jerjerrod a nasty look at this statement. "You know full well that you like to embellish the truth and that you have a difficult time being talked down to."
"With good reason–"
"Not to him, do you understand?" said Jerjerrod sharply. "Not–to–him. Prove to him that you are an asset and humbly remind him of your accomplishments in a way that shows how his empire has benefitted, thanks to you. Refrain from saying anything involving your altercation with Lord Vader unless he specifically requests that you speak about it and if he does, admit that you were in the wrong. And for goodness sake, wipe that look of revulsion off of your face."
Motti tried to make his face appear passive, but found it difficult if he was supposed to pretend that he conceded to the Sith when even now, he did not believe that he had been entirely wrong in that argument.
"Conan, fix your face."
"I'm finding that rather difficult at the moment–"
"If you walk into that trial looking like you'd like nothing better than to pick a fight with the dark lord of the Sith, I would be better served just shooting you now."
"You might as well. If Lord Vader plans to be present for the trial, I've already lost before I've begun. He will convince the Emperor that I acted only to serve myself and the Emperor will find me guilty of cowardice and disloyalty."
"He won't."
"But if–"
"He–won't."
"But how do you know, Tiaan? How could you possibly know what his verdict will be?"
"I don't. I just know that I will be there to vouch for you and I happen to know that I, at least, have not failed in my duties and that the Emperor holds a certain amount of respect for me."
"Whatever you say in there will reflect back on you. If you show them weakness, they will exploit it. I won't allow you to throw away your life's labors just to defend my honor."
"Lucky for both of us, I do not need your permission to speak when and if I choose to. Admiral though you may be, your rank is currently forfeit, and so I outrank you and may do as I please. You answer to me. Now get those in you and change out of the rags you're wearing."
Motti tipped the capsules into his mouth and tilted his head back to swallow with the assistance of his own saliva. Turning his back once again on Jerjerrod, he shriveled out of his stained and foul-smelling uniform like it was a second skin he was shedding. He quickly got himself into the fresh one, but felt drowned in it, as Jerjerrod had taken his last recorded measurements to provide the new uniform and Motti had lost considerable weight since then. After pulling on his left boot as the last part of his uniform, he sat with his hands folded, knees slightly knocking together for a minute or two and then the jittery nature began to subside as he felt the effects taking hold, spreading a wave of calm over him despite the fear and worry pounding in his heart. His face had taken on a look of grim passiveness as he grew still and when he saw his reflection now, he looked almost bored with the proceedings instead of on the verge of meeting his own mortality.
"That's you ready, then. Stand up and make yourself presentable."
Motti wiped the wrinkles from his uniform and straightened his collar, taking great care to keep it high. He ran his hands over his hair in an attempt to tame it but his natural curl was not to be hidden so easily, especially going on three weeks without a proper wash or any product in it whatsoever. He could not keep his eyebrows from pulling together in one straight line of discontent no matter how hard he tried to relax his facial muscles. With a final once-over himself, he shrugged to ask Jerjerrod's opinion.
"Passably presentable. But once again, try a different face."
Blinking once as if he were slow to understand, Motti said with some uncertainty, "This… is my face…?"
"Not the one you're going to walk into that room with. You look angry."
"It couldn't have anything to do with the fact that I am."
"The offer still stands for me to just shoot you now if you aren't willing to cooperate. I am doing my best to help you here and do not appreciate your attitude."
Apologies did not come easy to Motti, as he did not often believe himself to be wrong, but Vader had proven that notion false and it would cost Motti nothing to admit his faults to Jerjerrod who as of this moment was the only person he had on his side.
"I am not unappreciative of your efforts," he said, struggling to work his mouth around the words, but Jerjerrod guessed them anyway and thankfully accepted his apology without him ever having to actually say it.
"Retain your composure and remember who you're talking to once you're in there. Hold out your wrists." Jerjerrod unearthed a set of binders from his belt and Motti glanced down at them with some of his confidence waning. "This is simply protocol," Jerjerrod informed him, though he clearly disliked this as much as Motti. Escorting a friend to trial in bindings was something he likely never thought he would be doing and Motti never thought to be in such a position to be escorted with an armed guard.
Motti lifted his wrists and Jerjerrod placed the binders on them. Tight enough to pass inspection but not snug enough to cut into the skin. Jerjerrod lifted his chin high as a signal for Motti to do the same, to march toward possible death with resolve and show no fear, to not give any passerby a reason to suspect that he was walking to his doom.
It was easier walking to said doom in the company of someone he knew and respected than if he had had to be escorted by stormtroopers or some other Imperial guard, but Motti could still feel the panic within him fighting to come out dominant against the sedative. Whether the drug was working wonders on him or his resolve was simply winning out, he could not say, but as he walked beside Jerjerrod, he felt calmed by the other man's presence. Reserved where Motti was outgoing, passive where Motti was offensive, Jerjerrod was the epitome of focus and anyone watching the two of them marching along would have no trouble guessing which of them had a better handle on things. Not often did Motti envy Jerjerrod, for the admiral had much the same of everything in life that Motti had except for relentless (and sometimes ruthless) ambition, but at this moment, Motti wished for Jerjerrod's composure.
He didn't believe in sharing energy or that well wishes did any good to the receiving party, but as they came upon the door to the trial chamber, he was ready to become a believer that Jerjerrod was passing every particle of self-control on the entire ship Motti's way. Once inside, Motti saw that there was a podium in the center of the room and nothing else. Confused, he allowed Jerjerrod to lead him to the podium where he was unshackled and left to stand alone as Jerjerrod backed away to the left.
Deciding he had best do the thing right, he stood at parade rest and placed his hands behind him, wishing that he had his blaster on his person even though it would do no good whatsoever. Going into this trial unarmed made him feel–if it was even possible–more emasculated than he had been in his patient gown.
When several minutes had gone by with no sign of anything happening, he turned his neck to the side to visually ask Jerjerrod what exactly they were supposed to be doing, but at that moment, the sliding door opened behind him to admit a towering figure dressed in black with empty, emotionless, soulless eyes etched into the features of its helmet.
Suddenly, it became difficult to swallow and Motti feared that he might choke on his own saliva as the Sith lord's cape whispered upon the marble ground beside him. Paying Motti no heed, Vader came to stand across from him at the far side of the dark, circular room and his labored breath was all that Motti could hear for a time before that deep, elegant, resonating voice commanded, "The Emperor arrives…"
A sputtering blue-tinted image appeared of a stunted, hooded old man with menacingly piercing yellow and red eyes and instinctively, Motti dropped to one knee, bowing his head as if it would make him less of a target by shrinking further away from the scrutinizing and merciless stare of Emperor Palpatine.
The gravity of the situation nearly laid Motti flat. How stupid had he been to not realize that for the Emperor to personally oversee his trial, he had to be in the worst, most unforgiving sort of trouble imaginable? The Emperor didn't concern himself with the lower politics of the Imperial Fleet and Army. Only the moffs were allowed such a privilege of having an audience with him and yet Motti was to be interrogated and tried by the greatest Sith. He stood no chance.
He briefly, stupidly considered making a run for it, wondering in a moment of amusement how far he might get before he was cut down by Vader or perhaps troops stationed outside the door.
Steady, he heard in his head, though he could not be sure if it was his own voice or that of something more powerful.
Biting down on the inside of his lip to prevent himself from trembling as he stood back up, he kept his eyes respectfully low, focusing on the projected image of the Emperor's chest as the lifesize image of his master sat across from him expectantly.
"I would hear your interpretation of the events that transpired before the destruction of the battle station, Admiral," said the Emperor without preamble in that oily, raspy voice Motti had only ever heard once before.
On the verge of beginning with how Vader had told the council of the leaked information the rebels had obtained, Motti recalled Jerjerrod's warning to not bring up the altercation with Vader unless specifically asked. This was already a test of his loyalty and his deception, to see how his version of the truth varied from Vader's because the Emperor would most assuredly already have debriefed Vader and discovered the truth for himself. The only thing they did not know for sure was what had gone on on the command deck during the final hour of the battle before the ship's destruction. Only Motti knew the truth of that and though the Emperor did not yet know what that truth was, he would know if Motti was lying.
So he told the truth, as accurately as possible from the moment they had tracked the rebels to their base to the moment Motti had made the decision to flee. He kept his voice devoid of emotion and refrained from embellishing anything. Strictly fact, no flourishes, though he did attempt to make his point of view seem the more reasonable one. When he had finished, the Emperor considered him for an uncomfortably long string of time before finally asking, "Did the grand moff give specific orders against abandoning ship?"
"No, Your Excellency. He only made it known that he would not be abandoning ship, as he believed the rebel infiltration to be impossible. General Bast alerted Grand Moff Tarkin that his ship was standing by to evacuate him, but I believe that he saw victory as imminent. His exact words were that he thought General Bast overestimated the rebels' chances."
"And when it appeared that the rebels might succeed, you fled out of fear, did you not, Admiral?"
All this time he had been convincing himself that what he had done was not cowardly, but now he would have to admit it to the Emperor, for there was no other reason unless he could pull some reason out of thin air in the next ten seconds. "I did. I feared for my life and could not make Grand Moff Tarkin see reason, and so I fled. I have served the Empire most of my life and remain dedicated to that cause, but the grand moff's insistence that the station would outlast the rebel attack was arrogance and not logic and so I knew that abandoning ship was the logical decision, if not the most noble. To continue serving, I needed to be alive, and I could not serve if my superiors could not see the destruction right in front of them. When my superior–no matter his rank–feeds his own agenda and endangers lives dedicated to the cause, I no longer see fit in serving that superior."
"One million, two hundred thousand souls aboard and only you saw fit to flee."
"There might have been others, Your Excellency, but if they escaped, they have defected."
"Which would make you the most loyal."
Motti was obviously supposed to agree with this sentiment, but said nothing, for it seemed that to do so was to sport self-importance, the very thing he had accused Tarkin of, which had led to the man's downfall.
"Lord Vader tells me that you did not agree with his initial prediction that the rebels would attempt to use the stolen plans," the Emperor continued.
"That's true; I did not agree with him."
"But afterwards, you seemed to have enough change of mind, did you not?"
"I did. Lord Vader was correct, and I have since realized that my own pride for the majesty of the Death Star blinded me to the fact that massive undertakings often can be undone by the smallest oversights."
"And have you forgiven this oversight, Lord Vader?"
Motti groaned inwardly, for nothing Vader could say would help his cause.
"I have accepted that the admiral acknowledges his foolishness," said Vader.
"And has he begged your forgiveness for doubting you?"
"He has not made a motion to apologize for his open mockery of the power of the Force, my master."
And there it was, the curtain that would fall on Motti's one chance to convince the Emperor that he was worth keeping alive. Any attempt to apologize now would seem like the act of a desperate man and sound insincere and Motti refused to let Vader hear him beg. If his pride was to be his downfall, so be it.
Then, to his utter surprise, the Emperor posed the next question to him, "If you were in my position, what would you do to a man in your situation, Admiral?"
"I would judge him for his worth and his contributions to the cause, not his actions when faced with a decision to die or live and not his naivety concerning a subject he knew little about."
"And what would you do, Admiral Jerjerrod?" asked the Emperor swiftly as if disregarding Motti's comment entirely.
Jerjerrod came to stand just beside the podium, addressing the Emperor in an equally deadpan voice that Motti had adopted, though Motti noted how Jerjerrod was able to look slightly higher and closer to the Emperor's eyes.
"I would do much the same as the admiral himself said, Your Excellency. As humans, we do not possess some greater presence of mind when faced with our own mortality and a split second decision such as the one Admiral Motti made is the sort that we hope to never encounter, but I do not believe that choosing to save his own life shows cowardice when everything he has contributed to the Empire has proven his devotion to the cause tenfold. He is largely to thank for the conceived plans to the Death Star, among other achievements."
"Yet how am I to trust a man who would leave others to die at the first hint of danger?"
"Forgive me, Your Excellency, but according to him, he fled at the final hint of danger, the last possible second before he would have been too late. His ship was caught in the impact blast and he only just managed to make the jump to hyperspace. Had he waited only seconds longer, he would not have cleared the blast radius."
"And his blatant disrespect to my ultimate nest of power, the reason that he breathes and lives at this very moment, the source of all energy in the universe?"
"Do we not often deny the existence of something until our own eyes have seen it? I have not as of yet seen the Force in use as Admiral Motti has, though I do not doubt its existence. I simply do not yet understand it, and perhaps his denial was born of the same ilk, not understanding rather than not believing. As I have been told, Lord Vader demonstrated a sampling of the Force's power and the admiral was privy to it and so if he did not believe before, he most assuredly does now and will not make the mistake of doubting its might again."
"It sounds to me like you thoroughly believe that the admiral has more to offer. How would you judge your fellow man?"
Motti's heart could hardly take any more of this back and forth from hearing Jerjerrod nobly and valiantly defend him to the Emperor posing another question that seemed like a trap.
"If I may, Your Excellency, you are the only individual who knows the admiral's intentions better than he does himself. You must judge him as you see fit, but if you would gift him with another chance to prove his worth, I would take full responsibility for him, and his failures or successes would fall on me even at cost to my own position."
The Emperor considered them both and even through hologram, Motti still could not meet with those bulbous yellow-red eyes even when it seemed imperative to do so, to look his would-be executioner in the eye as he was sentenced. He had to settle his gaze instead on a spot just below in the center of the Emperor's chin as he waited for the verdict to fall.
If Motti was sentenced to death, he feared that the Emperor would order Jerjerrod to carry out the execution himself now that Jerjerrod had exposed his loyalty to a man other than the Emperor, a man for whom Jerjerrod was willing to bend rules.
"It would seem that the rebel attack was one of chance, of just the right circumstances falling into place. Unpredictable, unforeseen, and unfortunate. And where Lord Vader had the wherewithal to attempt to destroy the rebel ships that posed the threat, Grand Moff Tarkin did not have the same to evacuate, for he could not sense the danger. The young Jedi Skywalker was the one to fire the shot that destroyed the battle station and has since become the greatest threat against my Empire and all I attempt to achieve. One small oversight in a massive undertaking, aided by the Force."
Motti had no breath to hold, but set his jaw and stood up as straight as he could to meet his death, hoping it would be quick.
"Your information regarding what transpired on the command deck was valuable, Admiral, and your commanding officer's fierce defense of you and promise that you have greater things still to offer to this Empire are the reasons you are still alive. Consider yourself on probation. And bear in mind that if ever you doubt the Force again, your exit from this universe will not be a merciful one."
Bending full at the waist, Motti did not trust himself to speak as he heard the Emperor address Jerjerrod.
"Congratulations on your promotion. Remember, Admiral Jerjerrod, he is your responsibility."
"Understood, Your Excellency."
And as grateful as he was to still be alive in that moment, as thankful as he was that his execution had not been ordered, Motti still felt a brewing bitterness toward Jerjerrod. The Emperor had assigned Motti to Jerjerrod as if Motti were an unruly and mischievous child known for wreaking havoc and needed to be watched over at all times, not a man in his thirties who had refused to die for someone else's arrogance.
The Emperor's image flickered once more and disappeared and Motti dared not move as Vader swept past him on his way out the door. In the silent aftermath of the trial, Motti waited a further twenty seconds and then let his shoulders droop as he clutched the podium for support. His own mortality had been dangled in front of him just out of reach and he had been told to fight for it, yet Jerjerrod had snatched it up and handed it back to him. He should be nothing but grateful, and yet…and yet…
"When you're ready then, Admiral," said Jerjerrod, reminding him that there was no respite from their duties. Handing out his cap, gloves, and squares to reinstate him as an officer of the Fleet, Jerjerrod waited for Motti to salute him and then the two of them exited the chamber with Motti slightly behind and to the right.
/ /
Now, much the same and as was expected of him, Motti remained behind and to the right of Jerjerrod, waiting to receive Vader's ship, but where Jerjerrod had his eyes focused ahead on the landing craft, Motti averted his gaze, fearful that the Sith would take any direct eye contact as a challenge. This was the first time in nearly four years that he would be in the same room as the Sith, and he was not at all prepared for it. He felt perspiration creeping up in his armpits, under his collar, and across his palms.
"Steady, Admiral," said Jerjerod, though Motti did not see the commander's lips move and Jerjerrod gave no further indication that he was acknowledging Motti. And in any case, how did he know, or did he simply suspect that Motti was a nervous wreck right now, given past instances? Recalling how he had heard the same command in the trial chamber, Motti had to wonder where that first command had come from.
Motti could not be fooled by Jerjerrod's outward calm demeanor, for he knew his friend to grow nervous when in the presence of the Sith as well. Sure enough, he saw the commander give a quick but nevertheless visible swallow in preparation for whatever news Lord Vader was bringing.
The boarding ramp lowered and steam emitted from the underbelly with a hiss to mark the arrival of the Sith. With a slight bow at the waist, Jerjerrod paid his respects and Motti shadowed him.
"Lord Vader, we had not expected you so soon, to what do we owe the honor?" asked Jerjerrod.
Without so much as a glance at Motti, Lord Vader waved an indifferent hand at him as he spoke to Jerjerrod. "I am here for you, Commander. I would have private words with you. Leave, Admiral."
Blanching at being directly addressed by the Sith but also so carelessly dismissed, Motti gave another small inclination of his head and turned on his heel, relieved to not be forced to spend any further time in the Sith's presence. He did, however, feel slightly miffed that he had been regarded as nothing more than a foot soldier when his rank demanded more respect. But he knew better than to expect anything but indifferent disdain from the Sith following his trial in which Vader did not seem at all pleased at the outcome. Even if Motti somehow became as powerful as Tarkin had been, Vader would never respect him.
He found himself on the catwalk overlooking the docking bay and was surprised to see that Jerjerrod and Vader had not moved from where Motti had left them. Their words did not carry to him, but he could clearly see Jerjerrod's expressions which ranged from confusion to shock to desperation to grim acceptance and finally, to fear, though all the changes were subtle and only noticeable to someone who knew how to spot them. With only small telltale changes in mouth shape, eyebrow movement, and line creases around the outer corners of the eyes, Motti had just seen Jerjerrod exhibit a whirlwind of emotions, though he would still appear to be in complete control to almost anyone else.
Motti only wished that he were adept in lip-reading, for Jerjerrod had an annoying habit of speaking fluidly and as of late when the latter was trying to say a non-verbal command or suggestion to Motti, it was difficult to interpret his silent mouthing. He thought he detected the words "Emperor", "Force", and "Skywalker", but as these were unextraordinary and relating to the issues at hand, Motti had to wonder why Vader could not have told both of them this news. Finally, with a raise of his hand and a stern pointing of his finger, Vader swept off, leaving Jerjerrod looking defeated.
Whatever the news was, Motti was confident that he could weasel it out of Jerjerrod, but for something to have such a profound impact on the commander as to make him betray actual emotion, it could not bode well at all.
