GENERAL VEERS
For a man who always seemed positively terrified of a leadership role, Admiral Piett was thriving. The two of them had been at the bridge when the lieutenant brought word of rebel ships docking in the system not far from the forest moon and where he once would have looked wildly about for anyone to assume command, Piett took to the task in stride. As a pale man, he had still managed to lose more color at the prospect of a battle that had been a long time coming, but where he once had had a nervous quality to his voice, it now exuded confidence and despite himself, Veers could not help feeling immensely proud of his friend, which was a rare occasion in and of itself, for Veers did not hand out compliments lightly, as he believed they inspired false confidence.
His pride for his friend's accomplishments only went so far. There was a part of him that resented that he had to answer to a less decorated man than himself. When he had chosen to follow an army path rather than a naval one, he never imagined that any of his younger classmen at the Academy would succeed in climbing the ranks to become renowned officers, and yet both Jerjerrod and Piett had managed to outrank him with fewer years under their belts and less proven experience. They had obtained their ranks due to the incompetence of others, circumstance, and an inordinate amount of luck. Motti and Needa remained equals and underlings to him with Motti being the naval equivalent of Veers and Needa being a few ranks lower.
He had dedicated his life to this Order at the expense of a healthy relationship with his wife and any sort of relationship at all with his son, Zevulon, who was nearing eleven years of age now, almost old enough to enlist in the Academy himself. Veers suspected that his son would never see one day of military service if Zevulon's mother had anything to say about it. She thoroughly despised the Empire for committing her to a life without her husband with how demanding it was, but Veers had made that quite clear when he married her that his duty as a man of the Empire came first. As often as he made holographic calls on her at the beginning of this years-long campaign, he had significantly dropped off the radar when she refused to answer and as a result, he had only met his son once.
No one could question his loyalty after sacrificing any opportunity for a life outside of his duty for the greater cause that the Imperial Army offered. He had made it his life's mission to strike a crippling blow to the rebels devastating enough to ensure that they could never again become such a threat as they had been before…
And yet, here they were, invading Endor's airspace on a collision course with the Imperial Fleet. True, their numbers were unassuming at best compared to the armada, but fewer than thirty snub ships had infiltrated the trenches of the first Death Star and brought the entire station down. From what little Veers knew what occurred leading up to that destruction, he gathered that the precautions taken this time from the very design of the Death Star's inner workings to the measures in place to deactivate the shield generator made them as prepared as they possibly could be, as long as those in charge were capable of handling the situation under duress.
He had faith in Piett and wanted to give the admiral a chance to prove himself when it mattered most, but he did hold out high hopes for Piett to come out of this encounter without a few blunders made. Unlike his predecessor, Piett had earned his squares due to a vacancy in the ranks and the most action he had seen was tailing that damnable freighter ship piloted by Captain Solo. This would be a new endeavor entirely for the younger, less experienced, less determined, and untested officer that Piett was. Veers had seen young men such as Jerjerrod and Motti rise to greatness before, had seen men be catapulted into a role of responsibility–and he had been one of those men at one point–but he did not care for being on the receiving end of that feeling of being usurped. It was a difficult thing, having to put his personal feelings regarding the matter aside to deal with the current situation at hand and as he stood on the bridge with Admiral Piett watching the scanners pinpoint the rebels' location, he wished for someone who was more experienced in offensive enemy assault tactics to be at the helm just now.
"Shall I give the order to scramble the fleet, sir?" asked the reporting officer, ready to speak into his headset to give the ship-wide alert.
"Not yet. Hold until they fire upon us first," said Piett.
It was a bold move, considering that the rebels might not fire upon them at all, but it certainly was the honorable thing to do in the rules of engagement. This tactic ensured the best probability of capturing prisoners to be interrogated, as per Lord Vader's request. There was still a high price on the heads of the rebel leaders, Commander Skywalker, Princess Leia, and Captain Solo among them, and if they were aboard any of the ships currently headed toward the Fleet, Veers knew that Piett would have to proceed with caution to stand any chance of capturing them alive.
"Is it possible that they may have come to surrender, Admiral?" asked a petty communications officer who had been eavesdropping in on the conversation.
"Not likely. This is a show of force. The fools can't land on the moon without the code clearance to deactivate the deflector shield and they can't launch an attack on the Death Star without deactivating the shield generator. They've nowhere to go."
Veers wasn't so sure. Even for rebels, this attack seemed too desperate and suicidal. Maybe four years ago when they were but a fraction of the force they were today this might seem like an expected move from them, but now that their numbers stood capable of equalling the occupants of one Star Destroyer–according to the Imperial Fleet's intelligence–it seemed too daring of a move. The rebels were not desperate and not looking to have martyrs to send a message. Their goal was something else.
"They might attempt to land on the moon," Veers said contemplatively.
"They can't without the code clearance," Piett stressed.
"And if they have the code clearance?" Veers prompted. "Though unlikely, it is possible that they obtained access to the codes and have clearance to land."
"No rebel ships would be able to make it within Endor's airspace," Piett argued.
"Which is why I believe that they may have commandeered some of ours. Without making every one of our shuttles land for inspection to strip search the entire craft, there's no way to discern which of those ships are piloted by our men and which may be rebels trying to pass off as Imperials with stolen code clearance."
"Unless you are suggesting we start shooting our own down, General–"
"I can suggest, but you are under no obligation to listen to me, as I am not senior officer here. I defer to Lord Vader's call. Meanwhile, I shall land on the moon and await orders to engage any unauthorized aircraft. I advise you to change the codes for today immediately and have all pilots check in in an attempt to weed out any infiltrators."
"If the rebels have up-to-date codes, someone is leaking that information to them from the inside and they will have knowledge of the change."
"True enough, someone is leaking information to the rebels in an open act of treason, Admiral, and you can be certain that it is not one of my men, but one of yours. I would advise you to deal with the situation however you can."
This was not a time for doubts and excuses; action was needed right now and Piett was not a man to make brash decisions, preferring to explore all possible avenues first. Piett would want to attempt to locate the source of the issue and deal with it on his own before reporting the discouraging news to the Sith, lest he befall the same fate as Ozzel did, but he was Fleet Admiral and not so disposable as he believed himself to be, though still not exempt from the Sith lord's unpredictable moods, as none of them were.
"Admiral," Veers said, more or less requesting permission to depart and remind Piett that time was of the essence.
"General," Piett acknowledged with his attention still on the approaching rebel ships, and Veers went on his way.
He could see the specks in the distance that were rebel ships approaching the moon and made certain to tell his pilot that he needed to be landed and in position to defend the bunker in record time, as the repercussions were ones neither of them wanted to consider. The pilot then made the entire trip from takeoff to landing within fifteen minutes and Veers began issuing orders to the men assembled to do his bidding.
All available AT-AT and AT-ST Walkers were to be strategically scattered within a fifty mile radius of the bunker. The bunker was locked down and secured, the bridge heavily guarded and barred from entry. Emergency measures would include detonating the bridge to prevent the bunker from being overtaken but even then, it would require an enormous amount of strength and luck to access anything below the surface.
If any rebels did somehow manage to land, they would have quite a monumental task ahead of them to pass through the numerous obstacles implemented specifically to keep them out. If they attempted an aerial strike on the bunker, they would only hit topside, for the actual shield generator was accessible only through the bunker doors, down the elevator shaft which was built into the island the bunker stood upon, and then several more hundred feet below the base of that shaft. And all of this was assuming that they could even get past the deflector shield around the moon.
Veers climbed up into the operator seat of an AT-ST Walker and told his co-operator to stand by as he opened the rooftop hatch to observe the early morning skies. He could see the Death Star hovering far above, see explosions of light as the rebel ships clashed with the Fleet, and as he lifted his macrobinoculars to his eyes, saw bits of nearly destroyed aircraft beginning to break apart and burn as they entered Endor's atmosphere. His co-operator reported that the rebels had initiated the attack on the Fleet and that fighter ships were defending the Executor.
With his comlink connecting him to the bunker control room nearly pressed to his lips, he counted some fifteen to twenty parts of ships and what may be escape pods crashing down in a fiery blaze of red, orange, yellow, and white light, disturbing the otherwise still night.
"Targets marked, trace their trajectory and pinpoint their landing. Scan for signs of life. Send the due number of squads out to look for survivors and bring them back to the bunker for questioning."
For the next hour, more and more debris rain down from the space battle until the explosions seemed to gradually die out, leaving the forest smoking and a blanket of unease about as if the several battalions stationed on the moon were all holding their breath to see if the danger had truly passed. Veers's co-operator summoned him to answer a transmission from Piett who had survived the battle to no one's surprise, but had not yet reported any possible blunders.
As an alarmist, Piett did not look one bit pleased with the outcome of the battle, but rather sported an air of a man waiting on tenterhooks for the hammer to fall.
"The surviving ships outran the ships sent out to pursue them and made the jump to lightspeed. Crews are sweeping the rubble looking for survivors, but none have been reported here. What is the status on the ground?"
"The ground is clear within a one hundred and fifty mile radius, Admiral. The bunker is secure and we have several units on patrol now to look for survivors that may have ejected from their transports. If any ships landed outside of the perimeter that were detected entering the atmosphere, they were not cleared to do so. All cleared shuttles have checked in."
"It appears that several shuttles given code clearance are unaccounted for. They have disappeared off of our scopes."
Which meant that they had either made another jump to lightspeed or landed undetected on the moon, well out of shot of the bunker's scanners. To leave such a problem open-ended was not on Veers's agenda, yet what could he do that he had not already done? He had to wait for the rebels to make the first move, whether that meant walking within detection distance of the bunker, or finding some other way to let the army know they were there.
"There is little else I can do here until the rebels launch an attack if that was their plan," he told Piett. "Patrols are standing by for further command."
"Very good, General. I will relay the information to Lord Vader to discuss our next course of action."
Veers could not add that the next course of action could very well be to find a new Fleet Admiral if Lord Vader decided that Piett was to blame for this latest move by the rebels.
/ /
COMMANDER JERJERROD
It had been a long night, the longest Jerjerrod had had in living memory and the dawn brought no respite. Knowing that he would collapse if he did not remedy his fatigue, he had retreated to the mess hall to find a caffeinated shot to knock back but was surprised to find Motti already there, seated at a stool at the self-serve bar with his eyes bulging slightly from perhaps an overindulgence in shots himself.
"Admiral, I think you've had enough to sustain you for the next several hours," said Jerjerrod as he approached the bar.
"I haven't had any yet," said Motti, and Jerjerrod could see that indeed, he had no cup.
Pouring more liquid than was necessary into a pint-sized cup, Jerjerrod posed, "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you look to be on the verge of utter insanity, then?"
"Lack of sleep…gives me…unpleasant visions while I'm awake. I needed a few moments to compose myself," said Motti, staring at the dregs of someone else's abandoned cup as if hoping to drown himself in it.
"And what terrible visions could possibly plague such a privileged man as yourself?" asked Jerjerrod in what could be construed as a joke, though he actually was quite serious. He felt emboldened to ask Motti just now what ailed him with Motti being not altogether himself. The situation felt swayed in just the right way and he needed only to tweak the circumstances slightly.
"Use your imagination," Motti invited.
It was not the time to be distracted from the battle waging on outside, but even the Sith had to tire sometime and would not begrudge Jerjerrod this time to investigate into Motti's trauma under the pretense of finding sustenance to help him stay awake. If the Force was urging Jerjerrod to revisit the subject of their earlier argument, he was not one to ignore it. Lord Vader had said that any action that Jerjerrod partook in that was influenced by the Force would be known to the Sith, but how dangerous could this act be in encouraging Motti to think of what it was that he was so fearful of? Jerjerrod had been invited by the Sith to ask Motti what had happened to his neck and he gathered that Lord Vader had given Motti a scar of some sort. Jerjerrod knew that Motti had awful memories of what had been done to him and how, but not why and not exactly what it was.
"I want you to remember exactly what happened to you during that disagreement with Lord Vader and think of it slowly and clearly," said Jerjerrod.
"Did he tell you to tell me that?"
"No, he told me to have you show me your neck. Instead, I am asking you to remember what he did to you."
"And how does that sate your curiosity?"
"That, I cannot discuss with you. But by all means, if you would rather unbutton your collar–"
Fixing him with an unamused look, Motti stared down at his hands upon the tabletop until Jerjerrod could see his eyes go slightly unfocused as the memory came to him.
He had no idea how this might work, if it might work, or what would happen if he succeeded in delving into Motti's memories, especially with no training and no understanding of how the Force operated, but he felt that inkling of influence and pressed harder, willing himself to access those memories, experience them, and help Motti work through them. Empathy had to be the key here. If he could so strongly connect to the emotions of others around him, particularly when they were feeling an emotion that Jerjerrod could empathize or sympathize with, surely, this must be no different. He should be able to access past events through the emotions surrounding them.
And in that, he was able to see a barrier eroding, a dam breaking and spilling forth memories as if they were his own.
He sat at a rounded table made of black marble, confident and unbothered by the dire warnings of his fellow officers concerning the mortality of all aboard the battle station. The Sith was making some grand monologue about the as yet unseen might of his powers, but Motti was unimpressed, and felt justified saying as much.
"Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes or given you clairvoyance enough to find the rebels hidden fort–"
His breath was cut off as an invisible pressure closed around his throat. It came quickly, not gradually. He put his fingers to his throat as if to pull away whatever was there but his fingertips only came into contact with his own collar and now rapidly pounding pulse. His vision narrowed until all he could see was the emotionless goggle-eyed mask of the Sith lord before him. Vader had his hand raised, cupped, as if he personally had a hold on Motti's neck but at least five feet remained between them yet so there was no possible way for him to be the one slowly throttling Motti. Unless it was possible…
This all processed within a second or two and after, Motti came to the swift and sudden realization that he was dying. Not only that, but he was being murdered and no one was doing anything to stop it from happening. It would mean death if they tried, but not a single one of them even spoke out to deter Vader. Not one of them gave a damn and above the terror he felt at the prospect of dying right here at this table, it was nothing compared to the rage he felt for the injustice of the situation. He was the only one unafraid of the Sith to the point where he could challenge him and yet he was the one being punished for speaking his mind. The dressing down he planned to give the other Joint Chiefs if he survived this…
He could hear Vader speaking to him as if from the other side of a dense corridor. The voice echoed, but he could not make out the words, didn't care to. The hand at Motti's throat was still trying to pry away the bodiless pressure but his other was digging into the reflective metal table. Blood and air could not flow to where they were needed and his heart beat madly in his chest to warn him that he was about to expire if he did not get both to his brain.
Lights were winking in front of him, his eyelids dropped shut, his teeth gnashed together, and he began to writhe in his seat.
A new voice joined the fray, one that penetrated the ringing and the deep, reverberating echo of Vader's. The voice was gentle, but commanding. It encouraged him to hold onto his resolve and push back, to die with resilience rather than beg for mercy in his last moments. It commanded him to open his eyes and stare the Sith lord in the mask even as the life was squeezed out of him.
And one word broke through all the rest, ringing out clear and strong: Listen.
Motti wrenched his eyes open and saw Vader turning away from him. The pressure at his throat was gone and his body lurched forward of its own accord as if he had been let go from a great height to crash down onto the next available surface, which happened to be the table. His hands smacked solidly and he heaved in great shuddering gasps as he felt blood rush back to his head and oxygen spill into his lungs.
The cool table surface was a relief against his face but when he opened his eyes to see his reflection staring wide-eyed back at him, he saw fear and hatred in those eyes, eyes that were now bloodshot. He saw that he had ripped open his collar though he could not remember doing so and he saw finger-shaped bruises dotting the skin along his neck. Wondering briefly if those bruises were a permanent souvenir of this council meeting, Motti considered that he might have the marks forever since he had been throttled by something that could not be seen or felt.
Tarkin was talking again but Motti paid no heed to his words. Sitting up slowly, Motti could only glare at the Sith who had gone back to the other side of the table. The mask turned back on him and the man behind it sensed Motti's hatred and relished it.
But more than the hatred, he relished Motti's pain. Motti tried to swallow and it hurt terribly to do so. He touched a hand to his throat and found that he could barely lay a finger on his skin. The pain would reside for some time and Vader knew it.
He slowly drew his eyes from one officer to the next: Yularen, Romodi, Molock, Tagge, Cass, Bast. He knew well the looks they were giving him now and none of them were of pity or sympathy. They all had a highly superior look about them as if they considered his actions to be foolish and worthy of correction by the Sith's means. They all loathed him because he was younger and yet had risen well above his expected station thanks to his familial connections. They believed him to be too pompous and undeserving of his status and that the warning from the Sith was merited.
Motti's ears were still ringing with ire as the meeting concluded and all but Tarkin filed out. Once they were alone, Motti spoke, surprised to find that his voice worked at all with how painful his throat felt. His tone was hoarser than normal, but if he sought medical attention shortly after this, he should avoid any lasting damage.
"I suppose you think I deserved that?" he asked Tarkin who was regarding him with a stern raised eyebrow.
"I think you were foolish to challenge Lord Vader without fully knowing what he is capable of," said Tarkin dismissively. "Now you do, and you will not make that mistake again."
"I don't concede the point I was trying to make–"
"That was not a suggestion, Admiral. You will not make that mistake again. If you do not have the wherewithal to hold your tongue in Lord Vader's presence, I will have you banned from the command deck. A Sith can only be contained on a leash for so long and though Lord Vader respects my authority, I cannot control his whims if he deems your incompetence to be detrimental to the operation of this battle station. You will hold your silence, pay your due respects, and make an apology to Lord Vader, do I make myself clear?"
It was with a burning mortification that Motti agreed.
Jerjerrod found himself back in his own head, now with memories from being inside someone else's mind, and though he would liked to have admonished Motti for being so brash in how he spoke to Lord Vader at the time, he felt that the Sith's solution to silence him was uncalled for. Many would argue that Motti deserved to be put in his place, lest his head and ego become too inflated, but Jerjerrod believed that Motti responded well to those he respected giving him a stern lecture on how his behavior would not be tolerated. What Lord Vader had done was, as Motti had described, sadistic torture.
"Show me your neck," Jerjerrod told Motti.
"I was under the impression that it was one or the other," said Motti, oblivious to what Jerjerrod had just seen.
"I know what he did to you but I want to see it for my own eyes."
"I think that breaches the boundaries of familiarity in the line of duty–"
" Now, Admiral."
Whether Motti was too tired to argue or too exhausted to keep up the ruse that he had no lasting scarring from his unfortunate encounter with the Sith, he stood up from his bench with a "to-hell-with-it" attitude, unbuttoned his collar, and pulled it rather forcibly down to reveal faded but not healing bruising. There were fingerprint-shaped marks across his Adams apple as if someone had tried to strangle him, only bruising of that sort would surely have gone away after some time. Here they were three years later and the bruises looked as deep and dark as ever, only with a light powdering over them to disguise them. The colors were not green and yellow to mark healing but still black, blue, and purple. Permanent souvenirs and a reminder of the very power that Motti doubted.
"Satisfied?" asked Motti vehemently.
"That appears to be quite some disagreement with Lord Vader that you had," said Jerjerrod, unphased by Motti's redirected anger. "Did he do that with one hand alone? As tall as he is, he doesn't seem capable of that much strength." He was deliberately playing dumb to coax Motti into revealing what had occurred so that there was full disclosure between the two and Jerjerrod could then speak freely about his opinions on the matter, but Motti was still attempting to keep the truth from him.
"After a fashion. The Sith have more endurance than regular mortals have, so it would make sense that they're stronger than us as well. A very medieval way of dealing with those you disagree with instead of coming to a diplomatic solution."
"Commander Jerjerrod, return to the command deck at the behest of Lord Vader," said a voice over the intercom above.
Knocking back his now cold quick shot of caffeine, Jerjerrod held out his hand toward the doorway. "Once more into the fray then, Admiral."
Doing back up his collar buttons, Motti smoothed the wrinkles out of the material and gestured ahead of him with a sardonic bow. "After you, Commander."
On the command deck, Lord Vader was closing off a holographic image of General Veers and addressed Jerjerrod without looking at him. "The rebel ships have gone into full retreat and those that were destroyed are being scavenged and searched for survivors both surrounding the forest moon's atmosphere and down on its surface."
"Their attack is concluded, then?" asked Jerjerrod. It seemed too sudden, too easy for the rebels to put up hardly much of a fight considering they were on the offense to then disappear as quickly as they had come. He didn't believe that they would be so careless and desperate to launch an attack destined for failure.
"Your feelings serve you well, Commander, for the attack was but a diversion," said the Sith and Jerjerrod shivered slightly, knowing full well that he could be just as easily and more accurately read by someone with full understanding of the Force. "They have accomplished far more these past three years than anyone gave them credit for and despite the measures taken, they have managed to achieve the seemingly impossible yet again. General Veers reported a temporary interference with his instruments that are used to detect landing ships, which would suggest that the rebels have made landfall with Imperial aircraft."
"Are you suggesting that the rebels commandeered a supply of our ships, sacrificed their own in a diversionary tactic, landed on the far side of the moon under guise of being our ships delivering troops and are making their way toward the shield generator?" asked Motti airily.
"That is exactly what I believe they have done," said Lord Vader.
"Forgive me, my lord, but surely you would have been able to sense if all of that had happened rather than guessing?"
Jerjerrod closed his eyes, the better to not have to see the exact moment that Motti realized the stupidity of what had just come out of his mouth. He would have liked to have stomped viciously on Motti's foot to remind him of his place, but such a thing was not possible with nothing to conceal his movement. Had he been sitting around the Joint Chiefs Council table the first time Motti mouthed off to the Sith, he would have delivered a swift kick to Motti's shins, but all he could do here with nothing but air and regret hanging between him and Motti, was hope that Lord Vader would be merciful considering how well Motti had done under Jerjerrod's rule since the Emperor had Motti assigned here.
"I do not need to explain how the Force works to someone with no appreciation for it, but perhaps you need to be reminded of just how powerful the might of the Force is, Admiral?"
"That won't be necessary," said Jerjerrod quickly, shooting Motti a look that said quite clearly to shut up and shut up now.
"Perhaps these years absent such a powerful figure in your presence has made you forgetful of the lesson I sought to teach you before?"
"No, my lord, I've not forgotten," said Motti, but if Jerjerrod, with his limited knowledge of how to interpret emotions through the Force, could practically feel the hatred radiating off of Motti, Lord Vader most certainly could, rendering Motti's pseudo-apology as worthless. The fear of what had been done to him before and what very well could happen again in the next few seconds could not drown out the loathing he held for the Sith now and even the telltale backward step he took as Lord Vader moved inward was not enough to quash the anger that was so clearly seen upon his face.
Jerjerrod blamed himself for whatever happened next, as he realized too late that he may have pressed Motti too far back in the mess hall, that Motti's emotions were already running high from having hallucinations due to being up for over twenty-four hours through a space battle and that finally revealing the bruising on his neck had pushed him over the edge.
It happened so quickly, only those attuned to the Force could have pinpointed the exact moment that an unseen surge of energy closed around Motti's throat. Jerjerrod saw the panic set in, saw Motti's eyes go slightly unfocused as spasms ran through what little skin on his neck was exposed. His high collar could not conceal the throbbing of his pulse fighting like mad to sustain a heart that was not receiving enough oxygen.
The soles of Motti's boots left the floor and his legs began to kick in protest. Jerjerrod's self-discipline only went so far and he dared to do the very thing that might get him killed in making eye contact with Motti and praying that his friend could hear him.
Stay calm. It will be over any moment now.
But it would take more than that. It would take courage to speak out on Motti's behalf as he had done before the Emperor, as Motti told him that Grand Moff Tarkin had the first time this happened. Tarkin did not fear Lord Vader as Jerjerrod did and he was not in a position of power as Tarkin had been, but he was the highest ranking official on this battle station, the one who had assumed responsibility in Motti's actions, and the only one with authority to question, if not challenge, the Sith.
"He's had enough," he said clippingly. "I need my second-in-command preferably alive, Lord Vader."
And as suddenly as Jerjerrod had sensed the Force closing in on Motti, he felt it release him. Motti gave a pitiful and grateful gasp as he landed on all fours. His broad shoulders shook with the effort of sucking in breath for several moments and then as one hand went up to massage his throat, the other had balled into a fist with his fingernails scuffing the polished floor hard enough to crack it.
Don't do it, Jerjerrod warned, unsure if Motti could hear him, if Motti could sense that it was him or if Jerjerrod's words disguised themselves as Motti's own conscience. Keep your head down. Don't bring your gaze up, Conan. Don't give him that look.
If Motti did hear him, he ignored him as he raised his head slowly and then locked onto Lord Vader's mask, looking as if he were spoiling for a fight. The man had just been made sport of and yet his gaze was challenging the Sith to try that again.
"If you can look at me like that yet again after having escaped the Force's justice, you have made little progress these past years," said Vader, though he sounded almost amused. "Were you born a Force-sensitive being, Admiral, you would have been an invaluable asset to the Sith in how you harvest your hatred. To manifest that hatred into something tangible and use it as a weapon is one of the greatest gifts the Force has to offer. Such a pity, such a waste that it was given to a human with no extraordinary powers."
Turning his helmet to glance down at the forest moon as if weighing a decision, Lord Vader came to a conclusion in his head that Jerjerrod could vaguely sense but not identify. Whatever it was, he had a sinking feeling that it would be made to punish Motti further.
"Preceding an attack by the rebels on the bunker, the shield generator deactivation codes will need to be acquired personally by participating parties. An impromptu Joint Chiefs meeting will be held at the bunker on the forest moon. Commander, prepare yourself and your subordinate to land and send word to Admiral Piett. General Veers will receive you."
With a dismissive hand toward Jerjerrod as if instructing him to clean up the mess that was Motti on the floor, Lord Vader left them.
When he deemed it safe to move as they now stood alone on the bridge, Jerjerrod stepped up to stand over Motti and hissed, "You absolute idiot. Why did you have to go and antagonize him? Why couldn't you just agree with him and keep your mouth shut?"
"His assumptions…were far-fetched…even…for…a Sith," Motti panted in a hoarse voice.
"I don't believe so, but even if they were, you don't say such a thing out loud."
"My mistake."
"It very well could be your last. You realize that whatever you do is a direct reflection on how well I am able to control your impulsive tendencies? I claimed you as my responsibility and my rank will be forfeit if you do something so bull-headed again."
"I didn't ask for you to do anything so interfering."
"I see, then allow me to just alert the Emperor that I'm not feeling up to the task of playing nanny over you any longer, you ungrateful bastard. Stand up."
Jerjerrod made no move to help Motti who came unsteadily to his feet, nostrils flaring and pulse still going madly in the small amount of exposed neck that was visible and likely sporting new bruising. The two of them regarded each other much the same as they had earlier the previous evening, butting heads and unwilling to let the other claim victory over the argument, but as Motti's superior, Jerjerrod had the upper hand once again.
"Prepare to debark for the forest moon, Admiral. And while we are there, know that I will not tolerate any further backtalk from you toward anyone of higher status. I will not be dying for your pride and arrogance this day or any other."
"If only you'd listened to me from the start," said Motti in a low voice, barely audible to the point where Jerjerrod could not be sure that Motti had intended for him to hear it.