COMMANDER JERJERROD

He had never felt such palpable tension before that did not involve the appearance of the Sith as he felt now among his fellow officers. As boys in the Academy, there had been camaraderie but as men who had just been through battle and came out on the other side with vastly contrasting views on morality, they all stood alone. Each of them had faced a decision they had never encountered before–except Veers–and were now dealing with the consequences of those decisions. The only difference was that while Motti, Piett, and Needa had been masters of their own actions, Jerjerrod had not and Veers was the only one who knew that.

Hearing them all argue and hearing Motti accuse Jerjerrod of breaking, Jerjerrod knew he had no solid excuse, but he was even more terrified now of revealing his new identity to them than he had been before he knew where they all stood on the matter. It would do him no favors to tell them now and not when there were more pressing matters at hand, one of them being that Lord Vader had requested that Jerjerrod make his own report later that afternoon.

Having not had the chance to speak with Veers on what the latter had already divulged to the Sith, Jerjerrod was inclined to believe that Lord Vader wanted a firsthand account to examine the finer details of the battle and decide for himself whether Jerjerrod was still of sound enough mind to remain in charge of the Death Star's construction. Knowing that his fate could be decided on a power that he had not asked for and did not want, Jerjerrod was more than slightly irked and spent the remainder of the time until his meeting with the Sith pacing the bunker's corridors.

He and Motti were largely avoiding each other more due to Jerjerrod's insistence that they maintain a strictly professional relationship than Motti's coldness toward him. Until he felt that they could speak on common ground without Motti trying to bait some sort of confession out of him, Jerjerrod wanted their contact to remain limited. He could not afford for anyone else to see how, despite Jerjerrod's advice, warnings, and even commands, Motti was still openly challenging him at every turn and it was something that would need to be addressed sooner rather than later, but something that was best left once for when they were both safely back on board the Death Star, not here on the forest moon.

When he was summoned to the private message center where he would be speaking his piece, he saw that Lord Vader's holographic image was already present and that Veers was standing there as a witness to hold Jerjerrod accountable for telling the truth, not that he had had any intention of lying. As a man who knew that the foundation upon which something was built inherently impacted its structural integrity, he knew that he needed to walk into the room with deliberate, evenly placed footsteps and stand rigid to keep his legs from trembling.

This was no different than the last time he had had an audience with the Sith–or so he tried to tell himself when he knew good and well that this was far different. Last time, he truly had no inclination why the Sith wanted to speak to him but now, he knew that he was being judged for his actions on the battlefield. He didn't see how he was to be at fault here when the only casualty directly caused by him was a rebel of no importance.

Jerjerrod bowed at the waist in acknowledgment, feeling the slightest hint of perspiration at his palms. "My lord."

"General Veers has given me a highly detailed report of yesterday's events," said Lord Vader, and Jerjerrod knew what was coming next, and had been dreading this interaction. Would Lord Vader know that his actions were influenced by the Force? Would those actions be seen as a growing threat to the existence of the Sith and deemed evidence enough to dispose of him?

Veers quietly cleared his throat as an indication that Jerjerrod needed to speak.

"Do you wish to hear the report again from my perspective, my lord?"

"Does your report conflict with the one made by General Veers, Commander?" It sounded like a challenge. If Veers had told Lord Vader everything, including the fact that Jerjerrod had revealed his new status, then the Sith would already know absolutely everything there was to know about the ambush, but if Veers had only spoken of the battle as a participant and not the morality of Jerjerrod's actions, then Lord Vader was openly daring Jerjerrod to lie to him.

"That would depend on what he told you, but I suspect that you already know what happened," answered Jerjerrod smartly. "I killed a rebel out of rage that I couldn't control."

"That was the Force aiding your hatred and giving you the means to punish the man. He attacked you and put your life in danger and you retaliated out of desperation, but you continued past the point of satisfaction and carried on to the brink of savagery. One shot was more than enough, yet you fired several times."

"It was anger, my lord. I have never felt such anger before."

"More anger than the man standing beside you whose family was killed due to rebel influence?"

That definitely was a test. Lord Vader might not know exactly why Jerjerrod had been pushed over the edge to massacre the rebel, but he would have a very shrewd suspicion. If Veers, who had more reason than any of them to harbor such anger toward rebels, had maintained composure, what could have set Jerjerrod off? Lord Vader knew of Jerjerrod's concern for his fellow officers, namely Motti, and that seeing such harm come to any of them would have been more than enough reason for his emotions to swell to the point of wanting immediate revenge.

"I make no such claim, my lord. The only person to suffer for my actions was the man I killed, and the manner in which he had beaten Admiral Motti moments before warranted his death. The rage within me lasted only long enough to kill the rebel and since he was dead after the first shot, the gratuitous shots taken after were for my own personal satisfaction and had no effect on him or anyone else."

"Do you believe that your actions were justified?"

Jerjerrod believed that to be a rich and hypocritical question coming from a man who had a penchant for throttling officers out of sheer annoyance, but if he said such a thing aloud, he would be better served taking his own blaster and blowing out his brains.

He was the one on trial now and he did not care for the feeling at all. He could appreciate the duress Motti was under while being interrogated by the Sith and how difficult it was finding words that wouldn't damn him. It was always the envy of other officers that Jerjerrod could speak so eloquently and with the experience to bypass any scrutiny by the Sith, but that composure did not come easily and he did not feel any more confident in answering questions just because he knew his way around words.

"I believe that killing the man was justified and that the shots following the first were not needed. For only just discovering what I may be capable of with the assistance of the Force, I believe that I handled the situation as well as I could have and that with more mindfulness and discipline, I will not be inclined to so easily be influenced again."

It was the only way he could think to plead for leniency without actually pleading. How did Lord Vader expect him to harness the power of the Force with no training whatsoever mere hours after being told what he was? He thought that he had done far better than anyone would have expected, given the circumstances.

"Do not let your feelings dictate the actions you take, Commander. Allowing yourself to be influenced by what you feel for another individual is dangerous and ill-advised."

How lonely and awful of a life it must be to have such a connection to the Force that one was discouraged from having any sort of human relationship with another being. If Jerjerrod's concern and care for his friends made him a threat, then he was simply out of luck and would die regardless, for he could not suddenly cut those few men out of his life and pretend they meant nothing to him just on the off-chance that his concern for them might one day influence him to make a rash decision.

He was saved having to respond in any form by the arrival of a lieutenant just behind them.

"General Veers, sir, we have an update," said the lieutenant at the door, pausing as he saw the projected image of the Sith lord.

"And that would be?" Veers prompted in that no-nonsense tone that suggested that the lieutenant stop gawking and deliver his news.

"The rebel forces are approaching the bridge, sir. Their numbers are higher than our intelligence initially led us to believe. We are standing by for your instruction."

While Jerjerrod's stomach sank into his bowels, Veers assumed command immediately, his voice dropping into a recognizable authoritative tone that came second nature to him that Jerjerrod knew he lacked himself. "Recall the troops, all personnel are to remain on this side until the last of the battalions have crossed."

"All Joint Chiefs should relay their access codes on a secure line now," said Lord Vader. "In the event of untimely death–-should the rebels manage to breach the bunker-the codes will be lost and that is not an option."

"All codes shall be transferred immediately, my lord," said Jerjerrod.

"Send Admiral Motti and a squadron to defend the retreat ," commanded Lord Vader.

Jerjerrod and Veers exchanged knowing expressions, but Jerjerrod had not even begun to wonder what he would say to Veers once out of earshot of the Sith when he heard Lord Vader's unforgiving voice question their silent realization.

"Something to say, Commander?"

There was one individual on this moon who had enough battlefield experience to make a difference in holding the bridge so extensively and it was not Motti. If anyone was to be sent besides Veers, it would have been Jerjerrod, but bypassing him to choose Motti was a deliberate decision and Jerjerrod did not pretend to not know why, though he could say no such thing aloud.

"Forgive me, my lord, but Admiral Motti has not had extensive combat training–" Jerjerrod began.

"He is more equipped to handle the situation than you are, Commander. According to both your track records for dealing with actual combat in any capacity, he is the one with more experience, having studied the subject in theory and having handled himself more efficiently yesterday. He is more than capable of carrying out the assignment. General Veers, continue to recall your troops, set up a fallback point, and station Admiral Motti at the bridge."

"For how long, my lord?" Jerjerrod questioned. "We have men out on patrol who may take several hours to return–"

"For as long as necessary while the bunker's safety is compromised. I will monitor the situation from above. Hold your positions."

The hologram cut off, leaving Jerjerrod and Veers in resigned silence which was only broken when the lieutenant asked for further orders. Both of them knew why Lord Vader had assigned Motti to man the bridge and that nonsense about him being better equipped than Jerjerrod was just a ploy to hide the real intentions. If the Sith had wanted the job done properly, he would have given the order to Veers to then delegate at his discretion; he would not have handed the task to an admiral who had twice defied him and who had the same if not less battle experience than the fleet admiral and the commander who held higher rankings than him.

"One squadron will not be enough to defend an entire battalion's retreat," said Jerjerrod as he envisioned some fifty men holding off an army of hundreds, all battle proven and prepared to die with Motti at the lead holding loosely to a blaster with no idea how to aim it with lethal intentions.

"Lieutenant Ruxon, prepare Squads 451 and 297," said Veers. "Have the command deck at the ready to receive their temporary replacement officer. You have the bunker, Commander."

Jerjerrod was certain that he had heard Veers incorrectly. "I don't–"

"Hold here, listen for my orders, and do not let Conan out of your sight."

"I am not equipped to assume command of ground forces, General. I design ships. I'm an architect, not a battlefield commander, and Lord Vader knows that. My first and only battle was the one where I nearly died..."

"As I am aware, and I need a level-headed officer to assume command in my stead. Short of your outburst during that skirmish with the guerilla rebel force, you are the most qualified individual to fulfill that position. Hold here until I return."

Jerjerrod fought to not sound desperate, as he needed Veers to know that he held some confidence in his own abilities, but in truth, he needed Veers to understand that he was not ready and that it was unwise to give him command of every Imperial soldier on the moon at this crucial point in time. He accepted that tasks were daunting at times, seemingly impossible at others, but the men he had always had under his command were never in such danger that they relied upon his military expertise for their survival. His men aboard the Death Star were always well protected, but these men on Endor had no idea how little their new commanding officer actually knew in terms of keeping them safe.

"General–"

Veers cut him off, turning his dark gray eyes onto Jerjerrod with absolute seriousness and Jerjerrod could see the expectation there, the refusal to accept anything less than willingness. "As you stand here amongst ground forces, you are deferred to the most senior Army officer, which is me. You will obey my orders, Commander. Hold the bunker."

With a wrenching, sinking feeling in his gut that these might very well be the last orders he ever received and possibly the last orders Veers ever gave, Jerjerrod nodded. "By your command, General."

Sending the lieutenant out ahead of him, Veers turned to leave, but in an unheard of act of humanity, he grabbed Jerjerrod's forearm, not looking at him but speaking in just barely more than a whisper, "Listen for me, even if the com link goes dead. Stay in control, listen, and be perceptive."

Then he was marching out of the room, leaving Jerjerrod standing there and wondering if he had just witnessed some sort of unsung miracle in seeing Maximillian Veers exhibit a human emotion. Activating the com link on his wrist so that his earpiece went live, Jerjerrod made his way to the command deck where a warning siren was still blaring to call all officers to duty. Motti and Needa were already present but Piett had not yet checked in and Jerjerrod relayed that a message be sent to him, wherever he was, to transfer his access codes as he, Motti, and Needa did the same.

"Report," said Jerjerrod to the command deck captain.

"The rebels are trying to jam our communications, but their equipment isn't strong enough. They are managing to distort imaging slightly so that we can't tell exactly what their numbers are, but it's in the hundreds, headed this way and less fifteen minutes out."

"Hundreds?" repeated Needa. "How is it possible for hundreds of rebels to have landed on the moon if only a few of their ships even entered the atmosphere?"

"We might have severely underestimated them. They could have gained intelligence that the Death Star was being built here and stationed men months, maybe even years ago," said Motti. "They could have been staked out underground or been landing in ships disguised as our own for an indeterminable amount of time. However they managed it, we've miscalculated."

Yes, but how deeply are we about to pay the price for it?

"What emergency measures are in place for evacuation?" asked Needa.

Jerjerrod spared him one long, lingering expression of doubtful reservation to answer his question, as there would be no evacuation. They were expected to go down with the ship, even if the ship was a stationary bunker. They could not flee if the rebels made it across the bridge; they would have to hold fast and fight to the last man, for if they somehow survived and the shield generator around the Death Star failed, their last moments would be at the hands of Lord Vader. It was Veers's own outlook on life; if one was not prepared to die for the cause, one did not deserve to live.

"They won't get past the bridge," said Motti confidently.

"Are you reading me, Commander?" came Veers's voice in Jerjerrod's ear, slightly marred by static.

"Yes, General."

"In the event that the shield around the bunker drops below twenty-five percent, I will fall back. Until and if such a time comes, concentrate all forward firepower to the crest of the hill as soon as the rebels breach it."

"Copy that. All forward guns concentrate on the top of the hill. You have clearance to open fire at the first sight of the enemy."

Jerjerrod observed the steady trickle of troops hurrying forward to cross the bridge, passing between some seventy-odd men on either side of the entrance. He could not see directly, but he knew that Veers was at the forefront, likely in one of the armed vehicles. It was difficult to ignore the fact that, opposed to the many men heading away from the oncoming battle, there was hardly any guarding the retreat.

"We have men out on patrols miles away who will never make it back in time and who will be cut off from us," Motti observed. "How long are we expected to hold out until the last of them return? Surely, the rebels can't outnumber us here?"

"They don't need to. They just need to get to the base of the bunker and then their numbers won't matter. I don't feel like you need reminding of the last time the quantity of rebels was underestimated in regards to what they could accomplish."

"No, but you've reminded me anyway," said Motti through his teeth.

"Has Admiral Piett answered the summons to report to the command deck yet?" asked Jerjerrod, ignoring Motti.

"No one has managed to locate him yet, Commander."

Piett had picked a most inopportune time to go missing and Jerjerrod was about to send an envoy to personally escort him here when a burst of light from outside alerted him to the forward guns opening fire. The rebels had arrived, and their numbers had not been exaggerated. Thoughts of how and when ran through Jerjerrod's head, for surely the fleet had not missed hundreds of unauthorized ships making landfall on Endor, yet the rebels were cresting the hill in droves and had employed the use of mobile shields to deflect the heavy barrage of firepower coming from the bunker. They also had managed to commandeer a handful of AT-ST walkers that were firing upon the retreating Imperial troops.

Motti swore at the sight of the enemy advancing.

"Do we have any airborne craft?" asked Jerjerrod.

"No, sir. We are on our own," said Lieutenant Ruxon.

Be that as it may, the firepower Veers had at his disposal just at the point of retreat was enough to cause the rebels to stop in their tracks and hold positions or risk having their shields take heavy damage. It was quite a sight to see with hundreds of rebels pausing on the downward trek of the hill, held back by a few Imperial squads containing less than a quarter of their force.

"As I said before, never underestimate numbers, Admiral," said Jerjerrod in fierce pride of Veers and his men defending the retreat.

Motti squinted down at the front line. "Who is that down there?"

"Exactly who you think it is."

"On whose orders?"

"His own."

Jerjerrod could not very well tell Motti that he was the one who should have been on that bridge but that Jerjerrod and Veers had taken measures to ensure that he did not end up anywhere near it. If they all survived this encounter, then Jerjerrod would reveal that information, but if the rebels made it past the bridge, there would be no use telling him because they both would be dead anyway.

As the seconds stretched into minutes that were leading toward a half hour in this standoff, Jerjerrod started to develop a stronger and stronger feeling that this was a battle they could not win, for no matter how many troops made it safely to the bunker, more were still running for their lives, emerging from the woods and dashing between the two columns of Veers's defense. Even with the bunker guns firing ceaselessly on them, the rebels were advancing and in the last few minutes had gained enough ground that they were just feet away from clashing with Veers's men.

Appealing to the lieutenant for some good news, he asked, "How many of our men have still not checked in?"

"We have a rough tally, sir, but we can only estimate that some seventy-five percent of our men are across the bridge. The rest are too far away or are fighting their way toward us."

"Send out the mass order to shelter in place and regroup as soon as they are able to all those troops unable to make it back in time. How much longer can we afford to hold them off on shield power alone?"

"Our shield is running low at twenty-two percent, sir. As long as the bridge stays open, we risk draining the shield completely and the bunker will not survive a direct hit."

"We don't very well have the option of closing the bridge," said Jerjerrod, more to himself than anyone else, though he knew that Motti heard him. Tapping a finger to his ear, he relayed the news to Veers. "General, the shield has dropped below twenty-five percent. Pull your men back now."

No sooner had he spoken, however, that the rebel mobile shield dropped and the front line collided with Veers's men. Any troopers who had been in the process of running across the bridge now turned around and joined ranks with Veers to make a human wall and hold the rebels back. It was complete pandemonium as troopers struggled to fill in gaps while the rebels pressed ever inward. Jerjerrod was not of keen eyesight, but he could see white and gray armor and uniforms disappearing under a sea of camouflage. What had moments before been an organized formation of defending soldiers was now a mass of disorder and bedlam.

"Shift all firepower to the center of their forces," Jerjerrod commanded. "We need to buy our men time."

Damning the man whose ill-conceived structural plans for the bunker had been approved, Jerjerrod once again told Veers over the com link to fall back but could only hear indistinguishable shouting on the other end. A great surge forward that was visible from the bunker showed that the rebels were at the bridge and Jerjerrod had to make an executive decision.

"Signal the order for a full retreat. Tell the men to abandon their posts."

"And then what?" asked Motti.

"Then we pick them off one by one as they come across the bridge. They won't have the means to maneuver properly as they're marching across and they'll have nowhere to hide. We haven't much of a choice besides that. We may even be called out to fight. Every man in this bunker may have to take up arms."

"Where the devil is Firmus?" inquired Needa.

Jerjerrod had quite forgotten about Piett missing for the entirety of the battle, but had no time to even conjure annoyance as one of the AT-ST walkers went down, crushing several rebels and troopers underneath it and effectively creating a barrier which slowed the rebels down ever so slightly since they now had to wend around it to access the rest of the battle.

"Orders, sir?" prompted Lieutenant Ruxon.

What did the lieutenant expect him to say? To pull back? There was nowhere to fall back. To push forward? They had no ground to gain. To hold the bridge? If they held any longer, they risked losing the bunker in its entirety. There was no solution, no answer that Jerjerrod could see. Except…

Motti lifted a viewfinder to his eyes to scan the fray, did a double take, and then looked to Jerjerrod with undeniable fear on his face.

"Admiral Piett is trying to get to the bridge. Troopers are holding him back."

"What in the hell is he doing down there?" demanded Needa. "Why would he do that when everyone else is trying to go in the opposite direction?"

"Because Maxim is still down there," said Motti heavily.

Jerjerrod thought it was agreed upon that Veers would fall back when and if the shields passed twenty-five percent and he had warned Veers that they were about to drop below twenty, so he had expected Veers to be well across the bridge by now. He touched a finger again to his com link in an attempt to bring up transmission from Veers, but the line had been severed and only static came from the other end. Refusing to panic, Jerjerrod considered ordering any trooper picked from the masses to delve back into the throng, locate Veers, and forcibly drag him safely across the bridge, but even as he concocted the plan, he knew how ludicrous it was.

"Listen for me…" Veers had said as if he had known that this would happen.

"Orders, Commander?" said the lieutenant again.

Snatching the viewfinder from Motti and jamming it against his eyes, Jerjerrod was able to scan the battlefield for any signs of soldiers attempting one last defensive tactic and picked out Veers crouching behind an upturned land speeder that was on fire and creating a temporary shield from the advancing rebel line. Unlike the men on all sides of him who were shouting, limping, running, and dying, Veers was looking directly at him, matching his gaze eye to eye even from this distance. Jerjerrod knew Veers knew he was standing at the windscreen, watching and torn on this decision he had to make. Veers gave a single nod of his head, his blessing to do what needed to be done and what they anticipated what might have to be done from the moment they heard of the rebel attack.

"You can't give that order," said Motti at his shoulder as if he could hear Jerjerrod's thoughts even though he had strictly been working to not let his thoughts extend to anyone else, focused as he was on being a proper commander of the bunker. "We have hundreds of men still on the other side."

But it was not for those hundreds of men that Motti was concerned and they both knew it. Motti would have Jerjerrod stay his hand to save the one man who mattered to him down on the bridge.

"We have thousands of men on this side," said Jerjerrod, steeling himself. "And if the rebels make it across, there will be none."

"You can't-"

"I know what's at stake here, Admiral."

Motti looked absolutely capable of rushing Jerjerrod at that moment, knocking him to the floor, and taking command for himself to prevent the order from being given and Jerjerrod would not put it past him to try if any more time elapsed.

"Orders, sir?" said Lieutenant Ruxon with urgency as the entire base trembled with the impact of an explosive colliding with the failing shield.

Speaking right beside his ear, insistent, almost pleadingly, Motti reasoned, "Commander, if you blow that bridge, there's no guarantee that the rebels won't find their way across anyway-"

"But we are guaranteeing that they will if they have access to the bridge. We can't allow them to move across in the hope that we will be able to continue to hold them back indefinitely. We have to cut off their access to us now."

"Tiaan-"

" Tiaan."

He heard Motti, but he heard Veers as well, or so he thought. It was the first word he had ever heard in his head that was not his own. Veers knew Jerjerrod would be attuned to the one voice on that bridge that he knew better than any other, and was projecting out to him as an order and a plea, giving permission and understanding what that meant. It was all Jerjerrod needed to give the order himself.

"Blow the bridge."

"Sir?"

The lieutenant had frozen, watching the bridge as if a powerful surge of realization had suddenly alerted the men still on the other side that their fate was closing. The rebels clashed with the rear guard and men dropped by the dozens, but Jerjerrod could sense Veers still on the bridge, holding on as he fought a rebel hand-to-hand with weapons locked as one tried to overpower the other.

"Blow the bridge, Lieutenant."

Now, damn you! thundered Veers's voice in his head and this time, Jerjerrod knew he had not imagined it. Vader had told him true; the Force allowed him to hear those whose thoughts mattered most, those who he was most strongly connected to. The last he would hear of his friend was the order he could not communicate with anyone else.

"Now, Lieutenant!"

Lieutenant Ruxon was still stationary and in denial at what he had just been ordered to do, leaving Jerjerrod no choice but to step around him and slam his hand down on the button that triggered the explosives hidden underneath the bridge. He heard Motti's cry of outrage and felt the ground shudder. Forcing his mind to remain in the present in the bunker with the shellshocked officers around him, Jerjerrod could only see a haze of smoke outside the windscreen.

He sensed Motti's hand reaching for and then closing on his shoulder and the absolute rage behind it. He knew what he would see when he turned to face his friend, but was unprepared for it in the look of pure, unadulterated hatred in those watery blue eyes that threatened to spill forth tangible emotion.

What have you done? Motti asked him, not understanding, trying, and failing. It was only due to their friendship that he hadn't struck Jerjerrod or worse at this very moment. He was always a man of action first, of consequences and thought later whereas Jerjerrod believed in the opposite as often as permitted but now that he had done both simultaneously, Motti condemned him for it.

"Remember where you are and who is watching," said Jerjerrod under his breath as he felt the quiver in Motti's grip on his uniform.

"What you did…"

"I had to. You know that."

You have to know that. You have to understand. Please, tell me you understand.

Jerjerrod tried to convey those unsaid words to Motti as he stood in fear that he had just lost two friends for the damnable greater good. He wanted to protest that none of this was his fault, as he had been forced into this position by Veers and all because Lord Vader had ordered Motti to be the one in the line of fire. He wanted this to be anyone's fault but his, but the truth of the matter was that he had accepted his orders from Veers, obeyed, and made decisions on his own and that anything that followed was strictly on him.

"Incoming transmission from the Death Star, Commander," said the communications officer presently and Jerjerrod had all of two seconds to compose himself. Two seconds to wipe the tragedy and hardships of a lifetime off of his face.

The flickering image of Lord Vader appeared once again before him.

"Report, Commander?"

Jerjerrod opened his mouth twice to speak, but no sound came out. Only when he caught sight of the young man in the seat across from him, staring at him with bated breath in the aftermath of the attack did he realize that he was now senior commander of the entire bunker and that all men were looking to him for leadership. Weakness was not an option, nor was feeling anything for the lives just lost, including the one that mattered most to him.

He let the deadpan delivery roll off his tongue, plowing through his words without allowing himself to feel them. He spoke as if reciting an instruction manual, all while he could hear voices screaming, crying, and then going silent in his head.

"The rebels are in full retreat. Our deflector shield stands, but is running low and repairs will need to be made as soon as a ship can be arranged to drop off a maintenance crew and supplies. It will have to be an overhead retrieval and drop off, as the bridge's countermeasures were detonated and it is no longer standing. Some two hundred men were likely lost in the encounter, but a tally has not yet been concluded. General Veers was killed in action and a replacement officer will need to be reassigned to the bunker in his stead."

If he could see the Sith's eyes, he knew they would have shifted to see Motti standing behind Jerjerrod. Lord Vader would know that not only had Veers disobeyed direct orders, but so had Jerjerrod, for what they had anticipated to happen, happened. The bridge was lost and the officer in charge of holding it had been killed, but not as Lord Vader had intended. Veers had defied an order from the Sith and paid for it with his life. Jerjerrod had defied that same order, and his defiance would not go unpunished.

"General Veers's replacement will be landing within the hour and a maintenance crew will follow. A ship will be sent to collect you and your fellow officers this evening under cover of nightfall. I will receive you in my chambers when you arrive, Commander."

"Yes, my lord."

That sounded like a death sentence if Jerjerrod had ever heard one. In just a few short hours, he would be kneeling on the floor at Lord Vader's feet, gasping for breath and clawing at his throat until something ruptured within him and he simply passed away.

"Lieutenant Ruxon, you have the command deck until your new commanding officer arrives. I will be in my quarters if you should have need of me."

Jerjerrod dismissed himself, brushing past the stationary and ashen-faced form of Piett in the doorway without even processing that Piett had likely seen Veers being blown apart and would know what Jerjerrod had done. He marched, then brusquely walked, then flat-out ran to his quarters just one level below. He locked his door and hurried to the windscreen, pressing the button that would open the shutters and let fresh air in, for he could not stand one more second of this artificial oxygen within the station. Grasping the window sill in trembling hands, he tried desperately to block out the image of the bridge on fire, of the bursts of red and orange, of hundreds of men falling to their deaths and being blasted skyward as the explosion tore them limb from limb in a fiery, melting rage. And the screaming…

He had felt each soul ripping from its body and then disappearing on the wind as if it had never existed. He had searched unwillingly for the soul he knew he would find among the dead, but it was lost in the sea of the departed. And the silence that followed as all those lives burned out, as if the galaxy had paused to acknowledge the terrible crime Tiaan Jerjerrod had committed…

It had to be done. It was the right thing to do. It saved your life as well as those of dozens of battalions.

His decision had saved Motti, Piett, and Needa. And killed Veers. Sacrifice the few to save the many. Hundreds for the thousands. One man for the other three. A moral sacrifice for the greater good. Veers had approved it, but no one would believe Jerjerrod when he told them that. No one would take his word for it that a now dead general had telepathically told Jerjerrod to blow the bridge because the very thought of an Imperial harvesting any sort of power associated with the Sith was far too frightening to accept. His men would turn on him if they hadn't already.

This choice would damn him either way.

His grip on the window sill was slipping, his legs failing him, and though he pressed a gloved hand over his mouth to stifle what he knew was coming, he could not hold back when it finally did. His insides tried to wrench themselves from his body as he screamed, he wailed, he broke.

Now on all fours, he was fighting for air and deathly afraid that he would not find it. His collar was agonizingly tight, his throat constricted. The sensors in his room did not begin to blare for he had disabled them. No one knew their impervious commander was about to suffocate on his own breath.

Through his reinforced steel door, he heard insistent pounding, but he was too far from the control panel to unlock it. Every form of panic closed in on him and hot, painful tears squeezed from his eyes. He wondered if this was even a fraction of what those men had felt before they died.

His door opened, overridden by an officer's code from the outside and then two hands seized him to open his collar where he was still fighting to undo the clasp. Then one of those hands thudded him hard between the shoulder blades to clear his airways and he sucked in a greedy, desperate breath as air finally passed into his lungs. From this position bent double, he could not see the face of the man who had come to help him, but he could tell by how polished the boots were, how there was not a single wrinkle in the uniform, and by the steady grip of the hand on his shoulder who stood there. And what's more, he could sense the presence, the recognizable calm and quietness of it. There was only one man who could rival Jerjerrod for composure, and it was not Motti.

Of course it was Piett. If there was one man Jerjerrod could trust to withhold judgment on him for what he had done today and why, it was Piett, and he would have seen Jerjerrod hurrying from the command deck, would have followed him to ensure that he was alright.

"What happened?" asked Piett when Jerjerrod's breathing had returned to normal.

"What happened...is that I killed a great many of our men today, including Maxim."

"I know, and I know why you had to do it. I tried to get there to bring him back, but no one was allowed to leave by way of the bridge, so I had to watch everything unfold, knowing I was useless. I have accepted my failure and unfamiliar though you may be with the concept, it is called grief and you're human, which is why your body is naturally reacting this way."

I'm not though, not entirely.

Dare he divulge the information to Piett? Dare he trust him as he had trusted Veers, who had taken his secret to the grave?

"Would you believe me if I told you that I wasn't as human as the rest of you? Would you believe me if I told you that I heard him, just before the explosion? If I told you that he spoke to me and asked me to do it, would you think I was mad or looking for an excuse to practice?"

To his credit, Piett did not appear frightened or confused, but his lack of reaction was more concerning. "Considering that you are not one for such wild remarks, I'm inclined to believe you. But how did you even discover that you could hear someone else speaking to you in your head?"

"Lord Vader informed me that the Emperor sensed that power within me. The Sith made the journey here to tell me that I was always capable of feeling this power but every inkling I had of something greater, I ignored until it became strong enough that the Emperor was able to feel it. He said that I am to be monitored until and unless I prove that I am not a threat with these newfound abilities. I have tried unsuccessfully to block it out, but I told Maxim what I could do and on the bridge, I heard him telling me to detonate it. I heard him give me the order. I heard them all as I obeyed the order. It doesn't excuse what I did. The morality of the thing is questionable and always will be, but I believe that it was right, considering the alternative."

"I've never known you to be a man who doubts himself. If you believe it was the right thing to do, then it was. But that may be difficult to explain where Conan and Lorth are concerned if you don't go about it properly."

"I would ask that you not tell them, especially not Conan."

"Even though it might help your case for him to see that you didn't make that decision lightly?"

"He will think something else made the decision for me. He's already questioned the manner in which I killed the rebel who attacked him and believes that I lost control over my actions. If I were to tell him that Lord Vader's source of power–the very thing that almost killed him–is what made it possible for me to make the decision to blow the bridge, he would turn on me. I killed one of the few friends I have today, Firmus, and I am in no great rush to lose another."

"Then I will hold your silence, but know that I believe you aren't giving Conan or Lorth their due credit."

"I don't doubt their loyalty to me as their friend, but I do know that fear is stronger than loyalty and that I would lose them both if they thought I would use the Sith's power against them. And for the few hours I believe I have left in this universe, I would prefer for them to see me as their friend and not someone to be feared."

Piett blinked in confusion. "Are you planning on committing some sort of ritual suicide that I am unaware of?"

"You heard Lord Vader's message to me. We all are to depart at nightfall and I am to meet him in his chambers upon arrival back on the Death Star. He gave an order before the rebel attack and I defied it and I know he will see it as more than enough reason to have me executed."

"What could you possibly have done to warrant such a consequence? It's thanks to you that the bunker is still intact and safe from rebel infiltration."

"Conan was supposed to be on the bridge. Lord Vader gave Maxim and me orders to station Conan there, knowing that we ultimately would have to destroy it. While he did not plan for the rebels to attack, he saw it as an opportunity to dispose of Conan because he no longer has any use for him. By not following his order, I showed him that I value the life of one man more than I value loyalty to the Empire. Had Maxim survived, I believe there would be leniency, but losing his best battlefield general has likely angered the Sith and I am the one who has to pay the price."

"Then don't go back," said Piett simply.

"Where, then, would you suggest I go? I can't leave this moon undetected. If I'm found by the rebels, I'll be executed by them or tortured and pried for information. If I return to the Death Star, I'll be executed by the Sith. I have nowhere to go, Firmus, and even if I did, there would be a bounty placed on my head. Fleeing would solidify my threat to the Sith and I would be hunted down and due to my presence being made aware by the Force, the Emperor would be able to find me."

"It sounds as if you've already given up, which I will not allow," said Piett firmly. "I don't care what you are now, whether Sith or human, but you are not a man who accepts defeat. When we arrive on the Death Star this evening, you will not deboard with the rest of us. You will remain in the cockpit until we have cleared the hangar and then you will find a small transport and make your escape."

Jerjerrod allowed himself the smallest of smiles for Piett's commitment to his safety, but he knew the effort would be fruitless. "I appreciate your dedication to my survival, but even if I did manage to find an escape pod, I would be leaving you, Conan, and Lorth at risk of incurring the Sith's wrath. You would be questioned about my disappearance and try as you might, you would not be able to lie to him. He would know that you suggested and aided in my escape, and then he would kill you."

"I don't believe so. As Fleet Admiral, I believe that I am of more importance than I was as a captain or as an admiral and at this stage of the rebellion, it would be a chore to replace me when already he would be busy trying to replace you and Maxim. Where would he be able to find another architect to complete the Death Star when the station was your invention?"

Where? Motti would be the ideal replacement, as he and Jerjerrod shared the idea, but what Jerjerrod had not considered, what he had failed to realize in his selfish struggle for his own survival, was that by fleeing, he would be leaving Motti unprotected. Even if Lord Vader did not associate Piett, Motti, and Needa with Jerjerrod's disappearance, this entire situation was only happening because the Sith had wanted Motti dead. If he dared to try and have him killed even with Jerjerrod around to speak for him, what chance did Motti have without Jerjerrod?

He could not be left behind, and having both of them desert would most assuredly place suspicion on Piett.

Jerjerrod could not save himself and leave Motti, nor could he stay and hope Motti was spared. Both of them would have to make their escape in the few precious moments after landing on the Death Star, leaving Piett and Needa to face Lord Vader.

Piett came to that realization at the same time that Jerjerrod did and gave a half shrug in semi defeat. "I will try to buy the both of you time, but if you are caught, there's nothing I will be able to do to help you."

"You've done more than enough already," Jerjerrod assured him. The reality of the situation set upon him that this was likely the one of the last times if not the last time he would ever be able to speak to his friend, for trying to contact Piett once he deserted would only endanger him. He held out his hand, Piett took it, and he held on for several seconds that were over far too soon.

How funny, how confusing and unfair life was to give him such awesome powers at the height of his military career, only for them to be the cause of him now having to abandon every hope and dream he had ever had. He had entered this room some ten minutes ago as a man far above most, committed to the Empire and loyal to the cause and he would leave it tonight as a man preparing to leave everything he knew behind because he had chosen his friend over his duty.