ADMIRAL MOTTI
"You've got a blaster, three smoke grenades, and your Z6," said Solo early the following morning before the sun had risen. He held out the bundle of weapons to Motti, but did not look at all pleased with having to do so. "You're aiming at Imperials only, or our next conversation is gonna be your last."
"Noted."
Nearby, Skywalker was having a discussion with Jerjerrod and Piett about attire and the negative impact it could have on their mission for the day.
"I think it'll set us back if the troopers see their commanding officers come out wearing full rebel uniform," Piett was saying. "As recognizable as our faces may be, they may shoot first if they see a rebel step out of the underbrush instead of an officer in gray."
"They'll get the message if you put your kepi on," Motti suggested.
"That won't do you any good, seeing as how you never wore yours," said Jerjerrod.
"Then don't send me out to wave the truce flag."
"You're taking turns," said Skywalker. "You'll wear your caps and tunics, but if your men fire at us, you'll need to drop down and assume the position of surrender because we won't be able to pick out who's who in a crossfire."
"That's encouraging," Motti muttered as he clipped his weapons to his belt. He felt better going into this foolhardy operation armed, but he still felt grossly underprepared considering that Imperial troops had a devastating arsenal and he was armed with non-lethal and less-than-powerful weapons. The rebels had had the advantage of surprise both times they launched an attack on the Imperials, but they were vastly outnumbered and they ultimately had lost both times. They were employing the same strategy now except Motti was witnessing the attack and fighting from the rebel side, and he did not have high hopes of the third time being somehow more fruitful. He thoroughly expected something disastrous to happen, but he did not have the option to sit this event out.
Their team of fifteen were to take under-radar land speeders to within a mile radius of the first outpost that Motti had provided the coordinates to and then hike the rest of the way in, which allowed Motti plenty of time to regret his every decision in life as he sat in the back of a speeder squashed between Piett and the Wookie. He tried not to make eye contact with the Wookie or even acknowledge that it existed at all, as he figured it was preferable that the two of them ignore each other, but it was difficult to pretend that he did not have an enormous furry body pressed up against his side when the fur kept whipping him in the face.
About fifteen minutes into the two hour speeder ride, Motti had already started feeling queasy and spent the rest of the trip in silence with his lips clamped firmly over his teeth to prevent himself from vomiting on the Wookie, but when they finally arrived at the drop-off point where the sun was well on the rise, he was the first one out and spent several moments hunched over retching. When he was certain that nothing more substantial than bile was going to come up, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and watched Jerjerrod and Piett start to change back into Imperial garb.
He was caught slightly off guard, for he had not seen either of them without some sort of headgear for years and had quite forgotten how they looked when reduced to men and not defined by the uniforms they wore. Piett's hair was thinning on top, but still blond and curly just behind his ears, a common misconception since the kepis gave most blond Imperials the appearance of dull, mousy gray hair. Jerjerrod, despite being younger than Piett, was going gray earlier, for his pale yellow hair looked washed out, but was as clean cut as it had ever been. Both of them looked completely different without their Imperial uniform, but as simple humans wearing simple clothing, they might have passed as strangers to Motti if he had brushed by them on another world. The Imperial uniform gave them rigidness, sharp structure, inflexibility, but absent the defining kepis, their features were softened. The Empire had a habit of employing men with pointed faces lacking any sympathy, but stricken of the uniform that took away their humanity, they looked positively friendly, even if their expressions still bore signs of emotional suppression. As Motti switched out his own uniform, he spared a moment to wonder if he ever could achieve such a look or if he was too Imperial to blend in.
Throwing the rebel ponchos over their top Imperial-wear, Jerjerrod and Piett stashed their kepis in their pockets (Motti had not thought to bring his), and then fell into the single-file line led by Solo toward the first outpost. They had already drawn straws that Piett was to be the first officer to reveal himself to the Imperial troops, so he was near the front of the line, but Motti and Jerjerrod were near the mid-back where only a few rebels brought up the rear. Following the exact steps of the man in front of him to not misstep, Motti had an uncomfortable feeling of being watched and glanced back to see Jerjerrod closely examining him. He didn't pretend to not notice Jerjerrod's continuous fixed stare and after several minutes during which he tried his best to ignore it, he finally snapped, "What?"
With a slow, intentional blink, Jerjerrod stated, "I'm trying to feel your emotions, but you're blocking me out."
"It might be because I don't want you in here," said Motti, tapping his temple. He gestured that the rebels behind them continue on ahead, as he did not want them eavesdropping on this conversation.
"I'm trying to understand your anger and what prompted such a violent reaction to the princess's jabs," Jerjerrod continued once the rebels passed them up. "You have a temper, that much has always been clear, but you've never directed it so harshly onto one of us before."
"You wouldn't call me pulling a blaster on you a harsh reaction?"
"You were afraid then; you meant to hurt Firmus yesterday. You wanted someone to atone for the anger the princess caused you and you had no control over how it came out. That cannot happen again. The look on your face–that almost wasn't human."
"It was the same thing I saw in your face when you butchered that rebel," said Motti crisply. "Your anger and mine are completely different, so don't pretend they're the same."
"Right, my anger was justified in wanting to kill the man who meant to kill you. You were angry that someone poked fun at you and that you couldn't hit her as a result. Completely different."
How Motti would have liked to have responded to that, but as irritated as he was at how Jerjerrod was berating him, he couldn't deny that the commander was right. It boiled down to different anger in that one was justified and one was not. It did not excuse the manner in which Jerjerrod had massacred that rebel, but his intention to kill was understandable. Motti's rage in pinning Piett down and likely hurting him further if he had not been called off was a result of the princess getting under his skin in the exact same way that he got under everyone else's. His pride took a sting and he wanted someone to pay for it because he could not stand to be made a fool. That did not mean, however, that he was going to stand there and let Jerjerrod lecture him yet again.
"I'm not your subordinate anymore, you know," he told Jerjerrod. "I don't answer to you, or anyone for that matter, and so I'm not going to listen to any more of this drabble of you acting superior to me as if you've inherited all the Jedi's wisdom and suddenly know the nature of how everything works. You've been trying to parent me for far too long and I've had enough, so I won't be listening to any sagely advice you think you need to give me. Let me survive this war how I want to and I'll let you do the same."
"Your idea of surviving the war is liable to get you and everyone else killed because your sense of self-preservation is reckless. My idea of surviving the war includes seeing that you and Firmus survive it as well, but obviously your priorities are not the same as mine. I know what I would do if there was a threat to you and Firmus, but I don't know that you would do the same."
"You think I'd leave you to face Vader if it came down to it?"
"I don't know, Conan, and that bothers me. You said it yourself that I don't know the man you are anymore, that too much time has passed, that too much has changed. I thought I knew your motives once, but now, I don't think I know anything about you, and I can't help but feel like it's my fault for that. If you had the choice to go back free of consequence, I don't know what you would choose to do, and for us to end up on opposite sides, it frightens me that I don't know if you would shoot me."
"Is this really the time to be having this conversation? I didn't suddenly become a violent sadist who wants to shoot everyone who's ever wronged me, so I don't understand your concern."
"It's not your decision," said Jerjerrod pointedly. "Just like it wasn't mine to do some of the things I did."
"Thank you, that was enlightening."
"I mean that–"
"Quiet back there," hissed a rebel from further up the line and though Motti was about to snap back, he refrained once he saw that Solo was holding up his arm to signify that they were close. Solo made a gesture that they should gather and stay low. Crouching almost bent double and taking great care to not step on any twigs, Motti made his way forward and saw through a gap in the foliage that they were some thirty yards out from the guarded perimeter of the outpost.
"Seven men on guard, more inside for sure. They won't have the equipment to pick us up, so they won't know that we're coming," Solo reported. "Spread out in a half-circle around the front. We're hoping for an easy surrender, but you all know your jobs if they don't. Admiral Piett's up first, so try not to shoot him."
Piett spared a scathing look for Solo and then shed his poncho and rebel helmet. He replaced the helmet with his kepi and slipped right back into admiral of the Imperial fleet from the waist up. The only difference was that he looked sick to his stomach right now at the prospect of what he was about to do and if Motti could have projected a sense of calm into Piett, he would have.
"We have you covered," Skywalker reassured Piett. "Just remember to drop and stay where you are if things go south."
"I trust you to keep your word, Commander; it's my own men that I have no confidence in at the moment," said Piett with a hard swallow and a nod at the outpost.
"Keep your hands up and away from your gunbelt," the princess suggested.
With one last glance at both Motti and Jerjerrod, the latter of whom gave a single encouraging nod, Piett cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, "Officer coming in to the east! Hold your fire!"
He stood up in full view of the troopers outside the outpost and Motti could see them all whirl around to aim their rifles at Piett, but as the disciplined men they were, they held their fire. With his hands in the air and his lower body still concealed, Piett made his way forward a few steps.
"May I approach?" he asked the stormtrooper in charge.
"Slowly, keep your hands up until we verify identification," the trooper responded.
"I am Admiral Piett of the Imperial fleet. I was shot down by rebel fire when my shuttle was leaving the main bunker."
The troopers talked amongst themselves to check the validity of Piett's statement, but Motti didn't figure that they were important enough to be told the truth of the matter. They would have known that one of their own shuttles had been shot down, but not that it had been their missiles that fired the shots or who was on board that shuttle.
"You managed to survive a long time out here on your own, Admiral," said the lead trooper.
"I did for a few days, then I was picked up by rebel forces," said Piett in the rehearsed words he had been told to say. "I've been held by rebels since then."
The moment he revealed this, the troopers tensed their posture as if anticipating an attack.
"Did you manage to escape?" the lead trooper asked.
"No. I was sent as an envoy. The rebels have this outpost surrounded as we speak and have plans to take it. I asked for the opportunity to come to you first to initiate a surrender to avoid loss of life. If you put down your weapons now, none of you shall be harmed and you shall be treated fairly, as I have been, until the conclusion of the war."
"Sellout," another trooper called accusingly.
Piett faltered a moment, for now he was verbally labeled as the very thing he did not choose to be, but ended up being anyway. Vader had chosen this fate for him and whether or not he liked it, he was now a traitor, the worst thing to be in the eyes of the grunts who did all the dirty work for the Empire. When he spoke, he managed to conceal most of his anger, but to those who knew him, it was clear as day that he did not take kindly to being spoken to like that.
"If not for me, the rebels would have already taken this outpost and you all likely would be dead. Captive or not, I am still duty-bound to protect the men who serve under the Imperial flag, and I am hoping you will respect the rules of war. Lay down your weapons."
"We live to serve the Empire by whatever means necessary," said the lead trooper with a trace of regret in his voice.
"Stand down, trooper," Piett commanded.
"You know the rules, Admiral. Imperial troops never surrender and any who would are no longer recognized by the Empire."
"Get him out of there," said Jerjerrod suddenly beside Motti. He grabbed Solo's arm and on the other side, Skywalker was already drawing his lightsaber. "General, get Firmus out of there now!"
"Traitors are to be dealt with accordingly."
"Drop, Firmus!" Jerjerrod hollered and by some miracle, Piett did not question it, but let his legs give out where he stood to hit the ground just as the trooper fired at him. The blast missed and instead splintered a tree trunk some ten feet behind him, but the trooper advanced with the orders and the intention of hunting Piett down and ending him.
Motti moved with the Jedi, standing up from where they were hidden and charging in even though he had no reason for doing so. He had never experienced this feeling before of such rage for the individual who had almost shot Piett down in cold blood, nevermind the fact that it was one of his own men.
All around him, Motti saw the rebels emerging from the underbrush and while one side of the half-circle fired, the other half kept low to avoid the shots and to prevent any troopers from escaping. Motti saw the lead trooper scouring the forest floor between the bushes where Piett had dropped to hide but before Motti could lift his weapon to shoot the man, he saw a flash of green as the Jedi beheaded the trooper.
The doors to the bunker opened and in either an act of stupid nobility or just plain stupidity, the remaining troopers flooded out with their weapons blazing. The rebels began to scatter to regroup and charge in again, but Motti had no intention of doing the same with the forest around him exploding with gunfire. He spotted an opening and had already made up his mind to sprint for cover–
Don't run, he reminded himself quickly. If he ran, they would shoot him. But who was left to see him run for it? There was no one around to hold him accountable.
Torn with indecision, his body stalled for time by calling out for Piett in the chaos but when no answer came, his brain took that as permission to prioritize himself and he ran, but not far. Something pulled him up short just out of sight of the outpost; a feeling, a suspicion, something made him glance back in time to see the princess elbow a trooper in the groin and scramble for cover as the trooper snatched at her midsection and ripped off her gunbelt.
He saw her sprinting in his direction with the trooper nursing his injury and firing blindly at her. Setting his sights along the end of his blaster, Motti closed one eye and watched the princess approach through the scope. His mind was reeling with possibility: if she was not there to organize the trial, he would never have to stand for it. With no spokesperson for the destruction of Alderaan, there was no one to accuse him of the crime that he did not commit. He could fire and no one would ever know that it had been his shot to kill her…
Her every insult was replaying in his head, reminding him of how much this woman loathed him, how little she would care to see him executed, how he meant nothing to her and how his life was worthless in her eyes. She valued him as much as Vader did and both would see him scattered into space dust rather than let him walk free. In return, she was nothing to him. He didn't need her, he didn't want her anywhere near him, and her death would clear his path.
How easy would it be to shoot her? To shoot anyone? He was the only one of his friends who had not managed to end another human life since landing on this moon and yet they all believed him the most capable of doing so. Was it because his reputation for being indifferent and callous led them to believe that he could so easily disregard another person? It was easy to follow the command to end billions of lives he could not see, but to put his finger on the trigger and to know that he was about to watch the lights leave the eyes of the person he intended to kill, it felt entirely different.
But some part of him wanted that taste of vengeance. He was still fuming from wanting to do harm to the trooper who had shot at Piett and his distaste for this woman was only adding fuel to that already untamable fire. The man he knew he was wanted the princess to die right here and he wanted to be the cause of it as he felt that brimming, boiling thirst for this woman's blood for humiliating him, calling him a coward, promising to do the same to him when the time came. She was in his way, an obstacle, and obstacles needed to be dealt with swiftly.
Wait, said a voice in his head, and he almost fired prematurely in alarm. He knew this voice; he had heard it twice before, and it had fed him the wisdom that enabled him to come out of what otherwise might have been fatal situations. The last time he had heard it was on board the shuttle right before it crashed; he had been looking at Jerjerrod who had been regarding Motti with that inhuman stare…the same stare that Jerjerrod accused Motti of having as he fought Piett.
What had Jerjerrod been about to say to him? Did he believe that he and Motti were both fighting the same inner battles because they both were one and the same, influenced by the same outside force? He had seemed disturbed by Motti's actions as if he feared that Motti had lost control of his actions, as if was being fed anger and hatred from elsewhere. If what Jerjerrod believed was enough to frighten him, Motti was inclined to heed trust Jerjerrod's judgment since the commander didn't visibly scare easily.
Wait.
He saw the princess coming closer, saw the trooper behind her righting himself and locating her.
Skywalker's words came back to him, reminding him that any loss of life and Motti would personally be held responsible. Like it or not, he had to ensure that no harm came to the insufferable woman or it would mean his head. If nothing else, he could not shoot her because of the immediate consequences, and so he shifted his aim to shoot at the trooper behind her and with one shot, he hit his target through the shoulder. He swelled with pride at his accuracy, pleased that at least one thing had gone right for him today.
The princess heard the report, looked back to see that her pursuer had been shot, traced the trajectory to where Motti stood, and after jogging up the hill, came to a halt once she reached him, frown lines etching into her features at her rotten luck.
"I trust that you'll remember this moment," said Motti with hardly any effort to keep the gloating note out of his tone. She would never know that he had had her in his sights and was just seconds away from ending her, and that was something he planned to hold over her head, to be pulled out and used against her if ever he was desperate enough. "I could have kept going, but I chose to offer assistance to you instead."
"Keep standing there boasting about what a good shot you are, or start running," snapped the princess, and brushed past him as blaster fire nearly missed them.
Together, they took off in what they hoped was the direction of the speeders, and though no troopers seemed to be pursuing them, they came across no other rebels at any point in the twenty or so minutes that they were sprinting. Motti had a painful, searing stitch in his side since he was not used to such strenuous effort as running for so long and his lungs were not having it so that he started to lag behind the princess despite having much longer legs than her. His pride told him not to, but he managed to huff out a protest to her in asking for her to slow down for him as he clutched the stitch and struggled to breathe.
"If you can't keep up, I'm leaving you," the princess said stoutly, though she too was breathing heavily.
Hunched over and positively gasping for breath, Motti kept his eyes on her in an open dare to try and leave him behind, but she had come to a stop for him, so he had hope that she would wait for him to regain his breath. Once he could finally form words without there being a ten second gap between them, he said almost tauntingly, "I'm the one with weapons. If you want to go it alone unarmed, be my guest, but if not, we need to have a serious discussion right here and now about how we're going to deal with our situation. I'm as thrilled to be stuck with you as you are with me, but for both of our sakes, I would suggest that we learn quite quickly to get along. I propose a temporary truce."
"I can suck it up if you can."
"I can."
"Then suck it up and keep running."
"That's not what I meant. If we haven't put enough distance between us and the outpost, we should keep moving ahead quietly, but if we have, we should wait here and try to contact the others, unless you also lost your comlink." He didn't mean to jump to conclusions, but since her belt had been ripped off of her, she had lost everything worth having out here and Motti had not been deemed important enough to grant a com link, so they had no way to communicate with anyone about their position.
"We can't reach the others," said the princess through her teeth in exasperation at having her misfortune pointed out to her.
"Then I'm open to suggestions on what we should do–"
"Here's a suggestion: shut up."
"Taking that as the suggestion that it is, I'm inclined to ignore it."
The princess rounded on him and though the top of her head did not even clear his shoulder, she had a fierce fury waiting on the threshold to break over the floodgates and collide with him. As amused he was watching her battle with herself over whether she should try to hit him, he caught the tiniest flash of something other, something not human behind her eyes and an icy fist gripped his heart in realization at what Jerjerrod had been trying to tell him.
Wherein dwelled the Force so strongly, there could dwell the means to be consumed by it or be aided by it and all Motti had to do was look at Vader and Skywalker to compare which he preferred. The princess was the daughter of a Sith, the sister of a Jedi, and she could be influenced either way because she had no extensive training. She was still largely unaware of her powers or how they could pull her in one direction or the other, not unlike Jerjerrod who was attempting to learn the way of the Jedi but who had lived among the Sith and had already been tempted by the dark side due to his unchecked anger when it came to a threat on his friends. Motti was not a Force-sensitive being, so he could not give in to the pull from the dark side; his anger was just a man's anger and nothing more.
But whether the princess realized it or not, she was still susceptible to the dark side and Motti was prodding her in the wrong direction. The dark side waited for its chance to claim her as it had her father, hiding in the rage she felt for Motti and others like him who had a hand in destroying her home world. If he pushed her far enough, she might just go over the edge as her father had and something he did not need was both father and daughter Force users to come after him with a vengeance. He needed to recalibrate, take a step back, and try to salvage what peace could be retained.
"Alright, let me rescind that last statement and apologize for being myself."
"That's not much of an apology," said the princess.
"That's the best I can do right now. Try me again when we're not at risk of being shot at or discovered by Imperial troopers."
He could tell she was not pleased with his answer, but she accepted his temporary truce and cast her eyes upward to the sun to mark their direction. "It'll take a few days on foot to reach camp, but we don't have much of a choice, so our best option is to start walking."
That did indeed seem to be their best option, if not their only one, for they couldn't go back the way they came in hopes of reclaiming the outpost for themselves with only one blaster between them. If the rebels had managed to take it, they would be sending out search parties for the princess, but Motti could not risk going back if the outpost was still held by the troopers. What a colossal waste of time this had been.
Consulting the compass Motti found on his own belt, they set off in the direction they believed to be correct and walked in silence to try and not get on each others' last nerve even though Motti could tell he was trying the princess's patience with how he was a heavy walker and had trouble going about it quietly. After a time, the princess paused and said with her hands clasped at her mouth as if praying for restraint, "How about you try to step where I step so you aren't waking up the entire moon?"
"Even if I did step where you step, your boot prints are half the size of mine, so I'm still bound to step on something. Forgive me if I've not spent much time on solid ground these past two decades."
"You do know how to walk without telling everything within ten miles that we're around, don't you?"
Motti's ears were overly perceptive since this moon was unlike the quiet confines of a ship or battle station, and so he heard something distinctly unnatural and very familiar in the sound of a static-filled transmission. He held up a hand to silence the princess and pointed behind them at the steep but short slope they had just come down.
In no time the princess had scaled the slope while keeping low and then gestured that he should come up to sit beside her. Slipping on the damp earth and cursing his boots for not having better traction, he managed to anchor himself on a couple exposed roots and squinted through the bushes to where the princess was looking.
"Give me your binocs," she said, snapping her fingers. "And keep quiet."
Motti was about to admonish her for being the one to talk while he had said and done nothing, but held his tongue and handed over what she asked for. She jammed the binocs to her eyes and fiddled with the settings for a few seconds before taking in the sight of whatever she had seen.
"Two bikes, two troopers," she concluded.
"Is it worth it to try and engage them and steal their comlink?" asked Motti. "Days of walking or the chance to contact your people; it's likely the only chance we'll have. I've had a couple days of target practice and I did make quite an accurate shot earlier, though I doubt my blaster could even reach them from here, unless you think you're a better shot. Unless you want to lure them out here and hope we can get the upper hand on them."
"I don't want to spend the night out here with you, so use that as a motivation to get their communicator," said the princess without turning her head. She wriggled forward and lifted herself up slightly to get a better look.
"Careful," Motti warned. "The glint from the binocs might catch the light and they'll be able to spot you. And as entertaining as that sounds in having to endure a night in the wild with you, I do find it to be preferable over being shot at when only one of us has a weapon that can shoot back."
The princess looked away from the binocs and shot him a death glare. "Why are you still talking?"
"You're visible and that's a problem, that's why."
"If you have nothing positive to contribute–"
Blaster fire erupted above them and Motti yanked down on the back of the princess's poncho, pulling her straight off of her perch to roll down the slope and land beside him at the bottom as white-hot energy beams singed the spot where she had been crouching.
"Shut up," she warned him as they both covered their heads from falling wooden shrapnel while the blaster fire grew heavier from the approaching troopers.
"Didn't say a word, Your Highness," Motti returned.
"If we don't move now, we'll be pinned down here."
"I have three smoke grenades," Motti said suggestively. "Do we run?"
"We run."
"I'm right behind you."
Pulling the pin to two of the three grenades, Motti pitched them into the air so that they would land behind them and obscure his and the princess's escape. The princess took off as soon as the grenades hit the ground and Motti scrambled after her. They broke through the forest without caring to conceal their retreat, all while being bombarded with fire from the speeder bikes. Motti knew they could not keep running and that the bikes would mow them down if they weren't blasted into the air first, but what else could they do? If they tried to stand and fight, the bikes would cut them in half. If they surrendered, the troopers might just shoot them anyway. They were short on time to decide what to do…
He could not say how. Perhaps he just naturally sensed that too much time had passed since the last blaster shot went off; perhaps he was lucky, but his body told him to drop and it had not yet proved him wrong, so he did, throwing himself forward across the princess's back and flattening her. The tree in front of them exploded, raining heavy chunks of wooden debris down on them and Motti shifted his arm upward to cover his partner's head until the last of nature's shrapnel had stopped falling.
"Get off," she the princess somewhat ungratefully.
"Get up," he returned, hauling her to her feet and pushing her ahead of him. They hadn't gone five steps when he heard a twig snap behind them and whirled around to see a dismounted trooper aiming directly at him. He had no time to think as what felt like a solid punch to his gut sent him sprawling backward where he crashed into the princess and pinned her down with his weight.
"Don't move!" the trooper warned as the princess struggled to wriggle out from under him.
Motti found that he could still move his limbs, so the stun feature on the trooper's blaster had been set to the most mild setting, but he could already feel a bruise forming on his chest, and it made it somewhat painful to speak through battered lungs. He cast his hands upward in surrender and called, "Stand down, trooper. I'm Admiral Motti with the Imperial fleet, taken hostage by the rebels. The woman is a valuable prisoner and Lord Vader will want to personally interrogate her."
The princess lunged at him and he stepped nimbly out of reach as the troopers intercepted her and locked her arms behind her with binders.
"You know what will happen to your friends once the rebels find out what you've done to me," she threatened.
"Yes, I do."
"You don't deserve them. I hope they get a chance to tell you what sort of filth you are." The princess spat at him, pegging his left eye with saliva which he wiped away impatiently so the trooper could scan his retina for identification.
"Apologies, Admiral. You understand that we have to temporarily disarm and detain you. Right this way," said the trooper who had scanned him as he took Motti's weapons off of him and bound his wrists together in front of him.
"I understand. Precautions are necessary."
Though he could not see their expressions through their helmets, Motti did catch that one trooper gave his fellow soldier a lingering and meaningful glance and with that, Motti inwardly sighed at what he knew that meant. He had hoped for luck to be on his side, that some semblance of fairness in the universe decided that he had earned a second chance, but he was not willing to put his life on the line to test it.
The troopers escorted Motti and the princess back to where they had parked their speeder bikes and placed her on the back of one, leaving Motti to stand idly beside the other. As one trooper turned his back to consult his fellow, it gave Motti the opportunity to make eye contact with the princess. Those large brown eyes bore into him, hating him, promising retaliation, wishing painful death upon him, but he stared right back pointedly, willing her to hear him.
Come on, I know you can. Read me just like your father so easily does.
His eyes were starting to water, but he knew that she would not break eye contact as a sign of dominance and defiance. Several seconds more they held the gaze during which he was projecting every thought he could to make her understand and sending an expletive or two her way.
He saw a fraction of something there as she considered him. It wasn't understanding; it was doubt, but he would take doubt over hate. Blinking once slowly and pointedly, he shifted his eyes to the left, back to her, and then to the left again and thank the higher powers, she finally understood.
The princess toppled sideways off of the speeder and as the troopers went to pick her up, Motti reached for the nearer one's blaster. He snatched it from the trooper, quickly fumbled with the trigger in such a close-handed grip with his hands still bound, and then shot one trooper in the back of the leg and the other through the spine once, twice, three times before he managed to pry his finger off of the trigger.
One shot was more than enough. One shot should have been more than enough. So why had he fired three times?
Blood pulsed behind his eyes and he heard a faint ringing in his ears that he tried to shake away by opening his jaw and moving it about several times. He took the fob from the deceased trooper's belt and released the princess from her binders. She relieved Motti of his blaster and shot the remaining trooper in the head before rounding on Motti.
A beat passed between them and then she said in almost a bored fashion, "I ought to shoot you for that."
"That's your prerogative."
"You could have told me what you were doing."
"I had exactly no time to tell you anything before they were on us, but if you're going to shoot me, might I ask that you do it between my eyes to make it quick? I've had two too many drawn-out near-death encounters with your father and I'd like my exit from this universe to be quicker this time."
"I heard you in my head. I heard you trying to tell me what to do."
"That's what I was hoping for."
"I shouldn't have heard you. I'm not strong enough to hear anyone but those who are Force-sensitive," she said contemplatively.
"Funny you should mention that. Your father taunted me after the last time he strangled me, saying that I would have been a great asset if I had been born Force-sensitive."
"Are you?"
"Not that I am aware."
"Then maybe he was aware."
"I wouldn't know. He didn't often share his most private thoughts with me over our morning caffeine shots."
"You're very unlikable, do you know that?"
"I've been told, yes."
The princess handed back his blaster and released him from his binders. "I thought you were trying to avoid killing your men at all costs?"
Motti shrugged.
The princess prodded the body of Motti's kill with the toe of her boot. "You think three shots was enough?"
She was trying to goad him into admitting something, but what Motti knew not to tell her was that he was still trying to work through the pounding in his head that demanded he kill someone in retribution for the trooper attempting to gun Piett down earlier. His body was still figuring out how best to cope with his lack of an outlet and though he had managed to shoot the trooper who had pursued the princess, he wanted to shoot these men who lay dead before them. Bloodlust was not a concept that he was familiar with and though it was bewildering to him, he found it exhilarating and what's more, he knew he damn well should not be feeling that regarding murder.
He couldn't tell her that, though, so he had to come up with a plausible lie because anything and everything he said here was liable to find its way to Skywalker's ears and the last thing he needed was for the Jedi to give him dire warnings about giving in to the dark side.
"While not killing soldiers may be the goal of my companions, it's not mine. These were never my men. No one in the fleet or the army has any respect for me after the Emperor sent me to trial for abandonment. I owe nothing to the Empire or its men and those men recognized me, not in a good way. They were going to take me back to Vader and that is not an option for me, though I would like to avoid a trial as well."
The princess scoffed as she returned his other weapons and took a utility belt off of one of the troopers. "It's one or the other, so if you're so against the trial, you should get on one of these bikes and find your back to Vader because you are going to stand trial." She walked around the bikes, examining the controls with some mild curiosity. "Do you know how to ride one of those?"
"Ride, yes. Drive, most likely no."
"Thought so."
Swinging her leg over into the front seat, the princess activated the power to make the bike hum to life. She jerked her head behind her and Motti slid onto the back part of the seat feeling none too thrilled that he had to trust her to navigate through the trees and hope against hope that they wouldn't crash. He felt imbalanced and clutched one of her arms to steady himself, but she shrugged him off saying brusquely, "Keep your hands to yourself."
"Then how would you suggest I hold on?" asked Motti in exasperation, now beginning to get irritated with her deliberate unhelpfulness and ungrateful attitude.
"Your ego should keep you balanced."
"For argument's sake, let's say it's thoroughly deflated right now. Do I need to ask permission to hold onto you so that I don't fall off?"
"I wish you would."
"Ask your permission, or fall off?"
"Both." The princess messed about with the controls until she found a frequency that she then attempted to raise the rebels on. She repeated a message of distress three times but was unable to make contact and so she pulled up a projection of a map on the dashboard and after jotting in coordinates and mumbling to herself as she scanned what looked like the entire moon, she seemed to find the result she was looking for.
"Do you know where we're going?" Motti asked her.
"I think so."
"Good, then you'll appreciate that I'll need to keep my mouth shut for most of this ride or I might vomit on you."
"You do and I will elbow you off the back of this bike."
The bike bolted before Motti was ready and he unintentionally dug his fingernails into the princess's sides to maintain his grip. Knowing a reprimand was coming, he planted his boots on either side of the bike and gripped the seat with his thighs so he could take his hands off of her and not further antagonize her. Trees whipped past them so quickly that he expected his life to disappear in a brilliant flash of white once they inevitably and fatally crashed, but the princess was evidently a skilled pilot like her brother. Motti had to admit that whatever Jedi instincts were helping her to keep the bike on course, they were doing an admirable job but some hour and a half into the ride, he started to notice a putrid smell coming from behind them but far from leaving it behind, it stuck with them as if trapped in a bubble with them.
Motti tapped the princess's helmet to ensure she felt him prodding her.
"Do you smell that?" he asked loudly to make himself heard over the loud thrum of the engine.
"The smoke?"
"I think the speeder is short-circuiting. We should stop and let it have a chance to cool down, just to be safe–"
But some prickling in his gut told him that they needed to be clear of the bike now and that they did not even have time to slow down. He thoroughly trusted these hyper-sensitive instincts and was not about to turn his back on them now after they had served him well for these last few encounters. Grabbing the princess by the shoulders, he yanked her sideways off of the bike, hauling her with him as the bike exploded not three seconds later, close enough that Motti could feel the heat blast from where he lay sore and battered on the forest floor. He had to touch his skin gingerly, for he feared that some of it may have melted off in the heat wave.
This time the princess did not shove him off of her but was regarding him almost with frustrated inquisitiveness. "You can't tell me that that was a coincidence. How did you know it was going to blow up?"
"How didn't you know? You're the one with a Jedi and a Sith in the family."
"Obviously I didn't know, but that doesn't explain how you did."
"I just assume everything is going to go wrong. Also, I'm not keeping track, but that's four you owe me."
Her expression told him it would never be enough, that he could save her life a billion times and it would not make up for Alderaan, but he thought it couldn't hurt to remind her that he was doing his damndest to keep her alive.
They had been going off of the bike's mapping system, but now they were once again at the mercy of the compass and with only that to guide them, they continued west. Motti could not calculate how long they had been walking except that the sun had significantly dropped in the sky by the time they came upon a wide river that blocked their way forward. Luck was with them at last, but it also had thrown one last obstacle their way in a very wry and unhelpful joke.
How they had ended up on one side of the river was anyone's guess, but there stood the rest of the team on the far side of the river where just beyond there glowed the light of several camp fires. Whether by the bike's map, the princess's instincts, fate giving them some respite, or a combination of all three, they had beat the odds to find themselves back within sight of the camp, but still out of reach.
Across the river, Solo looked like he was doing his best to holler to them, but the echo distorted the sound and made it impossible to pick out his words. Motti watched his concerned reflection in the water and wondered if he ought to voice aloud his lack of swimming experience before the princess left him stranded on this side and forced him to wait for someone to send a flotation device over to rescue him. He wouldn't be able to stand much more humiliation if the entire rebel force stood by to watch him flounder.
"Can we cross here?" he asked to stall for time, but he was answered when he saw the Wookie throwing out a length of cordage that ended with some sort of buoy in the middle of the river.
"If we can make it to the rope, we'll be pulled in the rest of the way. I'm a confident swimmer, but the river may be stronger than we think. You should be able to wade across just fine being as tall as you are and with more powerful limbs." The princess waded into shin-deep water to gauge the flow of the river and noticed Motti had not followed her in. "When's the last time you swam?" she asked.
"Same as the first time: about a week ago in still waters."
He could see the inner battle waging in her, the longing to leave him where he was to fend for himself, but she did have some measure of honor. "Would you trust me?"
"Absolutely not."
"Do you believe me when I say that leaving you here or letting you get washed downstream would rob me of seeing you on trial?"
As vindictive as she was, Motti knew that she wanted to see justice for her people and if something happened to him here so close to the Ewok base, she would never receive that in however Motti's fate was decided. She had no reason to let anything happen to Motti here and especially not in front of witnesses. Damnable honorable people that they were, she and her brother always tried to take the higher ground when called upon, and if only to not be in his debt, the princess would keep her word to see him safely across.
"I believe that."
"Then stay close to me."
Motti waded out until his boots were completely submerged and saw Jerjerrod watching him from the opposite shore. Though he couldn't see the exact expression, he didn't have to imagine the look of trepidation on the commander's face but far from deterring him, it stirred up a burning desire to not fail and not look a fool. So much of his life lately had been as the butt of a joke that he was determined to come out of this in one piece with his head held high if he could not at least emerge victorious in some way.
Following behind the princess, he brought back to mind the instructions Jerjerrod had given him the night of the shuttle crash that he had inadvertently committed to memory. He intended to keep stepping where the princess stepped until the riverbed was too far below to stand on, but she had made a seamless transition from walking in the water to treading water and as Motti stepped, the riverbed dropped away beneath him. His head went under and he felt the princess's hand on the front of his tunic lifting him back up onto the surface where he tried to not look as sheepish as he felt.
He attempted to employ the breaststroke Jerjerrod had taught him while kicking his legs in arcs behind him, but since this water was actually flowing and not stationary, he had to adapt quickly and switched to just kicking like hell until he felt himself propelling forward. His resolution to keep his head above water was the only thing that made him not completely panic as the memory of what might be lurking in the water flooded back to him. He couldn't go to pieces in the water and begin screaming in terror on top of drowning himself or even his ghost would never be able to rest, forever trapped in disgrace.
His limbs were tiring from working in ways they never had before and he knew he was going to run out of strength before they could reach the flotation device when the princess linked her arm with his as her other hand triumphantly grabbed hold of the device that had seemed several dozen yards away still. Whatever the other end of the device was hooked to, it reeled them in at an incredible speed that Motti was unprepared for and he swallowed enough water to make him choke and cough for the next several seconds until the princess had released him and said, "It's shallow enough here. Stand up."
Motti let his feet drop to the riverbed and found that the water came up to his waist whereas the princess's chin was just grazing the surface. She waded ahead of him but must have found some sort of dip in the bank and she disappeared. Instinctively, Motti grabbed for where he had seen her go under and as he found the back of her poncho and attempted to lift her, he discovered that she wouldn't budge. Air bubbles rose to the surface and Motti grabbed her with his other hand and tugged more insistently this time, but still to no avail.
Piecing everything together, he concluded that something had a hold of her foot and no amount of pulling and tugging would break her free. This was not his responsibility; she was within sight of the people who actually gave a damn about her and he could just keep walking out of the water and let them sort her out, but wasn't he in this very predicament with her because of his viewpoint that if it wasn't his people, it wasn't his problem? She certainly was not included in that very small group that he considered to be his people, but he had spent the whole day pretending that she was for his own sake and so one act more couldn't hurt.
He sucked in breath and using her body as a guide, felt his way to the riverbed where his fingers told him that her boot had become lodged under roots of some sort. He strained his eyes against the water and the darkness to see how to free her foot and started to wriggle her boot back and forth. She dropped down to help him, but he could see that she was already panicking from lack of breath.
He moved her hands away and gestured for her to try and anchor herself to him so she would not be floating against the current and make his task more difficult. Sensing her urgency and her trying to convey that to him through the way her fingernails were contracting into his shoulders, he knew he only had a few moments left before she ran out of air.
Motti knew he might snap her ankle if he tried, but he was running out of options and time and giving a hard wrench that sent pain shooting up his hand, her boot came free. In her haste to resurface, she kicked out and caught him in his still mending nose. Opening his mouth to swear and forgetting he was underwater, he swallowed far too much of it and shot for the surface, blinded by his own blood.
A fresh gulp of air and a stream of blood trickling down his throat later, he cursed at her where she was bobbing in the water just a few feet away. The two of them exchanged some choice insults that bore no weight and then Motti gave what was a defiant but admittedly childish slap on the water surface to splash her. He trudged out of the last few feet of the river and pinched his nose to stem the leaking as he came to where Jerjerrod and Piett were waiting for him with looks of disbelief that he had managed to survive the day, but those looks turned to disquiet as they saw that he was injured. Noting the red covering his face and leaking down his front, Jerjerrod lifted his chin to examine him more closely.
"You broke it again," he said in exasperation.
"I didn't break it, she did," Motti muttered, waving his hand in whichever direction the princess had come out of the water.
While he heard her relaying the events that separated them from the rest of the team, their welcoming party listened intently, but the further into the story she got, the more capable Solo looked of committing murder.
"And you can stop looking at me like that; I never touched her," said Motti to cut Solo off before he could speak.
"I'll let her tell me that."
"He didn't," said the princess to all of their apparent surprise. "He was–helpful."
"That doesn't sound like him at all," said Solo doubtfully.
"It wasn't like him at all," the princess agreed. "But it got us back."
With a medical kit that had been supplied to them to tend to any injuries Motti and the princess might have had, Jerjerrod did his best to set Motti's nose with tape and allowed him to pop two capsules for the pain, shaking his head.
"Don't look so disappointed," said Motti. "I'm not in the mood for another lecture."
Once Solo and Skywalker had looked over the princess and concluded that she did not have a single injury on her, she managed to shake them off and approach Motti, asking Jerjerrod and Piett for a moment to speak privately to him. Motti wanted to tell them to stay since he had had enough of a private audience with her to last several lifetimes, but since she didn't seem hostile at the moment, he was willing to give her a chance to say whatever she needed to say before he decided to make a run for it.
She smelled strongly of fish and though he knew he could smell no better, it was unpleasant being in such close proximity to him and he could not help the wrinkle that formed on his brow as he caught her scent and she took that as him being displeased with her wanting to speak to him.
"What now?" she asked.
"Just the pain of a broken and throbbing nose," he lied.
"Good. I hope you know that everything that happened today doesn't absolve you of what you did to my people."
"I didn't anticipate that it would. But it's a step in the right direction, isn't it?"
"You tell me. What's the right direction for you?"
"Considering that I could have returned to the Death Star with the second most wanted rebel as my prisoner and redeemed myself in the eyes of your father but chose instead to continue siding with the rebels, that should answer your question for you. Your father would have thanked me for delivering you to him and then killed me. I have no doubt that there are orders to bring me in alive and that every servant of the Empire now knows that I am a wanted man and can never return to the life I led before this. I am a defector now, whether or not by my choice."
"Yes, you are, and you proved that in your actions today." It looked like she was being forced to swallow poison as she spoke, but Motti could sense some sincerity in her words. "You don't have my respect and I'll never like you one bit, but you're starting to gain my trust. If you can live with that, I think you've earned some rest."
He had not expected that. True, he had had to put his trust in her to cross the river, but it was with the knowledge that she would not let him drown until he answered for what had been done to her people. But to hear that she trusted him because he decided not to be a completely selfish piece of shit, it caught him off guard. He had initially decided not to kill her out of selfish reasons, but every instance after that where he had put her safety first without thought, that had been entirely instinct, entirely the actions of a man who was just trying to protect the person beside him because they were another person, regardless of how he felt about them. Today, he had acted like a man he did not recognize and that man had earned some respect from the woman who had no reason to give him any.
But even if he had made a step in the direction that was now considered "right", it was a step toward the vast unknown that could prove to be just as deadly as what he had stepped away from.