ADMIRAL MOTTI
He didn't know how far he made it, but it had to be far enough as he heard a squadron descending upon him. There was no conceivable way that Jerjerrod would be able to outrun stormtroopers, and that was reason enough for Motti to do what he had done, though he was still not quite sure why he had done the single most selfless thing he ever had done in his life. He knew what awaited him if he were to be captured and Skywalker had strictly told him that no such thing was allowed to happen, yet it was about to happen all the same.
Tactical suicide was not in his game plan; he valued his own life too much. Yet, he had just handed it over as if it were nothing for Jerjerrod. Watching Piett make the same sacrifice had set his insides boiling and he was determined not to let Jerjerrod copy his fellow admiral's actions. His rage over Veers's betrayal had spurred him to action in causing him to adopt this fierce protectiveness over Jerjerrod and Piett, and after losing Piett to a fate worse than death, he knew that he could not allow the same thing to happen to Jerjerrod because…why?
No one would ever accuse him of selflessness, but this moon had tested him more than he had ever been tested in sticking his precious neck out for someone other than himself. Had he not put himself in the line of fire multiple times for both of his friends? Had he not done so without pause, without time to consider that what he was doing might get him killed? A person who had the innate instinct to put himself in harm's way for another could not be inherently bad or undeserving of a little luck coming their way and despite his best efforts, Motti had been born with a smidgen of that goodness. He could not help himself in wanting to put forth the same effort to protect his friends as they had for him and in all honesty, he was in the best shape to do so even before Jerjerrod and Piett had sustained wounds.
Losing weight out of stress these past years did not negate the fact that he was taller and stronger than the other two and even a thrice-broken nose could not put him out of commission when a fractured ankle and a blaster shot had made it impossible for Piett and Jerjerrod to escape on foot. It did not occur to him that Piett would so willingly give himself up for Motti, Jerjerrod, and the princess to slip away, but if there had been fewer troopers, he knew he could have fought his way through them to rescue Piett. He had fared better than Jerjerrod in the ensuing fight only because he had been the most ruthless during training and had no qualms about who or what he killed while Jerjerrod still had reservations about taking a life, which had almost cost him his own several times. Motti thrived in battle, but even he had had several brushes with death and had Jerjerrod to thank for that.
Jerjerrod had taken that blaster shot for him at great risk, knowing the outcome and putting himself in that position anyway. He had also thrown his lightsaber to block the stormtrooper's riot blow so Motti could get to his feet and reenter the fight, but when the one trooper had him pinned down with the intent to shove his face onto an active baton, Jerjerrod had shown that while Motti may be superior in combat skills, the former had advanced in the ways of the Force. Motti still would not accept that he was so gifted, but he could not deny that he had precognitive abilities that enabled him to sense danger before it occurred. Jerjerrod had those same abilities to a higher degree, but more than that, he could use the Force as the Jedi could, as the Sith could, as Motti could not. He had killed that trooper without remorse and what's more, the look on his face suggested that he wanted the trooper to suffer as he died. Whatever was fueling Jerjerrod's actions, it also infuriated him and Motti had been unable to stop him, which put him on the other side of the coin.
He understood now what Jerjerrod and Piett had experienced during training in watching Motti give in to savagery and turn a blind eye to what was happening in front of him other than the one goal he had fixated on in his mind. His strength and hatred weremore powerful than those of Jerjerrod and Piett, but Jerjerrod had welcomed the Force once he knew that there was no way to rid himself of it and it came to his calling when he most needed it, and that made him dangerously stronger than Motti. While Motti was willing to let his emotions take precedence over reason to control his actions just to serve his need to win, Jerjerrod allowed the Force to overpower his mind in the act of protecting others. Motti lost control when he felt threatened; Jerjerrod surrendered control when others were threatened.
So why had Motti remained calm from the moment he woke up for his second guard shift this morning to this point now? His life had been in jeopardy multiple times, but he had never once so violently reacted to anything that had occurred in the past several hours as Jerjerrod had. When faced with his friends' suffering, he had accepted one and acted as a decoy for the other, not because one meant more to him than the other, but because he knew what he was capable of doing in each situation and while he could not have helped Piett, he did what little he could to give Jerjerrod a chance.
He now could empathize with Jerjerrod's struggle, his daily inward battle to protect not only himself but the few and only friends he had. Knowing that there was one or even two people in the galaxy who would grieve for him if he were to die was the only comfort they had. The bond the three of them shared had been shaken by the loss of the man who had betrayed them and the man who had died on this very moon.
Motti had been reluctant to accept that these men meant as much to him as they did for fear that eventually, they too would fail him in some way, just as everyone in his life had from his parents and extended family to his tutors and instructors, from his fellow naval men to his superiors and everyone in between. He had had four individuals who he could consider to be friends and had spent more years out of their company than in it, but coming back to them here at the peak of the war, he had lost one to madness, one to pride, and a third to sacrifice. Knowing that Jerjerrod was the only one left out of the Empire's reach, it put everything into perspective for Motti to realize that in a vast galaxy with trillions upon trillions of lives, only four had ever truly mattered and now only one was left. Needa had backed him and supported him with loyalty to a fault; Veers had instructed him, advised him, and had taken his place on the bridge; Piett had been his voice of reason when he was too lost in his own desires; Jerjerrod had committed himself to shield Motti from his own destruction in defending him at trial, in front of Vader, during the ambush, to the rebels, and finally, by taking the blaster shot for him.
His conscience had finally had enough of being knocked around and made a fool of and decided to fight back by paying the ultimate price. He was on this path now because he could not stand to let one more debt go unpaid and somehow, it made sense to make an offering of himself in the hope that it allowed Jerjerrod and the princess to find their way back to the rest of the rebels and put a stop to the war. If Motti's decision here today paved the way for the Sith to finally meet their downfall, it would be worth it.
Or so he hoped, because as he clutched a stitch in his side from the breakneck pace he had set for himself, he had the sudden irrepressible urge to take it all back. As he listened to his imminent doom approaching in the form of trees parting to make way for an AT-ST walker, he knew he had made a mistake. He wasn't ready; he was less than unprepared for the horrors that were in store for him. He wanted to have made a different decision, because what the hell was he doing? What even was his plan other than to run? What was his plan when he got caught, because this was not a question of if he got caught, but when? He had not thought this far, which was always one of his shortcomings in being unable to see more than the immediate solution, not the long-term one.
What an absolute idiot he was.
Just as he heard a trooper exclaim that they had eyes on him, he felt a warm, soothing presence in his brain and recognized it for what it was instantly since now, for the first time, he was hoping to feel it. Jerjerrod was trying to reach him, to see if he was even still alive, and as relieved as he was that at least Jerjerrod had not as of yet been captured, Motti could not allow his thoughts to remain open to Jerjerrod when he needed to focus.
"Drop your weapon now! This is your only warning!"
The fact that he received a warning at all told him that this squadron either recognized him from a distance despite not wearing Imperial garb and being covered in blood, or else they were now under strict orders to not shoot any rebels so that the defectors could be taken captive and tortured accordingly, and Motti assumed the latter. He let his blaster fall from his hands as he set them atop his head in full surrender and turned slowly on the spot to watch his captors close the distance on him.
Three walkers had their blaster cannons pointed at him as their black viewports glared down at him with immovable, expressionless faces. Scattered around each walker was a collection of stormtroopers, some fifty men in all with their blasters trained on him as if he was a threat larger than life itself. This told him that they all knew good and well who he was and that the price on his head had to be astronomical to garner this sort of manhunt for him.
And there was the Sith, walking with purpose to confront Motti, and Motti could feel the waves of anger resonating from the Sith as if he had stepped onto a desert planet. If Motti could be sure that any individual absolutely loathed him, it would be Vader, and all because Motti had doubted the existence of the Force. Vader might have exhibited his powers in some other way, but he had chosen to torment Motti with them, which in turn caused Motti to resent the Force and all those associated with it, which led to further animosity between him and Vader, which ultimately led to Vader's orders to place Motti on the bridge. The Sith had taunted him for being average, normal, unextraordinary, but he would be able to sense any and all emotions and thoughts Motti had regarding Jerjerrod unless Motti took action right here and now.
If Vader caught any whiff of Jerjerrod in Motti's mind, it might lead enemy forces straight to him and Motti's sacrifice would have been for nothing, so he put up a wall around his mind and shoved Jerjerrod out, closing off his presence from Jerjerrod's access even as Jerjerrod latched tighter onto him.
Stay out; he's here, Motti warned.
Either Jerjerrod heeded him, or Motti was strong enough to keep any Force users out of his head by will alone, for the foreign activity in his mind went silent, leaving Motti to face the hulking figure dressed in all black.
He had not thought to ever be in the Sith's presence again, and that notion had brought him great comfort, but as he recalled his last interaction with Vader and how it had been Jerjerrod who had come to his rescue when the Sith attempted to throttle him yet again, he automatically withdrew into himself in fear that this time, he would be facing Vader alone. Despite being almost entirely sure that he would not be killed on the spot, a small part of him wondered if he had gravely miscalculated his own importance.
His pulse was beating an erratic cadence and if he cared to look down, he was certain that he would have seen his heart beating a tattoo imprint against his chest. How he wanted to run, and Vader would be sure to sense that impulse and taunt him for it if Motti dared to try. Another option would be to draw his baton and try to duel his way out of this predicament, but if he had trouble matching against a stormtrooper, there was no chance in any heaven or hell that he would last more than two seconds. All he could do was stand there and let fate have him.
Vader had at least four inches on Motti, but it felt like two dozen feet as the Sith grabbed him by the front of his bloody poncho and shook him, demanding in that mechanically-assisted voice, "Where is he?"
Of all his options, Motti knew Jerjerrod would curse him for choosing this route when it was not a good idea to antagonize the Sith, but if he was going to eventually die under interrogation, it would be as a man who did not abandon his beliefs or change his attitude just to plead mercy. He was infamous for getting under Vader's skin (if he had any skin left under that suit), and he wasn't about to change now.
There was only one person "he" could be referring to in terms of relations to Motti. Even if Vader had any inclination that Motti had been in Skywalker's company, he would be able to sense that while a dedicated teacher, the Jedi meant nothing to Motti. No, Vader knew that Motti had recently been with Jerjerrod and would know where he was, or at least where he had last been.
"He's out there somewhere, isn't he?" said Motti with only a smidgen of satisfaction that he could finally snap at the Sith how he had always wished to, but with a limited amount of time left in his life in which to do so.
"Where is he headed?"
"I couldn't tell you; I'm not him and I'm not with him, so I've no idea."
"If you are acting as a distraction, you must know why he is more valuable to me than you are."
"I do know, and I was indeed the distraction, which worked well enough. You won't catch him."
He knew he was pushing his luck, but he also knew that every word he had spoken to Jerjerrod to make the princess take him and flee into the woods was complete and utter bantha shit. Motti knew there would be no reunion for them, that seeing Jerjerrod's pleading face to not put himself in harm's way would be his last glimpse of his friend, and he had known what sacrifice was, to willingly give himself to the Sith to ensure Jerjerrod's survival. He had chosen his death and with this smarmy response to the Sith, he had also just now chosen the manner of his death.
"Did you learn nothing from the last time you crossed me, Admiral?"
Emboldened, Motti gave the smart reply of, "Apparently not. But I'll look you in the eye as I die."
Now that he had no filter on what he could say to the Sith, he was possessed by an unhealthy amount of dumb courage. He had been put in his place before after just a few short sentences during which he challenged the Sith's authority, but instead of giving him an opportunity to speak now, Vader simply took his frustrations out on Motti by shifting his hands upward to Motti's shoulders and squeezing hard enough that Motti felt certain that something had fractured. The pain sent him to his knees as he tried to hunch away from Vader's reach, but Vader grabbed a fistful of his hair to tilt his head back and expose his neck.
Motti waited to see that thin sliver of red as Vader activated his lightsaber and cut Motti's throat, but the Sith only dug his gloved fingers into Motti's scalp tightly enough to bring tears to Motti's eyes as he said, "Unfortunately for you, the Emperor does want you alive."
That was hardly a comfort, but it did give Motti a microscopic sense of relief that Vader could do no lasting damage to him here. Or could he? The Emperor wanting Motti alive only meant that Motti had to be in a conscious state, able to answer (or actively refuse to answer) questions. He could be delivered battered, bruised, beaten, barely clinging to life, so long as the Emperor could sift through his thoughts and read him. Essentially, Vader could do much worse to him here if Motti gave him reason to.
The troopers bound his hands behind him and then secured his ankles to his wrists with an extender, rendering him unable to run even if he had the mind to. Slipping one pole underneath his elbows and a second at a spot he couldn't see, they hoisted him off of the ground and set to walking. He only had a direct view of the ground and the boot prints the front troopers were leaving as they carried him, but to anyone looking at him, he knew that this humiliating position would have made him look like the least threatening man over six feet ever. Watching the ground pass so quickly in front of him made him queasy, and so he kept his eyes shut for some time. He could sense the ground sloping upward and then evening out, hear the troopers panting with the effort of carrying him, and eventually feel the air opening up as they passed out of the closeness of the trees.
When he felt himself come to a halt for more than ten seconds, he dared to open his eyes and see faded, trampled grass beneath him as if both man and machine had recently squashed the lot of it. His carriers set him down with his face pressed into the grass and just when he was about to complain about being unable to breathe, they planted him back up on his knees and removed the poles. Two armed guards stood to either side of him, which seemed excessive since he still couldn't do more than speak and fidget in his position.
They had returned to the original temporary campsite that was to be the airlift location, and it bore signs of heavy and hectic battle. With the rebels being caught off guard, several of their bodies were scattered nearby, though they had managed to take down their fair share of troopers as well. One of the few ships spared to transport the wounded to the medical frigate had been shot down and the skid marks it had left in the soil were large enough that Motti could have lain comfortably horizontally across them with room to spare. The ship itself was on fire and being put out with the water from a nearby pond.
The Imperial soldiers who had been rescued and held by the rebels were being tended to, identified, and questioned in the same circle they had been in when Motti had fled the scene and among them, he could see the survivors of the ship crash, men who had followed his leadership along with Jerjerrod's and Piett's. Despite feeling no great loyalty to any of the men who had served under him, he did feel some relief that these men in particular had not met a worse fate during the ambush.
As he tried to pick out faces of fallen rebels, he almost missed the point when a body was thrown unceremoniously down beside him. He did a double take and then his heart lifted to see Piett laying on his side with a bloody knock to his head and his eyes closed, but otherwise looking unscathed. Unlike Motti, though, he only had his hands secured behind him since he was in no position to run anywhere.
Motti could not maneuver himself to nudge Piett and so with a harsh whisper to not be told off by his guards, he tried to rouse Piett. "Firmus?"
Piett opened one eye, closed it with a wince, reopened it, caught sight of Motti, and groaned, "You…were supposed…to run."
"I did–we all did. They only got me and that's because I chose to be caught."
"For them?" Piett guessed.
Motti briefly explained the hit Jerjerrod had taken which led to Motti's decision to give himself up to buy him and the princess time. It was a quick and short story without prolonging the events, but Piett's expression still turned down in puzzlement at its conclusion.
"Why would you give yourself up like that?"
"Would you believe me if I told you it was because it was the very thing Tiaan had told me not to do?"
With a small, sad smile, Piett answered, "I would have believed that a few short weeks ago, you would do that just to spite him, but not this time."
"Then I don't know how to answer you, because I'm not sure why I did it."
"Yes, you do; you just have to accept it first."
"Don't start," Motti warned. "I can only handle one person trying to give me sagely advice and now that I'm permanently rid of him, I'm not looking to fill his position."
"I rather look at it as making peace with your decision. I think it will help knowing, understanding, and accepting what you're about to die for."
If that was not a sobering thing to say, Motti could not say what was. It sucked all levity out of the situation right then and there, but while it only humbled Motti to what was about to happen to him and Piett, it had not angered him because he did choose this for himself. What did anger him was the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man who had a filthy and tattered Imperial uniform on, but who now wore a new kepi. His back was turned, but Motti already knew what he was about to see, and he could not stand it.
Loudly, and for all soldiers in the clearing to hear, Vader asked, "How many are predicted to have escaped, General?"
With a crushing, stabbing, infuriating feeling in his stomach, Motti watched Veers turn around to face the Sith after he had been directing the wounded and imprisoned Imperial soldiers onto a transport to be taken back to the bunker. "As of yet, that number is undetermined, my lord."
As promised, Veers held no sympathy in his gaze for Motti or Piett when his eyes found them in disgust while they knelt in their binders. He approached them and the shadow his silhouette encased them in was long and dark and empty of remorse for what he had done to them. It should not have wounded Motti as much as it did to feel the hostility behind Veers's eyes and what's more, to have it directed at him. This man he had wanted so much to be like, who had taken Motti under his wing, who had been almost a father figure to him in his own distant way, was now regarding him like Motti was a plague. Their bond was gone and Veers would not react in the slightest to protect Motti from any harm about to come his way. Vader could choke the life out of Motti right here and Veers would not bat an eye.
If Motti was not in control of his rage, he would have flown at Veers just for the opportunity to beat the shit out of him despite being incapacitated, but he knew his one-time friend well enough to know that Veers could not stand to be ridiculed or taken by surprise and Motti did both by hacking up phlegm from the reserves in his throat and projectile spitting fully into Veers's face.
He was rewarded with a look of revulsion that quickly gave way to anger from Veers, but instead of doing the deed himself, Veers watched the guards beat Motti to the ground by hammering the butts of their blaster rifles into his back.
Motti curled inward as much as he could, trying to protect his head and face, but he felt something knock against his cheek and the hit nearly made him go blind.
"Stop!" Piett cried.
The assault came to a halt and then Motti was forced back onto his knees as troopers hauled three more rebels over to join the lineup of captives in an ironic turning of the tables. As they were placed on Motti's left, he thought he recognized two of them by face only and the third was perhaps the youngest of any rebels he had seen, a woman barely over twenty, he suspected. He had once heard someone refer to her by her surname, Aurelis, when they had instructed her to help move Veers to get him fitted for his new artificial leg. Now, she had been badly beaten, but was still glaring up at her captors, in particular Veers. Through a cut eyelid, she glanced sideways at Motti and he thought he detected reassurance there, or perhaps affirmation that he had not been lying when he, Jerjerrod, and Piett had claimed that they were no longer recognized by the Empire as allies or officers. Seeing Motti and Piett in the same position told her that the rebels' time spent caring and trusting them had not been wasted.
"Only caught these five in total," said the trooper. "All others escaped or died in the initial fight."
"None of them were involved in the planning of rebel strikes, from what I observed," Veers told Vader.
Vader stood over the three of them for a few moments with those goggle-like eye sockets considering them, but whatever he was hoping to find or feel, he didn't, for he cast a careless hand over them and told the trooper, "Dispose of them, burn their bodies with the rest."
Aurelis looked to Motti again, but not in a plea to save her or say something that might delay her death. There was a haunted look there of a girl knowing she was about to die and only wanting someone she considered human to share a glance with before she met her end. She wanted that human connection, some semblance of kindness and the fact that she looked for that in Motti told him far more about himself than anything up to this point had.
He could say nothing to or for her, but he hoped that she could feel his regret and his sympathy. He didn't know what had brought her to this, to make her flee her home and come to associate with rebels, but she should not have had to take up this burden. She deserved a better death than this.
Though tears threatened to fall from her eyelashes, Aurelius sat upright on her knees in a proud display of defiance as the troopers lined up behind her and the other rebels and at their squad leader's order, executed all three.
Beside Motti, Piett was being violently sick from watching the murder up close and even getting a blood splatter on him, but Motti was too irate to feel ill. His voice was level, but behind him, his fists were trembling as he asked Veers accusingly, "You remember her? She was assigned to help care for you. How does that feel, knowing you condemned the woman who looked after you even though you were her enemy?"
"As a prisoner and traitor to the Empire, you'll hold your tongue unless spoken to," said Veers crisply.
"I think I'd rather expose you for the cowardly little bitch you are," said Motti rancorously.
Veers was about to speak, to argue further or say something that was meant to cut Motti to the bone, or something worse, but Vader gave the order before Veers could and gestured at the pond. Motti's guards undid his ankle bonds, seized him under the arms, and dragged him between them over to the bank where they dropped him for one second before carrying out their orders. From his hunched over position, he couldn't suck in a proper supply of breath before the troopers shoved him face-first into the water and held him there. His newly freed legs kicked in protest at the lack of air and he was prepared to go into a full-blown panic, but logic told him to remain calm, to conserve his breath, and to wait out his enemy. They would not be so negligent as to drown him before he answered for his crimes.
And he was right, for after another fifteen seconds or so, his head broke the surface of the water and spluttering, he was wrenched upright to see another trooper marching forward with a stun baton. The trooper prodded Motti in the back with the lowest charged setting, but it still made his body spasm and then seize. He smelled something burning and was positive that it was him.
"Where's the commander?" asked a trooper.
Three seconds later and before he could answer, he was pitching forward into the pond and his nose and throat burned as water trickled down both. They held him longer this time, but once again, he displaced himself from what was happening to him and welcomed the thought of when he would be able to breathe in air. When he emerged, the stun rod had been turned up to the next level and Motti could not hold himself up this time, but flopped down into the damp grass after the shock subsided.
"Where's the rebel camp?"
They gave him the luxury of about eight seconds before the process started all over again, always being held under longer, always being shocked with more voltage, always with less recovery time until he lost count and lost his will to remain composed. In the back of his head, he thought he had heard Piett hollering for them to leave him alone, but he couldn't be sure. It seemed very characteristic of his friend, but even if Piett was asking for mercy on his behalf, he had no authority and no one would heed him.
He knew what they were waiting for, knew that Vader was standing just off to the side behind him and that the Sith wanted to hear the words from his mouth. It was a battle of wills and Vader was testing his now that they both knew that Motti had to outlast the torture on his own without anyone to speak for him. Very well, if Vader wanted an answer from Motti, he would get one.
"Stop," he choked when he could no longer prevent the water from going into his lungs. "The rebels…stop…I know…"
"Hold," said Vader, his cape whispering over the ground as he came to stand above Motti. "Say what you know, Admiral," he invited.
Motti could not summon the strength to even chuckle, but he did manage a grin, something that he could count the number of times he had done since landing on this moon on one hand. He tilted his head back to see the buttons and switches on Vader's chest, the protruding lower half of the helmet, and then those soulless, empty eye sockets. He looked past them, willing himself to see beyond, into the Sith's soul.
"I've nothing to say to you, but admit that for just a moment there, you believed me," he said maliciously. It was a small, insignificant triumph, but if the Sith could sense anything, he had just discovered that Motti's skills in deception had fooled even the perceptive powers of the Force.
Vader grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off of his knees with no effort. Motti felt his boots scuff the ground for a second before he was being held at arm's length and visibly throttled.
Unlike the last two times, he could see and feel the hand grip around his throat, but seeing it and knowing it was there was hardly better if the consequences were still the same. Vader was able to hold him aloft and still press against his windpipe with his full strength as if Motti weighed almost nothing.
"You will beg for mercy," Vader promised him.
He sure as hell would not. Even if he was in the wrong, even if he knew it might save him to beg for his own life, he refused to give the Sith that satisfaction. He hadn't begged the last two times and the first time, he had been much more certain that Vader was going to kill him than he was now. Now, he knew that the Emperor wanted him alive. It was the only fact he could cling to as he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. Vader could not kill him, no matter how much Motti infuriated and baited him, because the Emperor had given orders that Motti was to be brought before him alive. Once that became reality, Motti was sure that he would wish he were dead or that Vader would have killed him here, but at this moment, he was fighting a losing battle in trying to remain calm. The one technique he had found useful from Skywalker had been to concentrate on the positive thought that rooted him in the present, and he clung to it now.
Vader was multiple times more powerful than him, but Motti was still able in his moment of desperation to loosen the Sith's hold on his throat just a fraction and as he did so, he felt Vader give pause. In that split second of hesitation, he knew that the Sith knew. He could deny it until his dying day and he could reject it all he liked, but the Sith and the Jedi had ways of discovering truths about any one person long before they knew those truths themselves and what the Sith sensed in him just now was what Motti had been trying to hide. He was ousted.
All Motti could do was glare back at Vader and swear to the Sith that he would never stoop so low as to beg for his own life before Vader threw him forcibly to the ground. It was almost pleasant laying here with the cool pond water combating the humidity and the sounds of men shouting orders to each other gradually fading away.
He thought he felt something prodding at his mind, searching for proof that he was still alive, but even half-dead in this waterlogged, throttled, electrocuted state, he warned again, Stay out. Stay away.
Conan! a voice cried for him, thought he was not sure if he was hallucinating or not.
"Conan!"
His temples were pounding, his throat on fire, his eyes spitting black spots at him, but he heard Piett calling to him as a fog filled his brain and he drifted away into nothingness.