GENERAL VEERS

"You say that a prisoner broke your mechno-leg, General?" asked the med droid after it finished arranging the pieces of Veers's shattered leg, courtesy of Motti.

"Is it fixable, or does the entire thing need to be replaced, and how long will the process take?" asked Veers impatiently. He had no time to sit about and wait for a new model to be attached again if Motti had succeeded in breaking the mechanics beyond repair.

"I can make temporary repairs, but you really should have this replaced and updated, as this model appears to be several seasons out of date and may cause you tremendous pain if it malfunctions any further."

There was too much truth to the matter to ignore it, as the artificial limbs that were on the market these days were designed to mimic both human movement and pain receptors. Having his mechno-leg broken by Motti had felt the same as if Motti had broken his real leg and walking around on a broken mechno-leg felt the same as hobbling about with splintered bone would feel in a real leg.

Of course it was to be expected that the artificial leg the rebels had provided him with was sub-par and not up to the standards of prosthetic limbs that the Empire could provide, so this leg had failed him all too soon from having Motti step on it. What sort of use was an artificial limb if a mere human could destroy it as easily as a natural limb? Motti surely couldn't be that strong, even if he was fueled with rage. Veers had seen the strength and power of a Sith and believed that Jedi possessed the same skills, so it would stand to reason that Jerjerrod might have inherited those traits, but Motti was just human, was he not? So unless Veers had been given the poorest quality of limb replacement, something else was going on here.

How had Motti so easily been able to overpower Veers? His reasoning for going into Motti's cell was because he believed Motti to be in a worse state than Piett and not liable to retaliate, and he also believed that for Piett to see Veers but be unable to do more than curse at him, it might make him more prone to divulging information, but he had gravely miscalculated his actions on both fronts. He had underestimated his fellow officers' capabilities before and made the mistake of doing so again when he was a target. It was an idiotic thing to do in walking into that cell armed, but he had done so because he now perceived Motti and Piett as a threat and he knew he was not in his usual peak fighting condition, so he had wanted the safety net of a firearm, but he did not believe either man capable of turning his own weapon on him and what's more, he did not expect Motti to fire it with lethality when Veers had gone in with the weapon set to stun.

His time under what little pain medication the rebels had been able to give him had addled his brain and created a fog in his mind where there used to be systematic thought and reasoning. He was making costly mistakes, and all for what? Since being pulled half-dead from the river by the rebels, he had made it his mission to find his way back to the Imperial forces, and now that he had accomplished that seemingly impossible task, what was he to do?

He knew the Emperor would want to personally question him, even if Lord Vader was satisfied that he had remained faithful to the Imperial cause. The Emperor would go searching in his mind for truth and lies, but what would he discover there?

"I must report to Lord Vader promptly. How long will the replacement process take?"

"To remove this model and replace it, I would wager some thirty minutes. Then there is the matter of your shoulder to tend to–"

"Then you'll just have to follow me to the detention block and proceed from there. Lord Vader does not have the patience to wait for such things."

"Very good, sir."

Leaning on the assistance device that helped level him enough to walk back to the detention area to meet with the Sith, Veers drew the eye of several troopers and various other petty officers, and he didn't pretend to not know why. He had been reported killed in action, only to be found alive a few weeks later in a tattered uniform in the presence of rebels. Now as he walked about the Death Star, his image as the indestructible, incorruptible, insidious General Maximillian Veers had been shattered. His loyalty was being called into question by those who had never had to prove theirs.

It infuriated him that not one of these men knew the hell he had been through just to make it back here, and not even in one piece. He had lost his leg in the Battle of Hoth and lost it again and more on the bridge and now needed to have it replaced for a third time. He was still dripping blood from the blaster wound in his shoulder. He had lost considerable weight in his absence and looked the part of a deranged prisoner except he knew his expression had not changed. These men who stared at him could not help themselves, but they were all avoiding his gaze because they did not want to meet the eyes of a general who had twice defied death.

One of hundreds of medical wards, the one he had just left was near the cellblock to rush prisoners there or have med droids come to the prisoners and save them if they attempted suicide before questioning could be completed, so Veers did not have far to limp with his med droid in tow before he arrived at the control station where all doors could be unlocked, prisoners monitored, and transfers initiated. Lord Vader was waiting for him along with the officers in charge of this cellblock and they stood gathered around the center console, watching the projection of Piett's side of the cell where the IT-0 droid was administering the serum that would start the interrogation process.

Clearing away a section of the room for the med droid to tend to Veers, the other officers gave him a quick once-over and continued to watch the monitor as the effects of the chemical sent Piett to his knees. The med droid opened Veers's uniform at the front and cut away his undershirt to throw the singed and bloody skin into greater relief. The movements stung, but Veers focused his attention on the sight of Piett now pulling himself with his arms only toward the invisible divider that separated him from Motti who was on the floor as close to Piett as he could get.

The IT-0 droid asked its first pre-approved question, but Piett turned his face into the floor in refusal to acknowledge the droid and as a result, received another injection on the back of his thigh that would target his fears and bring them to life in front of him.

As the med droid began to seal the skin back together at the entry wound in Veers's shoulder, Piett's shoulder blades pulled together as the IT-0 droid sent a painful shock into the base of his spine. Now anticipating the pain and doing everything he could to avoid it, Piett was panicking and hyperventilating, fingers scrabbling at the walls and the floor to try and dig himself out, but for all of his fear, he refused to speak one word. On the other side, Motti knew his actions could do nothing to help Piett and was conserving his energy, but was apparently going mad doing so, for he paced back and forth while biting his knuckle and digging his fingernails into his scalp as if to block out Piett's whimpers. Frustrated and rattled, Motti turned away and clapped his hands over his ears.

Veers's droid had finished with his shoulder after setting the blaster wound with a salve that smoked, and moved onto deactivating Veers's broken artificial leg. Now that he had full use of both arms, Veers folded them across his chest as a means to bite his tongue and not holler out from the sting of losing feeling in his leg as it was detached from him. He saw Piett's body giving in to the pain, accepting that it could not escape as Motti sank into a ball in the corner of his cell, rocking himself as a coping mechanism.

Such frailty, such imperfection in allowing oneself to completely lose control because of what was happening to someone else. Veers never would have expected this of Motti, but then again, he had been surprised by Motti more than the other three combined. Needa had done about as much as Veers expected in battle and the fact he had not survived to reunite with Veers only solidified Veers's beliefs in that regard. Jerjerrod was ever the peacemaker, ever the protector, and yet he had been the one to escape when Veers thoroughly believed that he would have given himself away from the other two. Piett had been the least stout-hearted, and yet he showed heroism here that Veers did not think he was capable of having. Motti was unbothered by those around him, deaf to the cries of the innocent or those in pain, blind to anything that did not concern him–and here he was positively childlike in nature at having to watch Piett undergo this violent debriefing.

Distancing himself from what he was watching, Veers considered what Lord Vader might ask him once Piett's interrogation was over. Though he was not the most gifted when it came to telling a convincing lie, he had still gotten away with it a time or two when confronted by even the Sith, though his dedication had never been called into question because of his continued outstanding performance on the battlefield. Already since coming back into the Empire's service, he had had to tell a small handful of falsehoods to Lord Vader, as the withheld information was not prudent or important enough to share with the Sith.

But when it was most imperative that he make the other person buy the lie he sold, he had failed to do so.

"I would hope you would be more convincing when you tell Lord Vader the same thing," Jerjerrod had said when he had caught Veers in a lie, a lie that up to that point, no one had ever spotted or had reason to doubt.

"You're going to have to do better than that," Motti had said when Veers explained why he had come to the cell.

Both men had been quick to point out the lie hiding behind Veers's official exterior shell, but while Veers chalked it up to Jerjerrod's newfound abilities in sensing when a man was being truthful or not, it did not explain why Motti had been able to do the same. Was it because Motti knew Veers better than most, or because Veers was still in recovery and not up to his usual standards?

Piett was writhing about on the floor, inching his way around in circles to try and escape the droid as it hovered above him and administered a new method of exacting pain for every question he failed to answer. As the droid removed the casing for his old leg and dug the various wires and sensors out of his skin to replace them with new ones that were up to standard for an Imperial officer, Veers clenched a fist and gave a subdued grunt of pain, but seeing what Piett was having to endure on the projection made his own pain seem trivial at the moment.

He could not sympathize with Piett, for he had warned the admiral that this was to be his fate if he chose to go down this path, but he could understand the human reaction to try and escape from the source of pain and how futile it was when there was nowhere to go. How long had he been floating in the shallows of that river flowing beneath the bunker bridge before he had been found by the rebels? It was a miracle that the fall had not killed him, but for a long while after, he wished it had.

Of one thing he could be sure, and that was that Jerjerrod would heed his orders and see that the bridge was destroyed to preserve the bunker, and so with no time to consider an alternative, he had projected his thoughts to the commander while relying on the unproven hope that Jerjerrod would be able to hear him and do as directed. There was a calm before the explosion, a drop in air pressure as if nature knew what was about to happen, and Veers had shot the rebel he had been dueling with in the chest and made a desperate sprint for the railing on the side of the bridge. He had cleared it just seconds before the first detonators went off, but he was unlucky enough that his leg was in the path to one billowing cloud of flames. The metal melted on impact and an additional four inches had been blasted away. In the seconds before he hit the water below, he knew only the agony of feeling his flesh disintegrate and he knew he was on fire. The fall was not long, but he had to straighten his legs and try to land upright, which was asking for the impossible.

In truth, he did not remember making contact with the water or how long he floated lifelessly downstream before waking long enough to make a tourniquet with his utility belt. When he awoke in captivity, the rebels had administered a pain suppressor, but it did little for the burning he still felt and the bruising all over his body from where he had hit the water.

Having rebel-grade medics tend to him in the aftermath meant only more mistakes to undo in the long run and he was now paying the price for not having a properly attached leg on top of having a subpar model. In short, it hurt like bleeding hell, and he hated how much pain it caused him to the point where his discomfort was noticeable by the other officers in the room.

When the IT-0 droid finished, it took Piett several minutes to realize that he had the ability to move and in a sickening display of camaraderie, he and Motti sat beside each other on the floor of their cell with their hands unable to touch, but level with one another to offer comfort.

"The admiral displays the resilience that was instilled in all officers in the event that we should be taken captive," observed the lieutenant who stood at attention behind Lord Vader.

"The droid will break him of that in another few sessions," assured the detention block's senior officer.

"Perhaps not, if he was able to withstand the droid's second highest setting, as I was informed would be more than enough to make him talk," said Lord Vader dangerously.

"He is the exception, my lord," said the senior officer with a hasty gulp. "His ability to resist the serum was unexpected, but we can increase the dosage–"

"If a common man is able to resist, the method is useless to me. I would have thought you would have learned from the mistakes made by your predecessor aboard the first Death Star when the same droid failed to make headway with the rebel princess. I remain unimpressed and the time spent using this droid on Admiral Piett is now time wasted."

"Apologies, my lord, but–"

"Bring him to me," commanded Lord Vader, and the senior officer waved his hand that two troopers were to go in and retrieve Piett down the long and seemingly endless corridor of cells.

Veers's med droid was just finishing on his leg by making final adjustments, but it made the electrical setting too strong and Veers's leg kicked involuntarily and activated the security playback for the room. The image of Piett and Motti disappeared, only to be replaced by a recording of Veers himself, Lord Vader, and the other officers and soldiers watching Piett's questioning process. Veers saw his face projected back at him: arms crossed, jaw set, eyes unmoving and unkind as he stood absolutely still and had no reaction whatsoever to watching his oldest and closest friend endure the harshest of punishments right in front of him. Besides the clenched fist that spoke of his attempt to block out the pain from the droid working on his leg, he was unresponsive. This was the man the Empire wanted to see, the man they had made. He had no remorse, no pity, no feeling. He was unmoved by the sufferings of others, no matter their affiliation with him.

"All finished, sir," said the med droid, wheeling back for Veers to stand up and test his new limb. As Veers planted his human and mechno-foot on the ground, he felt more or less mild balanced once again and without much messing about, he slid his Imperial issued boot on.

"Did you gain any deep understanding during your entry to the admirals' cells, General?" asked Lord Vader presently.

"My lord?" said Veers, not understanding.

"While you did not have leave to enter their cells, I knew you would attempt to."

"And you said nothing?"

"I was curious as to your motives for doing so, but I would hear what you thought to glean from that interaction."

Veers knew he would be questioned for his actions and had an answer prepared both in word and presentation, for a Sith read everything. "I thought it worth the time to offer them an escape from the inquisition the Emperor has in store for them at no loss to us. If they supplied satisfactory answers, their execution would be carried out. If they refused, it is no setback for us."

"Did you expect them to accept, knowing what you do about them?"

"I thought Admiral Motti might, but he has proven to be far more of a rebel at heart than the other two. I don't understand where this detestation for the Empire came from, but I know that he will keep up the ruse that he has no fear of his death out of pure spite."

"His proclivity for insubordination is no surprising news to me, and I have prepared specific methods for breaking a man like him. Though I understand your tactic, mercy was not your offer to give." Here, Veers understood that he was not being admonished, but that Lord Vader was about to explain some confidential plan to him, for the operations officers began to make unnecessary calls and a great deal more noise than they needed to just to drown out the Sith's next words. "The Emperor does not intend to kill either of them. Admiral Piett is essential and necessary for us to procure information from Admiral Motti, the latter of whom I regret to say is of great use to the Emperor as himself but also as our greatest leverage to access Luke Skywalker and Commander Jerjerrod."

"I was under the impression that Admiral Motti was a cumbersome and unfortunate necessity to complete the construction of this battle station, my lord?"

"He was, for a time, but he has since been discovered to be a Force wielder, as is Commander Jerjerrod."

That cold sweat Veers had experienced once before when Jerjerrod first demonstrated his newfound abilities in confidence returned now. Motti was like Jerjerrod, like the Sith. He had been able to pin Veers down because the Force provided him with the means to do so. Two of his former friends had surpassed him through no great feat of their own but due to the luck and favor of the universe. Yet another example of how fate favored those who were born fortunate and how he had had to work for every second of recognition and still not amounted to enough.

The Sith would not deal out scoldings to him because his loyalty was never in question and of no interest to them. They only had eyes for Jerjerrod and Motti who were Force users like them. Even as the decorated, respected, powerful general he was, Veers did not matter as much as these men who had never had the ambition and drive that he had. To say he was fuming would be a lie.

He was a cynic by nature, nihilistic. He had chosen this path for himself because he had wanted to make something of himself and prove his worth to his father who had been more than disappointed that Veers had not followed in his footsteps to become a factory worker, but after his father and brother went up in flames along with the rebels who had taken them hostage, it was too late to back out. Instead of proving his value to his father, he now had a motive to climb the ranks quickly enough to make his own calls and seek out rebels to kill at his leisure. His future was his to do with as he liked while remembering that he had a mother who was depending on him to provide her with an income and so he had sent enough of his earnings to her to sustain her, nothing more and nothing less.

Somewhere along the way, he had entered into what was more or less an arranged marriage, performed his husbandly duties to her once to provide her with a son, and essentially washed his hands of both of them. He had tried to maintain contact with his wife, but he knew she had never cared for him from the start–perhaps she knew that she was about to wed a man who was so career-obsessed that he had no time to consider anyone but himself–even though she doted upon their son, and so he had let her be, sent the money she needed for her and their son to live comfortably, and hoped that she would paint him in a favorable light, that he might be seen as a hero in the eyes of the son who, up to that point, had never seen his father's face. His duties for the Empire had grown more vigorous, demanding, and dangerous, and he was not able to procure the leave needed to fly home to Denon to tell his son in person that he was such an esteemed figure in the Imperial army.

Veers had met his son once over hologram projection and was pleased to see that the boy had his likeness apart from the softened, gentle eyes that he had inherited from his mother. The boy had written to him several times over the years and Veers had had an underling respond, though he suspected that the boy knew it was not his father's words that came back to him and so now at ten years old, Veers's son had broken off contact with him as well (likely with help from the mother who would have told the boy it was a waste of time).

The legacy Piett had spoken of that Veers was leaving for his son was nonexistent, for Veers knew that the boy wanted nothing to do with him. That hit a sore spot within him, for Veers was all too aware that he had failed to establish a relationship with his son as Veers's own father had failed to do with him in a vicious cycle of history repeating itself. Veers's father was only the man who had contributed to his birth, never set any expectations for him, and remembered his birthday once every several years.

And yet Veers had dedicated his life to serving justice in the name of his father's memory. Even to him, the logic was lacking when he laid it out in front of himself. He had wanted to be great, unforgettable, a legend even before his father's death to earn recognition from the man whose approval he desperately sought. But he knew his father cared so little for him, so why had he dedicated the last twenty-odd years of his life to becoming someone his father would be proud of? He owed nothing to the man who had died in that warehouse fire, but had used him as an excuse for everything he did. Was he really that base of a human that he just needed an excuse to kill?

It would have broken the cycle to have his son admire him and wish to become the very image of Veers, but he knew he had ruined any chance of that, so what did that leave him with? When would his appetite for the unknown next greatest achievement be satisfied? Would it ever, or was he doomed to be this unfeeling shell of a man who could not sustain a relationship because he had no idea what it meant to have one?

If the Sith were not able to sense any weakness in him in the form of strong attachments, perhaps they felt that he had none, just as he feared. He had not had to hide such trivial things from them because there had been nothing to hide. But perhaps Jerjerrod and Motti had been able to see through his words because some part of him wanted to be exposed. But no, that was his self-doubt speaking just now, and it had only grown because of his time spent in his own head with nothing else to do during those few weeks as the rebels' prisoner. He had had time to reflect and allow incertitude to fester where there previously had never been any because he could not fully believe that these three men who he had once called friends would so willingly abandon their duties. The hours spent staring up at the forest canopy wondering why and how events had unfolded as they had to lead to all three men making themselves enemies of the Empire to the point where Lord Vader himself ordered their demise had left Veers second-guessing his place in such an order.

Even as the less-than-adequate leaders they were, Piett, Jerjerrod, and Motti all had their way paved to greatness and if they could be cast aside so easily, what was to say the same could not happen to Veers? He had failed several times to procure a communication device as he mulled over his options and considered that maybe it would be the wrong strategic move to alert the Empire of his survival and the location of the rebels. As ashamed as he was to admit it, what had finally been the tipping point for his decision was when he saw all three officers standing against him with the rebels and seeing Motti throw himself between Veers and the princess. The man Veers knew to be Conan Motti would never stoop to such depths and having Motti choose a rebel over the prosperous life an Imperial officer could bring was all it took for Veers to swipe a communicator off of one of his rebel guards and make the call that brought the Imperial army to the extraction point.

Veers's actions had saved the lives of numerous Imperial soldiers who otherwise would have been tried and likely executed by the rebels for the crime of serving the Empire. If nothing else, at least those men were alive because of him which was more than Piett, Jerjerrod, and Motti could claim in how they had lost several men during and after the crash including Needa who had apparently died due to their own negligence on observing the signs of a man going rabid.

He would be recognized for the lives he had saved, given a medal, and told to continue his exemplary service. He had saved his men and turned over three turncoats who held the longest standing relationship with him, longer than his father, mother, brother, wife, and son. What an honor.

On the observation screen, the troopers entered Piett's side of the cell with weapons drawn, but Piett could not have resisted or attacked even if he had wanted, for the effects of the IT-0 droid were still heavy and prevalent in his system. Motti, on the other hand, stood up and demanded to know where Piett was being taken, swearing to high heaven when the troopers told him nothing. He did not throw himself against the force field, but he did turn his eyes to the recording device in the upper corner and made some obscene gestures.

It took several minutes, but eventually the troopers came up the corridor bearing Piett between them and when they finally reached the control station, they set him upon his knees even though he was barely able to hold himself up. Though he appeared as no immediate threat, his wrists had been bound behind him, which Veers commended the troopers for since Motti also had appeared to be no immediate threat and had managed to shoot a hole through Veers's shoulder.

"You will stand and walk to me, Admiral," said Lord Vader.

It took a moment for Piett to focus on the Sith, but when he did, his eyes cast downward and an obstinate smirk played at the corner of his lips. His time under the needle of the interrogation droid had not made Piett more compliant and so his gall earned him a swift hit from the butt end of one of the troopers' rifles to his spine and he arched forward with a sharp yelp. When he still did not make a motion to move toward the Sith, the troopers took turns striking him over the back and shoulders with their blunt and unactivated batons until he keeled over but even then, they did not stop.

Though it felt like several more, Veers had seen enough after one minute. This was not the sort of torture that he had seen men cave in to. Being beaten only strengthened their decision to hold their tongue and Piett would not plead for mercy just to make the beating stop. It would take more than that and Veers was not about to stand here for several hours just to watch the troopers make a bloody pile out of Piett. Knowing that his every move was being scrutinized by the Sith, Veers ordered the troopers to stand aside. His shoulder was still smarting from the sealing paste the med droid had applied, his leg was not fully adjusted to his new foot model, and he felt incredibly lopsided with a bad left shoulder and right foot, but he had a point to prove and so he grabbed a fistful of the back of Piett's tunic and half-dragged him forward. Reluctant to move, but unwilling to fall on his face, Piett's boots scrabbled for purchase on the slick marble floor of the throne room as Veers led him to the space just before Lord Vader where he threw him down.

Stuck on his side, Piett had a time of it trying to wriggle himself into an upright position and thought he had no dignity left, he apparently did not want to have this confrontation with his face pressed into the floor, and so with much effort, he managed to plant his knees underneath himself and lift himself back up into his original kneeling position. Once there, he allowed the blood from his lip to dribble down his chin and drip onto the Sith's boots.

Lord Vader removed the cylindrical grip from his belt and for one terrifying second, Veers thought he meant to cut Piett in half right there on the floor, but for all the work that had been put into him already, he would not so easily be dispatched just for slighting the Sith. He had to bend slightly at the waist, but Lord Vader placed the tip of the lightsaber handle underneath Piett's chin and lifted it up to meet the blank eyes of his mask.

Piett's eyelids were heavy and he struggled to hold the stare against an unbeatable opponent, for he had no way of knowing the expression behind the Sith's mask, but the defiance Veers saw there was unlike any look he had seen on Piett's face before. This was a man who quailed under firm and stern authority, who had difficulty taking charge because he did not like to raise his voice, who disliked confrontation and did not have one commanding bone in his body, yet he was able to fix this look of stubborn insolence onto his face. Where was this dumb bravery the past two decades and what had spurred it to present itself now?

With an unpredictable snap, Lord Vader's unoccupied hand closed around Piett's throat, but far from squirming in fear at what he surely knew was about to happen, Piett closed his eyes in resignation. Just as quickly as he had grabbed Piett, the Sith released him and with contemplation in his voice, said, "A different tactic will need to be employed. Take him back to his cell and bring me the other."

There was the fear Veers had expected. At the promise of harm coming to Motti, Piett could not keep the look of panic off of his face. He had to know that Lord Vader might resort to this, using one of them against the other to make one or the other talk, but it was still an unwelcome surprise to be told that Piett's friend was about to suffer because Piett held his silence. As the troopers bore him away, he regained the use of his feet somewhat and tried to walk himself, but was beaten down. His grunt of pain echoed down the corridor in both directions.

"In the future, General, allow the prisoners to meet their own demise as it comes," said Lord Vader. "It serves no purpose for you to interfere when I am using my own methods to test their resolve."

"I believed it to be meaningless to continue beating him when his own mortality means nothing to him," said Veers carefully. "He would not have caved and I was not about to stand on ceremony for that method of interrogation when I am barely able to stand thanks to the less-than-gentle hand of the medical droid who attached my new leg." To prove his point, Veers leaned against the control desk to take some of the weight off of his bad leg which was still adjusting.

"Be that as it may, you must know that your past relations with the admiral call your own motives into question. To some, it may have seemed that you were attempting to spare him further pain."

"I would have interfered long before then if that was the case," said Veers quickly. "I would have interfered on the forest moon when Admiral Motti was subjected to the same treatment. You know where I stand, my lord, and though I may have once performed actions that seemed favorable to those defected officers, I have only ever served the greater cause. That is true of my actions now as well as before, such as the incident with the bridge."

"I cannot fault you for what you've done as a sacrifice for the Empire, General. You went against my command to ensure a competent battlefield commander was defending the bunker," said Lord Vader in a rare form of compliment.

Yes, Motti would have been an even greater disaster if he had been placed in charge of the bridge like Lord Vader intended, and many more men would have died much sooner if someone as inexperienced as Motti had been their leader, but as Veers recalled that moment, he knew he had not taken Motti's place as a strategic move. He had seen Lord Vader give an order that would knowingly and deliberately mean the death of a fellow officer and his first instinct had been to overrule that command subtly to avoid confrontation. Deferring to the Imperial army, Motti was Veers's responsibility, his man, and Veers could not allow him to come to harm.

Now, however, he had no excuse other than the weak one he had already given for interfering with Piett's comeuppance.

"But the fates of both admirals are none of your concern, as they are my prisoners to be dealt with how I see fit," the Sith finished. "Well-versed in this process though you are, and distanced though you have made yourself, you are still too close to the subject to not stand the risk of being emotionally compromised."

"I have never been accused of something so trite and baseless as that before," said Veers with a slight bristle. He dared to challenge the allegations because they were unfounded and ridiculous. Of all officers, he was the least likely to let emotions influence his actions. The very idea was ludicrous and he would not stand for it.

"I do not doubt your intentions, General, as you and I have seen many battles to their completion together and you have always procured favorable results. I know you would not allow worldly attachments to interfere with your better judgment, but I am not the one you have to convince."

There was a pregnant pause during which the Sith's meaning was intended to weigh on him.

"I understand."

It was a mark of how much Lord Vader trusted him that he was giving him this warning for what was to come. Prior to his actions just now, the Sith had no reason to suspect that he was anything but devoted to the Empire, but if Lord Vader even had a moment of doubt, the Emperor would be able to sense that and would scour Veers's innermost thoughts for any hint of disloyalty.

Veers thought highly enough of himself to feel that Lord Vader saw him, more than anyone else, as the closest contender for a peer and equal. He respected that the Sith was his superior, and a powerful one at that, but that Lord Vader rewarded competence and results, both of which he had seen in Veers on numerous occasions. While Veers did not fear Lord Vader, he did know that his good standing could be taken away in an instant if he showed ineptitude or unhealthy aspirations in wanting to surpass the Sith and the Emperor would see through any fabrication he attempted to place in the way of his true intentions.

It appeared that he was not so unimportant to the Sith as he thought, for the Emperor was coming, and as much as Piett and Motti were in danger of invoking the Sith's wrath, so was Veers if he did not find some way to put aside the last remnants of his soul that would define him as human. It was demanded that he be an unwavering soldier as close to a droid as possible in obeying commands but still having intelligent thought. He needed to be steadfast, committed, and detached from any and all emotion.

"You're more machine than even Vader now," Piett had said.

He could feel every centimeter of connection between himself and his new mechno-limb. The prosthetic had latched onto his flesh to mingle with his nerves and convince his body that it was a real leg, a real foot, a real part of his human form. It would always be a foreign object, not something that belonged to Veers or that Veers recognized as himself, but it would try to be a better, more improved replacement. It did not have the defects that a human limb had, as it was stronger and impervious to easy injury which was considered a desirable upgrade by all accounts.

While some men desired more mechno-limbs to increase their performance in their line of work, Veers did not care for such an upgrade. He was no droid; he was a human general who far surpassed others in nearly every category. He valued his free will and independent thought and the very idea that those qualities made him appear less than human to someone like Piett was enough for Veers to consider ripping the prosthetic off. He would not be regarded as imperfect, insufficient, or incapable by any means and certainly not by a man who wore his heart proudly on his shoulders.