ADMIRAL PIETT

Motti stood up eagerly when the stormtroopers returned Piett to their cell, for he was able to see that Piett was in no worse shape than when he had left, but his relief lasted only long enough for him to realize that the troopers were about to bring him to Vader instead. Piett had no time to exchange words or give warning, for though he was not entirely sure what Vader meant to do to Motti, he did know that Vader was doing it because Piett had not yet broken before him. There was no way to win: if Piett kept silent, Vader would use Motti to force information out of Piett, but if Piett caved, he was betraying his and Motti's pact to protect Jerjerrod and the rebels.

It was all as well that Motti guessed for what purpose Vader was about to use him and far from showing signs of a man wavering on the edge of his own crippling fear, Motti went courageously out the door to meet his fate before Piett could even speak or give him a comforting look.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait and mull over his aching body, but that did not last for long as sleep overtook him before he could even think to try and stay awake. He could not say how long he slept, but when he awoke, Motti had not returned. His body told him that he had been asleep for at least an hour, but he no longer trusted his body's internal clock, for he had fallen so far out of his routine that he didn't have a set time for anything anymore. His body wanted rest first and foremost, but now that he had sampled some of it, he was aching for water and food.

He had depleted a great amount of his body's water supply with the saliva he had spilled during his interrogation and his cracked lips were begging for some sort of hydration. A small cramp in his stomach forewarned him of worse pains to come and as a man with no excess fat on his body, he could not afford to lose what little muscle he had. His body would start to eat itself if this was to be a long, drawn-out execution.

With nothing to distract him from his hunger or thirst and his worry over Motti's absence preventing him from being able to fall asleep again so easily, he hugged an arm to his stomach and lay in the middle of the floor to combat his discomfort. His mind had already exhausted itself in trying to imagine all the possible scenarios of what awaited him and it did no good to revisit his impending mortality.

When he could stand his boredom no longer, he turned to face the recording device in the upper corner of his cell and after staring at it as a challenge to whoever was watching, he invited, "If you've already killed Admiral Motti, I'd rather you get on with it on my part."

It was a bold thing to say, but what could they do to him that they hadn't already planned to? True, he would likely regret his every action once the worst of his interrogation began, but for now, he needed an escape from this mindless waiting game. He had reasoned with himself that Motti was still alive, as the greatest weapon the Sith had to use against Piett and Motti was each other. He also told himself that whatever was being done to Motti, it was better to not see or hear it, but he hated not knowing.

No answer came from the intercom system installed above him and no one entered his cell, so Piett lay back down on the floor using his arm as a pillow and invited sleep to come, if it was so kind. When it did come, he was unaware of it, for neither dreams nor nightmares visited him as he slept, but he did know a distant, dull pain of his body still hurting from the IT-0 droid and from laying on a hard surface. As a man in his fourth decade of life, his body was not so forgiving or quick to heal from even minor injuries or discomfort.

He was saved from enduring the worst stomach cramp yet by suddenly being doused in ice-cold water and he sat up in alarm, but quickly cupped his hands underneath his chin to catch as much water as he could to drink.

"On your feet," ordered a stormtrooper who stood in his cell doorway with a bucket.

Piett briefly considered rushing the seemingly unarmed trooper, but thought better of that brash action and did as commanded.

"Face the wall, put your hands behind your back."

He wanted to ask where Motti was, how long he had been in this cell alone, how much time had passed since his capture, and many more questions, but knew that even if the trooper could answer his questions, he wouldn't. He had weighed his options of being a compliant or defiant prisoner and decided that he would do as commanded in the presence of the lower ranks, but that he would not give the Sith the satisfaction when the time came, so he did an about-face and folded his hands behind him.

The trooper put him in binders and a second took him by the arm to escort him out of his cell. Piett was not sorry to leave it, but he also had a nagging suspicion that he would welcome the emptiness and uneventful stillness of the cell rather than face what he was about to face. He did not know the makeup of the Death Star well in comparison to the Executor, but as the troopers led him for what seemed like miles through the endless corridors and up various levels of escalators and lifts, he started to suspect that he knew exactly where they were going. His sprained ankle was now the least of his injuries and pains, which was saying something since it had been a nasty fall and had been made worse by running in it for a time after, but now that he was being made to walk for miles on it, it was staring to throb again.

One final long hallway ended at a lift guarded by two red robed guards and at the sight of Piett, they unblocked the door to allow the troopers to take Piett in. Now glad of the fact that he did not have water in his system for fear of possibly losing the lot of it, Piett tried to steel himself for the sight that he knew would await him. A soft ding announced his arrival on the top floor and the solid door slid open to reveal the Emperor's throne room.

He had not ever been privy to the blueprints for this room and his one interaction with the Emperor had been a brief hologram transmission summoning Vader with Piett acting as the courier, so he did not know what he expected from the most powerful being in the universe, but it was not this. The room was dimly lit by dark blue lining along the walkways and largely barren but for scaffolding above the one elevator entrance and a spiral staircase that led down somewhere, perhaps to the Emperor's private chambers. A revolving throne sat unoccupied in the center of the enormous decorative windscreen but a small trail of blood droplets led from the base of the throne to the far left wall facing the throne.

Motti stood there, though not of his own volition. His wrists had been chained together from above to hold him upright, but his head was tilted back, forcing him to look at the ceiling in an uncomfortable position that made it difficult to sleep or rest in the slightest. From here, Piett could not tell what sort of injury he had to justify the blood leading to him, but it was not enough for him to have bled out.

The troopers released their hold on Piett, but he knew better than to hurry to Motti, for even if the Emperor was not present, he surely had ways of knowing what Piett did the moment he entered the throne room.

"How long has he been like that?" Piett asked the troopers behind him, not that he expected an answer.

"Less than a day, over twelve hours."

Piett's empty stomach clenched as he considered that he had been asleep (uncomfortably, but able to rest nonetheless) for so long while Motti had been suspended in this position after Vader had done who-knows-what to him. Even though he knew that he and Motti had endured separate interrogations, he still felt guilt that he had been given respite while Motti had been at Vader's personal mercy.

"Conan?" Piett called into the near darkness, and his voice echoed twice back at him even though he had not spoken too loudly at all.

Motti could not lower his head, but Piett saw him twitch as if coming out of a stupor at the sound of Piett's voice.

"What did they do to you?"

It took him an age to answer, and it was infuriating that Piett didn't know why, but his voice sounded scratchy and dry as if his voice was also starting to crack from lack of hydration. "Not enough," he said in typical Motti fashion. It gave Piett hope that Motti was still hanging on, but it also left a hole in his gut that despite his suffering, he still had a very long way to go before the Sith broke him.

"I welcome resilience. It foreshadows how far one must fall to emerge on the other side," said an oily, croaking voice.

Piett's eyes caught the whisper of movement from the unlit portion of the room behind Motti and though he would not drop to his knee in respect, he could not meet the eyes of the Emperor as the superior Sith emerged from the darkness. The shadows clung to his ink-black robe as if they were loathe to part with him, as if he were an essence of darkness in and of himself. Behind him strode Vader and an escort of some ten guards, but Piett knew the troopers were only there for show, as the Sith did not need any sort of protection that they could provide.

Without so much as a glance at Motti, the Emperor seemed to glide across the reflective floor with his robe almost serpent-like in its movement. He sank into his throne with the weight and age of a frail old man, but from the small glance Piett dared to take at the Emperor's eyes, he knew that Sheev Palpatine was anything but. With a beckoning gesture, the Emperor bade Piett's guard to push him forward and though he considered digging his heels in to protest, this was one of many battles Piett now had to decide whether or not to pick, and so he relented.

The walk from the lift doors to the throne was far too short and when Piett stood mere feet from the hem of the Sith's robe, he stopped, having no desire to be any closer to this being who radiated such evil. He could not bring his eyes up to meet the Emperor's, but he knew he was being stared at, examined, and considered.

"Kneel before me, Admiral, and demonstrate the lengths of your devotion," the Emperor commanded.

His first test, and one he knew he would fail at miserably, deliberately. He said and did nothing, anticipating a blow to his back for his impertinence, but when none came, he could practically hear the smile through the Emperor's next words.

"Such hatred I sense in you, such indignance."

"The same hatred Lord Vader felt in Admiral Motti, apparently," Piett snipped, unable to help himself. He knew he was not a secret Force user and that Motti had just been an unlucky coincidence, but it was gratifying in being able to call out the Sith lord for a mistake to prove that he was still prone to human error.

If the Emperor was taken aback by Piett's response, he did well in concealing it, for he continued on, "Admiral Motti's hatred was planted by his fear of the unknown and fueled by the existence of the Force within him, encouraging him to use his hatred as a weapon. Your hatred is human, entirely yours, and born from an injustice you believe was done upon you."

"I don't believe an injustice was done; I know, and any other man would feel the same after being subjected to the same grievance. I've done nothing wrong," Piett insisted, now with a catch in his throat as he allowed himself to finally feel the unfairness of it all. "I served loyally, faithfully, with full, unwavering dedication and I never gave any indication that I was anything but a committed soldier. I proved myself as a newly-instated admiral by successfully capturing the Millenium Falcon when all other endeavors to hold it by others had failed and even Lord Vader admitted that the ship's escape was no fault of mine. I became a capable leader following my predecessor's dismissal. I was deemed competent and valued to be given access codes to the shield generator and placed on the Joint Chiefs council. I was Fleet Admiral, the highest rank I could be given for an active duty naval officer. My achievements were a direct result of being placed in the position of admiral by Lord Vader."

Here, Piett turned to Vader with a note of despondency, nearly imploring the Sith to explain why he had been cast aside so needlessly. "You had no reason to doubt me in the year following the Falcon' s escape and I was given more responsibility than any other officer short of General Veers and yet you knew I was on that shuttle and had me shot down all the same. Without knowing my true intentions, you gave the order to end my life because I was known to be a friend to men you could no longer trust. I had hoped that my reputation might save me upon returning to my ship, but as soon as I knew that you had given that order, my eyes were opened to the fact that my life was given in service to someone who never cared one moment for me or any other man under Imperial rule. I signed away thirty years of my life when I enrolled in the Academy all so I could be shot down as if I was less than nothing."

Quite surprisingly, the Sith did not speak over him or intervene when Piett had expected to be silenced long before now. Emboldened, he continued on, "What did you expect me to do after that? March back to the bunker and claim that there must have been a mistake and re-enter your service because I was too stupid and blind to realize I wasn't needed and was so easily replaceable? I stayed with Tiaan Jerjerrod because his leadership was the one I trusted. I was taken captive by the rebels and then treated as their equal and not their enemy even before I had proven my worth to them because they saw me as a life worth salvaging, not as something to be disposed of because it had outlived its usefulness. I–like so many others–show my devotion to a cause that shows its true colors to me. I was a known enemy of the rebels and a valuable one and they had every right and cause to execute me just for affiliation with the Empire, and yet they spared me and earned my trust in a matter of weeks when you managed to destroy thirty years' worth of trust in the Empire in a matter of seconds. You created your enemies in your attempt to destroy them."

"Stirring sentiments, Admiral, but your transgressions have far exceeded any possible forgiveness," said Vader without pity.

"What makes you think I was hoping to be forgiven? I've known what would happen to me if I should find myself back in your company and that mercy was not an offer to be placed on the table, but I wanted you to have to acknowledge your crime, even if I don't live to see you answer for it. That was enough for me to give myself up as a means for others to escape."

"A decision you do not regret nearly enough, it would seem, but that will be remedied shortly," the Emperor promised. "While you may not possess enough of the Force to make you of any future use to me, your mere existence will prove its usefulness shortly."

The same ding that had announced Piett's arrival to the throne room sounded now as someone else stepped off of the lift and the slightly uneven footfalls announced a presence Piett was hoping to not have to encounter again. Every additional interaction with Veers was one too many after Piett had washed his hands of any affiliation with the general, but Piett knew his gait well and knew the sound of a disciplined man with an untested mechno-foot when he heard it.

Though he had not given it much thought until now, Piett recalled that Veers had been shot and had his leg crushed by Motti, and yet he looked none worse for the wear now. In fact, Veers had looked as pristine and able-bodied even during his and Piett's last interaction at the detention block control center. It was Veers who had dragged Piett before Vader when Piett refused to (and to an extent, could not) go on his own. He didn't know what Vader would have done to him otherwise, but Veers's intervention had unintentionally saved him from a likely painful reward.

Veers now gave no indication that he had seen Motti and did not even acknowledge Piett even as he stood close enough to brush shoulders with (or in this case, Piett's shoulder would brush his elbow) Piett and gave a deep bow to the Emperor.

"Your leg was properly replaced, I see," the Emperor observed and it sickened Piett to hear Veers spoken to in the same regard that the Emperor held Vader: as a subordinate, but a trusted one.

"Slight alterations to an existing injury, Your Excellency," said Veers. "At your command, I am ready to resume my duties."

"You will be rewarded for your piety when the time comes, but there is some business I would have you personally attend to before I send you to retake command on the forest moon, General."

"As you command, Your Excellency."

Piett could hardly stand to be disregarded as if he had not just bared his soul before the Sith in an attempt to make them admit to disposing of him like refuse. How must it be to be so powerful that one could live without fear of consequence for one's actions? Even when confronted and accused of their inhumane treatment of officers, the Sith feared nothing.

Raking his eyes over Veers in contemplation, the Emperor was scrutinizing Veers from head to toe in search of a weakness, though Piett could not imagine why. "In your debriefing to Lord Vader, you spoke of your observations in how your men came to be held by the rebels. Some were brought in as part of the surviving wounded of the bunker battle and some were part of the team that went down with Commander Jerjerrod's shuttle. How many wounded and captured did you estimate there to be, General?"

"Some eighty-four at last count, Your Excellency," answered Veers with a touch of pride that so many had been plucked from the Endor wilderness and returned to the Empire thanks to him.

"And now there are but four."

Piett was the first one who was hit by understanding of the Emperor's words and it pained him both in body and soul, but he turned his neck sideways to stare Veers down and watch the light of realization come to his face that he had sole responsibility for what had happened to those men. Now at last, Veers exhibited a sign that he felt as a human being should feel, for his mouth dropped open a fraction in horrified surprise. Veers had given away the rebel position, put Piett, Motti, and Jerjerrod in jeopardy, and succeeded in having his men rescued by Imperial forces, only to discover that they had met a worse fate than if Veers had left them to be airlifted by rebel medics. Veers's actions amounted to nothing. Piett took no pleasure in fixing a look on his face that said plain as day, I told you.

Murdered. Their own men were murdered because they had been saved from death by rebels and could not prove that they had not given the rebels any sort of information that compromised their good standing with the Empire.

"Those men were innocent," Piett insisted. "They were given orders to say nothing and surrender to preserve their lives and you killed them, for what?"

"Their innocence could not be proven," said Vader indifferently.

"That's a bare-faced lie, and you know it," said Piett furiously. "You, of all people, can sense the truth where others can't. You knew they told the rebels nothing. They did so by my order and Commander Jerjerrod's and trusted us to make that decision with their well-being in mind. And you killed them for their fealty. Is it not clear now why three members of the Joint Chiefs council abandoned you?"

"I know why you defected, Admiral, but I have yet to hear why Admiral Motti did. Let him down now so that he may contribute to the conversation."

Two troopers went to where Motti had been stationary and still this entire time and after some fiddling, his head dropped forward and his chin collided with his chest from exhaustion. His arms fell and the binders around his wrists were removed, but he was in no condition to attempt anything as the troopers had to drag him forward and then hold him up by his arms to prevent his knees from buckling and sending him crashing face-first onto the floor.

"What have you to say to the news that the men in your care are now deceased, Admiral?" the Emperor asked Motti.

"Given that it won't make a difference what I say, nothing," Motti retorted. "And you won't find a similar cause in me as to why I'm standing in rebel uniform as you found in Firmus. Treason comes in all forms."

"Hours of interrogation and only now do you speak when your words hold no water," said Vader. "As useless as you ever were. Undeserving of the gifts given to you."

"The gift of seeing through lies isn't one given by the Force. You swallowed those lies just as I did, Lord Vader, only you chose to digest them as well while I vomited them back up."

Motti truly did possess the gift of gab, of reckless confrontation and dauntless bravery. He spoke without anger in his words, but fiendish satisfaction that he could be the cause of so much grief to the Sith. He truly delighted in aggravating those who had written him off as a bad joke. Therein was his reasoning for following Piett and Jerjerrod into the folds of the resistance: he was tired of being underestimated and unappreciated. His motives for leaving the Imperial fleet were entirely self-serving, but his reason for willingly assisting the rebels was born from the observation that his one-time enemy found value in his talents while his allies saw him as only a hindrance. Knowing that it would anger Vader to discover that the incorrigible Conan Motti was at the forefront of the opposing forces on Endor, a fire had been lit underneath Motti to make his betrayal known. It would have brought him the highest pleasure to have been the cause of the Empire's fall.

"Let us see if you are able to maintain your rebellious giddiness in the face of accountability," Vader shot back.

"Of over eighty men who were left in the care of their commanding officers, only four remain." With a careless gesture of his hand, the Emperor commanded that from the winding staircase below, some ten troopers haul in the four men who had been spared the fate of all the others. Piett knew one by face and name, but seeing that the other three were troopers stripped of their armor, he had a sinking suspicion that these men also had been a part of the crew who went down in the ship with him and the other officers. These were all his men, and he knew they had been spared for that very fact just to make it that much more difficult for Piett to watch them die here in the throne room for not giving the Sith an answer. He could do nothing to alter their fate, for how could he willingly give in to questioning for four men who served under him if he was unwilling to do the same for a man who was closer to Piett than kin?

The troopers were all of an age or perhaps slightly older than Motti, but the one officer was Junior Lieutenant Kurrec, a promising young man who had ambitions to become captain of one of the star destroyers in the fleet in another ten years. He was serving as Needa's underling and Piett had had to console him after Needa's death. He was a dedicated officer, but gentle, as Needa had been. Too gentle.

Seeing Piett, Kurrec had a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes that Piett could spare him, but Piett could not stand to look at the young officer when he knew that holding his silence was as good as taking a blaster and shooting the lieutenant himself.

"Think of your men, the last four men. If your answers displease me, they will die. Do try not to give unsatisfactory answers, Admiral, as there are so few of them left."

"Admiral, tell them that we said nothing to the rebels," said Kurrec hurriedly. "We never spoke a word of anything at your insistence. We performed our duties."

"Where is the rebel hideout on the forest moon?" asked Vader.

"If you haven't found it by now, you never will," Motti taunted and Piett closed his eyes in resignation. He could not decide if giving purposefully vague or wrong answers or not answering at all was a worse thing to do in front of these four men who were banking on his words to save them.

Vader lifted one impassive finger and the first man in line was shot through the throat. He was still alive a few seconds after he hit the floor, but gargling on the blood spilling out of his throat and after a few involuntary twitches, he remained still.

"Who leads the rebels?"

Veers would have told the Sith this already, and Piett was quick to point that fact out. "General Veers was given terms by the rebel leaders; he should have been able to identify them on sight as I did."

Vader gave the indication to kill the second man in line and Piett had to bite into his lip to keep from crying out.

"Admiral, we were faithful. We never wavered. Tell them!" said Kurrec and the foul stench of urine hit Piett's nostrils as the lieutenant released his water.

"What are the rebel plans to dismantle the shield generator?"

"They never shared what the plans were, only that the plan was to destroy it," said Piett hurriedly. "You know this, why are you asking me?"

For your reaction, no other reason. They were chipping away at every aspect of Piett's resolve to find what made him fold quickest and cutting down his men in front of him was a definitive way of getting there fast. He was responsible for these men; they trusted him with their lives and here at the end, he could not save them.

He owed it to each man to watch as the lights left their eyes, but he wanted to scream as the third disarmed trooper fell.

"What would you like to say to this man before he dies?"

Piett looked desperately to Motti as if to ask, what do I do? Motti, however, had no answer for him. He never took his role as a leader as seriously as Piett and Jerjerrod had because while they had always been respected leaders both admired and adored by their men, Motti had only given his underlings cause to mock him since the first whisper that his position had been bought and not earned. These were never Motti's men, and that was where he and Piett greatly differed in that Piett saw any man in uniform as his whereas Motti chose those men who fell under his canopy of protection.

Piett opened his mouth to say something to Kurrec, but no words came out that would comfort the lieutenant or make a difference in the outcome of his fate.

The headman trooper stood behind Kurrec and placed the tip of his blaster rifle to Kurrec's head.

"Admiral, please–" Kurrec begged.

"No–" Piett cried before the blaster shot took out the young officer's brain in an explosion of light and blood.

Motti looked away, but Piett's instantaneous response was to surge forward and begin an unintelligible verbal onslaught on the Emperor, cursing him to oblivion with every insult and swear word he had ever heard (and the majority of which he had learned from Motti). For his insolence, he was beaten to the floor just long enough to put him back into a submissive position.

He heard a scuffle from his left and raised his head to see Motti's guards contorting his arms to breaking point as a method to subdue him, for he had apparently tried to rush Piett's guards.

Huffing and ashamed that he lost his composure, Piett allowed the troopers to place him on his knees. He could not reach either Sith, but to not do something for those men who had just been murdered for following orders was unacceptable. Someone had to pay the price for killing the innocent.

And someone was paying the price. Piett and Motti were responsible for the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of innocent lives lost for their part in turning a blind eye to the atrocities committed by the Empire. Commander Skywalker had spoken of balance and equality and how the Force worked in ways that allowed that balance to happen in ways that were not always clear to those who had suffered the most. To the millions of lives affected by this war, the Imperial soldiers were at fault and needed to atone for the crimes of the Empire, but to have to shoulder the sole responsibility of what he and all other officers of war had done was grossly unfair.

Piett could not bear the weight of this execution alone and so with a pang in his chest, he appealed to Veers.

"Are you satisfied now? Your sense of duty just got those men killed. Your confounded fucking duty just got that boy killed. This is the cause you serve."

"You are free to answer, General," invited the Emperor.

Veers hesitated for the first time in memory to respond but when he did, it was not without remorse. "Much is sacrificed in war. If that officer could not accept his death in service to the Empire, he was not fit to be a member of it. Being taken captive by rebels is not an option and it is every soldier's duty to opt out rather than be questioned."

"And yet here you are," Piett spat.

"The Empire values the general far more than foot soldiers and petty officers," said Vader. "The information the general was able to provide us with has been invaluable. He performed the duties expected of an officer in captivity while you and your co-conspirators had many opportunities to put an end to the rebel plague and instead chose to spare them."

No one was watching Veers except Piett, but if they had been, they would have seen the skin around his throat tighten in a quick, bated swallow. Veers had set himself up for his friends to turn on him, so he should have expected this, but he likely did not think that Piett or Motti had any valuable information to use against him. Now, though, he knew what Piett was thinking and knew that he had just walked himself into a trap.

Piett could condemn Veers here and Veers knew it. Veers had been in a position to kill a rebel leader, but had faltered because Motti stood between them. If Veers had really, truly wanted to, he could have overpowered Motti and cut down Princess Leia at the cost of his own life, but instead he had allowed himself to be talked out of murder.

Did the Sith know that he had chosen his own life over the opportunity to serve their cause? Piett could expose Veers's failure right now and watch him crumble as the Sith exploited his reasoning for not taking the chance to kill a rebel leader when he had it. They would see right through him and know that his survival was of the utmost importance to him and that secondary was the reluctance to have to harm Motti to achieve a goal that was not his own. What would the Sith think of their unquestionable general then?

All Piett had to do was speak the words, for the Sith could surely feel his hatred for Veers radiating off of his very body and would know that as a man with nothing to lose, Piett had no reason to lie.

Piett had waited too long to reply, for now the Emperor addressed Veers with caution as if warning him not to lie. "There is no reason to doubt your commitment, is there, General?"

Again, Veers waited for Piett to speak and this time, he did. "You've trained him too well. He doesn't have enough independent thought to make the decision to do anything for himself. The Empire is known for having the finest methods of brainwashing available to enact upon humans until they resemble little more than droids."

Damn his protective instincts. Damn his inability to be the direct cause of any form of suffering coming to anyone he had ever cared for. He had let go of this man as his friend in both heart and mind, and yet he could not bring himself to denounce Veers. It would only achieve worse heartache in having the man be in chains beside Piett but with no one to vouch for him.

Motti might have called Piett's bluff, but he was still barely conscious and like Piett, was carefully choosing when to fight. In any case, now that he had managed to convincingly lie to the Sith, they would take anything he had to say with a grain of salt anyway, so Piett's word was the only one they would trust.

"And still," said Veers with that casual insouciance that Piett loathed, "he has the unmitigated gall to accuse me of acting with a hive-mind when every decision has been my own that has led me to my position when his decisions were all made for him through no actions of his own. He allowed events to happen to him while I made them happen for me. His words are those of a man unhappy with how his life amounted to nothing and will lay blame on anyone but himself."

Not being cognizant of the unspoken exchange that had just occurred between Piett and Veers, Motti had only heard Veers once again attacking Piett's character and though he could not attack Veers as he had done last time, he was still within reach of Veers. With speed the likes of which no pure human could achieve after being suspended for hours in such a painful position, Motti grabbed the front of Veers's uniform.

Veers held up a gloved hand to the trooper guards to stand back.

"Release your hold, Admiral," Veers ordered.

"You want to speak of unmitigated gall?" Motti challenged, and in fear that Motti might reveal what Piett had just worked to conceal, Veers delivered a square punch to Motti's gut. Doubling up and on the way to his knees, Motti shifted his hand up and over to Veers's shoulder and squeezed. Veers let out a sharp exhale as Motti's hold reopened the still mending blaster wound and Vader took a step forward but at long last, the Emperor motioned that his apprentice should not intervene.

"There it is; there is the anger I had hoped to see yesterday when you were first brought before me, Conan Motti." The Emperor sounded positively delighted at Motti's pain and Piett could now appreciate why Commander Skywalker had tried so hard to help Motti keep a handle on his hatred during those long, tiring lessons. The Jedi had warned Motti of how the Sith would seek to use him to extract the powerful negative emotions from him and pit him against others. Jerjerrod had been the initial goal, but it was Motti who the Sith found more promising.

As if Veers had suddenly become an unbearable temperature to hold, Motti released him and sat there on his knees massaging the hand that now bore a few stains of Veers's blood.

"It is useless to deny your true feelings, Admiral. You are a man born of hate, harvesting it all your life at those who have wronged you. You desired power to prove your worth to those who deemed you to be worthless. You denied the Force because you did not understand it and yet now that you are aware of it, you resent it. When so many others would do unspeakable things for this power, you do not wish for it. Why not embrace it to serve you?"

Motti's fist was shaking now and he burrowed it into his stomach to try and hide it. "You can't goad me into action, if that's what you're trying to do," he vowed. "My wants have changed since the last time I was on this battle station."

"To the contrary, they have only grown more pronounced. You still desire power, authority, and superiority. You wish to be held in high regard, revered by your peers, feared by your inferiors, and respected by your superiors. You wish for recognition."

"Not from you."

"Not from me, when I am the only one capable of helping you attain the unreachable?"

"I know what you're trying to coax out of me and if that damnable Jedi taught me anything, it was that you don't concern yourself with the needs or wants of anyone but yourself. Whatever ulterior motive you have with me, you won't get it, because you can't make me into something I don't accept. Skywalker told me how you cast aside one apprentice when they're of no more use to you and replace them with someone younger, more malleable, and stronger. Skywalker would be an ideal replacement for Lord Vader, but if you can't reach him, you want me because you're hoping my hatred is enough to turn me to the dark side."

Up to this point, Piett was unsure if the Sith knew that Commander Skywalker had been the one to teach Motti and Jerjerrod the ways of the Force but now that they did know, there was no reversing the damage that knowledge could bring.

The Emperor did not look surprised by this news, but he did nod his head in contemplation. "I did not foresee this, but it would explain why it was so difficult for me to find the commander. Young Skywalker has been teaching him how to close his mind. Your son has learned more than we initially thought, Lord Vader."

"Your son still thinks you're redeemable," Motti told Vader vindictively. "That was the lesson he tried to drill into us every day: that all men have some semblance of goodness in them, no matter how deeply buried. He devoted his time to training us because he knew one of us would end up back here with you and he hoped that we might be able to persuade you to listen to him out of love, but he wasted his time. Sith are no more capable of feeling than a droid is and when you see him again, you can tell him I said that."

"The boy is prone to the same weakness that brought his father to me," the Emperor taunted, "and that same weakness is what landed you and your companion in chains, Admiral. If you are to become a Sith, there is no room for worldly attachments. You cannot love without experiencing loss and grief is a distraction."

"I ended up here because I chose to and for no other reason than that," said Motti stoutly. "It wasn't fate that directed me and it wasn't the Force."

"Capable though you may be of deceiving others a time or two, you cannot lie to me when I feel your innermost emotions. The decision you made was born out of love for another, otherwise you would not have made it. Your affection for those closest to you overpowered your fear of what would happen to you. A foolish decision, perhaps, but one that ultimately started you on the path to becoming what you were always supposed to be, for only when your dear friend is in danger do you call yourself to action. You refused to speak one word to me before Admiral Piett was brought in here, but now that he is here, you come to his rescue the instant harm was done to him. And so you must know that you will be forced to do the unthinkable to rid you of this weakness."

If he had anything in his stomach, Piett might have spewed it all over the floor. The Emperor never wanted answers of any kind from Motti or Piett. He knew they would not talk under harsh conditions. Every move from having Piett speak first to introducing Veers to the conversation to having Veers sully Piett's name to having Motti react to that insult were all calculated moves to induce this wrath of Motti's and force him to use his powers. Motti was the Emperor's prize and the last obstacle between him and obtaining that prize–was Piett.

Piett's binders were undone and one of the troopers placed his Z6 riot baton on the floor just out of his reach. Veers and the troopers backed away to clear the floor while Vader stepped in closer to the throne. The Emperor reached into his robes and withdrew the same sort of cylindrical grip that Commander Skywalker had gifted to Jerjerrod, except this one was all black. Handing the weapon to Vader, he bade Vader to place it in front of Motti, though Vader's pause spoke of his disgust and disagreement with allowing Motti to wield a weapon of the Force when Motti was so unappreciative and unresponsive to its ways.

"Take my weapon, Admiral, and use it to take what is rightfully yours. You were chosen because of your ability to harness hatred. With my lightsaber, mark the start to your path of power."

They had been in this position before and it had not ended well for Piett, though it could have ended far worse. Now, they would be fighting to deliver a fatal blow and that blow would be the first and most crucial step for Motti to lose himself in his hatred. The worst thing the Sith could make him do was far worse than allowing harm to come to Piett; it was actively trying to prevent himself from being the cause of that harm. Fighting against himself to protect Piett would make his powers war with themselves and cause a rippling effect that would ultimately lead to an implosion or explosion.

Piett had to admit that of all the ways he expected to suffer and die, this had not once occurred to him. But it could not happen in the way the Emperor hoped it would if Piett refused to be a part of this game. He simply would not fight back.

Motti could not read him or feel his emotions as Jerjerrod could, and so Piett could not convey to him that he understood and did not fault him for what was about to happen. He could only give a resigned nod as if to tell Motti that whatever sort of powerful eruption was about to emit from Motti, Piett knew Motti was going to try his hardest to subdue it.

"This will happen, no matter how much you attempt to resist, Admiral. Do not force my hand," the Emperor warned, though if he was talking to Motti, Piett, or both was unclear.

Piett bent at the knees, never taking his eyes off of Motti as he felt for the baton handle and clutched it in a loose grip. Just as soon as he had made the decision to not engage Motti in battle, his natural human instinct for survival started to fire off in his brain. He did not want to die and he especially did not want to die at the hands of his friend who could not control himself, but how could Motti be pushed to kill Piett out of hatred when Piett was not the cause of any of it?

"Pick up the weapon, Admiral," said Vader dangerously.

The expression on Motti's face said make me along with a few words the Sith was certain to not appreciate. Motti would rather face the Sith's displeasure than make the first move, so it would have to be Piett. If Piett was to meet his end, he would choose how he met that end, and he chose to allow Motti to kill him by provoking him to fight. After all, was it not better to earn his death by giving his all rather than to lay down and accept it?

"Pick it up," Piett urged Motti. "I won't fight you if you're unarmed."

"You won't fight me at all because I refuse. You would lose in an instant."

"Most likely, but there's only two options here and your refusal is not one of them."

"Isn't it?"

Piett had not considered that both of them could refuse to duel. It would likely lead to a worse outcome than if they were to just do as instructed, but it was an option, however undesirable. The baton was still in Piett's hand, but Motti had not made a motion to take the lightsaber and his defiance made the Emperor lift two fingers and then gently lower them while at the same time, Motti's back began to bend forward until he was locked in a bent over position staring at the floor.

"Pick it up, Admiral."

Stubborn, prideful, unyielding man that he was, Motti did not comply.

Some deep, disturbing bellow that was almost indistinguishable to the ear seemed to hover over Motti and a dribble of blood began to trickle from one of his nostrils. That admirable vein in his head was starting to go again and he was visibly quaking. Piett could not properly see his eyes from this position, but if he didn't know any better, he would have said that they were bloodshot. Whether he was resisting or the Sith was inwardly torturing him, Piett could not tell, but Motti needed goading or he was going to get himself killed just for his audacity.

"You arse, pick it up and fight me," said Piett pressingly.

"Commendable though your determination is, Admiral, it is not a trait valued in one who must be open to embracing new ways of life. You will obey."

A faint whimper escaped Motti as whatever the Emperor was doing to him increased. Blood was now trickling from each nostril and his teeth were grinding together to prevent himself from biting through his tongue or lips.

"If you insist on opposing me, you will never become more than the unextraordinary human you were. Unwanted as a boy, undesired as a young man, unfavored as a man, unappreciated as an officer, unremarkable, a disappointment, always considered less-than, only given your position because it was bought for you, not because you earned it. You could be so much more if only you would accept that you belong to the Force and to me. The validity you seek can only be given if you give in to the dark side."

Pick it up, Conan, damn you.

Piett thought he heard something snap and Motti cried out. "Let me go," he said through gritted teeth. The pain must be bordering on unbearable if he was now asking.

"The dark side does not accept failure, and your mere existence is riddled with it."

"Stop," Motti pleaded, but his plea dissolved into a scream and Piett could stand it no longer. If Motti would not obey, Piett would have to make him. He activated his baton, strode forward, and swung it over his head to bring it crashing down…on a red blade. From the other side of the lightsaber, Motti's eyes bore the hurt of betrayal that Piett had pushed him to this, for the Force had called him to react against his will.

The Emperor brought his hands together twice in a sardonic clap that nonetheless sounded pleased. "Let yourself open to the dark side, Admiral. Allow the hate to break through your floodgates and consume you. Lower your walls and accept what you are."

If Motti hated anything in this moment, it was Piett for exposing his powers and making him unable to dismiss the fact that he was Force-sensitive when he had been stoutly and adamantly denying it for weeks. By engaging him in battle, Piett had forced him to embrace the part of him that he wanted nothing to do with.

Pushing his weight against Motti's blade, Piett swung back around to come at Motti from the other side, but his blow was deflected as Motti straightened up. Piett had lately seen him with blood on his face more often than not, but even such gore could not conceal the frightened little boy who had always yearned for something more but would not believe anything he could not see. That boy had taken to Piett and relied upon the older Piett (along with Jerjerrod, Veers, and Needa) to accept him as the less-than-promising candidate for the Academy and not shun him as the other boys did. It was an unspoken fact that Piett would always see Motti as the younger man who needed protection, but Piett could not shield him from himself or the powers that worked within him.

Piett had just inadvertently given Motti a reason to want to kill him. He could see Motti contemplating whether to cut Piett down as easily as he had done in their training or to hold back, but Motti did neither.

In one fluid stroke he disconnected his weapon from Piett's, whirled around, and made to strike at Vader who was within reach of the blade, but Vader's own lightsaber ignited and matched with Motti's with a sharp, searing clash that was only broken by the Emperor's laughter.

The dark lord of the Sith was leagues better than Jerjerrod and a more experienced swordsman than Commander Skywalker, but where Jerjerrod and the Jedi had always held back, Vader had no reason for doing so and yet he did not draw blood. Vader could have cut Motti in half in any direction, but on orders from the Emperor, he would not. Motti had developed some technique, but rage was fueling him now, and so he hacked away mindlessly with no regard for protecting himself. His first enemy had been Vader and this was his chance to fight the Sith on as level of a playing field as they were ever likely to meet on. He had to know that Vader was toying with him and that he was the inferior one in this fight, but the years of harboring this detestation for the Sith, the Force, and his treatment at the hands of his masters were finally at an end.

"Very good, Admiral. Use the weapons that the Force provides for you to gain the upper hand. Feel its power fueling you to achieve your own ends."

The hollowness in Motti's face was brought to light as the red illuminated his prominent features and cast everything else into a deeper, darker shadow. His eyes– his eyes– were glowing gold and scarlet in a frightening and sinister likeness to the Emperor's. His lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl that made even Vader falter for a moment.

This was what humans turned into when taken by the dark side and to hear Commander Skywalker tell it, this was what had happened to Vader some twenty-odd years ago, but to see it happening to someone in front of him, it gave the Sith pause. What was enough to make a Sith waver was something Piett could not allow to continue. He had been quite forgotten by all parties even though he still held his baton in an offensive position and so, with the decision to insert himself into the duel with the Sith to interrupt the unholy process that was happening to Motti, Piett made it two whole steps before someone caught his elbow.

Veers shook his head to the left, right, and back to the center just once. Was this to allow Motti to be consumed by the force that fed evil into the Sith or was this to repay Piett and protect him from the more experienced fighters?

Motti threw his shoulder against Vader and as the Sith stepped back, Motti struck a blow to the surprise of all by slicing through some of the machinery on Vader's right thigh. Vader examined his wound for a moment but far from showing any signs of fatigue or pain, his breathing changed in a manner that was unmistakably furious.

Now, Motti would pay for scoring a blow. He had not exhibited the same sort of powers as Jerjerrod by being articulate with a blade or being able to manipulate matter with the Force, and so his anger was his only power. Without it, he stood no chance, and Vader was about to make him pay for it with blood.

Even at the most dire of times, Motti proved that he was still wily and still capable of outthinking his opponent to buy himself time. He could either let Vader punish him, or he could distract the Sith, even at the cost of disarming himself, and he chose the latter. Roaring into oblivion, Motti hurtled the lightsaber at the Emperor. Vader blocked the blade with his own and as the two streaks of red clashed in midair, electrical blue veins emitted from the Emperor's fingertips and made contact with Motti. The power with which the energy hit him stopped him dead in his tracks and after a solid five seconds of it, he crumpled as if he were a droid being powered off mid-action.

"Always a disappointment," said the Emperor emotionlessly as he stood up from his throne and approached the spot where Motti lay. "You will learn obedience, or you will die."

Ignoring Veers's hand on him, Piett dragged Veers some ten feet forward before Veers locked his arms across Piett's chest and held him back. "You can't," he told Piett heavily with the exertion of keeping a hold on him.

Violent blue-white branches shot off in several directions from the Emperor's hands, but they all gathered once again, joining to electrocute Motti whose body arched in one direction and then another with his limbs locked in painful positions. His voice cut off and with no way to release the pain, his body convulsed with each wave of energy.

There was no room for error and no time to second guess himself. Whipping his head back, Piett felt his skull make contact with Veers's nose and as Veers released him, Piett had a far-too-late hope that the baton could withstand the electricity as he intercepted the Emperor's attack and almost immediately dropped the baton as he felt the Emperor's power just inches away from making contact with him. The baton shook in his hands, warning him that it was not built to repel or absorb such a powerful amount of energy and when it broke, he would then have nothing to block the attack but his own body.

It was physically impossible to stay standing and Piett dropped to one knee while keeping the baton at eye level. Those two bulbous red and yellow eyes bore into him from the other side of the electricity and though he knew it was unwise to do so, he stared back. He had to be enough this time. He had to stop allowing decisions to be made for him and instead make them himself, and if he had to choose in this moment, he would choose to use his body as a barrier between Motti and the Emperor.

The baton blade short-circuited and died and Piett felt the quickest, strongest, most painful burning sensation shoot through his entire body as the Emperor's energy made contact with him. It sent him in a full backwards rollover that ended with his body draped sideways over Motti's in a fitting end for both of them. He tensed with every muscle within him in preparation for the electrocution that he knew was coming–only it didn't.

Instead, his trooper guards were carrying him backward to a spot some twenty feet back from the throne. His wrists were bound to previously concealed metal loops that were able to be hidden under the floor paneling. The fact that restraint devices had been incorporated into the design of this throne room was a sadistic foresight, but an effective one. Just as Motti had had to watch helplessly while Piett underwent interrogation, so now did Piett have to watch Motti lie motionless and unresponsive on the floor without being able to reach him.

Saying nothing more and not acknowledging anything that had just occurred, the troopers filed out, followed by Veers, and finally the Sith, all too abruptly for Piett's liking. It was as if they had all collectively decided that the subject of Piett and Motti was unimportant and could be put on hold while they attended to other matters. As if this room had not laid host to a torturous hell just moments ago, it now stood empty. How quickly it had all happened and how quickly it had ended.

His own body felt raw from its short time being subjected to the Emperor's attack, but he could see tendrils of smoke curdling off of Motti even some ten minutes later and suspected that Motti's skin was riddled with burn marks. He shuddered to think of what sort of state Motti would be in if the burns were left untreated and how he would have to be peeled out of his rebel uniform if it had sealed itself and melted to his skin.

Distant sunlight was beginning to stream in through the central wind screen behind the throne, but it was not enough to lighten the room by any significance .Always stuck in a waiting game to see what horrors would come next, Piett watched Motti lay there with no signs of waking or moving and at least three or four hours had to have passed during which Piett did not see him flinch, breathe, or make any unconscious bodily movement. He might even have died and Piett would have no way of knowing since he could not see properly from this side of the room. He could not be dead, though; the Emperor was too invested in orchestrating his journey to the dark side to have killed him. The attack was vicious, but surely not lethal.

The silence was eventually punctured by the approach of someone ascending the spiral staircase from below and Piett saw the immaculately steamed kepi of Veers appear. At the top of the staircase, he cast a glance about the room in the upper corners, but the speed and lack of concern with which he did so suggested that he was only confirming what he already had hoped for. Knowing what he knew of Veers and how he obviously had not had the authority to be in Piett and Motti's cell the last time, Piett could wager that Veers was clearly here by his own command since there were no recording devices in the throne room to alert the Sith to his whereabouts.

Bypassing Piett completely, Veers went to Motti and his stride was almost indiscernible from how he had walked before the loss of his human leg. Now, the mechno-limb fell heavier and louder than a normal foot would and it made his approach sound as intimidating as it ever sounded when Vader crossed a room. Taking one knee, Veers felt for a pulse on Motti and must have found one, for Piett was convinced that Veers would have made some sort of expression if he had just encountered Motti's lifeless body. He made to stand, but Motti's left hand snapped out and closed around Veers's ankle.

If Piett jumped, it was nothing to the reaction Veers had who normally could not be fazed by anything. Veers went for his blaster as if he had been attacked by a wild creature, but he pulled himself up short before unholstering it, for Motti was staring up at him with bared teeth and eyes that pleaded. Grabbing Veers had been an involuntary reaction as a precursor for what was to come next.

Foam began to bubble at Motti's lips and then spill out of the corners of his mouth. His hand tightened in a death-grip around Veer's ankle but his other had contorted into a splayed, frozen position. Both of his legs locked and his entire body became a statue, but one that was violently trembling. A gurgle from his throat suggested that he was choking on his own saliva.

"Help him," Piett called. When Veers continued to stare wordlessly back at Motti, Piett found the tone of voice that he needed to rouse Veers to action in the only way the general would respond. "Maxim, turn him over now or he's going to drown!"

Without breaking free from Motti's hold, Veers grabbed Motti's shoulder and rolled him onto his side, keeping him propped up with as little contact as possible as Motti continued to twitch about. For several long minutes the grotesque jerking about continued, but Veers continued to support Motti's head and hold him on his side. Gradually, the magnitude of the shaking lessened and when the tremors subsided and the tension in Motti's body released, Veers pried Motti's hand off of him and stepped back.

"It would have been kinder to let him go," he said as if he were contemplating undoing his work and smothering Motti where he lay. "It would be far better than the death that awaits him."

"You know why I can't do that." If ever Piett made a selfish decision, it would be here and now when he could have let Veers mercy-kill Motti but could not bring himself to allow it to happen because he was not ready to say goodbye and face the end alone.

"I know," said Veers, and he might have sounded saddened by that if not for the fact that he was incapable of feeling remorse, "and I pity you for it."

"I pity you for not being capable of feeling the same."

"Still and forever holding onto things that have brought your life no meaning."

"It never made anyone less of a man for valuing life. It was never a weakness, as I constantly reminded you, Maxim. You were the first of us to ever put words to action because of the loss you felt for your family and ever since, you've looked down on us for caring for each other in the same capacity. "

Ignoring Piett's comment, Veers's professional tone returned. "I am being sent back down onto Endor to head the search for the rebels. I offer you the same as I did before."

"You offer, but you wouldn't be able to follow through with it," said Piett knowingly. "They would know it was you and in any case, you couldn't do it. You could betray us, but you would never be able to make the mortal blow. So go find the rebels if you can, but know that if you meet Tiaan, you won't be able to kill him, and that is not weakness."

Veers had the grace to linger a moment longer as if he actually were considering Piett's words, and then he was gone. Piett had had to say goodbye to him more times than he should have and especially since he had vowed not to speak to him again, but as Veers pointed out, Piett could never truly let go of someone until they were dead.

The silence that followed Veers's departure was one Piett did not want to be left in and though he knew Motti may be in too much pain to do so, he implored, "Conan, please, say something to me."

Motti moved just slightly as his breath became alert rather than unconscious and his voice was quiet, weakened, and hollow but not defeated as he called back, "I'm still here."

A rush of affection and pride for his friend made Piett's heart swell. The man was not unbendable, but he was unbreakable.