ADMIRAL MOTTI
Hallucinations were not something he had put much stock in before; they were experienced by the weak-minded and addle-brained, but hel must be one or the other if he was seeing this vision of a wizened man before him now, because surely, such a man could not exist as this man was. He had a hazy blue lining to his silhouette and an unnatural brightness to him as if he was emanating the light itself, but otherwise, he appeared quite ordinary. Modest brown robes and an aged sand-colored garb made up his uniform, if it could be called that. A neatly trimmed white beard with the same colored hair. An inviting but saddened expression on his wrinkled face.
Motti didn't know this man, had never seen him before, and yet something told him that he had had an interaction with him in the past.
"The harder you fight against what you are, the more likely you are to be turned into something you are not."
Suddenly, he knew who this man was and whose voice he had heard in his head during those fragile moments. He did not know this man's name, but he fit the description of Skywalker's master, a man cut down by Vader, or perhaps the man who had used Vader to meet death and become one with the Force. This Jedi Master had guided him before Motti was ever aware of the extensive reach that the Force had: when Vader had first laid the figurative hand of the Force on him to demonstrate the mite of his powers, when he first stood before the Emperor and awaited sentencing, when his shuttle was crashing down onto the forest moon, when he paused as he considered killing the princess during the chaotic capture of the outpost. The Jedi Master's voice had appeared in his head exactly when he needed it to as a stronger, more experienced conscience.
He had a mind to ask what this man's name was, ask him why he was here to offer advice to him and not Skywalker or Jerjerrod, but before he could even open his cracked lips to speak, the man answered.
"I can be seen only by those who need me when they need me. I am one with the Force, and I have come to you because you called to me."
No, I didn't, answered Motti stoutly. I don't even know who you are.
"Your soul asked for my help. You need strength before you are to face this final test, and I have come to offer you usage of that strength in the only way you know how. Now that you've seen my face, you know why it is I who appear to you now and what you must do. There is more than just the souls of you and your friend to save here."
I'm not one of you. I have no part in this, Motti told the Jedi Master forcefully.
"You always have had a part, and denying your involvement does not negate the fact that you were meant to play that part. Accept who you are and what you are, or lose yourself to a creature you do not recognize."
Why would you care? You're dead; nothing that happens here has any effect on you.
"Would you not also care what happened to those you love after you have left the universe in which they exist?" asked the Jedi Master knowledgeably. "Your actions impact the lives of so many, and you have no idea of the rippling effect that can cause. Vader's use of the Force on you set you on this path to fighting against who you really are, which led many others to where they now are. The pieces are falling into place, as they were always meant to. You were meant to be here, exactly as you are now. If you've not yet given up, then you must hold on for what is to come."
I have nothing left to give, Motti protested.
"By existing, you are still giving. Every breath you take is in open defiance of what the Emperor is trying to do to you. You are the most defiant Force-sensitive being I have encountered in many, many years. The last was my apprentice, the man you hate so much."
Being compared to Vader by the Sith's former master was one thing, but being compared on the spectrum of the Force was either the greatest insult or finest compliment Motti could ever hope to achieve, and he could not figure out which the Jedi Master meant.
"You are more alike than you think. You must use that to reach him. He despises you because of how alike you are. If any part of Anakin Skywalker remains within him, he is telling you to be stronger than he was in closing your mind to the Emperor."
You say that as if it's a simple thing to do. I have no experience in closing my mind. I'm not versed in the ways of the Force. I'm not strong enough to fight the Sith.
"You already are. Your stubbornness has protected you this far. I would never have encouraged this before, but since you are not among the usual Force-sensitive individuals I have advised, I can confidently tell you to let it guide you."
Who are you, old man? And what am I to you that you'd come to me when I hate everything you stand for?
"Your fear of the Force is born from lack of understanding. You fear that it can be used to hurt you, but it can shield you as well, if you would allow it. Find yourself as a man who can co-exist with the Force, Conan, or watch it consume everything you hold dear. Hold on."
The throne room suddenly stood dark and devoid of light as it had been for days and Motti could not tell if he had just hallucinated the entire interaction with that old man, or if it had happened in an instant that felt like an hour, or if it had happened at all. He felt no different, except there were thoughts in his head, information that had not been there before.
Reeling with the decision to use this information or not, he called out to Piett across the room, not that he expected an answer. He had no sense of time here, but he knew it had been several days since the last time Piett spoke aloud, though he could still make awful noises when the IT-0 droid came to administer his daily dose of pain injections. One day, he had just stopped talking altogether and no matter what Motti said to try and rouse him, he would not speak and would not acknowledge that he was being spoken to. The mind's last defense was to go to a distant place where it would remain untouched to preserve the master it served. Exposed to pain that he could not continue to endure, Piett had retreated into himself as his body held on, but his mind gave up its fight. Nothing could call him back from the place he had gone.
"Firmus, can you hear me?" Motti asked for what had to be the fiftieth time since he had last heard Piett's voice responding to him in a comprehensive manner. He needed someone's input that wasn't himself. Piett could have been the voice of reason that explained what he thought Motti's vision of the Jedi Master had been since Piett would not have been able to see it anyway. But Piett believed enough in the ways of the Force to tell Motti if he thought it was codswallop or not.
Piett's eyes were wide open, bloodshot, but not attentive as a result of being pumped full of adrenaline enough to keep him awake against his will. He had only been able to sleep when the adrenaline wore off for fifteen minutes at a time since they had been brought to this throne room and on top of utter and complete exhaustion, his body had been through more than ten men had in their entire lifetime. Motti wanted to believe that his friend was still in there somewhere, but unlike Jerjerrod who could feel such things or Skywalker who could sense Piett's mental presence, Motti only had a human bein'gs normal perceptive abilities and all of them were telling him that Piett was gone.
The droid that fed Piett just enough nutrition to keep his body going disconnected itself from the tube in his arm and wheeled off, but halfway to the lift, it crossed paths with Vader who had stolen silently into the room despite the thunderous footfalls that normally announced his presence. The Sith approached Piett, took hold of the back of his neck, and held onto him for a few moments to gauge something, Motti didn't know what, but he seemed satisfied with his discovery and moved toward Motti. Seeing that Motti was not only mentally present, but completely focused on him, Vader stopped just out of reach in case Motti wanted to try and kick him.
"Why can't you just let me go?" Motti asked him with equal parts curiosity and exasperation. "You hate me, you don't want me becoming what the Emperor wants to turn me into. Kill me, or give me the means to do it myself."
"If your life was mine to take, I would gladly have done so when first you crossed me, but as it stands, your life is only forfeit if the Emperor decrees it to be so," said Vader bitterly.
As if an exterior force were feeding him both his courage and his words, Motti recalled information to mind that had been given to him by Skywalker, and perhaps by a hallucination as well. He knew how to provoke the Sith as only he could.
"Suddenly you're above killing? It didn't seem to make a difference when you slaughtered those children in the Jedi Temple twenty-three years ago, yet time and age have somehow softened you?"
Vader took a moment to contemplate how Motti knew this, but answered crisply, "You know nothing of that day."
"I was ten and heading for the Academy where they would teach us the history of the rise of the Empire; of course I know what happened that day. I knew it from one perspective, and your son told me the other. History remembers you as the hero who took down the threat that was the Jedi Order, but your son's masters recall that day as the day Anakin Skywalker died because he cared so deeply about losing someone close to him that he committed atrocities to protect them, only to lose them anyway. It was your wife, wasn't it? Skywalker's mother died, and you couldn't handle the loss and it made you into–this."
Vader's silence was validation that Motti was correct and what's more, that Motti had infuriated him beyond words, but if the Emperor's orders protected him, Vader could only torture him further, and wasn't that a comforting thought.
"I know better now than to insist that the Force doesn't exist anymore, but it can't control me as it controls you and continues to dictate your every action. I am more than my identity within the Force and I can make decisions without its interference. I don't need permission from the Force to do anything."
"You were a boy when the dark side seized its rule over the galaxy and you still understand so little concerning the Force, still the ignorant child that you were when first you challenged me. This useless lecturing will not change my decision to spare you, Admiral, and neither will it change the outcome of what the Emperor has already foreseen for you. You continue to hold onto your resolve out of spite, but your actions have only hurt your friend. Admiral Piett does not have the time that you think he does."
"I know he's gone," Motti admitted, but even as he said it, it felt like a knife to his gut as he realized that he had one day had his last conversation with Piett without even being aware that it was the last time they would speak together. "He hasn't spoken in days. His body is alive, but his mind is dead and you're keeping him alive by force-feeding him through that tube. If you had any decency, you'd let him die, too."
"His mind is closed off, but he is still in there. It was a waste to lose him to the rebel cause, as he was a valued and respected leader, but he chose that path for himself, as did you, and now your lives are ours to do with as we will. The Emperor has decided to agree to Commander Jerjerrod's terms, and so you will be returned to the rebels."
"I don't believe for one second that either of you have any intention of honoring that trade. General Veers is useless to you after he made an entire outpost of men surrender to the rebels and Tiaan isn't stupid enough to hand himself over. The Emperor stands to gain nothing in this trade."
"The Commander is not unintelligent, but he is far too honorable to not surrender himself in exchange for you. He will make both trades, and that will be the end of it."
Vader was absolutely right in that Jerjerrod was too reputable for his own good, but even if Jerjerrod did have the intention of taking Motti's place, Motti could not allow that to happen. He had to egg Vader on further to prevent the negotiations from taking place.
"I am an obstacle for you, so why not just get rid of me and be done with it? If you let me go, you're willingly giving your enemy a weapon."
"The Emperor is hoping that your fellow Imperial Force-sensitive companion will prove to be more cooperative if he sees that you are still fighting. The dark side feeds off of the turmoil of having to see a loved one in pain."
"Which explains how easily you fell to the dark side. You're no better than the rest of us, but you're willing to see the Emperor mutilate your own son to turn him to the dark side. As I've said before, I don't particularly like your son, but he understands more than you give him credit for, and he was right about one thing: you're too blind to see how you're being used. Skywalker told me how the Emperor had you kill his former apprentice and then worked his way into your mind to turn you against the Jedi. Now that you've outlived your usefulness to the Emperor, he's vying for Skywalker, Tiaan, or me to rise up against you and strike you down. And when we've grown too old to serve him, he'll find another apprentice to kill us. All the while, his power grows, the Empire grows, and what happens to the rest of us?"
"That astute observation could not have been your own creation." said Vader, though with a touch of intriguing reluctance.
"It was collective guesswork between the three of us who may usurp your position," Motti lied, as he had also learned of some of this from that Jedi Master that may or may not have been there in the throne room with him not even an hour ago. Words were being fed to him that he did not have complete control over, but he felt empowered to say them and make this Sith see him as an observant, intelligent man, if not an equal. "Believe me when I say that I've never wanted anything less than to become some hulking, prowling figure who follows obediently behind his master and amounts to nothing more than a lackey forced to do the dirty work while struggling to breathe through some awful apparatus. I wanted respect once, but now, not from you. We're far past respect, but this time, you're the one blinded by arrogance and your own powers of the Force. You think you know all there is to know about it, but you can't even see how you've been manipulated to serve the Emperor at the cost to your own son. You've lost out on twenty years of a relationship with your only family just to appease that piece of shit that you pledged loyalty to. And you call me the fool."
He had struck a nerve and Vader placed a large, crushing hand on the space between his neck and shoulder pressing tightly enough that Motti feared it might break. Vader was aiming to make Motti crumble and apologize, but Motti had been subjected to this treatment one too many times to think that it would last forever. He only had to endure long enough for Vader to get his point across, and then it would be over. "The Force is not to be ignored or mocked for how it chooses to deal fate to us in our individual ways. It will not allow you to reject your true calling."
He feared that his arm might disintegrate and fall away from his body completely from the pressure Vader was applying to his shoulder, but with his eyes streaming, he managed to choke out, "You don't want me to accept it."
Vader released him and Motti let his binders take his weight as he hung limply in place, unable to nurse his arm.
The Sith sounded nearly human as a wistful, regretful tone came from the vocal box of his mask. "We do not have the luxury of individual wants in the presence of the Force. We only serve, and that is something you must accept. I cannot change the fact that the Force desires you, and so I must accept it as it is, as must you."
How infuriatingly confusing this person was. He loathed Motti, would not help him, would not spare him, but so adamantly insisted that Motti give in to a religion and way of life that Motti did not want. Motti was a religious man, but he did not believe that he had no say in choosing whether he would live or die by the ways of the Force.
"Then let us say for argument's sake that I accepted its presence and calling and whatever else I need to acknowledge. Would you answer one definitive answer? If I bent to the ways of the Force right at this moment and even offered an apology, would you answer this one question that I want to know?"
"But you are not so easily defeated, and so your offer holds no weight," Vader observed.
"To hell with it, then. Appealing to your sense of humanity, however deeply it may be buried, would you tell me man to man if Firmus is truly gone?"
Surely, referring to the Sith as a man had to have some sort of profound effect on him, had to stir up some unresolved feelings of what it had meant to be human once. Vader's mask turned in Piett's direction and thought it might have been a trick of what little light came in through the windscreens behind the throne, there was almost certainly a sympathetic cock of the head from this machine that used to be a man.
"The part of your friend that you are looking for still exists, but he will not live long enough for you or anyone else to reclaim it. The rebels will exchange General Veers for what is left of Admiral Piett and then they all will be destroyed."
Motti paid no heed to the Sith's dire proclamation, for he knew that the rebel resistance was too determined to be wiped out over one exchange. Vader insisted that there was still a chance for Piett and that chance would only be accessible if Jerjerrod could get to him in time. Somehow, the Jedi and Jerjerrod would have to bring Piett back between the time they traded Veers to the time that they would meet the Sith at the shield generator bunker. They had exactly one day, or they would lose him completely, and Motti might never be able to see that resurgence of the part of Piett that recognized him as a friend.
Jerjerrod was definitely noble enough to hand himself over in exchange for Motti, but he could not be allowed to do so after everything Motti and Piett had been put through to protect him from the very fate he was willingly walking into. Motti would call his selfless act one of stupidity, but he knew there was more than that. Knowing what he knew of his friend, Jerjerrod would have some other measure in place.
Hold on, the Jedi Master had said. For however long it took, Hold on.
/ / /
COMMANDER JERJERROD
"Scanners picking up movement from the west," reported a rebel as some twenty of them including Skywalker and Chewbacca but excluding Leia and General Solo stood just inside the treeline, surveying the open patch of long grass between them and the other side of the forest where the Sith were to appear. Several agonizing minutes later during which Jerjerrod had to tame the nervous tick in his hand to not instinctively reach for his weapon, the Sith made a demonstration of power by arriving with some hundred troops, one AT-ST walker, and at the forefront where he would be exposed to rebel fire if negotiations went sour, was Piett. Jerjerrod did not see the Emperor or any sign of the Red Battalion that Veers had mentioned, which told him that either the Emperor had decided not to come to this particular exchange, he had not arrived on the moon yet, or he had no plans to take part in the trade at all. It was just as well, because this was not the place to challenge the Sith in any capacity when they did not even have a fraction of their numbers ready to receive fire from the Imperial side.
It would be unwise to try and make contact with Piett at this moment when Vader was likely trying to intercept any communication, and so Jerjerrod could only observe through his binocs that Piett was upright and lucid at the very least.
Without preamble, a trooper at the front of the congregation announced over a projected communicating device, "For the exchange to take place, one individual is to escort the general a quarter of the way and then send him on his own the rest of the way."
"I'll go," Jerjerrod volunteered. "This was my idea; let me go first in case anything happens."
"We have you covered in case they have plans to try and double-cross us," said Skywalker. "Just get the admiral and then drop if you sense anything."
Taking hold of Veers at the crook of his elbow, Jerjerrod bade him to start walking and the two of them moved slowly through the long grass. As soon as they broke cover from the trees, Jerjerrod could see a stormtrooper prod Piett to start moving. That, at least, was a good sign that Piett was able to walk on his own and follow instructions, though he still did not appear aware of the situation.
Combing his eyes over the scene in front of him in search of some trap he may have missed or some omen that things were about to go horribly wrong, Jerjerrod did not realize that he had a loose hold on Veers, but Veers went directly where Jerjerrod was willing, and at the quarter point, he stopped when he felt Jerjerrod release him. He dared not turn to look at him, but barely moved his lips as he asked, "Are you still going to come for Conan?"
"What difference does it make to you?" Jerjerrod demanded.
"Because if you value your life and the lives of those people you joined with, you'll run and keep running."
"I don't value my life more than Conan and Firmus's, though. That is where we are different. Now, go."
"If you choose to walk to your death, you are making that decision for Firmus as well. Look at him; he can't fight." It was with an almost indiscernible amount of pain that Veers made this observation as they both saw Piett stumble and fall out of sight before his escort hollered at him to stand again which he did with mud now coating his chin.
"You've always underestimated him," said Jerjerrod. "And he will make the decisions for himself as he always has."
"He's not there anymore," Veers insisted. "You saw him on the projection; he's gone."
"Even if he is, it's not your concern, is it?"
"If you make this trade, only to get him killed, you are no better than those of us who have had to sacrifice our men for a greater cause."
"The only life I am willing to barter with is my own. Go now, Maxim, and goodbye."
Here, Veers turned fully to look at him, his gaze hardened, searching, asking what made Jerjerrod the way he was, but Jerjerrod had no answers to give, and so Veers began the sole march back to the loving embrace of the Empire. Across the way, Piett was trudging along by himself as well with no clear purpose, but once they reached the midway point, he halted as Veers brushed past him without sparing a second to look down at him.
"Firmus, keep walking to me," Jerjerrod called as he saw the recognition and hesitation there in Piett's face. Piett kept his eyes on Veers until he could no longer turn his neck far enough and was in the process of fully turning to watch Veers walk away when Jerjerrod said louder, "Firmus, walk to me now."
As if shocked into compliance, Piett started shuffling forward not at all in a way that Jerjerrod associated with him. Piett had always been light on his feet, but not to the point where he was afraid to even make one footfall as he was now. His movements were jerky, flighty, and made in anticipation of some sort of punishment.
With longer legs, Veers reached the Empirical side first where the troopers were releasing his binders and though he could not hear it, Jerjerrod could feel the interrogation taking place as Vader questioned him. Veers did not falter in posture or answer and whatever he said must have pleased Vader, for the both of them disappeared into the trees to where their transports were likely waiting for them.
Three feet from Jerjerrod, Piett's legs gave out and Jerjerrod took a leap forward to catch him, lower him gently to the ground, and tilt his face up into the light to get a better look at him. As far as he could see, Piett had not a scratch on him that he had not already had before being captured, for there were still marks of his time spent in training, the time spent wandering through the forest after the crash, and from the initial rebel ambush. True to their word, the Sith had reversed whatever had been done to him, except his eyes were different.
Permanently etched with a trace of sadness that had been there his entire life, they now bore signs of helplessness and irreversible damage. Whatever had been done to him during his prisoner sentence, it had shaken something within him.
"Are you alright?" Jerjerrod asked him, knowing it was useless to do so, as Piett had not spoken at all from what he understood of his last viewing of his friend.
"No," answered Piett.
That one word gave Jerjerrod an immeasurable amount of hope and he waved a hand at Skywalker to ask for help. As the Jedi took hold of Piett's elbow, Piett suddenly flew at him with a crazed desperation. As soon as Skywalker's hands released Piett, he withdrew into himself, turning his back to Skywalker and hugging his stomach to protect it.
They broke him, thought Jerjerrod with fear lancing through his heart. He's terrified of being touched because he expects pain to follow.
If the Sith had still been in sight, Jerjerrod would have marched right out into no-man's-land with his lightsaber drawn, but as it stood, he could only look to where his enemy had been swallowed by the trees with his breath quickening and his temper rising. Those bastards had done this to Piett and Jerjerrod could not even take one life or show any demonstration of his anger.
"Steady," said Skywalker.
But no, he could not be steady when he needed someone to atone for this horrible outcome. Someone had to be responsible for this, someone needed to hurt, and Jerjerrod wanted to– needed to–deliver that pain. He had already walked ten feet without being aware of it by the time Skywalker caught him by the wrist.
"Focus, Commander. Your friend needs you present here and now more than he needs you to avenge what was done to him."
The call, the temptation to go trailing after the Sith was far too great to ignore, and he hated that such a bloodlust within him was only born when his friends were involved. He was not a violent man, yet the dark side encouraged his wrath. If he had so easily abandoned the Empire when his life was threatened, how was it that he could not do the same when the dark side beckoned to him? He was not easily influenced, a fact he took enormous pride in, but he was giving in to the pull of the dark side at the slightest whim, and that shattered his belief that he was a morally strong individual. Doubting himself was the first step to self-destruction.
Take revenge for your friend. Let the dark side feed you the power to avenge him. Use it to its full mite.
He knew, he knew the Emperor had the ability to breach his protective barriers and attempt to influence him and that he was doing that very thing right now, but he could not shake himself of the presence.
"Tiaan, come back here–"
Go forward, hunt them down for what they did. Kill all of them and complete your journey towards the dark side.
Not yet.
Jerjerrod brought himself to a halt as he felt that voice pulling him, no, pushing him away. There was hurt in that voice, experience, warning, as it tried to deter Jerjerrod from this path that could only end in darkness.
Behind him, Piett gave a yelp like a beaten animal and without planning on what to do once he acted, he drew his lightsaber into ignition and raised it threateningly at the cause of Piett's distress. Skywalker's green blade was live and held parallel to the ground to catch his if he struck and Piett was on the ground behind Skywalker with his arms wrapped protectively over his head. The scene did not make sense to Jerjerrod.
"You hear him, Commander? The admiral won't tolerate anyone touching him except you. He needs you here, and if you can't get a hold of yourself, you'll lose what's left of him. For him, you have to remain present."
Still waiting for Skywalker to explain what had driven Piett down into the fetal position, Jerjerrod did not lower or deactivate his lightsaber.
"You couldn't even hear me talking to you just now. I couldn't reach you because the Emperor was blocking me out. It wasn't the best strategy, but all I had to do was grab the admiral's arm and he went down like I stabbed him, and it pulled you out of the Emperor's hold. No one hurt him, but no one will be able to help him if we don't have you. I can't be here to help break you out of the dark side's pull every time, and I need you to realize that."
You didn't, though. That was someone else.
Someone else was on his side, actively trying to intercept his path to corruption.
He sheathed his blade, strode past Skywalker, and held out his hand to Piett as he attempted to block out all thoughts of the Sith, the dark side, and restitution.
"Firmus, give me your hand. We're leaving now."
Peering out from under his arms, Piett regarded Jerjerrod's hand warily, but his focus on the present was a good sign when he had seemed unaware of his surroundings before. Everything about the situation was wrong from Piett's fear to his verbal unresponsiveness. Piett was never at a loss for word or subtle expression; he was a man of constant communication, of certainty in his own words if not his actions or the actions of others around him. He was a constant in Jerjerrod's life as of late, someone who could be relied on to give unbiased advice and be at Jerjerrod's shoulder to support him. Never had Jerjerrod had to look down on Piett as the lesser in any capacity. Never had Jerjerrod had to consider that Piett was looking to him for help as if Piett was a lost child.
He tried extending his consciousness to Piett as he had before, but found his way blocked. When before he had navigated an illuminated, winding path that had led him to each mental presence that he recognized, he collided with a solid wall now that he could not push past, though he could sense Piett just on the other side, hiding in his last refuge. Now was not the time to go pounding at the door with a demand to be let in, so he retreated and asked Piett once again to take his hand.
Such distrust there was in Piett's face, such unwillingness to accept touch from anyone because he associated it with pain. He had been neglected and denied a gentle hand for so long that it was now foreign to him.
"Stand up, then," said Jerjerrod. "If you understand me, stand up and walk with me." He made a motion that the rebels were to start walking to their transports to give Piett space and he took several steps away from Piett, beckoning him to follow. "It's your decision, Firmus. You can stay there, or you can come with me."
Being given a choice was what spurred Piett to action. His mind recognized that the decision was his and that he had the option to say no, but that there was also no danger in doing either. Still hugging himself to protect his vitals against a nonexistent threat, Piett came shakily to his feet and staggered a few steps forward. He seemed to be working through a mental obstacle to take one or two more measured steps and this went on for several minutes until he drew level with Jerjerrod.
His presence did more for Piett than his words could, and so Jerjerrod walked alongside Piett, stopping when Piett did and waiting for him when his traumatic memories invented a reason to not proceed. It was slow-going, and they were wasting valuable time, but Jerjerrod knew that they would destroy any chance they had of bringing his friend back if they pushed him before he was ready. Still, they would have to find some cure or solution to deal with him in less than twenty-four hours because if they didn't resolve this by tomorrow's exchange, they would lose their last chance.
/ /
"Brace yourself, Commander, because it isn't good news," said Skywalker.
At the Ewok encampment, a quick scan of Piett had yielded no wounds that needed tending to and no cause for medical attention. In fact, besides his mental state and slightly malnourished appearance, he was positively healthy, and so there was nothing that could be done to help him from a medical perspective. Still, Jerjerrod didn't see how the news could be any worse than his own conclusion. Piett's mind was shattered and his friend was all but gone; what could possibly be worse than that?
Gathered around a base-level campfire, the rebel leaders were juggling Piett's condition and last minute preparations for what tomorrow would hold. They could not convince Piett to climb any ramps or stairs when it had been difficult enough getting him on and off of the speeder bikes, so they had to conduct what tests Piett would allow on the ground and after two hours of this, Skywalker looked grim indeed as he delivered the news while Piett remained huddled under a military issue blanket beside Jerjerrod, staring off into the distance with a troubled expression.
"They implanted an inhibitor chip into the base of his skull that makes him more susceptible to pain and triggers his fear response. They might have done the same to Admiral Motti, but while I think the Force protected Admiral Motti to an extent, Admiral Piett was not so lucky. He can't function properly or reasonably with it in, but we risk killing him if we try to remove it. And if we leave it in, the probability of him coming back is not looking promising. We essentially have a fear-ridden child to look after."
"Now we know why they gave him to us so easily," said General Solo grimly. "There's almost nothing left of him. It was damn near impossible for our medics to run tests on him when he wouldn't let anyone touch him."
"That observation is extremely helpful, thank you very much, General," Jerjerrod snapped sarcastically. "I don't need reminding of the way the Sith massacred the man I knew."
"Commander," said Leia empathetically, "I know you want to believe that there's something left of him–"
"There is. He's not done yet. If I can feel that his mind is still there, one of you surely must be able to as well. It's still there, but blocked. He's responsive to me, which tells me that he recognizes me to an extent. He spoke to me the moment he crossed into our boundary line."
"Because you were all he was able to focus on while he was being tortured. You're the reason he put himself in that position and what he held onto was the knowledge that he was protecting you. You're the one thing he knows won't hurt him, but that won't help him heal."
"Then what will?" Jerjerrod asked expectantly, for surely Skywalker could not be telling him this just to admit defeat. There had to be a solution, some way to bring back the part of Piett that was still holding on.
"If we can remove the chip, it might bring his fear levels back down to a manageable state and make it easier to communicate with him. That's half the battle, though, because sedating him to remove the chip won't tell us if we're doing something wrong when we're in there, so he'll need to be fully awake and if he won't let us touch him, we can't take it out. And if we manage to get the chip out without causing paralysis or worse, then we have to make contact with him mentally to try and entice him to come back. So many things could go wrong–"
"This is wrong," said Jerjerrod with a wave at Piett's unresponsive form. "He can't live like this and if the alternative is to risk paralyzing him or even killing him for the chance that he can return to who he was, we're going to do that."
"But you understand that his mind is closed off?" pressed Skywalker as if Jerjerrod wasn't understanding the gravity of the situation. "As weak as he is, as fragile of a condition he's in, his mind won't let anyone in. To protect his last bit of sanity, he's shut down, and if we go in there and trigger the wrong response, it could make that last connection to reality snap."
"He–can't–live–like–this," Jerjerrod emphasized. "Do what you have to and tell me how I can help."
Resigned, Skywalker sat forward to stress the seriousness of what was about to transpire. "You have to try to keep him calm. If he panics while we're removing the chip, he'll die. I'll do what I can for him to stabilize him, but he has to make the decision to come back once we have the chip out. I'll give it everything I have because he did the same for us, but while you're trying to keep him grounded, the connection may hurt you or scramble your brain. You stand the risk of mentally injuring yourself and on top of that, if his mind can't recover, if the pain and memories are too much, you have to be prepared to let him go all the same."
"I've already said my goodbyes to both of them several times in my head," said Jerjerrod emptily. "While I see him sitting there, it's not him, and so if he dies in the process or if I have to be the one to smother him if he's left in a vegetative state after, I've already accepted that he's gone. But while I can feel him still holding on, I have to try to help him. This is non-negotiable."
Fate did have odd ways of handling things to have brought Jerjerrod to a time and place where Princess Leia Organa would be filled with such empathy for him that she was practically emitting a visible aura of concern. This woman had no reason to want any interaction at all when he was partially responsible for her devastating loss, but she did not even acknowledge his part to play in that ordeal now. She did not hold him responsible in the least and was actively worried about something going wrong if he chose to go forward.
"Commander–" she began carefully, but he cut her off.
"With respect, you told me before that even though it put you in danger to go back for him, you knew your brother was still alive. You took that risk for him, knowing you were the only one who could help your brother. As your ally, I ask you to let me do the same for mine."
Chewing on the inside of her cheek in contemplation, she then said sternly, "If I see you struggling, I'm pulling you out."
"You won't have to."
"Tiaan–" Jerjerrod thought he had been electrocuted at the use of his name by her, which suggested familiarity on a deeper level, that suggested that they might even be more than allies. "Don't make me come and get you."
"Understood."
He stood up to prompt the others to prepare for the weighty task that they needed to get underway and Skywalker called to their lead field medic, an older woman named Cirron who had treated Jerjerrod, Motti, and Piett on more than a few occasions. Jerjerrod knelt before Piett who gave no indication that he knew Jerjerrod was there.
"Firmus, I am going to put my hands on your face. Whatever you might feel happening to you, it is just me, and know that I am trying to be as gentle as I can to not harm you. If you feel pain, you have to show me and do so calmly, and the pain will stop. Nothing and no one is here to hurt you, but you must be calm. You cannot panic under any circumstances. If you have understood any of this, I need you to find some way to tell me."
Staring at his hands where the bones were perhaps more prominent than they should be, Piett repeated in a deadpan voice, "Calm."
As before, Jerjerrod did not expect a verbal reply, and he took it as a signal that he should act now. This would be the moment he discovered if he was strong enough with the Force to keep another individual stable. He had only known about his existence as a Force-sensitive being for a few short months and this was not the ideal way to put his skills to the test, but this was as close to a Jedi trial as he was going to get to earn the right to wield his lightsaber, to earn the right to use the powers that he had been given to him. Not a Sith, not a Jedi, something in between, and that something had to be enough this time.
He showed Piett his hands and let him follow the motion with his eyes up to where Jerjerrod placed both hands gingerly on either side of Piett's face. The collection of colors that made up Piett's hazel eyes saw past Jerjerrod, unfocused and unsteady, but the moment he felt someone digging at the base of his skull, he would squirm and those eyes would take him back to the Emperor's throne room. With a quick glance at Skywalker as a sign to proceed, Jerjerrod held onto Piett and prayed that the latter didn't move.
Skywalker shot a laser injection into the crook of Piett's neck and Piett's muscles tensed, but instantly released as his eyelids relaxed and the rigidness of his posture melted away with the effects of the sedative. Cirron touched him on the back of his neck, but Piett did not seem aware of the touch at all, and so with time working against them, Cirron inserted a syringe that would monitor and alert to Piett's vitals and then she and Skywalker began the chip extraction process. Each and every movement was carefully calculated as Skywalker gave Cirron the go-ahead to make an incision here or to lift the skin there depending on how Piett reacted to it. When Jerjerrod felt him tensing, he would lift a finger to Skywalker and then lower it once he could talk Piett into a state of calm once again. At several points, he had to elicit a reaction for Cirron to know if Piett's brain's connection to the rest of his body had been severed. Once or twice, Jerjerrod saw Piett's nails digging into the pant material at his knees and had to coax Piett out of whatever horrid memory he was stuck in.
Constant eye contact, reassurance, a continuous gentle hand, and relentless prodding at the walls of Piett's mind was what kept him from going to pieces. Jerjerrod could feel that Piett was feeling pain from the Cirron's invasion at the back of his head, but that his body was far too used to pain now to react as violently to it as he would have under normal circumstances. Having the base of his brain exposed was not even a fraction of the living hell he had gone through during his time as an Empirical prisoner.
To Jerjerrod, who was watching Piett closely without taking his eyes off of him, the minute changes happening on his friend's face were not obvious, but to someone who looked at him once ten minutes ago and then again at this moment, they would see that his waxen skin was starting to flush with a bruised purplish color, that the veins in his eyes were beginning to bulge, and that his knees were now bleeding from how deeply his fingernails had cut into them.
Skywalker mouthed, Almost there, to Jerjerrod whose legs had cramped, fallen asleep, and lost all feeling a long time ago, but he dared not move or risk letting go of Piett. Cirron must have located the chip and was now attempting to extract it, for a low, guttural, strained sound was coming from the base of Piett's throat and the sharp sensation Jerjerrod experienced at the front of his brain was of a pain that was not his own.
It was an indication that Piett was allowing Jerjerrod to share in this pain as a method of coping, and though the chip was still attached, Jerjerrod knew he had to make contact with Piett while his friend's defenses were low. Skywalker had taught him that speaking to someone through the Force was an ethereal experience, that words held greater value and that the manner of speaking to them was more severe. It felt foreign to address Piett as if Jerjerrod was an all-knowing sentient being of the Force, but Piett had to trust that Jerjerrod had complete confidence in his words.
Let me see, Firmus. I know the pain is too much, and I can bear some of it, if you would let me. Show me what was done to you without fear of judgment or retaliation. Don't hide from it. You've done nothing wrong.
The steady, familiar beat of Piett's presence that appeared as a whitish-blue light in Jerjerrod's mind flickered in recognition of a friend, but quickly retreated, and Jerjerrod had to call out again, this time with more firmness, but also urgency.
There is no shame in what was done to you. You've had courage that most men can only dream of. You've held on longer than most men would. Show me what happened and then release it. Your pain does not define you. Let go of it.
Cirron held up her operating instrument to show Jerjerrod the bloody thumbnail-sized chip she had removed from Piett but despite having that connection to the chip severed, Piett was sweating profusely, a vein in his head was throbbing, and his pulse was thumping madly against Jerjerrod's small finger which was cupped around the underside of Piett's jaw. Tears streamed down his face in memory of every agonizing moment, in terror of experiencing more of it.
You have always been underestimated, but not by me, not by Conan. You have dealt with trials that I could never survive, and you've done it without superior powers. Your resilience is seen once in a lifetime, and you will be remembered for it. If you choose to come back, let it be your decision. If you choose to go, it will not sully our memory of you.
Find the strength, said a multitude of voices blended into one. Jerjerrod could not pick out any single voice, but he knew that he had heard some of them before, even if he had never matched them to a face. Throwing their support behind Jerjerrod, they were warm, welcoming, and encouraging, acting as a force pulling Piett's crippled form upright but also lifting him from behind.
In front of him, Piett slowly raised his hands and rested them on Jerjerrod's wrists, soaking in the warmth from Jerjerrod's skin. His heartbeat was slowing now, his face releasing its strain, though the trail of tears from each eye was still very much apparent. Jerjerrod leaned forward, scanning Piett's eyes for a sign of recognition. The black orb at the center of the iris dilated and locked onto Jerjerrod with such intensity that he nearly jumped back in startlement.
"Do not hand yourself over to the Sith," said Piett clearly in that official, unbothered tone of his that Jerjerrod had come to miss so dearly, and Jerjerrod almost choked in relief, but Piett did not blink as he stared pointedly at Jerjerrod. "Conan said not to be so stupid as to surrender."
"Of course he would say that," said Jerjerrod lightheartedly as he finally released Piett's face.
Piett grabbed Jerjerrod by the collar and tugged insistently, jerking him forward with such intense movement that Jerjerrod almost made a move to defend himself. The crazed demeanor in his eyes was not to be ignored, for he truly felt that what he had to say was of the utmost importance. "Don't do it, Tiaan. Please…"
"I'm not–"
"We died for you," Piett persisted, and the tone of his voice, while his, was wounded. "They pushed us to the brink of death more than once and then compelled us to come back so they could do it again. We made that sacrifice for you, and if after all that, you hand yourself over to them, I can't live with that. I am not strong enough to survive that blow."
With no other thought than to calm Piett when he was still so vulnerable, Jerjerrod had to look him in the eye and tell the most heinous lie when he assured his friend, "I have no intention of surrendering."
Piett had never believed in his own strengths before, and it had taken an exuberant amount of persuasion to make him realize his true potential, but for him to openly admit that he would shatter, never to be made whole again if Jerjerrod willingly allowed himself to be taken in Motti's stead, it spoke of how deeply the wound of the Empire had cut him and how it would never fully heal.