Chapter 1
The words were starting to blur in front of him.
Piett scrunched his eyes together and it felt as though sand was lodged under his lids.
How long had he been staring at these screens?
He rose, muscles aching, and stretched, rolling his neck a few times in a futile attempt to loosen it.
He glanced at the chronometer and was depressed.
0100.
But Ozzel had demanded he get these summaries finished by the time he came on shift, and Piett was far too new to his rank as Captain of the Lady to point out that these particular assignments were completely the Admiral’s purview, not his.
And when Vader was off ship on one of his mysterious missions, Piett was well aware that he was unprotected from Ozzel’s ire. The man had been a barely contained vessel of seething rage and resentment the moment that Lord Vader had promoted Piett. And it wasn’t that Firmus was afraid of Ozzel. Oh no. He had dealt with bullies and oppressors of this sort all his life.
But he had the responsibility to the ship at large to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Tension and open hostilities between the Admiral and the Captain would not do.
One of them at least, would be professional, and Piett would do his damndest to make sure it was him.
So he punched the button for his kettle to heat more hot water for the eternal mugs of tea he was downing, and then searched in his drawer for the wooden box containing the fragrant Axxilan spices he favored.
The door to his office hissed open unexpectedly, and he jerked his head up in surprise to see General Veers entering.
“Max…” he began, a tired smile forming and then fading as his friend didn’t even look at him and instead directed several troopers in with him.
“Search everything,” he ordered coldly. “I will not tolerate a sloppy job.”
Piett blinked, his lungs tight.
“Veers, what’s happening?” he asked, bewildered and wondering if he was experiencing a nightmare.
“Captain Piett, “ Veers snapped, wheeling on him, no trace of the friend present in that iron mask, “You are accused of conspiring with the Rebellion and therefore, treason to the Empire. I suggest you remain silent and submit yourself to the justice of the Imperial Forces.”
He felt physically ill.
Surely Veers didn’t believe that?
Max had been a stalwart friend for two years now. They had fought side by side. Shed blood together. Worked hard to unify the crew of the Lady, despite her kriffing idiot of an Admiral.
“I would never…” he whispered hoarsely as two troopers came to flank him while the others began pulling his prized books from the shelves and tossing them to the floor.
“Please,” he tried. “I will cooperate, but there is no need to just destroy—-”
“Shut up!” Veers barked, nodding at the troopers, who gripped his arms in a fierce hold and twisted them behind his back so they could snap binders around his wrists. “You have lost any privileges to ask for anything, you traitorous bastard.”
The troopers cleared his shelves with reckless abandon—-various lovely rocks shattering on the floor and books with real flimsi losing pages. He had three tiny trees in his office and these were swept from his desk to be crushed and trampled—the soil smearing his carpet and the little needles giving off their dying fragrance.
“No—” he began as a trooper lifted the beautiful tall ship that Max himself had carved and given to him last life day.
Veers backhanded him viciously across the face, and Piett tasted the copper of his blood as the ship model was flung to the floor, breaking into thousands of pieces.
His chest hurt in ways he couldn’t describe.
“Sir!” exclaimed one of the troopers after sifting through the wreckage. He came forward with a small drive in his hand which he offered to Veers.
The General looked at Piett with a most forbidding expression.
“Bring him. Inform the Admiral that I have some evidence and I am verifying it.”
He plugged the drive into his datapad and proceeded out the door of Piett’s office.
The Captain was roughly shoved after him and not once did Veers turn to look at him—too preoccupied with whatever he was doing on the datapad.
Piett knew he had done nothing.
His mind was spinning furiously as he attempted to speculate what he was being accused of and by whom.
The most likely culprit was Ozzel. The Admiral hated him and if Lord Vader was off the ship, this seemed like an opportune moment for him to get rid of the Rimmer Captain.
But that Veers should be so whole heartedly part of this…
That did not make sense to him and he was desperate to ask the General what had him so convinced that Piett was a traitor.
They entered a lift and the lights flickered red at them briefly.
Well she was not happy with the situation either.
All of the others except Piett looked up and frowned, but the lift proceeded as ordered. Veers narrowed his eyes, meeting Piett’s gaze for the first time since they’d left the office, but then he returned his attention to the data pad.
And Piett wasn’t really certain what the Lady might do here. He was positive that she was far more than her AI. But at the same time, Lord Vader had told him personally that her…unique character, was not to be discussed.
He doubted she would reveal her nature to the entire ship’s crew just for her Captain.
And he wouldn’t want her to.
The doors hissed open and Piett realized that Veers was taking them to one of the main hangar bays.
Why?
If he was under arrest, surely he should be headed for detention?
And then, as they neared a transport shuttle, two officers in the dead white of the ISB uniform stepped forward.
Oh.
Oh kark.
He was the Fleet Captain of Death Squadron. He should have seen this coming. Betrayal at this level was automatically the purview of the ISB.
Ozzel came puffing up from another direction, his expression warring between irritation and pleasure.
“Ah…yes. Thank you, Veers.” He paused to take in a few breaths, face rather red from his exertions. “But I had thought this was an internal matter…”
“I was under the impression you desired to go by the book, Admiral,” Veers said in cold, professional tones. “Naturally, I contacted the ISB right away.”
“Ah…naturally, naturally,” Ozzel agreed, small eyes darting shiftily to the hatchet faced ISB officers.
“Here is the evidence I discovered in his office,” Veers continued, handing the data chip to the woman on the left. “And I will, of course, assist and comply with any questions you may have. I realize I have made the egregious mistake of allowing myself to be on friendly terms with the traitor.”
“Thank you, General Veers,” she replied, taking the chip and curling her lip in Piett’s direction. “Your zealousness for justice in this matter has been noted. If we need you, we will be in contact. And with you, Admiral,” she continued, looking over to Ozzel.
Piett felt as though he had been left to soak in ice water. He was numb and could feel his hands shaking in the tight grip of the binders behind his back.
“I certainly had nothing to do with his gross betrayal,” Ozzel protested. “I am only too glad to see that my initial impressions of him were absolutely correct.”
“Regardless, Admiral,” the woman said with relentless menace, “We may have some questions for you as well.”
Not daring to vent his ire about this at her, Ozzel glared at Piett instead.
“Fine, fine. Glad to see the back of him.”
Piett felt like he couldn’t breathe and tried once more.
“Veers—-” he started, silently begging his friend not to abandon him like this.
“Silence!” snapped the taller ISB agent, motioning for the troopers to take Piett into the hold of the shuttle.
Veers didn’t flinch and didn’t look at him.
A light in the far left corner of the bay flickered. Piett was certain he was the only one to see it, and he was equally certain that had been his Lady. What she was trying to communicate to him however, he wasn’t sure. Usually, she used that little flicker to let him know she was with him.
But as he was roughly shoved onto one of the passenger seats of the shuttle, he didn’t know what she could do.
They cuffed his ankles to the deck and his wrists to the arms of the seat before the female ISB officer leaned in and ripped the rank bars from his jacket as the landing ramp went up, cutting off his view of the hangar bay.
“You won’t be needing these anymore, Piett,” she told him nastily.
He felt the last tug of the Lady’s gravity as they passed through the energy barrier and then the familiar pressure of the hyperdrive engaging pushed upon his chest.
Piett leaned his head back against the bulkhead and stared at the roof of the shuttle.
He was innocent.
But clearly someone had planted ‘evidence’----enough so that Veers had brought in the ISB.
It was not pleasant to ruminate on what was going to happen to him. They would not believe him when he said that he was not a traitor. They would do whatever it took to get a confession from him.
So Piett had a choice. He could lie and confess to his supposed treason.
Or he could stick to the truth—-that he was innocent of all charges.
And the thing was, he considered, his stomach roiling with nausea, he had no idea what actions he was being accused of. Even if he did ‘confess’, they would see right through it as he actually didn’t know his crimes.
Kark.
Very well.
He hated the idea of giving in to this anyway. To lying and admitting to betrayal. So he would die protesting innocence, and whoever thought otherwise could get kriffed.
But the dying was not going to be pleasant or brief.
He tried not to shudder at this thought. Piett was not new to suffering. But to suffer needlessly…
To be tortured mercilessly for something he had not done nor would consider doing…
He clenched his jaw and his fingers, determined not to show fear if he could help it.
They would see it soon enough. He knew the human body could only take so much and ISB were very good at what they did.
Despair was blowing her cold breath down his neck.
It was very tempting to give in to her.
But Piett had always been a fighter, and even now, when there was no hope for him, he found that he could not just surrender.
He would endure, even if such fortitude was utterly useless.
He would not die a coward.