Chapter 5
“You are not to put any weight upon the limb for another twelve hours,” MD-2 informed him and Piett swore the droid sniffed.
He’d come out of sedation just as they were lifting him from a bacta tank and so he had the distinct displeasure of the overly sweet taste and slimy feel of the bacta on his body.
The first thing he’d asked once the rebreather had been removed was whether Veers was safe.
He’d been informed that the General was functioning satisfactorily, whatever that meant.
He was surrounded by medical droids—-no human in sight—-and swiftly dried and dressed in comfortable blue medical attire before they transported him to what he could only presume was a recovery room.
He had attempted to insist on seeing Veers, but somewhere in the process of being fitted with bacta sleeves for his arms, he’d fallen asleep.
Which brought him to now.
“I am quite certain that Lord Vader will wish to speak with me before then,” Piett asserted, already calculating how much time had fled by since arriving here. “My physical limitations will just have to be got around.”
Another droid entered with a tray which was set over his lap.
“I was not informed that you had achieved a medical degree, Captain Piett,” MD-2 replied. “Which allows you to make such statements.”
Piett considered his breakfast, which smelled surprisingly good. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but no one had ever seen Lord Vader eat so…
“You are awfully lippy for a droid,” Piett replied, taking a bite of the spiced oatmeal. He found he was ravenous and forced himself not to eat too fast.
“I do not have lips,” MD-2 answered flatly, moving around the bed to check on the drip line in Piett’s right arm.
And that.
Again, that right there—-
“Are there only droids here in the fortress?” Piett asked. “Do no sentient beings serve Lord Vader?”
The droid paused and turned its head slowly to stare at Piett with the two blue lights.
“We are more efficient,” it replied at last. “Obviously.”
Piett tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
“Right. I don’t suppose there are any droids called ‘Henley’?”
“No.”
He had to ask.
“When was the last time you were wiped?” Piett asked, turning to his nerf sausage.
“Not that it is a concern of yours,” MD-2 replied, moving smoothly away from the bed, “but I have not been wiped since the inception of the Empire. No droids at Mustafar are wiped.”
Interesting.
The door hissed open and Piett smiled widely in welcome as the familiar figure of his friend entered.
“Max. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”
“And you.”
“I did not authorize the patient to see visitors,” MD-2 declared, and it actually placed its robotic arms on its hips. If it had hips.
“Lord Vader said I was free to see the Captain,” Veers told it, moving further into the room.
A remarkably displeased noise emitted from the mouth opening.
“Very well. Do not disturb his knee.”
And with that it hummed from the room, leaving the two of them to stare at each other in mild amusement.
“That—-is Henley in droid form and you cannot tell me otherwise,” Piett stated, pointing his fork at the now closed door.
“As in…you think Lord Vader deliberately programmed it that way?” Veers asked, tugging over the stool by the small medical desk and perching upon it.
“I don’t know that I would risk going that far,” Piett said, though he thought it was possible. “I do know it hasn’t been wiped since the Empire began.”
Veers raised his eyebrows.
“Interesting.”
“I thought so.”
“How are you feeling?” Veers asked more seriously. He himself looked fairly rested, and he had shaved, so Piett presumed Vader had given him quarters somewhere.
“Much improved,” he said immediately. Veers gave him the patented disbelieving stare.
“I am,” Firmus insisted. He set down his fork and rolled up the blue sleeve. “Look. These are bacta sleeves because obviously my arms need more work. But I can use them. For which I am profoundly grateful.”
Veers winced a little, and Piett knew he was still feeling guilty. But both of them had already discussed that, and the Captain was determined to show his friend that he would recover completely because telling him was not going to persuade Veers.
He lifted his mug and was pleased when it didn’t tremble one bit.
“You see?” he said, and took a sip, coughing a little in surprise and setting the mug hurriedly back on the tray.
“What’s wrong?” Veers asked, frowning in concern as Piett got his lungs back under control.
“I…” Piett, lifted his napkin and wiped his mouth. “That’s…my tea.”
“Well of course it’s yours. It’s your breakfast.”
“No, Max. That’s my tea. The Axxilan one I drink.”
There was a long pause as they both considered the mug and all its implications.
“So you think Lord Vader knows…” Veers began slowly.
“Who else would?” Piett asked, sipping it again and welcoming the familiar flavors on his tongue.
It wouldn’t do at this point to reflect too deeply on the fact that Lord Vader knew what sort of tea he favored. That there might actually be a human under that mask. One who had noticed the sort of tea he drank on the bridge.
“I will take that as a good sign,” his friend said as the door hissed open again to admit the medical droid.
“Over my express advice,” MD-2 stated with what could only be described as a frosty tone, “Lord Vader has summoned you. I have thus acquired a hover chair, Captain Piett, so that you do not have to place strain upon your knee.”
Oh hells, no.
Piett pushed himself straighter in bed, ignoring the twinges up his arms as he did so.
“If Lord Vader has summoned us, MD-2,” he replied, “then I will require a uniform. Is that possible?”
“Firmus…” Veers sighed.
The droid stared at him for long beats. If it had lips, Piett was quite certain they would be pressed firmly together in displeasure.
“I am not going before Lord Vader in pajamas and a hoverchair, Veers. It was bad enough arriving as I did. I will accept a…a cane, but I am going to look like an officer, damn it!”
Max, best of friends, did not argue but looked at MD-2. “Do you have more Imperial uniforms here?” he asked.
Air rushed from the droid’s mouth opening, making an odd hooting sort of noise.
Its version of a sigh, Piett would wager.
“We are prepared for all things here, General,” it replied.
“Including Axxilan tea?” Piett asked, not able to restrain his curiosity.
“Of course,” the med droid answered. “You are Axxilan. Your file indicated the tea would be preferable.”
Piett wondered just what was in his file. He had never specified food or drink preferences.
“Then I would like a fresh uniform and a cane,” Piett said firmly. “Please.”
“The hoverchair—-”
“Make me,” Piett said rebelliously. “Can someone please move this tray…?”
“You won’t win,” Veers told MD-2. “He’s ridiculously stubborn. I’ll be there to help him. Please do as he asks.”
MD-2 emitted a blat which clearly meant he was offended, and departed the room.
“Is that a yes, do you think?” Piett asked, moving the blankets aside and examining the knee brace fitted over the soft blue trousers.
Veers rubbed at his temple.
“Here’s hoping. Firmus, Lord Vader is well aware you are recuperating. He ordered it. I am certain it doesn’t matter at all to him if you are in a hov—”
“I need this, Max,” Piett told him urgently. “I…look, if this is the last time we face him—-if he decides we were wrong after all—-then I would rather be in uniform and on my feet when he kills us. Please just…”
He didn’t want to sound petulant. But after all he’d been through, it was hard to explain to Veers how much the feel of gaberwool would help him face this like a man.
The General regarded him for a beat, eyes understanding. “I know,” his friend said. “I do know, Piett. So…” He paused and gave Firmus a rueful smile. “Lean on me would you? Give the knee a reprieve?”
Piett wished he were a more eloquent man. Veers deserved profound gratitude and every favor Piett could ever possibly do for him.
“Thank you, Max,” he said quietly as the doors hissed open to admit MD-2 and another droid. “For everything. Whatever happens.”
“Always,” Veers said easily, retrieving the Imperial uniform from the second droid. MD-2 had found a sturdy and polished piece of wood. It stood out rather starkly in a basalt and durasteel fortress.
MD-2 then dropped a pair of shining boots to the floor from an outstretched metal arm.
“These will take some effort,” he intoned. “And I will be put out if it disrupts the healing of that knee.”
Piett pictured Henley and had to suppress a smile, meeting Veers’ eyes and seeing that his friend was clearly thinking the same.
“I will help the Captain dress,” he answered calmly. “Thank you for all your assistance.”
“Assistance,” grumbled MD-2. “Assistance to dismantle all the work…” he departed the room, still complaining.
“I see your point about Henley,” Veers said immediately. “Let’s get you dressed and hope this fits.”
*************
The uniform fit perfectly.
Veers started with the most difficult part—-getting the uniform trousers and boots tugged over Piett’s legs.
They were both aware that Vader was waiting, but Veers was not willing to damage Piett’s knee in the process. The first boot went on reasonably well, but that was because the Captain could help him with it. The second was challenging, and Firmus was stalwart, but Veers knew it was causing pain.
“Just haul it on,” Firmus said through gritted teeth. “I can manage.”
He perched on the edge of the bed and shoved his foot down as hard as he could manage while Veers tugged the boot up. They got it at last, but he hated the white knuckled grip Piett had on the blankets and the tight set of his jaw.
The Captain was still more awkward with his movements, but managed to pull the henley over his head and Veers assisted with the sleeves so they wouldn’t pull on the pressure bandages around his arms.
Then the jacket, and Veers did up the latches while Piett dealt with the belt.
And there he was.
The Captain of the Executor stood before him—-still too thin and pale—- but something uncoiled in Veers’ chest to see his friend as he should be. The officer, not the prisoner or the patient.
Piett grasped the cane and moved toward Veers clumsily.
“Don’t suppose they happened to have a—” he began as Veers retrieved the cap and tugged it over his head.
“This fits me rather well,” Piett commented.
“MD-2 did say this fortress has everything,” Veers reminded him. “This is a fresh uniform I’m wearing as well. Found it in the closet this morning.”
Piett made another experimental step and reached for him. The General moved swiftly to his side so that Piett could grip his arm.
“Sorry,” Firmus panted, coughing into his sleeve. So that wasn’t quite resolved then. “I’m going to need your help.”
“Always,” Veers replied simply, and was rewarded with a broad smile. Those were rare, and he was glad that the Captain still felt Max was worthy of them.
They made their way as swiftly as possible behind the droid which had been waiting for them in the corridor as they stepped out of Piett’s quarters.
Neither spoke as they went along—-somehow this journey to Vader’s presence was not one for talking.
At length the droid paused and then swiveled its dome to look at them and extend an arm toward the room beyond.
It was not the imposing room where Veers had spoken to Vader when they first arrived.
If he didn’t know better, Veers might almost think this was a dining room. It had a high ceiling, and down the center ran a polished obsidian table which could easily seat fifty people. Abstract paintings nearly the size of the walls they hung on were on both sides of the room. One was done in violent splashes of reds, oranges, golds and white against a black background. But, in a strange contrast, the painting on the other side was graceful swirls of greens, blues, creams, purples, and dots of yellow against a silver backdrop.
Fire and water, Veers’ mind provided instantly, but he couldn’t say why.
“I have been waiting for some time,” Vader intoned, and he stepped from the shadows at the far end of the table, gesturing a hand at the wall containing the more violent painting.
Instantly, four different window shields shot up, allowing the reddish glow from the light outside to illuminate the room.
“Apologies, my Lord,” Piett said immediately. “The delay was my fault.”
There was a beat as Vader’s breathing filled the room.
“A hoverchair was provided for you,” he said.
Veers saw Piett swallow, but that chin tilted up proudly.
“Yes, my Lord. As was a cane. I prefer to stand before you to hear your judgement.”
“It makes no difference whether you stand or sit, Captain,” Vader replied, moving closer with the grace of a panther.
Veers squinted ever so slightly. There had just been a certain—-tone there. One that could almost…almost!...imply a reference to Piett’s height, and he somehow thought Firmus might think so too, though neither of them dared to say so out loud.
Vader came to a stop before them and Piett pulled away from Veers to stand on his own, his hand holding the cane fiercely to keep himself upright before his commander.
With his usual shocking bluntness, Lord Vader asked one question.
“Did you commit treason, Piett?”
“I did not, my Lord,” Firmus replied steadily, looking him straight in the eye even though he had to tilt his head up to do so.
“This can be proven?” Vader pursued.
“Yes, my Lord,” Piett replied, glancing to Veers. “The Lady can support me, I have absolute faith in that.”
The Lady, Veers reflected, was privy to the secrets of three hundred thousand souls.
“Very well,” Vader replied, moving to stand before the painting that Veers had dubbed in his mind as the ‘water’ painting.
Once again the only sound was Vader’s harsh breathing.
Then, he turned and regarded them.
“And what,” he said deliberately, “would you say if I wished you to commit treason?”
Veers’ mind went blank.
Beside him, he saw Piett tilt his head.
“I…” Firmus began, then cleared his throat on a cough. “Are you—-asking that now, my Lord? Or is this hypothetical?”
“Yes,” Vader said enigmatically.
Piett glanced to Veers who raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.
“My Lord,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Do you…intend to overthrow the Emperor?”
“Overthrow,” Vader repeated thoughtfully. “I suppose that is technically correct. But I have no desire to rule a galaxy. Once…”
He stopped himself and turned to pace back toward them and then past them to the other painting—the one that could almost depict the twisting insides of the planet they stood upon.
Veers was not at all sure what to make of this. Vader wished to remove the Emperor but not to rule in his place…?
“My Lord,” Piett said cautiously, and Veers recognized the tone the Captain used when he was aware of the verbal denton field he navigated, “may I ask your reasons?”
Vader stood before the ‘fire’ painting, hands clasped behind his back.
“Would it shock you, Captain, to find that I am weary of conflict? Of death?”
Piett shot a look at Veers, but neither of them could find a suitable answer for that, so they just waited.
“Once I thought I could never be satisfied by the fires I helped to burn across the galaxy,” Lord Vader continued, still looking up at the painting. “But for all my power, I am still—-only human.”
He turned at last, placing his hands on his belt.
“I had a family once,” he told them. “And through a combination of my own folly, and the evil of my master, I lost it.”
Piett blinked, eyes taking on the expression of a man who has found himself far beyond reality.
Veers completely understood this and found that he had stopped breathing for a moment. He tried to subtly draw in air.
“I…am sorry, my Lord,” he replied. The revelations crashing upon them were almost too much. But—-
—-Veers had also had family once.
So had Firmus.
“You had faith to come to me for my justice,” said the Dark Lord. “I am asking you to extend that faith. Because… it seems that not all of my family was lost.”
Perhaps he was hallucinating this whole thing, Veers thought. He could still be dreaming. Having a nightmare about this meeting.
Piett recovered first.
“How did you discover this, my Lord?” he asked, muscles in his face strained.
“I cannot tell you that, Captain,” Vader replied. “Only that I know it. The Force was clear. I have a son. And he cannot exist safely in a galaxy that contains Palpatine.”
“What do you wish to do then, my Lord?” Veers asked.
“That is also not something we will discuss yet,” Vader said maddeningly. “And so again, gentlemen, do I have your faith?”
Veers paused and watched his friend.
Because even now, he would go where Piett led.
“You have it, my Lord,” Firmus said, pale but resolute.
“And mine,” Veers added immediately.
“Very well,” Vader said. He hadn’t moved, but the General had the distinct impression he was pleased. Or as pleased as their Sith commander ever got. “Once Piett is sufficiently healed, we will return to the Lady.”
“I do not wish to delay your plans, sir,” Piett said, frowning.
“You will submit yourself to the care of my medical droids, Captain.”
“I assure you, I am able—-” Firmus tried, but Vader held up a gloved hand.
“Have you forgotten, Piett, that I can easily tell liars?” he asked. Firmus swallowed and pressed his lips together briefly before answering.
“No, my Lord.”
“Then I trust I will hear no more ridiculous protests.”
And with that, Vader glided from the room, his cape following him like a retreating tide.
The silver droid that had guided them here in the first place reappeared from somewhere, waiting expectantly.
Piett hung his head and glared at the glossy floor.
“I can feel your smug expression radiating, Max,” he said.
Veers didn’t bother trying to hide it.
“Given your wretched track record regarding your own health, I absolutely will enjoy the fact that a Sith Lord just ordered you to take care of yourself. Fair warning, you will be hearing about this in the future. A great deal in fact.”
He offered his arm to his friend who gripped it with a long suffering sigh.
“We have a future, Veers, so I suppose I shall have to live with your self satisfaction.”
They did indeed have a future, at least for now. But what it held was anyone’s guess.