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Chapter Text

“It’s too late!” Commander Gherant shouted from near the Pit.

Piett spared a glance through the front viewport and then luxuriated in another as he saw the rebel bomber approach. Defying all known laws of probability it had made it past the kilometres of turbolaser cannons and TIE fighters to get close enough to rub noses with the Lady’s bridge.

And rub away it did. Piett had enough time to dive rather uselessly into the Pit before it struck, the shattering of plasma-proof glass the last thing he heard before –

He landed in a heap on the durasteel floor on the other side of the bridge.

A pair of Commodores snickered at him and Piett couldn’t even glare at them. They should all be dead, sucked out into the void of space or roasted in the explosion. Piett rolled onto his back and tried to heave in a breath, all the air knocked out of him.

“Admiral!” an Ensign hurried over to him and helped him up. “Are you alright?”

Piett waved him off just as the pair of Commodores got over themselves and came over to offer their support, as well as a few more officers nearby. Piett looked around and noticed he had the attention of the entire bridge, even a few heads poking up from the Pit to see what the commotion was.

Piett was sure he had been standing over there just a few seconds ago. But now he was down the other end of the bridge, past the weapons and defence stations, just past the stairs that separated the bridge from security foyer with the communications hub. He was the furthest he could be from the shattered viewports where –

Where Lord Vader was standing, also watching him curiously, the stars behind him glittering safely away behind the plasma-proof glass.

But that was impossible. The last report Piett had received indicated Lord Vader had captured Luke Skywalker on Endor’s moon, and they had arrived safely on the second Death Star where the Emperor waited for them. The last time Vader was on the Lady’s bridge was a standard rotation ago.

“Do you need to go to the medbay?” the Ensign continued. “It looked like such a nasty fall…”

“I am quite alright, Ensign…?”

“Dopelmere, sir.”

“Dopelmere, then. Remind me of today’s date, if you will.”

Dopelmere did so, and it was indeed yesterday’s date.

“Thank you Ensign. Please return to your posts, sirs, I will be fine.”

The Ensign and the two Commodores did so.

Piett was not fine. He wanted to sit back down on the floor and hide his head in his hands while he figured out what the kark just happened. But he couldn’t afford to have a breakdown while everyone was looking at him, so he dusted himself off and strode towards Lord Vader like nothing at all had happened.

A spice dream. He must have had some sort of drug induced hallucination, that was the only reasonable explanation. Someone must have dosed him and he’d recovered just then.

But it had been so real. He had clear memories of the last rotation that had apparently never happened. Spice didn’t do that, not any strain he’d heard of.

Well, getting to the bottom of it would have to wait until the end of his shift. There were rebels to lure into the Emperor’s trap. He gave a shallow bow to Lord Vader.

“My Lord.”

“Admiral.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms. He gave Piett the galaxy’s longest look, but didn’t say anything further and eventually returned to staring out the viewport.

Piett suppressed his sigh of relief and began his shift.

No.

No, that was impossible.

Piett activated the comms unit. “Shuttle Tydirium, what is your cargo and destination?”

“Parts and technical crew for the forest moon,” came the reply.

Utterly impossible. It was the same old ship, at the same time at the same place right down to the older code that came through to verify its identity. Piett broke out in a cold sweat.

It was the same bloody ship. The one that Lord Vader would apprehend himself down on the moon. And then after that the news of Luke Skywalker’s capture had made its way to the Executor…

No.

It was impossible.

Was Luke Skywalker currently on that ship? Why else, then, would Lord Vader decide to go to the moon’s surface and deal with it himself?

Lord Vader appeared by his side. “Do they have a code clearance?”

“Yes, but…”

It didn’t matter. It was ridiculous, he couldn’t make military decisions based on a hallucination of all things.

No matter how accurate that hallucination had been.

“…I believe it to be suspect.” Piett swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Based on the older codes they-”

“Let them through. I will deal with them myself.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

Piett nodded at the comms officer to relay that to the Tydirium. In a daze he returned to his place by the front viewports. Endor hung below them like a noose.

The future he had seen was playing out, exactly as he saw it.

No.

He would stop being irrational. All the confusion surrounding recent events was just a hangover from the spice. He would not draw illogical conclusions and make decisions that affected real lives based on imagined whims.

Piett gave the order for the med droid to have its memory wiped and sent it from his office. He placed the datapad with his test results on his desk and slumped over it, exhausted.

The toxicology report came back clear. There was no trace of drugs or any known poisons in his system. So that was a dead end.

The med droid had also informed him he was dehydrated, was suffering from sleep deprivation, and had a worryingly high resting heart rate, but none of that was new.

Piett was out of ideas. There was no rational explanation to explain what he had experienced.

Perhaps he had finally gone mad after serving so long under Lord Vader. He was Lord Vader’s longest serving Admiral, after all. Maybe he was overdue for a bout of space madness.

Fine. Piett was mad, then. Nothing for it but to continue to do his job to the best of his ability.

He pulled a bottle of whisky out of a cabinet and poured two fingers into a tumbler. Then he settled down and read over reports he was sure he had read the rotation before.

Lord Vader had apprehended Luke Skywalker down on Endor’s moon.

It was real. What he’d hallucinated was real.

All of it. From the shuttle codes, to Luke Skywalker, to –

He was going to die.

A blasted rebel bomber was going to miraculously make it through the Lady’s defences and kill him.

He had an hour left at most to live, if he remembered correctly. As if he hadn’t been obsessively trying to recall every detail he could of the future instead of sleeping last night. He had the timing down to the minute.

He had to stop it.

But how? He had to follow the Emperor’s orders regarding how the fleet was meant to be arranged, so he couldn’t order more Star Destroyers to protect the bridge. They were to stay on the far side of Endor until the rebel fleet arrived, and then keep them from leaving the system. Disobeying the Emperor would result in his untimely death just as assuredly as the bomber’s suicidal attack.

There was no time left to make plans. They were about to engage with the rebels in a few short minutes.

Was there anything to be done? There was enough time to get to his personal shuttle and desert, yes, but he couldn’t leave his men to die, nor the Lady. The thought was abhorrent.

Piett pressed his hand to the viewport frame and bowed his head.

“Sir?” Captain Venka asked. “We’ve just received reports that-”

“Rebels have entered the shield generator.” Piett finished, turning to face him.

Venka blinked at him. “Ah, yes, sir.”

The rebels shouldn’t pose a problem for General Veers, so at least he will survive this. It also meant the rebel fleet was moments away.

“Captain, I…” Piett hesitated.

“Yes, sir?”

“It’s been an honour serving with you, Venka.”

“…Sir? Ah, you as well, Admiral.”

Piett straightened his officer’s cap. “Prepare the hyperdrive to make the jump to the other side of Endor. The Emperor will direct us there momentarily.”

“Yes, sir.”

The signal came, and the fleet made the jump. They reverted back into real-space behind the freshly arrived rebel fleet, just in time for them to figure out the second Death Star’s shields were still active. The rebel fleet peeled away from the Death Star and flew into Piett’s waiting fleet. The void of space filled with turbolasers and laser cannon fire.

Exactly as he remembered. Piett fought back a shudder.

Commander Gherant approached his side just as Venka returned to his position.

“Admiral,” Gherant said, “we’re in attack position now, sir.”

“Hold here,” Piett instructed, as much as the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Gherant’s eyes flickered with curiosity. “We’re not going to attack?”

Piett clenched his jaw. Not in any real capacity, no. “I have my orders from the Emperor himself. He has something special planned for them. We only need to keep them from escaping.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Gherant walked away and Piett bit his lip so hard it bled.

Yes, why would the Emperor restrain himself from using one of the largest gatherings of Star Destroyers in recent military history, not to mention the Super Star Destroyer he was currently standing on the bridge of, on this desperate motley group of rebels?

Piett was likely the only being on board who knew the answer.

There was an enormous green flash from the Death Star and almost every head in the Pit turned to the viewports.

Piett blinked the afterimages away from the Death Star’s strike and watched the remaining fragments of the rebel light cruiser drift off into space.

The answer was because the Second Death Star was, in fact, operational.

But how different was it really from the Executor? She could turn a planet to a molten grave in minutes. Piett had ordered and witnessed it himself. The Death Star was more destructive and instantly effective, for sure, but was its unveiling really worth all this damage to Piett’s fleet?

A Star Destroyer sparked and listed out of formation. Piett gave a minute shake of his head.

Wasteful. This whole operation was… wasteful. There was no need for the Death Star’s display to wipe out the rebels. Piett’s fleet was more than enough. If Piett were a braver man, he’d curse the Emperor.

Another Star Destroyer fell.

The Executor wouldn’t be far behind.

Piett tasted blood in his mouth.

He couldn’t allow the Lady to fall. He couldn’t.

“Reroute some of our fighters to our shield generators,” Piett said to Gherant, discreetly turning away to wipe his mouth with a handkerchief. “Now!”

“Yes, sir.”

Piett listened to Gherant rattle off orders to various Group Captains and Squadron Leaders. He had to do something, after all, to protect the shield generators.

If the shield generators didn’t go down, no rogue rebel could fly through the bridge, now could they.

Piett and his crew staggered under the impact of a rebel bombing run, but the shields held. The bridge held. He watched a turbolaser explode a retreating bomber and the wreckage slam against the shields before it slid off and away into the void of space.

The Death Star fired again, and a second rebel ship vanished in an explosion of fuel, durasteel, and atmosphere.

Good. One less cruiser that could launch fighters –

The Executor shuddered.

“Sir!” Captain Venka yelled. “Our port engines have been hit! They’re offline!”

Kark. “All of them?”

“We’re listing!”

That was certainly true. With only the centre and starboard engines firing the Lady was falling out of formation. She began a long, slow corkscrew and the battle appeared to spin.

“Cut the starboard engines!” Piett yelled to the engineers in the Pit.

The gravity generators couldn’t keep up with the way the Lady tilted and centrifugal forces sent the crew stumbling to keep their footing as the floor appeared to slant. Piett braced himself against the frame of the front viewport while the gravity generators fought for control of the ship.

In open space this would be considered a minor paralysis of the crew until the ship stabilised, but they were far too deep in the Death Star’s gravity well. The remaining engines were not powerful enough to correct the Lady’s course to a safe orbit and she accelerated towards the space station.

The rebels, scenting blood in the water, swarmed the Executor and alarms blared all around the Pit.

“Port stabilisers damaged!”

“Bow stabilisers have been destroyed!”

“Shields at ten percent!”

The bridge levelled out, but it was too little, too late.

Piett had failed.

Again.

A Star Destroyer between the Lady and the Death Star powered up her thrusters and rolled dangerously in a desperate bid to get out of the Lady’s way, but it was hopeless. The Lady was on a direct collision course with her.

It was the Tyrant, Piett noted idly, as the Lady’s bow shadowed the middle of the Star Destroyer. The Pit crew shouted their reports and requests for orders while their consoles smoked and spat sparks at them.

Piett realised Captain Venka had been trying to get his attention when Venka grabbed his arm and spun him around.

“Admiral! We –” Venka shouted, and then cut himself off. He must have seen something in Piett’s eyes that he was beyond caring about hiding.

Venka held onto Piett’s arm. “You – you knew…”

Piett held his gaze and then nodded once.

They saw the Executor impact against the Tyrant before they felt it. Tyrant hit close to the bow, maybe fifteen kilometres from the bridge, and they had the perfect view of the ensuing shockwaves and explosions as they rippled through the Lady.

The explosions would chain react and destroy the bridge long before the shockwaves reached them. The Lady’s inner cityscape exploded far ahead of the shockwave, great gouts of flame and durasteel spurting away into space, and Piett felt Venka’s grip slide away from his arm.

Piett clasped his hands behind his back and closed his eyes.

He opened them again on the other end of the bridge.

Piett took a moment to stare at the crew in the weapons and defence stations working away, not a hint of smoke or sparking on their consoles. The crew in the Pit passed datapads between them and pointed to their displays, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Lord Vader stood staring out the front viewport, down, down to Endor far below.

“Kark me running,” Piett swore, and a pair of Commodores conversing by the communications hub turned to him.

It happened again. It was yesterday. Darth Vader was on the bridge and Piett was still alive.

What was going on?

“I’m in some Sith hell,” Piett said to himself. “That must be it. This is hell.”

One of the Commodores approached him, a concerned look on his face.

“It’s… just morning shift, Admiral. Are you okay?”

“Not at all, Commodore. As you were.”

Piett strode past him and grasped at the thin shreds of his dignity and his sanity in order to make it next to Lord Vader, instead of doing what he really wanted to do, which was run screaming from the bridge.

Piett gave Lord Vader a shaky salute.

“My Lord.”

“Admiral.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms. He gave Piett the galaxy’s longest look, but didn’t say anything further and eventually returned to staring out the viewport.

Piett stood next to him, sweating.

Of course this would be his hell. Forced to relive the build-up to the worst mistake of his life, except possibly the one he made deciding to join the Imperial Navy in the first place.

No. No. That couldn’t be it. He felt like if he were dead and in some sort of hell he would feel it. And he felt very much alive, if the banging of his heart in his chest was anything to go by.

It was something else. Something else was happening to him. Something was making it so whenever he died he appeared to travel back in time.

Perhaps some… Force thing?

Should he ask Lord Vader about it?

Piett dismissed the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. Whatever was happening to him certainly didn’t involve Luke Skywalker, and if it didn’t involve Luke Skywalker, Lord Vader didn’t care in the slightest. Lord Vader was much more likely to kill him and solve the problem that way than help him search for answers.

Was it some sort of time loop, then? Piett almost scoffed at the thought. Time travel in that sense was provably impossible. Most of its derivatives as well. Dimension jumping, multiverse travelling, whatever it was called, it had long since been laid to rest in the annals of scientific research.

Then what else could it be? Magic? Had a Dathomirian witch put some sort of curse on him? Piett had met a few Dathomirians before and couldn’t recall giving one a reason to curse him. It was unlikely there was any weight to the rumours around their powers, anyway.

“You are troubled, Admiral.” Lord Vader tilted his helmet towards Piett and Piett forced his spine to straighten instead of flinch away.

“Merely concerned for the future, my Lord.” Piett said truthfully. One couldn’t lie to Lord Vader, but one also didn’t survive three years serving under him without learning how to twist the truth in creative ways.

“Have faith in the Force. I sense the time for action is drawing near.” With that, Lord Vader turned and walked away.

Piett clenched his hands behind his back so hard he heard the synth-leather creak. The Tyrant appeared out from under the Lady’s starboard side and Piett watched it soar by with a morbid fascination.

What was he supposed to do? Finish his shift, watch the rest of events play out, and die once more at the hands of the rebel fleet? No, he couldn’t do that again. But he had little room to manoeuvre inside the Emperor’s instructions. He wasn’t confident he could save the Executor without disobeying the Emperor, and there was no way he was doing that.

Piett stared out the viewport much like Lord Vader had done and caught his own reflection. He looked very similar to how he used to look immediately after the events at Bespin, if not a little more grey around the ears. His eyes were the same. Wide and fearful, like a prey animal caught in a trap and the hunter was shining a spotlight on them.

If he got everything wrong again, he would die. And while he had twice already… returned to life, reset, whatever, there was no guarantee it would happen again.

It wasn’t a pleasant experience either. Piett wouldn’t wish his fate even on a pirate or rebel, Luke Skywalker included, for all the grief Skywalker’s caused him.

Piett’s head snapped up.

Luke Skywalker.

Piett knew where Luke Skywalker was going to be in a few hours’ time. The shuttle Tydirium would attempt to gain access to Endor with older codes, and Luke Skywalker was on board, Piett was certain.

He’d have the Tydirium tractor-beamed to the Executor and Skywalker could be apprehended a rotation early. He could personally hand Skywalker to the Emperor and… and maybe then things would be different. The Emperor would reward him, and perhaps Piett could ask for more control over his fleet when the rebels came.

Piett could save the Lady. He could save his fleet. If he was lucky, he could even save himself.

Surely that was the point of his enduring existence?

Piett activated the comms unit. “Shuttle Tydirium, what is your cargo and destination?”

“Parts and technical crew for the forest moon,” came the reply.

“They’re lying,” Piett told the comms officer, and waved a hand for a technician. “They’re rebels. Tractor them into Hangar Six at once.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Piett turned away just in time to almost walk smack bang into Lord Vader.

“You are certain they are rebels,” Lord Vader said, and Piett replied quickly, prepared.

“Yes, my Lord. The codes they transmitted are too old for current crew to use. I also believe Skywalker is on board.”

That black helmet loomed over him. “Oh?”

Piett forced himself to stare into those red lenses. “Only Skywalker and his friends would be so foolhardy to attempt such a plot.”

In the grand scheme of things that wasn’t strictly true, Piett had apprehended or lost many rebels just as foolish or even more so, but in this one specific instance it was the absolute truth. And he hoped Lord Vader would be able to tell that through the Force.

Somehow.

“…You may be correct,” Lord Vader was the first one to look away, and Piett knew he was unerringly tracking the Tydirium as it was forced to land in Hangar Six, even though it wasn’t visible through the viewport. “I will deal with Skywalker myself. The Empire will not forget your service, Admiral.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Piett gave a shallow bow, “and… would you require assistance in apprehending or transporting Skywalker to the Emperor?”

The helmet’s red lenses were back on him. Piett glanced at them briefly before looking away.

“No, Admiral.”

And well. That was probably the best he could hope for. Skywalker was Lord Vader’s obsession, after all.

But he had successfully altered the future. With the Tydirium on the Executor, Skywalker was detained and there were no rebels to attack the shield generator on Endor’s moon.

The rebels would have to change their plans. So would the Emperor.

There was a chance Piett and the Lady would live a little longer.

He holocalled General Veers that night after his shift was complete.

“Lord Vader took Skywalker and his friends to the Emperor a few hours ago,” Piett told him after taking a long sip of his whisky. “Can’t imagine why he would want to see the whole lot of them.”

“Execute them all at once, hopefully,” Veers replied. “That would be a crushing blow to the rebellion.”

“Lord Vader specifically wanted Skywalker alive,” Piett reminded him. “The others, maybe.”

“Word around is you were the one to capture Skywalker,” Veers’ holo leaned in conspiratorially, “is that true?”

“I merely recognised the lambda shuttle they used as stolen,” Piett said. “It was simply luck on our part that it contained Skywalker.”

One day, when all this was over, Piett would sit Veers down and tell him everything, but for now lying through his teeth was the best option.

“Ah-ah,” Veers waved his finger at Piett, “I was talking to Venka. He said you believed Skywalker was on board, and he was.”

Piett waved a different, ruder finger back at Veers. “Fine, Max. I had a… feeling, about it. And I turned out to be right.”

Veers snorted at him. “We’re making military decisions based on feelings now, are we?”

Piett drank again. “More like years of honed reflexes and gut instincts for the galaxy’s enemies, I believe. Lord Vader even praised me for the decision.”

Piett’s comm went off, blinking madly. He held up a hand in apology to Veers and answered it.

“This is Fleet Admiral Piett,” Piett said in his coldest and most clipped tones, “and I’m off duty, so this had better be-”

“The Emperor’s dead!” Moff Jerjerrod all but shouted, panicked. “He’s dead, and we can’t get a hold of Vader-”

“The Emperor’s dead?” Piett tried to clarify, and Veers’ holo reared back in surprise.

That was impossible. The Emperor, dead? It simply couldn’t happen.

“That’s what all the reports are saying.” Jerjerrod spoke quickly and Piett had a hard time listening to him with the roar of alarms and shouting men in the background. “There is no sign of him in his throne room or anywhere on the Death Star, and there was an unexpected power surge in the reactor shaft just below his throne room! And that was moments before we discovered the rebels escaped-”

“Are you implying-”

“I think Skywalker pushed him to his death!”

Piett’s blood ran cold.

Oh, Force.

He’d killed the Emperor.

He’d killed the Emperor.

Piett’s tumbler dropped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The thick smell of whisky soaked into his uniform’s pants and his socks.

“I will mobilise the fleet,” Piett told Jerjerrod, rising, “we must ensure the Death Star is secure. We can convene afterwards.”

Piett ended the communication and stared down at his comms for a few seconds.

“Firmus?” Veers’ holo asked. “Is the Emperor truly dead?”

“It’s true,” Piett admitted. “And it’s all my damned-”

Piett was back on the bridge.

He blinked, slightly disorientated as he found himself suddenly completely sober. His heart was still pounding madly in his chest, however. The sounds of officers and reports and whirring consoles filled his ears.

“…fault.” Piett said to no one.

Lord Vader stood by the viewports, staring down at Endor far below.

Piett gaped at him.

How…?

How was he here again? He hadn’t died, as far as he could recall. He had been on a holocall with Veers. Holocalls were not usually fatal.

“Ensign… Dopelmere,” Piett said somewhat absently, still staring at Lord Vader, and the Ensign hurried over.

“Admiral?”

“The date and time, if you will.”

Dopelmere told him and yes, he was once again in the past.

“Thank you, Ensign. Dismissed.”

He was sure he would remember dying, and he hadn’t. He hadn’t. So why was he back here again? Why had he, for lack of a better word, reset differently now from the first two times?

A wicked thought crossed his mind.

Unless… it wasn’t his death that caused the reset. It was something else, and the other two times he reset he’d just happened to die before that something else happened. And then once it did, he reset.

That was the only reasonable explanation, as much as anything in this situation could be called reasonable.

Piett wanted to laugh, or maybe cry for at least a year. Maybe longer.

Of course.

Of course, of course of course. He was stuck in some sort of time loop and its reset wasn’t directly dependent on his actions. He was stuck in a time loop and it wasn’t even about him. Of course. Why would anything in the galaxy be about him, anyway?

And who or what was it about, then?

Lord Vader finally noticed Piett staring at him, and he turned around and tucked his hands into his belt. His helmet tilted, shooting Piett with another long look, and Piett gave up on keeping his grip on everything.

Piett fainted.

Chapter Text

Piett was happy to let the doctor poke and prod at him as she needed to. He needed time to think.

He wanted the Denon Vodka Veers kept in his quarters and some part of the ship where no being would bother him, but that would provide him no answers.

He also needed more information. What exactly was causing him to reset? And how could he go about figuring that out?

“When was the last time you ate, Admiral?” Doctor Emerette asked him.

That was a good question.

“Ah… yesterday? Dinner?” That was probably true. Although his definition of “yesterday” was almost certainly different to the doctor’s.

She pursed her lips at him. “You need to stop skipping breakfast.”

He literally, physically couldn’t. Not when his resets put him on the bridge at the start of his shift. The morning of the battle he was usually too consumed with his impending death to worry about something so trite as breakfast, anyway. “Thank you, Doctor. I will keep that in mind.”

The Doctor gave him a once-over with a different kind of scanner than he was used to and Piett sat through the scan with his usual patience, mind whirling.

There was one obvious hint Piett was aware was controlling his resets. He had been thrust back in time completely unexpectedly after the Emperor had been killed. It would be just his luck if the events were related.

Perhaps his purpose was to prevent the Emperor from dying? The idea didn’t quite sit right with Piett. He was the Fleet Admiral of Death Squadron, yes… but he was just a man from the Outer Rim world of Axxila. He wasn’t important, really, so why was he in control of the Emperor’s fate?

And just how was he supposed to test his new theory? Get the Emperor killed again? On purpose, just to see if he was right? That was treason of some sort, he was sure. Piett wasn’t fond of the man, but he had sworn oaths. He couldn’t risk the Emperor’s life just to try and save his own.

Then what was he meant to do?

Piett was a very capable Admiral. He could do what he always did – his duty. His best. He would find a way to save his Lady and his crew in order to better protect the Emperor. Clearly he had failed these last three lives. He wouldn’t fail again.

“And how much sleep are you getting per night?” Doctor Emerette pressed.

Piett barked a laugh. “Just clear me to return to my duties, Doctor. I feel fine now.”

The Doctor gave a longsuffering sigh but began the flimsywork.

“I’m leaving a copy of my recommendations in your holomail, Admiral. You are cleared for active duty, but please. Go to the Senior Officer’s mess and eat something before returning to work.”

“Very well, thank you Doctor.”

Piett left the medbay and pulled out his datapad. Once he was around the first corner, he flicked through his holomail and deleted the holomessage Doctor Emerette left for him.

Activating a turbolift, he returned to the bridge.

“We’ve ruptured our main fuel line!” an engineer shouted.

“How are our secondaries?” Piett braced himself against a communications console as the bridge shook again.

“Damaged as well!”

“Get me Avenger’s, Devastator’s, and Tyrant’s Captains,” Piett instructed his communications crew, “together they can tractor us away from the moon.”

“Sir!” a Lieutenant shook his head. “Avenger says they cannot leave formation! Emperor’s orders!”

“Same with Tyrant!”

“Devastator has been lost!”

Shavit. Piett staggered to the Pit. “Navigation, how long until we enter atmosphere?”

An Ensign looked up at him with wide eyes. “Fifty seconds, sir.”

At this speed, the Lady would break up long before she hit the moon’s surface. She wasn’t designed for that much air friction, no matter how powerful her shields. And fifty seconds was not enough time to prepare the escape pods.

Piett took a deep breath.

“Comms have been hit, sir.” a Lieutenant told him.

Damn. “Damage report, Lieutenant.”

The Lieutenant tapped away at his console. “Our main comms relay tower has been damaged. We won’t be able to send or receive interfleet communications.”

What did it matter. None of the other ships could help them, anyway.

“Can we still reach our fighters?”

“No, Admiral.”

“So they are flying blind.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The bridge rumbled underfoot, and Piett looked to the Pit.

“Our port shield generator has been destroyed!”

So. They would go out the way they had originally.

“Direct our turbolasers to – oh, blast it all to the Sith hells.” Piett removed his cap and tossed it to the floor.

“Midship hull integrity is compromised, Admiral.” Captain Venka reported. Piett stared out at the cityscape encompassing the middle of the Lady. Her blue lights flickered and died.

“Admiral!” a Weapons Technician called. “Turbolasers are down!”

Rebel ships swarmed the area like flies on a corpse.

“Sir!” an Engineer cried. “We’re losing all power-”

The lights on the bridge went out.

“Thank you all for attending this strategy meeting on such short notice,” Piett placed a stack of datapads on the table and sorted through them before sitting down. The holos of various Captains, Commanders, and Colonels filled the conference room. “I wanted to go over some last minute hypotheticals we did not cover in our earlier meetings-”

“Surely there isn’t much to discuss, Admiral.” a stern faced Commander huffed. “We will outnumber the rebels four to one and our Star Destroyers have far superior firepower.”

“And yet, Commander,” Piett replied with ice in his tone, “you will give me your best opinions on the hypothetical situations I will describe.”

The Commander retreated back in his seat. “Of course, Fleet Admiral.”

Piett flicked at a diagram on one of his datapads and a holo of the Lady appeared over the table.

“Say, for example,” Piett led, “that we lose our portside shield generator. How would you propose we protect the bridge?”

“It’s too late, Admiral!” Gherant cried, and Piett closed his eyes.

The Head Engineer ran her fingers over the surface of the spare shield generator.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I reckon I could get ‘er up n’ runnin in a coupla days. Would have to wait til after you were done dealin with the rebels, though. I’d have to take our main ones offline for Force knows how long to sync their systems.”

“Max, I –” Piett paused to cough. Force that Denon Vodka was strong. “I had a dream last night. About the upcoming battle with rebels.”

“You mean the coming slaughter,” Veers’ holo replied, raising his own glass of Bothawui Bourbon.

Piett smiled thinly and looked down into his glass. “Yes, that. Except we lost. I had the same vision, almost, of losing the Lady over and over again. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“That’s nonsense,” Veers smirked at him. “I’ve never served with a better Admiral. If anyone could give us a victory, it’s you.”

“It doesn’t feel like nonsense to me,” Piett groused into his glass. “I think it’s a very legitimate concern. The rebels have pulled off miraculous victories before.”

Veers shifted closer to his holoprojector and his image zoomed in on Piett’s receiver. “You’re not the only one to get feelings about things, Firmus.” Veers admitted. “I haven’t been dreaming, as far as I can recall, but I just get a sense that this will be a final battle, in a way. Somebody is going to deal a devastating blow that the other side cannot recover from. I just have a sneaking suspicion it will be us.”

Piett poured himself another shot of vodka. “I think you’re talking out your arse, Max.”

“I think you’re – is that my vodka?!”

“Sir…” Venka grabbed his arm. “Did you… know?”

Piett placed his hand over Venka’s. “There’s nothing to be done, Captain. You did your best.”

“For the Emperor!” Commander Gherant shouted, and the Stormtroopers on the bridge fired.

But the blast doors that once protected the bridge now provided the rebels with easy cover, and in moments the bridge would be overwhelmed.

“For the Emperor,” Captain Venka growled out from behind clenched teeth. He freed a blaster rifle from a dead Stormtrooper with his good arm and steadied it on top of a navigation console.

Piett picked himself off the command walkway that split the Pit and touched the side of his head. Just a graze. His other hand pointed a blaster towards the blast doors.

“For –” Piett didn’t have time to finish the phrase before a bolt of plasma hit in in the face.

“– kark’s sake,” Piett took his officer’s cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Kark the Emperor. I don’t give a kriff anymore.”

Piett was no closer to figuring out what triggered his resets or saving the Executor. If it was his job to save the Emperor then the Emperor was karked, as Piett couldn’t live long enough to actually do that, no thanks in part to the orders the Emperor himself gave.

Ironic.

And if it wasn’t his job to save the Emperor, then it was something else. And in order to find out what it was, the Emperor might just have to kick the proverbial hydro-container a few times.

Fine. Whatever. Piett had died for the man enough; he could take one for the team every now and then.

Piett noticed, finally, that the bridge was not its usual hive of bustling and activity. The bridge was dead silent and every crewmember within earshot was staring at him.

Right. He probably shouldn’t curse the Emperor’s name aloud while standing on a bridge filled to the brim with his supporters.

Piett forced his lips to crack a fake smile and he turned it on that pair of Commanders closest to him.

“Just an inside joke, pay it no mind. Back to your stations, we have work to do.”

That seemed to placate the majority of the bridge. It was, after all, easier to shrug something like that off rather than accuse their Admiral of treason. The parts of the bridge it didn’t placate, well, kark them too.

Thank the Force Lord Vader did not appear to catch the commotion. Rather, he turned to level Piett with a long look before returning his gaze to Endor.

That long look. Piett had been on the receiving end of it ever since that first reset, however long ago that was. But Piett couldn’t recall receiving one on his very first shift. If in this life Piett was determined to gather what information he could about his… condition, then here was an excellent place to start.

Feeling somewhat emboldened by his new direction, Piett mustered the nerve to ask Lord Vader a question.

“Is everything alright, sir?” Piett willed his neck and face to stop sweating. It hadn’t worked yet, but surely it was only a matter of time.

Lord Vader hit him with another eerily long look before turning to look at the stairs Piett came from.

“The Force grows shrouded around you, Admiral,” Lord Vader replied, and Piett blinked at the straightforward answer. Or, as straightforward as Lord Vader got whenever the Force was involved. “The moment you step up those stairs. Perhaps you should ask yourself that question.”

Lord Vader sauntered from the bridge as he usually did and the bridge heaved its collective sigh of relief.

So. Lord Vader did have some answers, if Piett was brave enough to ask him questions.

Perhaps this whole affair was some sort of Force thing after all, if it was now... shrouded around him.

Should he hunt Lord Vader down and request his help?

Piett wasn’t quite brave enough for that. But there was another Force user only a few hours away that Piett could drag on board the Executor. And by all the spies’ reports he was much, much friendlier than Lord Vader.

Piett beckoned over Captain Venka and the Communications Chief.

“I will be performing a surprise inspection of our hangars today,” Piett informed them. “Chief, alert me if any ships request access to Endor’s moon. Venka, you have the bridge.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

By an utterly incredible coincidence, Piett was in Hangar Six when the holocall came through that the Tydirium was requesting access. Piett ordered the ship to be tractor-beamed to his location and waited with a patience he didn’t truly feel for the ship to land.

Stormtroopers quickly apprehended the occupants and within minutes Piett was informed he could meet the rebels at his leisure. A trooper handed Piett Skywalker’s lightsaber. It was heavier than he expected.

“Leave Skywalker with me,” Piett instructed. “The rest, you may take to the brig.”

Skywalker watched on with wretched anguish as his friends were led away. Next to the stolen lambda shuttle, they were the only two who remained. It was an interesting and surreal experience, being next to the boy who had caused Death Squadron so much grief over the past few years.

Piett checked his chronometer. Lord Vader was on the bridge and it would take him approximately ten minutes to arrive here from there, given the size of the Lady. Piett had that time alone with Skywalker.

“Skywalker,” Piett said, half relieved, half strained, “we meet at last.”

Skywalker blinked at him. He was shorter than Piett expected, despite the exacting reports the spies had sent through. He was still taller than Piett, but that did not surprise Piett in the slightest. “And you are…?”

“Fleet Admiral Piett of the Executor and of Death Squadron.”

“Then the Force be with you, Fleet Admiral.”

Piett could have laughed. The Force was very much against him. “I was hoping to speak to you about that, actually.”

Skywalker raised an eyebrow at him, slightly thrown. “What do you mean?”

Piett gave the hangar a brief once-over to check they were not being overheard. “We have about ten minutes until Lord Vader arrives. I had hoped you could answer a few questions for me.”

Luke Skywalker met his gaze with steady eyes. “If you want answers about the Force, I’m sure they can be provided in exchange for my friends’ release.”

Piett narrowed his eyes. “You won’t bargain for your own?”

Those blue eyes turned to durasteel. “Why bargain for the impossible, Admiral? Vader will not let me go.”

“No,” Piett admitted. “He won’t. You or your friends.”

Skywalker shifted impatiently, gaze drifting up to where Piett knew the bridge was located. “Why not ask Vader about the Force?”

Because Lord Vader was kriffing terrifying at the best of times, and downright horrific all the others. He could barely stand to exist under Lord Vader’s detached, and yet Piett was sure, somehow amused stare whenever Piett greeted him or gave a report. And there were no reports, no proofs or anecdotal accounts of Lord Vader ever helping anyone but himself and the Emperor. Piett may as well ask a durasteel wall for advice. The wall would be less likely to kill him for annoying it, too.

Piett scoffed at Skywalker and checked his chronometer. His time was ticking away. “I will not bother my commanding officer with personal queries. However, Skywalker –”

“You’re afraid of him,” Skywalker noted lightly, and that irked Piett. He didn’t like Skywalker knowing he feared his own boss more than the criminal before him.

“Obviously. And you should be as well.”

Skywalker shook his head. “I’m not. There’s good in him, Admiral.”

Piett didn’t believe him one bit, and clearly Skywalker saw that.

Skywalker gave a faint smile. “You will see.”

This was getting him nowhere. He couldn’t afford to beat around the Reythan bush any further.

“Listen, just –” Piett took a breath. “I would ask you to tell me one thing. You can sense the Force around beings, yes? You can do what Lord Vader can?”

Hesitatingly, Skywalker nodded.

“Can you sense it around me?”

Piett wouldn’t beg the Empire’s greatest enemy into doing this for him, but secretly he hoped Skywalker could sense his desperation.

Skywalker looked at all of him, and for a brief moment Piett felt like his soul was visible before them.

“You’re… cloudy.” Skywalker settled on. “That’s… what did you want to ask me about the Force?”

Piett lowered his voice further. “Can the Force trap me in a time loop?”

For the first time it felt like Piett had Skywalker on the back foot. Skywalker tilted his head, his face tight with confusion. “I have no idea.”

Piett deflated and Skywalker’s eyes softened. “But that sounds awful, though. If we both live through today, afterwards I’ll come find you and help you, okay?”

Piett’s mouth dropped open. “You would do that for me?”

The Empire’s public enemy number one flashed him a brilliant smile. “You’re someone who needs help. Why wouldn’t I?”

Piett couldn’t help the twitch of his own lips. All the spies’ reports were completely correct. Even if Skywalker’s help would come too late, oh, what a marvellous feeling it was to have someone on his side!

Even if it was a Jedi. A Jedi who was determined to kill the Emperor, at that.

Well, Piett had already behaved treasonously on his bridge. What was a little more treason at the end of the rotation.

Skywalker’s head snapped to the hangar’s blast doors. “Vader’s almost here.”

Piett’s time was up. He couldn’t resist asking one last question.

“Why are you so sure there’s good in him?”

Skywalker’s eyes didn’t leave the blast doors. “Because I can feel it, Admiral. And I’ll make sure he knows I’m right.”

The blast doors opened and Lord Vader strode through them. Piett checked his chronometer. Well under his ten minute estimate. He would make sure to remember that.

Piett straightened and pulled himself together as Lord Vader approached. He sensed Skywalker do the same.

“My Lord,” Piett greeted, and held out Skywalker’s lightsaber. “I have apprehended Skywalker. He was carrying this.”

Lord Vader took it and examined it, turning the weapon over in his hands.

“Excellent work, Admiral. The Empire will not forget your service. Now, leave us.”

Piett saluted him, but he didn’t move away.

“Sir, I would request to be part of the security team who assists in transferring Skywalker to the Death Star,” Piett said before he could think of why he shouldn’t.

“Would you?” Lord Vader replied, and Piett remained silent. “Leave us, Admiral. I will not ask again.”

Piett bowed and walked from the hangar at a pace he could convince himself wasn’t a run.

Shavit. He would have liked a chance to talk to Skywalker more or a chance to risk overhearing anything he said to Lord Vader.

There was a mystery, here. Luke Skywalker was sure, somehow, he could convince Lord Vader of a supposed good in him. Skywalker was sure enough of this that he would allow himself to be apprehended without too much trouble and he let an insignificant Admiral talk to him about his problems instead of trying to escape.

A deluded boy, Piett would have said, except later the Emperor would be killed.

Jerjerrod had suspected it was Skywalker, but now Piett wasn’t so sure. How would he have done it? He’d need to go through Lord Vader first. And the idea of Lord Vader dying was laughable.

Suppose… Lord Vader killed the Emperor? The possibility was a topic of hushed conversation aboard the Lady. The Emperor was just an old man, and if he died Lord Vader could have the throne for himself. But some beings reasoned if that was something Lord Vader wanted he would have done it years ago. At least, it was something reasonable beings like Piett proposed.

Perhaps Skywalker said something to Lord Vader that made him finally act. It was a reasonable guess, Piett thought.

Except for one thing. Was one afternoon with Luke Skywalker enough to change Lord Vader’s mind about his opinion of the Emperor? It seemed unlikely, no matter how likeable Skywalker was. People didn’t change their minds in an instant like that.

But Lord Vader was, well, Lord Vader. Did he count?

Piett shook his head and straightened his officer’s cap. Thinking in circles wasn’t getting him anywhere. He still needed answers and he was growing desperate without them. He needed to know what happened between the Emperor, Lord Vader, and Skywalker. There was something there, he was sure of it. Because if Lord Vader and Skywalker’s insights were correct, then this was some Force karkery and one of them would be involved somehow.

Because of course they were. Of course. Did anything happen in the galaxy without one of them around? It felt unlikely at this point. The spiral arms of the galaxy probably didn’t spin without Lord Vader’s say so, Piett could easily be convinced into believing.

Piett could lament on all that later. Right now he had planning to do.

Twice now Lord Vader had stopped Piett from accompanying him and Skywalker to the Death Star. Very well. Piett could be underhand in his hunt for answers. He had done so before, as part of Axxila’s Antipirate Fleet, and he would be so now.

Piett summoned his aide and tapped away at a datapad as he walked. If Lord Vader wouldn’t let him near Skywalker here on the Lady, then Piett would meet Skywalker another way.

After all, Skywalker had also been apprehended on Endor’s moon. Veers was down there currently. Surely there was something there Piett could work with.

“Ensign Tessel,” Piett said, greeting his aide as he approached, “I need you to send some holomessages from me at these times. This one to Captain Venka in an hour, this one to Commander Gherant an hour later, this one to Captain Lennox a quarter hour later, and this final one to Moff Jerjerrod exactly twelve minutes after that. Are we clear?”

The Ensign tapped away at his own datapad. “Kyber crystal clear, Admiral.”

Good. Now it looked like he was working and nobody would bother him. He had plenty of time to himself until Moff Jerjerrod informed him that the Emperor was dead and so he could mull things over and plan until then.

And he had time to ruminate on the fact that he knew where Luke Skywalker was, what he was planning, and the unfortunate truth that he had no intentions of stopping him.

Piett slowed his measured steps towards his quarters.

What sort of Fleet Admiral was he? What sort of citizen of the Empire? This wasn’t his duty. This was against every oath he swore, every crewmember looking to him for leadership, and against the man who had seen more than just an Outer Rim nothing and promoted him to Admiral.

But what else could he do?

Piett picked up his pace and relayed a few more orders to his aide. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed Piett’s change in gait.

There was, perhaps, one other thing he could do.

And that was to, however ill-advisedly, drink heavily and try to forget his life for the time being.

Piett’s comms blinked away at him. He downed his whisky and answered it.

“Piett here,” Piett swung his feet up onto his desk, “how can I help you, Jerjerrod?”

“The Emperor’s dead!” Moff Jerjerrod all but shouted, panicked.

“Oh,” Piett clicked his tongue, “shame.”

He just nabbed the bottle of whisky and poured another two fingers into his glass. Two additional fingers sloshed onto his desk. That was almost a whole hand. “Murder, was it?”

“I think Luke Skywalker pushed him into the reactor shaft!”

“What about Lord Vader? Do you think he could have done it?”

“I – what? You believe Lord Vader could have done this?”

Piett swirled the whisky in his glass and wondered if there was time to request a droid to bring him some ice cubes before he reset. “He could claim the rebel killed the Emperor and that’d get him off the hook for doing it himself. Come on, Tiaan, don’t you think it’s plausible?”

There was a long pause from Jerjerrod. “W-well, there have been rumours circling around. Rumours he’s hiding something from the Emperor. He’s going off and doing his own thing secretly. I didn’t think they were substantiated, but…”

“…Hmm.” Piett took a long sip. “That’s news to me.”

It was. Had Lord Vader already planned his end as the Emperor’s second in command? Was it Luke Skywalker that had finally spurned Lord Vader into action?

“Well,” Piett screwed the lid back on the whisky bottle, “good luck with everything on your end, then.”

Piett ended the call and tossed his comms into the nearest waste disposal unit, except for some reason he couldn’t quite see straight, and his comms ended up on the floor.

The little light on the comms flashed with an annoying intensity, indicating there was a series of calls waiting for his attention.

Piett leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes to shut them out.

Piett opened his eyes on his bridge. He shook off some lingering light-headedness, gave a quick greeting to Ensign Dopelmere, and saluted Lord Vader.

“My Lord.”

“Admiral.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms. He gave Piett the galaxy’s longest look, but didn’t say anything further and eventually returned to staring out the viewport.

When he’d had his fill of drinking in Endor he left the bridge, and Piett gave control of the bridge to Captain Venka before moving into an adjacent conference room.

Time to do some real work. Piett pulled out his personal holoprojector and called Veers.

“Yes, Admiral?” Veers answered, ever the professional, although Piett could tell he’d just woken up.

“Are you alone, Max?”

“I am.” His countenance became grave. “Is everything alright?”

“It will be. I need you to ah, do me a favour.”

Veers narrowed his eyes at Piett. “Firmus, it’s the crack of dawn down here. Can your favour wait until –”

“No, it can’t. I need you to fabricate a reason to call me down to the moon’s surface at this time.” Piett gave him the time shortly before the Tydirium was due to request access to the moon. “Can you do this for me? Please?”

Veers sighed. “Can you at least tell me what you’re planning?”

“I’ll explain everything when it’s over, I promise.”

Veers sighed again, deeper and more pointedly. “Fine, fine. But if you come down here, you need to know about the wildlife. Are you aware of the sapient little bears that inhabit this moon?”

Piett recalled reading something about them in a long past strategy meeting. Although exactly how long ago that was now was anyone’s guess.

“They’re not interstellar yet, are they?”

“No, Firmus. They eat beings, though.”

Oh.

“Oh. Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Piett ended the call and tucked his comms away.

Back in the day he’d been a renowned pirate hunter out on the Outer Rim, and not without reason. He’d hunted the pirates and slavers around Axxila and her territories to near extinction. A few small bears who’d probably never seen a blaster before were not going to pose him any problems.

But he would not enter hostile territory unprepared. Piett picked up a datapad and tapped away on it as he returned to the bridge.

Veers’ summons came through at coincidentally just the right time for Piett to make it to his private shuttle immediately after the Tydirium was granted access to the moon. Normally for something like this Piett would have a security team accompany him, but in this instance they would only slow him down.

Piett powered up his shuttle and sent his clearances to a bewildered Space Control Tower, who quickly bumped up his priority and allowed him to leave the Lady scarce minutes after the Tydirium. He followed along behind it at a reasonable distance, giving the illusion he was just another lambda shuttle heading down to the moon, and maintained his route when the stolen shuttle peeled away behind a mountain instead of continuing to the Imperial outpost.

Piett could track it with his radar. He landed his own lambda next to a growth of huge, red-barked trees that dwarfed the shuttle and cast deep shadows over the thick brush below.

Piett stepped down the landing ramp and checked his equipment. Service blaster at his hip. Blaster rifle strapped to his back. Vibroblade tucked securely away up his sleeve. Elite trooper grade macrobinoculars with heat vision and night vision capabilities attached to his belt. Standard chest plate armour, although he’d removed his rank badge. If he was discovered, there was no need for the rebels to know just how valuable a target he was. They would hopefully kill a low ranking officer quickly, and Piett could try all this again without the hassle of waiting for his reset.

Which was a depressing thought, but it was the only one he had.

He’d also chosen not to wear the standard issue helmet. Maybe Veers had no problems wearing one, but they severely cut down his peripheral vision. And privately, Piett thought they looked ridiculous. He’d prefer his officer’s cap any rotation of the week.

He was ready. Piett stood at the end of his landing ramp and pulled out his macrobinoculars.

There. The stolen lambda shuttle sat alone in a copse of trees just on the other side of the mountain. A little way away was a contingent of scout troopers, Piett could tell by their spacing and movements, and perhaps if need be he could make them lend him a speeder bike.

Just by them was a mysterious group of four, no, six heat signatures that could only be the rebels and two droids with them. If they intended to eliminate the scout troopers and take their speeder bikes Piett would have to move quickly to catch up with them.

Piett took two steps into the undergrowth and on the third he felt something wrap tightly around his ankle.

There wasn’t time to shout or even swear before he was hauled up through the air by his ankle. Down went his macrobinoculars into a fern, down fell everything in his pockets, and down went his already low opinion of the moon and its inhabitants.

“What…!” Piett stopped pinwheeling his arms for long enough to glance up at his trapped foot. “A rope trap?”

Of all the things to get stuck in. Piett would rather take the time loop over a rope trap.

Casting his eyes about, he spotted the counterweight which had dropped through the foliage and sent him skyward. How embarrassing. He’d been bested by beings who still used rocks and twine to solve their problems.

Well they wouldn’t best him for long. Piett, with some difficulty, drew his blaster and aimed it at the rope attached to the counterweight. Yes when he hit it he would fall rather abruptly to the ground, but that wouldn’t hurt more than his pride –

Something sharp dug into his shoulder blade. Piett twisted his head around to spy about a dozen little bears surrounding him, each with a short spear pointed at him.

It was a group of the sapient bears Veers had warned him about. Their tallest couldn’t have been more than a metre in height, and each wore leather clothing and was dotted with trinkets and tools about their persons.

Piett admittedly had some difficulty making them out from his position swinging and spinning above them, but oh, wasn’t it cute they thought those spears would scare him when he had his blaster –

One of the bears hit his hand with their spear, slicing into the back of it, and Piett cried out and dropped his blaster.

Blasted little bears. Piett grasped uselessly for his blaster while the bloody creatures swarmed it and picked it up, inspecting it. One chittered something to another, and the next thing Piett knew he was on the ground and it was the bears’ turn to be above him.

One held a spear rather pointedly against his neck. Piett, reluctantly, held still while the other bears stripped him of his blaster rifle, his comms, and then proceeded to tie him to a long branch and haul him off towards some unknown part of the forest.

Shavit.

Shavit, shavit, shavit.

“I hope you know,” Piett said to the karking bear that inspected his code cylinders with an academic curiosity, “that the Empire will not look upon this transgression lightly. Death Squadron will turn this planet to ash under my direction, do you understand?”

They did not. The bear studying Piett’s code cylinders gave them a few cautious sniffs before tossing them into the undergrowth. Piett sighed and rotated his wrists against the rope that held them to the branch. The hanging from his wrists ordeal was causing his wrists, shoulders, and neck to throb, and he hoped they’d put him down somewhere soon.

To eventually eat him, yes, Piett was well aware. But they’d neglected to find his vibroblade hidden up his sleeve. He had a chance to escape this whole sordid affair, once he was left alone for a few minutes.

The bears marched on. Piett hung miserably between them until the sky began to darken.

A wooden ramp whacked into the back of Piett’s head and he swore and raised it, looking ahead for the first time in at least an hour. They had left the forest floor and were ascending into a city amongst the trees. Rough wooden platforms latched themselves around toweringly tall trees and it would have been quite the sight, if Piett wasn’t sure it would also be his last.

It was populated entirely by the little kriffers, all of them moving in one central direction and the wooden platforms were growing crowded. Piett found himself jostled from side to side, and a few of the smaller bears took to poking and prodding at him. Piett shot them with a glare that would have sent the Ensigns running for cover but they merely chortled around him.

One of them stole his belt.

Fine. The next one to go near him, Piett was going to bite.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle further in and Piett again made the effort to look ahead, and his eyes widened.

A golden protocol droid was flying through the air. On a chair, albeit, but a simple wooden one. No hover tech in sight.

“Help!” the protocol droid cried out. “Master Luke, Artoo, Artoo, quickly! Do something, somebody! Oh! Ohhh!”

Master Luke. Piett’s brain latched onto the name and suddenly the situation made perfect sense.

Somehow, against all odds, Luke Skywalker was in the same tree bear city that Piett was. He was pulling the floating stunts that weren’t possible without hover technology. Because of course he was. Maybe he was stuck in the same “about to be eaten” situation as Piett himself. Or maybe he was a god of the tree bears, of some sort. Piett wouldn’t be surprised either way.

“Luke karking Skywalker is here,” Piett said to the bears. “Why wouldn’t he be? The thrice damned stars don’t shine without him.”

The bears put his branch down rather abruptly and Piett’s back groaned in relief. Some more murmurs of conversation took place well ahead of him, and then the bears were fiddling with the ropes around his wrists and ankles.

“Who was that over there?” a voice called. “Is that an Imp? Threepio, tell them not to let him go!”

“Like hells they won’t,” Piett spat, and forced his tired muscles to wriggle out of the ropes the bears had begun to loosen. The bears tried to grab him but in a flash he’d pulled his vibroblade out of his sleeve and slashed out at the air around him. The bears jumped back and several of them pointed spears at him.

The vibroblade hummed, an alive thing in his hand, and Piett was well aware it could and would slice through those pathetic spears in an instant. He settled into a stance he’d long forgotten the name of but his bones remembered and waited for the first bear to strike.

“What in the nine hells is an Imp Navy officer doing down here?” that same voice asked, and Piett’s eyes flicked to him.

It was Han Solo. Next to him was a Wookie, the Princess Organa, Luke Skywalker, and that blasted astromech.

The bears pressed closer and Piett retreated a step. The edge of the platform was right behind him.

“How did you know I was Navy?” Piett couldn’t help but ask.

“Boots give it away every time. Get him, Chewie.”

The Wookie roared.

The blood drained from Piett’s face.

Oh, kark. Piett didn’t know if the Wookie was going to rip his arms off or hand him back over to the bears to be eaten. Either way, both of those options were terrible.

He had a third option. Not one many would think about, but Piett had spent his last few resets thinking on many things.

There wasn’t time to consider it in all its depth. The Wookie was sprinting at him.

Piett closed his eyes and threw himself backwards off the platform.

He opened his eyes on his bridge and staggered, falling to his knees.

A pair of Commodores snickered at him and Piett looked up at them with wide, frantic eyes.

Whatever they saw there, it was enough to make them both stop laughing.

The whole bridge stared at Piett and honestly, he was getting really karking tired of having his moments of weakness on his bridge in front of his crew.

He waved away Dopelmere’s offer of help and excused himself from the bridge. There was a ‘fresher just off a side corridor and he managed to make it inside before throwing up.

Not much came up.

“See?” Piett said to himself, sinking to the floor and resting his arms on his knees, “breakfast would have been a bad idea. Doctor Emerette doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

That forced a chuckle from him and it was pained and deeply hysterical.

He put an arm over his eyes.

What was he doing? He was losing his mind in a refresher. He was missing his shift. The night shift he should be replacing would be getting impatient.

Piett had just killed himself and his main concern was the shift change schedule.

How in the hells was he supposed to keep doing this? Losing over and over again in a dozen different ways was awful. Dying was awful. Repeating the same shift again and again was… familiar, but no less awful.

His life was awful.

He dropped the hand from his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. There was a stain on one of the tiles and the vents needed cleaning.

Piett stared at the stain until someone tentatively knocked on the ‘fresher door.

“Admiral?” a young voice called out. Dopelmere. “The bridge crew are concerned… are you okay?”

Piett wanted to hide in the refresher forever. Kark his duties. Kark the Empire. Kark the night shift too, while he’s at it. Maybe if he stayed still and quiet enough Dopelmere’d think he went somewhere else and would leave him alone.

“Sir? Er…” that young voice of Dopelmere’s was as earnest and sincere as they came.

Piett sighed, rubbed at his eyes, and picked himself up off the floor.

He opened the ‘fresher door to a distraught Dopelmere, who was twisting his commlink around and around in his hands.

“Admiral?”

“What’s your given name, Dopelmere?” Piett neatened his gloves and strode off back towards the bridge.

“Ah, Chiel, sir. Chiel Dopelmere.” Dopelmere hurried to keep up with Piett’s pace.

“Chiel. That’s a Core name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Chandrilan?”

“Close, sir. Brentaal IV.”

“Hmm.”

They entered the bridge together and Piett received more than a few strange looks, but Piett powered past them all to the viewports past the command walkway.

He gave a shallow bow to Lord Vader.

“My Lord.”

“Admiral.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms. He gave Piett the galaxy’s longest look, but didn’t say anything further and eventually returned to staring out the viewport.

Once he was done looming over Endor, he left, and Piett began his shift in peace.

Give Venka the bridge. Comm Veers. Requisition his equipment. Force his flight plan to the top of Space Traffic Control’s priority list. Follow the Tydirium down to the moon’s surface. Land his shuttle nearby.

Piett stepped off his shuttle’s landing ramp with more caution than he had the first time. Now that he knew exactly what he was looking for, he could spot the traps before they could become an… issue.

Those little karkers wouldn’t get him again.

And now he knew Skywalker was holing himself up in a tree bear city until Lord Vader captured him. All Piett needed to do was retrace his footsteps, well, the tree bears’ footsteps, and find it. Then he’d finally have his answers.

He was equally tempted to burn the whole damn forest down if it meant getting his revenge on that blasted city. He’d make up his mind once he found it.

Although figuring out where the damn bears took him would take some effort. It was difficult to ascertain one’s location when tied to a stick and bouncing between the little things, Piett was not ashamed to admit. It hurt to crane your neck up for that long.

So finding it from memory would be extremely difficult. His best bet, then, was to follow Skywalker and his friends. Piett brought up his macrobinoculars and spotted them rather quickly half a hill away, about to harass the group of scout troopers. Piett couldn’t get there in time to stop it, but he could certainly follow along the destructive path they left.

It was Skywalker. Piett was certain there would be a destructive path to follow.

Piett gingerly picked his way through the underbrush while keeping an eye on Skywalker’s movements as well as an eye out for traps. Skywalker’s group clashed with the scout troopers and soon enough there were speeder bikes screaming away into the forest.

Several heat signatures remained behind. The largest one was most likely the Wookie, and the two faint ones the droids. The middling signature could be Skywalker, Solo, or the Princess, there was no way to tell. They didn’t appear to be in a rush to go anywhere, perhaps trusting that their companions on the speeder bike would return, and so Piett settled in to wait as well.

But he would keep his distance. Wookies had an incredible sense of smell and those old astromechs were often equipped with various scanners. Piett found a dark, dank patch of undergrowth at the foot of a massive tree and resigned himself to a wet and uncomfortable test of his patience.

Thankfully it had only disappeared for about twenty minutes, which wasn’t even long enough for Piett’s back to start hurting. It was long enough to thoroughly soak his uniform and cover him in insects though, and for Veers to comm him repeatedly asking where he was. Piett had shifted only to flick the bugs off him and disable his comms.

The speeder bike returned down one heat signature, Piett saw through his macrobinoculars. Skywalker’s group hurried off in the direction the speeder bike had returned from, so they were not waiting for their missing companion to return. Once they were a fair distance away, Piett picked himself up out of his hiding spot and trudged down the slope to the small clearing they vacated.

The bodies of two scout troopers greeted him. Piett confirmed they had no pulses and then eyed the speeder bike Skywalker’s group had left behind. Why the Empire had equipped these scout troopers with such high speed, low safety vehicles in an area of dense tree cover Piett would never understand. Those things were flying death traps.

Piett trudged after Skywalker’s group. He kept his blaster drawn and ready in case any of the tree bears made an appearance, but this part of the forest seemed quieter than the part where he’d left his shuttle.

The reason for that, after half an hour, revealed itself. A group of the furry karkers were huddled behind a misleadingly small outcropping of rocks, Piett’s macrobinoculars could just discern. No doubt there were a myriad of traps around them too.

Of course Skywalker and whatever Jedi senses he had would alert him and his group to the danger. It was how they had managed to slip through Death Squadron’s grasp again and again after all –

No, the Wookie had triggered something and now Piett watched as their heat signatures rose all clumped together and the tree bears emerged from their hiding spots and surrounded them.

Piett waited for them to free themselves and escape but… they didn’t. Piett ran his macrobinoculars through a power cycle to check if they were faulty but there went the larger heat signatures, trussed up between the smaller ones in likely a very similar manner to Piett last reset.

What?

Surely the Wookie could escape with ease and free the rest. So why doesn’t he? And why under the stars are they allowing themselves to be taken to the bear city and eaten?

Piett trailed along behind the group until they ascended into the tree bear’s city. By now the daylight was fading and the city began to light up with torches, Piett watched from a distance away. A great convergence of tree bears was taking place in the heart of the city, likely centred around Skywalker’s group, and Piett knew he had to get closer.

There didn’t appear to be any torches on the forest floor under the city. Piett carefully approached the city and skulked around the bases of the huge trees supporting it, peering up into the thin lines of light that escaped through the wooden slats of the city floor. There were lower levels Piett could see, long abandoned and fallen into disarray, and he wondered if any were still sturdy enough to support his weight. It might be worth the effort to climb up to them and eavesdrop on the city from below.

It was better than waiting around down on the forest floor, which appeared to serve as the city’s dumping grounds. Piett crept across old bones, soiled fabric, and rubbish he didn’t want to think about in his search for an acceptable tree to climb.

He found a suitable one a fair way from the older, larger trees at the centre of the city but his picked tree offered a great deal of handholds and there was a sturdy looking platform at the top of it, directly under the current city’s floor. It would make the perfect listening spot if he could get to it.

Piett checked his equipment was secured and began climbing the tree. The last time he’d climbed a tree had to be about twenty years ago, now, but it was a skill one didn’t forget.

Piett climbed the tree.

He sweated into his chest armour and it shifted uncomfortably around his torso. Climbing trees was far more taxing when you were in your forties and weighed down with rifles and blasters and armour. If he had to make the blasted journey down to Endor’s moon again he wouldn’t bother with most of it next time.

After a small eternity he made it to the abandoned platform just under the current city structure. He took a moment to just lie there, catching his breath, and that was how he caught the faint pattern of footsteps wandering around near his head.

They were human, they had to be with that weight behind them. Piett pulled himself up off the platform’s floor and tilted his head towards the footsteps.

The footsteps stopped on the edge of the above platform and there was the sound of wood creaking. Piett supposed the figure had rested their arms on a wooden railing as they overlooked the dark forest around them.

A second set of footsteps followed the first.

“Luke?” a feminine voice asked. It must have been Princess Organa. “What’s wrong?”

There was a new creaking of wood, this time directly over Piett’s head. The first set of footsteps, Luke Skywalker, must have turned to face the Princess.

“Leia… do you remember your mother? Your real mother?”

“Just a little bit. She died when I was very young.”

Piett had read many reports on the Princess and none of them had mentioned she was adopted. Piett tilted his head back to breathe silently and he listened intently to the private conversation as if Skywalker and the Princess were revealing the secrets of the universe.

Which they may as well have been, considering the manpower and effort Lord Vader had put forth into finding them. Piett hung on every word, rapt by this new insight into the beings that had eluded him for so long.

“What do you remember?” Skywalker asked.

“Just… images, really. Feelings.”

“Tell me.”

“She was very beautiful. Kind, but… sad. Why are you asking me all this?”

Skywalker took a moment to reply. “I have no memory of my mother. I never knew her.”

“Luke, tell me. What’s troubling you?”

The creaking from the wooden railing returned. “Vader is here… now, on this moon.”

That was news to Piett, although it shouldn’t have surprised him. He knew Skywalker would be apprehended by Lord Vader on this moon at some point.

It was also news to Princess Organa. “How do you know?”

“I can feel his presence. He’s come for me. He can feel when I’m near. That’s why I have to go. As long as I stay, I’m endangering our group and our mission here.” Skywalker paused for a moment. “I have to face him.”

“Why?”

There were more creaking footsteps. “He’s my father.”

Piett felt like the platform he was standing on had suddenly dropped away beneath him.

Lord Vader was Luke Skywalker’s father?

It couldn’t be true.

It must be true, because here was a piece of the puzzle Piett was missing. Why Lord Vader had hunted Skywalker to the edge of the galaxy and back. How Luke Skywalker had appeared from the backend of nowhere and destroyed the first Death Star. Why Skywalker had the same set of abilities as Lord Vader.

Did that mean… was Lord Vader… Anakin Skywalker? The Jedi General? Piett sat back on his haunches and clamped a hand over his mouth, desperate to keep his breathing silent.

“Your father?” Princess Organa tried to clarify.

“There’s more. It won’t be easy for you to hear it, but you must. If I don’t make it back, you’re the only hope for the Alliance.”

Piett frowned. Why was Princess Organa the only hope after Skywalker?

“Luke, don’t talk that way.” Princess Organa agreed with Piett. “You have a power I – I don’t understand and never could have.”

“You’re wrong, Leia. You have that power too. In time you’ll learn to use it as I have. The Force is strong in my family. My father has it… I have it… and… my sister has it.”

Piett stopped breathing. Skywalker had a sister with the same Force sensitivity he did?

Who could it be?

…Ah.

“Yes,” Skywalker seemed to confirm Piett’s thoughts, “It’s you, Leia.”

“Both of you are his children?” Piett said before he remembered he should be dead quiet.

The conversation above him halted abruptly and Piett swore silently to himself. He heard footsteps approach the edge of the city’s platform and Piett swore again much more audibly.

“Shavit, wait, wait –”

Princess Organa leaned over the railing, pulled a blaster from her dress, and blasted him in the face.

Piett ducked, rolled, and went for the blaster on his side but he wasn’t wearing one on his bridge. His hand clutched at the heavy fabric of his uniform’s pants and he gaped up at his crew before figuring out the rebels were no longer a threat to him. Piett’s hand dropped.

The whole bridge was looking at him, Piett noticed through his heaving breaths.

Even Darth Vader was watching him curiously, the stars behind him glittering like an audience with their holoprojectors out.

“Your children?” Piett managed to spit at Lord Vader. “Skywalker and Princess Organa are your kids?”

The temperature on the bridge plummeted.

Every single crewmember on it, including Piett, froze.

Lord Vader held a hand out against that void of stars and Piett knew it was the Force that was holding him immobile.

Lord Vader’s hand twitched and every neck bar Piett’s slowly, ever so slowly, swivelled around until their tendons and muscles could no longer support the motion.

The slow turning continued regardless. Dozens of necks snapped and Lord Vader let the bodies drop like rag rolls to the durasteel floor.

Only Piett and Lord Vader remained alive on the bridge.

Piett found his frozen form dragged to Lord Vader’s side, and Lord Vader’s physical hand around his neck as opposed to the ethereal one he was expecting. Piett’s officer’s cap fell down unnoticed to the durasteel floor.

“Where,” Lord Vader’s low and droid-like tone filled the empty bridge, “did you learn about this?”

Piett could move again, and his hands clawed desperately at the one around his neck. He opened his mouth but he couldn’t speak.

Lord Vader shook him and eased the pressure on his neck. “Where?”

“From your s-son, my Lord,” Piett was able to force out, “while he was… telling P-Princess Organa about her heritage.”

“…Luke has a sister…” Lord Vader muttered to himself, “a twin sister…”

Piett was dropped to the floor.

He ran his fingers up and down his neck to confirm nothing was restricting it and he took several deep breaths, gasping for air that was no longer denied to him.

Captain Venka’s body was right next to Piett. His glassy eyes stared out the front viewports and to the stars.

Piett ripped his eyes away from the corpse. There was his cap, lying in a crumpled heap just on the edge of the Pit. Piett grabbed it, shook it out, and put it on.

“You didn’t… know, my Lord?” Piett asked with great hesitation. It was easier to focus on what Lord Vader had said instead of grappling with the realisation that he had just lived through his worst and most frequent nightmare.

“I did not,” Lord Vader admitted. “If I had, I would never have…”

That black helmet pierced Piett with a stare that could stop the stars in their tracks. “I am curious as to how Skywalker contacted you and why he would deliver such information to you, Fleet Admiral.”

Piett climbed to his feet. “He didn’t, my Lord. I overheard.” Piett swallowed. “If you would, please let me explain –”

“It is just yourself who knows?”

Piett nodded. “Yes, my Lord –”

Piett’s words cut off as he was once again rendered immobile. His feet left the durasteel floor and Lord Vader strode up to him, the distance between them narrowing until Lord Vader’s helmet was only centimetres from Piett’s face.

“You have been my favourite Admiral, Piett,” Lord Vader said, “and my best. But you cannot continue with the knowledge you have learned.”

Lord Vader snapped his neck.

Chapter Text

There was a seamless transition between looking up into Lord Vader’s askew helmet and once again returning to his place at the other end of his bridge.

Piett stared at the crew in the weapons and defence stations working away. Between them, the crew in the Pit passed datapads around and pointed to their console displays, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Lord Vader stood staring out the front viewport, down, down to Endor far below.

Piett closed his eyes.

He had to walk down the command walkway and greet Lord Vader, he knew that. He had to begin his shift and pretend nothing at all had just happened. He had to avoid dwelling on all the revelations he had learned over the last few minutes.

Or Lord Vader would execute him.

Again.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair, and nothing in this galaxy was, but Piett was well and truly done with that supposed truth of the galaxy. What did any of his subservience, any of his faith, any of the great and unspeakable acts he had committed in the Emperor’s name, matter? None of it mattered. None of it would stop Lord Vader casting him aside like any rubbish Admiral or overpromising Captain.

Piett almost snorted to himself. Lord Vader had dared to call Piett his favourite. Hadn’t Piett proven his loyalty, his devotion, time and time again? And yet Lord Vader had still snapped his favourite’s neck before Piett could begin to explain himself.

Why did he matter so little, in the end, and Darth Vader matter so much?

Why did everything in the galaxy seem to revolve around him?

Piett opened his eyes, forced out a long breath through clenched teeth, and tugged his officer’s cap low over his eyes.

He would play his damned part.

Force help him he would do what he had to, but he wouldn’t care one whit if Lord Vader sensed all his thoughts and his building ire, all of it directed at Lord Vader himself.

Let him.

What’s the worst that could happen? Lord Vader would kill him?

Piett marched along the command walkway with his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. Not from fear. His blood boiled away in his veins, his hands were clenched so tightly that his gloves creaked, and when he arrived at the end of the walkway he stood before Lord Vader with his shoulders bunched tight with tension.

Piett gave Lord Vader the briefest, sharpest bow he thought he could get away with.

“Lord Vader,” Piett ground out.

Lord Vader did not immediately respond. Instead, he tilted his helmet at Piett.

“…Fleet Admiral.”

Piett held his gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Lord Vader crossed his arms and bore down over Piett. In Piett’s peripheries, he could see heads turning in the Pit as they noticed something was amiss. General chatter on the bridge ground to a halt.

Piett didn’t care. He even dared to raise his chin just a fraction at Lord Vader.

He didn’t have a plan. He was furious, and he wanted Lord Vader to know, and he wanted Lord Vader to know it was because of him. That was as far as his planning went.

And Lord Vader… ever so slowly, he slid his helmet’s red lenses away from Piett. He walked away like Piett’s antagonistic greeting was some small amusement, as if his Admiral’s borderline treasonous behaviour on the bridge mattered oh so little against the grand galactic concerns Lord Vader was entwined in, as if it were so small it could be laughed away and ignored.

Oh, it made Piett fume. He was half tempted to spill Lord Vader’s secrets to the bridge again, just to force a reaction from him. Just to see if that made him take Piett seriously.

But no, Piett held his tongue as Lord Vader left the bridge and he smeared a veneer of calm over his features, dragging himself by sheer willpower alone back to the facsimile of a cool and collected Admiral. No, he wasn’t quite ready to have his neck broken again, and Piett needed time to think.

Except he wasn’t sure exactly how much longer he could stand here on his bridge and pretend nothing was wrong. He couldn’t corral his thoughts at all. He’d just been executed, for kark’s sake, and Lord Vader was actively hunting his own children down, and he didn’t even know one of them was his –

Piett needed advice. And not nebulous, hand-wavy advice about clouds in the Force; something solid, with a plan of action, from someone he trusted.

And if he didn’t get it soon, Piett wasn’t sure what he would do. Possibly turn into a gibbering mess. It wouldn’t be so bad, he supposed. It would certainly give him a different set of problems.

“Captain,” Piett called Venka over in what he hoped was a calm voice, “take the bridge, would you?”

“Ah, yes, Admiral.” Venka saluted.

Piett turned and strode from the bridge. On a whim, he removed his officer’s cap from his head and threw it with all his might at a wall, where it then fell in a disappointingly small heap on the floor. He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed. But the action still felt good.

“Sir?” Venka called out after him. The rest of the bridge crew watched on, silent and still as statues.

“What?” Piett snapped without turning back around.

“N-nothing, sir.”

Piett ignored the looks his crew were giving him, jogged down the stairs, and left the bridge.

Piett activated the lights and Veers bolted upright, a blaster in his hand, and he pointed it at Piett’s centre of mass before he was fully awake.

But he didn’t fire, and that was the important part. Piett had estimated roughly equal odds he would take a bolt of plasma to the chest. It was nice to know that Veers wouldn’t blast him.

“Firmus?” Veers blinked at him and lowered his blaster. “What the kark are you doing down here?”

Piett leaned against the doorframe into Veer’s sleeping quarters, holding Veers’ bottle of Denon vodka loosely about its neck. He was sure he looked quite the sight – uniform in disarray, bottle in hand, and some sort of wild look in his eyes, if the expressions of the officers he passed on the way revealed anything. Piett didn’t care. No-one would question what the Fleet Admiral did, at least, not for a few hours. That was all he needed.

“Well, legally,” Piett wavered his free hand around, “I suppose I’m deserting. It’s not important. I need to talk to you about something. I need your help.”

“You have it,” Veers said, quick on the uptake. “Is it urgent? Are you alright? What do you mean you’re deserting?”

Piett stepped properly into Veers’ room and activated the door’s lock. “I recently came across some information that changes everything, Max. Everything.”

“And what,” Veers placed his blaster on his bedside table, “you immediately flew down to this moon, presumably without informing anyone, and now you’re considered a deserter?”

“No, I went to your quarters on the Lady first,” Piett gestured to the bottle in his hand, “and then I snuck down here without informing anyone.”

As Fleet Admiral Piett had access to almost all areas on the Lady, bar the areas Lord Vader used as his private quarters, but Veers had also given him explicit permission to come and go as he pleased. Piett had hoped Veers would join him in emptying the bottle together, but he realised now that was probably unrealistic considering the hour on the moon. Thanks to the time travel his own internal chronometer still thought it was evening.

Veers sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “If we’re quick, I can come up with a reason for why you’re here so Lord Vader doesn’t strangle you –”

“Is it safe to speak in here?”

Veers nodded.

Piett tightened his grip around the bottle’s neck. “Kark Lord Vader.”

Veers glared at him, stunned for the moment, then he swore as well and shook his head.

“By the Force, Firmus, you can’t – he’ll execute you for that –”

“He’s welcome to try,” Piett said, heavy with bitterness. “I’m not going back up there, and soon he’ll have more important things to worry about than some… some insignificant Fleet Admiral.”

Veers searched his eyes for some sign of… what, Piett wasn’t sure, but it seemed like he found it. Sincerity. Fear. Gallows humour. “All of this is brought on by the… life changing information you’ve learned, hasn’t it?”

Piett nodded. “That, and the trials I have undertaken to learn it.”

Veers shifted to sit in a more upright position. “What information could possibly cause all this? You’re acting like the galaxy’s turned up on its head.”

Piett sat down next to Veers. “Do you recall a conversation between us, where I said I’d had a dream… no, you wouldn’t. Let me try again.”

Piett steepled his fingers together, thought for a while, and then shrugged. There was no easy way to say this. Force help him he hadn’t been given an easy introduction to it either.

“Luke Skywalker and Princess Organa are Lord Vader’s children.”

There was a pregnant pause. Piett looked up to see Veers dead still and silent, staring at the ground.

There were long, slow seconds of silence before Veers spoke again.

“I can see why that information is worth risking your life over.” Veers looked up at him. “And you are sure about this? You are certain?”

Piett nodded again. “I heard it from Skywalker himself.”

“How?” Veers narrowed his eyes at Piett. “How by the Force did you hear about that?”

Piett rolled the bottle between his hands before resting it lightly on his knee. “That is more difficult to explain, Max.”

Veers ran his hands through his hair. “Why is this part of the process the most difficult for you, Firmus? You just karking told me Lord Vader has children – Lord Vader is human and – oh kark, he tortured one of them – and the other destroyed the first Death Star. So tell me. What could be more difficult to explain than that?”

Piett laid the bottle of Denon vodka gently down on the bedsheets. He had actually prepared for this part. He fished a stylus and a sheet of flimsy from his pocket, and he began to write.

“Here,” Piett said as he wrote, “is a list of every ship and the exact time they land on this moon today. In a few hours’ time the Tydirium will join them, claiming to be parts and technical crew. They are lying. The ship actually contains Luke Skywalker, Princess Organa, Han Solo, and the Wookie.”

If Veers wanted, Piett could tell him every single conversation that took place on the Lady’s bridge this rotation. He could tell Veers the time he received every engineering, defence, or intelligence report and exactly what they said. He could tell him the status of every TIE fighter, bomber, and interceptor up until the rebel fleet arrived, and often the first few minutes after that as well.

But they were more difficult things to prove down here on Endor’s moon. Hopefully something concrete that Veers could check for himself would be enough.

Veers shook his head. “How could you possibly –”

“Skywalker will be captured by Lord Vader and taken to the second Death Star. In the early morning hours, the rebels will break into the shield generator without him, but they’ll have the help of the tree bears instead.”

“Firmus –”

“You will prevent the rebels from destroying the shield generator and the rebel fleet will arrive. Death Squadron will keep the fleet preoccupied so the Emperor can reveal to them that the second Death Star is operational –”

“Firmus!” Veers grabbed Piett’s arm, jolting Piett’s stylus so it left a long slash across the flimsy. “How do you know all this?”

Piett pushed the flimsy into Veers’ hands. “I lived it, Max. Over and over again. You’ve had a feeling this battle will be final in many ways, and that’s true for everyone but me. I’ve seen this battle play out many times and we don’t win. We lose, Max, we lose every single time, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Veers ran his eyes over the flimsy and then blinked up at Piett. “How could you know I… you say you lived it? Are you mad?”

If only. “Not yet. Look at me. Look at me, Max.” It was Piett’s turn to grab at Veers, and make him see. “I’m not mad. The Force has done something to me, something that makes me experience this battle again and again. And I need your help. I can’t keep doing this on my own.”

Piett watched Veers carefully, looking for some kind of judgement, any kind of affirmation, anything that could give him the slightest bit of hope that Veers wouldn’t brush him aside.

He was an irrelevant Admiral with an unbelievable story, it was true. But he was also Veers’ friend.

And Veers narrowed his eyes, and nodded once, and Piett felt an unseen weight slip from his shoulders.

“Alright. Let me put some pants on, and then you’d better start from the beginning.”

Hours later, they watched live reports from Space Traffic Control scroll across the screen of Veers’ datapad.

“That’s it,” Piett tapped at the screen when a designation scrolled across it, “that’s the Tydirium.”

Veers squinted down at the sheet of flimsy. “You were right, down to the minute.”

“It’s nice to be right about something in this karked up situation,” Piett groused.

Veers tossed the datapad down onto his bed and adjusted his belt. While Piett was more than happy to languish here, bitter, Veers insisted he himself must act as if the galaxy still intended to revolve as normal. His shift would begin soon, and Piett would have to find somewhere else to be.

“I still think you need to talk to Lord Vader about this,” Veers said. “He’s the most likely to know what to do, if it’s a Force thing.”

Piett scrubbed his hand over his face. “I know. But I believe I have made you aware of why I am hesitant to do so.”

“Because he executed you.”

“Because he executed me. And he made it clear it wasn’t because I blabbed his business to the whole bridge.” No, that was why everyone else had died. Piett really should have had more control over himself. “I was dead simply because I knew the truth.”

Veers tugged on his officer’s cap. “And yet, I still believe you should talk to him. Worst case scenario, he executes you again, but you know you’ll just loop back to the bridge’s stairs.” He looked at Piett. “And really, if we’re being pragmatic, having your neck broken sounds far less painful than some of your other deaths.”

Yes, rationally Piett knew that. And it was a quick and relatively painless death compared to some of his other ones. Not every death in a space battle was instant.

But all the assurances in the galaxy that his death wouldn’t be painful or permanent did little to negate the fact he still had to talk to Lord Vader. One impermanent death by his hand did not erase Piett’s inbuilt survival instincts. It was an easy thing for Veers to suggest as all of this was rather abstract for him, but it was Piett’s literal neck on the line.

Although calling the suggestion “easy” was unfair to Veers. When Piett told him what Lord Vader had done Veers had looked ready to murder Lord Vader himself, but as the hours passed he grew more thoughtful.

“That is the worst case scenario,” Piett said slowly, “But what about the best case? Do you honestly believe Lord Vader would put aside his insane search for Skywalker just to help out his Admiral? Or would he use me to further his plans?”

“Well, he did say you were his favourite.” Veers broke off when Piett pulled a face. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know. The point is, you won’t know either until you talk to him.”

Piett opened his mouth, paused, and sighed. “I wish you weren’t always so pragmatic.”

“Isn’t that why you asked me for help?” Veers said with a slight smile.

Piett returned it. “I suppose so. But I also asked you because you’re my friend, Max.”

Veers’ slight smile broadened and softened. “Of course I am. And I am very thankful you’ve asked for my help, because you could really do with an external perspective.”

Piett straightened his spine. What had Veers seen about his situation that Piett had not?

Veers saw his expression and chuckled. “Tell me this. For a being with theoretically infinite time on his hands, has it occurred to you yet that you can take a break?”

Piett blinked. That hadn’t been what he’d had in mind. “What do you think I’m doing right now? I’ve deserted my fleet,” Piett pointed to the so far unopened Denon vodka, “I’m going to drink that, and I’m going to do nothing to stop the Emperor from dying.” Piett raised an eyebrow at Veers. “An event which you haven’t condemned me for, by the way.”

Veers crossed his arms. “I am of course loyal to the Emperor.”

“Of course.”

“I swore oaths, as did you. But,” Veers lowered his voice, “a lot of the men here know that it’s Lord Vader that leads them into battle.”

Piett nodded. He had felt threads of that amongst his crew as well.

“I’m sure you will in time find a way to crush the rebels and save the Emperor’s life,” Veers assured him, flicking his datapad off, “as you are the best Admiral Death Squadron has ever had. But if it were me, and Lord Vader executed me a few hours ago, I would not then immediately spend the hours after that strategising. You doing that, and risking your life coming down here, is not something I would consider taking a break. Have you seen yourself, Firmus? You look… stressed.”

Funny, that. “I always –”

“Not like this. If you have all the time in the galaxy, you should use it.”

Piett ran his hand through his hair, missing his cap, and exhaled. There would be no true rest for him until after he was free from the time loop. That he knew down to his core.

And what else could he do? What else was there, but for this treasonous and traitorous hunt for answers? How else could one spend a time loop?

“I thought you wanted me to talk to Lord Vader,” Piett tried to change the subject.

“You have time to do both.” Veers pulled his boots on, looking every bit like the proper Imperial, but then he stilled. “I know your space battle goes poorly due to events beyond your control. Do you… know what happens down here?”

Piett only had a vague idea. Even after all these resets, the fog of war still came into play. “I don’t have any details, but I can tell you this: Do not underestimate the little bears down here.” Piett realised that was not particularly reassuring. “And I never received word that you died, if it helps.”

“It does, I suppose.”

“But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Yes, Firmus, I’m not going to suddenly run around like a bantha-brained fool.” Veers strapped his holster to his hip, eyes vacant. “What are you going to do next?”

“Go back to my shuttle,” Piett replied, “if it’s still hidden. Maybe take a nap. Tomorrow I’ll watch the battle and see if whoever’s appointed acting Fleet Admiral in my place does a better job of it.”

Piett couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. Veers shot him a sharp look and Piett rolled his eyes. “Yes I’m aware it’s unlikely, given my level of experience with this particular battle. Allow me this moment to wallow in my failures, please.”

“No, I won’t.” Veers approached Piett, face sober. “My shift starts in a few minutes, and before I go, I want you to promise me something.”

It was the least Piett could do. “Of course.”

Veers put his hands on Piett’s shoulders. “Promise me you’ll come find me whenever you need help. I don’t care if it takes hours to convince me, you do it, and you do it before you end up as… distraught, as you looked earlier.” Veers braced himself. “It’s – I don’t like seeing you – promise me you will not despair.”

Piett could only blink up at him. He knew he’d looked bad, but surely not to the extent where he’d worried Veers. He gave a stuttering nod.

“I… yes, I promise. But you should know. Just because this is my first time telling you all this, that doesn’t mean you haven’t been helping me out in other resets. And when I ask, you always do.”

Veers dropped his arms from Piett’s shoulders. “I’m glad. I’m very glad.” He straightened to his full height and the mask of an Imperial General fell over him. “I have to leave, but you can’t be seen leaving with me if you are labelled a deserter. Fortunately I am aware of an unguarded back access hatch and its sensors are often faulty. If you wait a minute after I leave, I can make sure the way is clear.”

Piett truly had the best of friends. “Thank you, Max.”

“That leaves one last thing,” Veers put his blaster in its holster on his hip. “It’s well known that you and I are friends. What do I say if I’m asked about you?”

Piett cracked half a smile. “Tell them the truth. I came in here in the early morning, rambled about time loops, and then wandered off into the wilderness.”

Veers let the ghost of a smile cross his features. He walked to his door. “Force be with you, Firmus. You and me, once you’ve figured everything out, we’re going out for a proper drink. You can tell me all about it.”

Piett inclined his head. “I’ll look forward to it. Force be with you as well.”

Veers left, his door sliding shut behind him, and Piett was alone again.

By some miracle, or more likely Imperial ineptitude, no-one found his shuttle over the course of the day. Then again, Piett knew what he was doing when it came to hiding ships and the Imperials at this base were hesitant to wander far due to the tree bear traps. He’d set his shuttle down right by a cliff face carved into a mountainside – no small feat of flying, Piett was proud to admit – and the curve of the rocks around it protected him from scanners.

Piett spent the remainder of the day eavesdropping on the local Imperial comm frequencies and clearing out his surrounds of traps. It was, by some definitions, restful. Learning the little bear’s methods brought him a certain peace of mind. They’d never catch him again.

He fell asleep as the sun set and woke up rather abruptly when the local Imperial chatter exploded with noise.

“A rebel? Surrendered to you just like that?”

“He did. Walked right out of the thicket and into one of our spotlights.”

“Could it be one of the rebels who attacked the scout troopers in the morning?”

“Maybe? All he had on him was a weird cylinder–”

“Shut it, Gryph. That’s classified information. Just go get the Commander, would you?”

Piett adjusted the frequencies on his communications array but no further details were forthcoming. The rebel, of course, must be Skywalker. It was late enough at night for him to have had his intense conversation with his sister and for him to have made his way to the Imperial base.

But Piett hadn’t expected Skywalker to surrender of all things. His conversation with Princess Organa implied he was going to confront Lord Vader, if Piett’s memory was correct. He must have meant with words instead of sabres. It made sense since Skywalker was adamant there was some good inside his father, and here he would have the chance to convince Lord Vader of that.

Either way, it would happen here. Lord Vader would arrive at some point to take Skywalker to the Emperor. Piett would like to know what happened when they met. And if Piett was careful, he could do it without Lord Vader sending him away again.

Although after the stunts Piett pulled over the course of the day, if the worst Lord Vader did to him was send him away, Piett would treat it as a Force-blown miracle. Despite the number of times he had already died, he wasn’t looking forward to doing so again.

He took his time gathering his supplies. His macrobinoculars, two blankets, and a vacuum flask of his tea were among the essentials. This mountain was several klicks away from the Imperial base, and while there was a chance he could make it to the base before Lord Vader arrived and eavesdrop on the conversation, that wasn’t his goal.

This mountain, alternatively, offered an excellent vantage point to look out over the base. He could watch the proceedings from a safe distance instead. Piett made the climb to the summit and settled in between some rocks, his macrobinoculars pointed out in front of him. One blanket below him, one over him, and his vacuum flask in hand, it wasn’t so bad a position. So long as one didn’t mind the climb. Or the insects.

Lord Vader arrived at the landing pad a mere half hour later. Piett could pick his shuttle from any other simply due to how Lord Vader flew – with an effortless grace that shamed all other pilots, but also from the extensive modifications the craft had suffered through. Piett was sure there were no other lambda shuttles in the galaxy that spouted as many turbo lasers and power boosters.

Lord Vader landed and alighted more abruptly than Piett knew him to, but he supposed that was fair. Skywalker was not known for his propensity to stay put for long. Piett checked his chronometer and noted the time. His own actions over the last rotation, hopefully, would not affect this event so much as to change the time it usually took place, so the information might be valuable later.

Piett adjusted his macrobinoculars to a walkway underneath the landing platform. It was protocol to use the lower walkways when transporting prisoners to avoid anyone watching from the skies, so it was likely that was where introductions would take place. From this angle however it offered Piett an excellent view.

Sure enough, a turbolift from one side of the walkway opened to reveal a Commander leading a group of Stormtroopers. They were escorting a being half a head shorter than them dressed entirely in black. Obviously that was Skywalker. Lord Vader appeared from a turbolift at the other end of the walkway and dismissed the Commander and the Stormtroopers, leaving him and Skywalker alone.

Piett’s macrobinoculars were an older model and couldn’t enhance sound like newer models could, but he suspected that wouldn’t matter. The air around Lord Vader and his son shifted ever so slightly, the trees around them seemingly leaning towards them, and Piett found it difficult to focus on their figures. Lord Vader was likely doing something in the Force to keep prying eyes and ears away.

Too bad. Piett watched them appear to argue until he had to look away as Lord Vader ignited a green lightsaber. Skywalker’s, it must be. But Piett had seen holos of Skywalker in action with a blue lightsaber. Did they change colour, or was there another lightsaber at play?

Skywalker did not seem to react to his lightsaber’s ignition, so Piett was not overly concerned Lord Vader would strike down his son. Lord Vader deactivated the blade and turned away, Skywalker also turning to stare out over the forest.

It didn’t seem like the conversation was going well. If this was where Skywalker was going to convince Lord Vader to kill the Emperor, Piett didn’t think it would work. Lord Vader was loyal, just like Piett. Perhaps even loyal beyond reason. Loyal enough, certainly, to commit atrocities.

Piett laboured under no illusions as to the character of those he served, and really it was about time Skywalker did the same for his father.

Skywalker’s head snapped up and peered directly into Piett’s macrobinoculars. Piett jerked his eyes away and threw himself behind a rock.

There was no way Skywalker could have seen him at this distance. It was impossible.

Surely.

Surely?

Piett peeked his macrobinoculars out from the other side of the rock and found the Imperial base once more. Skywalker was allowing himself to be led by Stormtroopers at a sedate pace to Lord Vader’s shuttle. That probably meant Piett was safe, then. He’d overreacted to a coincidence.

Sometime later, just as sunrise hit the moon, Lord Vader’s shuttle rose off the landing platform and disappeared through the clouds, headed towards the Death Star. The superweapon glittered in its half-finished glory like a sardonic smile, a blight on the night sky, so high and mighty above this little moon, and Piett couldn’t help but let his lips curl up in a sneer in response. Such a waste of time and resources.

Piett stood and dusted his uniform off. Events on this moon and inside its influence would now continue without him. The rebels would attack the base shortly, but they wouldn’t destroy the shield generator until after it was known across more Imperial channels that Lord Vader had captured Skywalker and they had made it to the Death Star. The rebel fleet would arrive in this system unprepared for a shielded Death Star, but they would figure that out and become engaged with the dozens of Imperial ships waiting for them, and the largest space battle the galaxy had ever seen would begin.

But it was all out of Piett’s hands now. No, there was nothing left for Piett to do but to bear witness as to how the great battle in the sky ended from the ground.

A TIE fighter screamed through the atmosphere, engines gone but shields clearly intact if it had made it so close to the surface, and it left a vapour trail like a skid mark across the sky. When it disappeared behind a distant mountain with a faint explosion Piett took another swig straight from the bottle of Denon vodka.

“Should’ve stayed with your squad, TIE pilot,” Piett commented to no-one. He leaned back against a rock and pointed his macrobinoculars back up into the space battle. He had his blankets around him and the insects left him alone once Endor’s star had come up. He couldn’t possibly be more comfortable or restful. There you go, Veers.

The Lady took a heavy bombardment across her bow but it allowed a TIE bomber squadron to lead the rebel attackers into a trap. The Stalker rose next to the Lady and wiped the rebels out.

“Risky manoeuvre,” Piett tsked. Must have been Venka’s idea. The younger Captains tended to be a little less conservative with their tactics. Then again, even at this distance Piett could tell the bombardment wasn’t aimed towards any major weaknesses along the Lady’s bow. Venka knew the Lady well.

Commander Gherant was the likely candidate to serve as Acting Fleet Admiral in Piett’s place. Piett had hand-picked him to serve on the bridge, after all. He had experience commanding multiple Star Destroyers although he wasn’t as imaginative as Piett had hoped for.

Still, what better opportunity to prove himself. “Force be with you, Gherant.” Piett toasted the air and drank again.

The Devastator successfully corralled a rebel cruiser into the Death Star’s line of fire. Piett knew what was coming next, and averted his eyes before the Death Star’s blow could blind him. He looked back in time to see the debris of the rebel cruiser wash over the Devastator as she stubbornly held her position.

“And if you were a less prideful man, Montferrat,” Piett tracked the debris with his macrobinoculars carefully, “you would move the Devastator out of the damn debris so the rebels can’t use it for cover and…”

A line of explosions tore through the Devastator. Piett flicked his hand at it. “Yes, exactly.”

Piett couldn’t exactly blame him. He knew the Devastator’s hangars were too damaged to launch more TIE fighters at this point, and the other Star Destroyers were too occupied with their own rebel attackers to send aid. The Emperor’s own orders prevented the Star Destroyers from rearranging themselves more effectively.

Piett shook his head. The ships of Death Squadron deserved better than to be picked off one by one like this. The other Star Destroyers involved in this battle, under their own Admirals, probably did as well, but there was precious little Piett could usually do about that.

Something sparked in the corner of Piett’s eye and he turned his gaze to the forest around him.

The shield generator had exploded with a blinding array of sparks and superheated gas, and Piett winced. A moment later the shockwave hit him with a boom like a crack of thunder, and a flock of avians of some sort screeched and abandoned the trees below him, filling the air.

Veers would have survived the blast. He would be leading from his AT-AT, and there were no snow speeders here to topple it like there had been on Hoth.

Piett returned his eyes to his macrobinoculars. Once the shield generator did finally fall, typically the Lady wasn’t far behind.

Sure enough, the Lady was smoking heavily from her starboard engines and from this angle it looked like some of the lights along her inner cityscape were out.

But Piett frowned. She was certainly faring worse than when she was under Piett’s command, and something in his chest ached for her.

A squadron of rebel bombers scorched her underside with concussion missiles. By the secondary explosions that rippled along her hull, her shields were down.

Her engines flickered and died. Piett could scarcely watch as she began a slow descent towards the Death Star, caught in its gravity well, streaming white-hot durasteel and detritus in a gentle curve behind her.

It was all but certain she would hit. Is this what happened to his first Executor? Was her final action that of a six hundred million tonne asteroid, striking a blow against the unprotected Death Star?

What an ignoble end to the greatest ship in the galaxy. Yes, Venka was her Captain now but Force damn it she was his, she was special, and even if the attempts drove him mad he swore he would find a way to save her.

The Lady gathered speed. Piett’s throat burned, at it wasn’t from the alcohol. Watching the Lady meet her end from macrobinoculars was far worse than from her bridge. At least there he could pretend to do something to help. At least there he could try one more thing, one new idea that just might make the difference.

The Lady hit.

There was a fireball, but not as large a one as Piett had expected. Moreover the Lady crumpled in on herself as her nineteen kilometres of durasteel failed to make much of an impression against a mass of durasteel so many multitudes larger. Thousands aboard the Death Star would have died, for sure, but Piett didn’t care about them. Not compared to the loss of the Lady and her crew.

The smoke and debris slowly cleared away. Piett stared at the smear of durasteel that was the Lady and drank.

What a waste.

The battle raged on overhead as if no great tragedy had just occurred, and another Star Destroyer careened out of formation and began to break up in the moon’s atmosphere. It was followed by a rebel cruiser.

Piett took a moment longer to mourn, and then fixed his gaze back on the fight.

He followed as much of the conflict as he could while keeping an eye on his chronometer. He typically lasted a few minutes longer than Commander Gherant had, and with fewer Star Destroyers lost, but after that he knew as much as anyone else. At least now he could change that and see the end of the battle.

The fighting continued for about ten more minutes until half of the Imperial ships abruptly pulled out of formation. Piett adjusted his macrobinoculars to focus on them. This was new.

Piett had been given no such orders, under any circumstances, to retreat. But these Star Destroyers must be acting on some order if they were all moving at the same time.

None of the ships of Death Squadron looked to be among them. Piett could recognise a few of the more distinguishable ships leaving, though, either by their unique repairs and modifications or his familiarity with how they moved thanks to his extensive knowledge of this battle. The Eradicator, for instance, always listed slightly when turning due to weak portside stabilisers and the Vigilance had a modified hangar entrance.

It didn’t matter what their orders were. They had left half of their allies behind and the rebels would swarm them within minutes –

Piett was back on his bridge. He swayed slightly at the sudden change of position, balance momentarily gone.

For the first time in a long while, the sounds of the bridge’s white noise of activity brought him a sense of relief. He would always prefer to exist in a time he shared with the Lady rather than one where she no longer existed.

Lord Vader stared out the front viewports, down, down to Endor far below, and Piett’s relief soured.

He had to convince Lord Vader to help him. Somehow.

Piett straightened his spine and adjusted his officer’s cap. There was nothing for it but to try. And Veers had been right, the worst Lord Vader could do to him was kill him. He could survive that.

With a quick nod to himself, Piett walked down the command corridor towards Lord Vader. When he reached the end, Piett bowed deeply to him.

“Lord Vader,” Piett said with proper deference.

“Admiral.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms. He gave Piett the galaxy’s longest look, but didn’t say anything further and eventually returned to staring out the viewport.

Piett swallowed. “My Lord?”

Lord Vader turned back around with glacial slowness. “Yes, Fleet Admiral?”

“I would ask for a moment of your time, sir, in the conference room. I have a matter of grave importance to bring to your attention.”

Lord Vader tucked his hands into his belt. “Grave importance…” Lord Vader all but purred, which was quite the feat considering the rather flat nature of his vocoder. “Does it concern Skywalker?”

Not directly, no. “No, my Lord, but –”

“And is it urgent?”

Piett had to be honest. “We have a little over a rotation, but –”

“You have failed to convince me of the grave importance of this matter,” Lord Vader intoned, a black gloved finger now jutting into Piett’s face, and Piett felt sweat trickle down his spine. “See to it yourself, or I will find a new Admiral that does not allow themselves to be so distracted during the hunt for Skywalker. And I will show you what I consider a matter of grave importance.”

Piett bit back his next retort, because Veers had been wrong, actually. There were absolutely things worse than death Lord Vader was willing to enact upon him. Torture, dismemberment, the forced entry and ruin of his mind. The way Lord Vader was looking at him now, Piett couldn’t discount any of them.

And yet, while fighting not to flinch away from Lord Vader’s finger, Piett couldn’t help but note how… empty, the threat was. Since becoming trapped in this time loop Piett had been threatened more times by Lord Vader than he had at any other point in his career, either overtly or subtly, and yet not once had he followed through on them.

The notable exception to that rule was when Piett had so carelessly revealed the true origins of both Skywalker and Princess Organa, but that was different. Lord Vader had even expressed some form of regret over his execution then, Piett realised. That was why he’d informed Piett he was his best and favourite Admiral. He’d tried to soften the blow for Piett.

Piett really was a favourite of Lord Vader’s.

Maybe he could get away with pressing a little further.

But by the time he’d sorted his thoughts out Lord Vader had already turned away, and there was precious little Piett could do but watch as he disappeared off the bridge.

Well, nobody could say he hadn’t tried. And he would try again, he would, but perhaps it could wait until after he’d had some more time to think about what he was going to say. He’d figured out how to convince Veers of his circumstances, but it had taken hours. Somehow Piett couldn’t see Lord Vader showing him the same patience. He would have to think of something better.

…Or he could speak to Luke Skywalker again. The young Jedi was certain he could get his father to listen to him, even if it hadn’t looked like it on the walkway under the Imperial landing platform. Maybe he could offer some advice regardless.

Better yet, they could work together. Perhaps Lord Vader would listen if his son and his Admiral appeared before him as a united front.

Piett fought back a snort. Imagine that. The Fleet Admiral of Death Squadron, working directly with a rebel. A Jedi rebel, of all beings, but it had to be done. Piett could ask Veers to give him a reason to go down to the moon just before Skywalker turned himself in and they could have a long conversation, or at least a longer one than if Piett ordered the Tydirium tractor beamed onto the Lady, and spoke with him there.

It eased something in his chest to have a plan. Piett called Venka over to take the bridge for a few minutes while he holocalled Veers.

“Captain, take the bridge,” Piett instructed.

“Yes, Admiral.” Venka saluted him.

Piett left the bridge. With his cap still firmly in place, this time.

He landed just as the word came through that Skywalker had been found. Piett harassed the local Stormtroopers until they got him in contact with their Commander, and Piett convinced him to hand Skywalker over to him before Lord Vader arrived.

Piett was now well adapted to convincing beings not directly under his command to do what he wanted. All it took was a slightly harder edge in his tone to remind them that while he wasn’t known for killing men who displeased him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Piett was here this time for the arrival of the AT-AT, lumbering through the forest like some giant, ancient creature, and he watched Skywalker and his guards exit from its side. Piett took a turbolift down to the lower walkway to meet them.

The Commander saluted Piett and handed him Skywalker’s lightsaber. “He was armed only with this, sir. I believe there must be more rebels around, and I would like to conduct a search of the area.”

Piett took the lightsaber and tucked it into a pocket, giving himself a moment to think. He shouldn’t allow an Imperial patrol to find Princess Organa. Not that they had identified her in any of his other timelines. But if anything happened to her... “Thank you, Commander, but a search will not be necessary. You and your Stormtroopers will return to your posts. I will hold Skywalker until Lord Vader arrives.”

The Commander saluted again. “Yes, Admiral.” He frowned ever so slightly. “Sir, the Jedi is extremely dangerous. Might I suggest leaving you with –”

“You did contact Lord Vader and tell him you had Skywalker,” Piett cut him off, “didn’t you?”

The Commander gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Admiral.”

“Go, Commander. I will not order you a third time.”

“Yes, Admiral.” The Commander left with his Stormtroopers without saying anything further.

Skywalker watched this interaction with mild interest. “You truly believe you can stop me from escaping by yourself, Admiral.”

“Not quite.” Piett uses his code cylinder to unlock Skywalker’s binders and they fell to the walkway. “I just know you won’t escape, which is different. You turned yourself in for a reason.”

Skywalker blinked at him. “Um –”

“You want to talk to Lord Vader, who is your and Princess Organa’s father. You are sure there is still some good in him.”

Skywalker stared at him with outright shock, not a hint of Jedi calm about him. “How could you possibly – the only beings who know are – are you a Jedi?”

Piett scoffed. “Absolutely not. I am merely an Admiral who is, quite frankly, far out of his depth.”

“I don’t understand,” Skywalker said, crossing his arms. “You’re speaking in riddles, which is something a Jedi does. You peered into my mind and saw my feelings about my father. You have muddied your presence in the Force.”

Piett stared back at him, bewildered. “No, I – Skywalker, I am not a Jedi. I’m stuck in a time loop. You have my sincere apologies for interfering with your reunion with your father, but I had to speak to you. I have to figure out what’s going on and I need your and Lord Vader’s help.”

Skywalker watched him carefully, digesting this. “You are… telling the truth. But we are on opposing sides of this conflict. Why should I help you?”

Piett found himself smiling softly. “I’m someone that needs help. Why wouldn’t you?”

Skywalker’s lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile of his own, but then he let it cover his face. “Forgive me if I am wrong, Admiral, but that sounds very much like something I would say. Have we had this conversation before?”

“Something like it.” Piett decided to lay all his Sabacc cards on the table. “And… while we may be on opposite sides, I am not currently your enemy. I did not send Stormtroopers after your friends. I’ve no interest in stopping you from attempting to destroy the new Death Star or kill the Emperor.”

Piett looked out over the forest. “I just want to know why I’m stuck here. That’s all.”

Skywalker joined him, leaning on the railing, and it was some time until he spoke. “I cannot tell you much about time loops, but have you asked Vader for help? Surely he is easier to contact than a rebel Jedi, since you are an Imperial Admiral.”

Oh, Piett was a fool. Skywalker didn’t know who he was. “My apologies, Skywalker, I had forgotten we haven’t met. I am Fleet Admiral Piett, of Death Squadron. I work directly under Lord Vader. He is singularly obsessed with finding you, and will not tolerate anything threatening you or getting in his way.” Piett shifted uncomfortably. “Even to the point of, ah, extermination of his crew if your true heritage was revealed to others.”

Skywalker caught what Piett was heavily implying. “He killed you? I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Piett waved away the condolences. “I recovered.”

Skywalker looked away, his expression darkening. Piett didn’t like being the one to put that expression on his face. Someone so young shouldn’t look like that.

“If it helps you,” Piett added, gently, “I know he regretted it.”

That did seem to brighten the boy. “So you agree with me? Do you think there is some good in him?”

Piett could not reply. If he himself had committed great and terrible acts in the Emperor’s name, then Lord Vader had doubly so. Sometimes Piett wondered if there really was anything human inhabiting that black suit of armour, or if it were held together by burning rage and sheer willpower alone. Piett even had the privilege of seeing Lord Vader without his helmet, on occasion, and he still thought this from time to time.

“I’m sorry,” Piett said at last. “I can’t trust my feelings like you can.” He looked out to his mountain vantage point, barely more than a smudge of darkness against the stars at this time. “All I know is what I’ve seen with my own eyes. Lord Vader comes down here for you, and you talk. It doesn’t end well. He ends up taking you into his custody and escorting you to the Emperor.”

“And then what happens?”

Piett hesitated. He wasn’t sure exactly how much he should say. He was not Skywalker’s enemy, it was true, but he also wasn’t his friend. Piett still had a duty to his crew, even if he’d done a terrible job of it recently. He couldn’t give out information that would put them in even more danger.

He was their Fleet Admiral, Force damn it. That still meant something to him.

But he needed Luke’s help, so he had to give him something. Something that, to be frank, mattered less to him than Death Squadron. And it probably couldn’t be changed, anyway. “I don’t know what happens once you reach the Death Star. But I do know the Emperor is killed, and I reset some minutes after that.”

Skywalker’s eyes shone. “We win. I can’t believe it. I am right about my father.”

“There is a… chance of that, yes,” Piett replied, trying to be diplomatic, but he was no politician. “I don’t find it likely.”

Skywalker levelled him with his stare. “Come with me, Admiral. Come to the Death Star with my father and I. You’ll see what happens with your own eyes. I’ll prove I’m right. And then once I’ve saved my father and we’ve killed the Emperor together, we can save you too.”

It was a very tempting offer, if unrealistic. “Lord Vader will not let me join you. He will order me back to my fleet. And I reset so soon after the Emperor is killed, I doubt you and your father will have the time to help me.”

“You can help me convince Vader to let you,” Skywalker said. “And even if we can’t save you, you’ll reset knowing the truth. You just want to know why you’re stuck here, isn’t that right?”

Luke was right. And it couldn’t hurt to try. This was what he wanted more than anything else in the galaxy.

“Very well,” Piett said. “You are the one known for concocting plots at a moment’s notice, and Lord Vader will be here shortly. How do you suggest we proceed?”

Lord Vader’s shuttle landed next to Piett’s. Piett straightened his cap while he watched the lights over the turbolift tick down to the moment Lord Vader arrived.

He shared one final look with Skywalker – Luke, he corrected himself – as the turbolift opened, and Lord Vader strode forth.

Piett bowed as Lord Vader approached. If he was surprised at finding Piett here instead of with Veers, doing whatever it was Veers had required of him, he didn’t show it.

“My Lord,” Piett greeted, and held out Luke’s lightsaber. “I have Skywalker. He was carrying this.”

Lord Vader took it and turned it over in his hands. “Excellent work, Fleet Admiral. Now leave us. It is beyond time you returned to your fleet.”

“He stays,” Luke said firmly.

Even Piett felt the air around Luke grow colder. Sharper, somehow.

Luke held his father’s gaze, impossibly, through the dark lenses. “I will only go with you if Admiral Piett comes with me. If he cannot, I will find a way to escape.”

Lord Vader’s black helmet turned between Piett and Luke. Piett realised, suddenly, how bad of an idea it could be to appear as a united front against Lord Vader.

Lord Vader finally settled on Luke. “Do you truly believe you can escape me?”

Luke nodded. “I have escaped you before.”

There was definitely something in the air, Piett felt. A howling wind screamed past his ears for a mere moment or two, but there was no sign of it anywhere. Was it something to do with the Force?

Lord Vader sighed. “Very well. Admiral, wait in my shuttle –”

“He stays,” Luke insisted. “He knows everything anyway.”

Lord Vader turned the weight of his gaze on Piett. “Do you, Fleet Admiral?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Piett said in as steady a voice as he could. “Your… son told me everything.”

Well, he had overheard everything. But now was the time to put Piett’s skills with telling Lord Vader half-truths to work. Piett felt sweat bead on his forehead and he resisted the urge to wipe it away.

“I presume,” Lord Vader said with icy politeness, “that this has something to do with your matter of grave importance at the start of your shift.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Piett didn’t elaborate further. He and Luke had decided to avoid telling Lord Vader about the time loops for now, if they could help it. Piett was trying to watch how events unfolded, not change the timeline completely. He had no idea how Lord Vader would react if he knew of the future.

Lord Vader’s hand twitched, and Piett felt the blood drain from his face. But Lord Vader only shifted to put his hands on his belt, and Piett almost swayed on his feet in relief.

Lord Vader wouldn’t kill him for knowing about Luke. Not when Luke’s compliance depended on Piett’s presence.

“Explain yourself, Fleet Admiral.”

Piett chose his words with care. “This morning I knew I would meet with someone very important down here on this moon, sir. And now I must accompany you both to see the Emperor.”

“It is the will of the Force,” Luke added. “Surely you can sense how it twists around him.”

The will of the Force, Piett had said, was not a particularly sound argument. But Luke had disagreed, saying that it was if it were true. Which it was, from a certain point of view, Luke had added with a twinkle in his eye.

Lord Vader loomed over Piett, inspecting him. Piett tried to avoid feeling like an insect under a microscope.

“…I have sensed this, yes,” Lord Vader admitted, and looked away. “It seems the Force has its own fate for you, Admiral.”

Piett nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” And if Piett’s luck held, he’d find out what it is.

Lord Vader turned his helmet at Luke. “Your fate has been decided as well, my son. The Emperor has been expecting you.”

Luke stepped directly in front of Lord Vader. “I know, father.”

“So. You have accepted the truth of your heritage.”

Luke tilted his chin up. “I’ve accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father.”

Lord Vader pointed Luke’s lightsaber in his face. “That name no longer has any meaning for me.”

Luke pressed on, unafraid. “It is the name of your true self, you’ve only forgotten. Just like you have forgotten the good in you. The Emperor hasn’t driven it from you fully. That is why you couldn’t destroy me before.”

Luke must be talking about Bespin. Piett listened with rapt attention.

Lord Vader looked down at Luke’s lightsaber and twisted it around in his hands again. He turned slightly away from Luke. “I see you have constructed a new lightsaber.”

He ignited the blade, and now that Piett was right next to them, he could see the fear blossom on Luke’s face. But he held his ground with remarkable poise.

And that answered one unimportant question. The lightsabers couldn’t change colour.

“Your skills are complete,” Lord Vader continued. “Indeed you are powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen.” He deactivated the blade, and for a few moments the sounds of the insects and birds in the forest dominated the walkway.

Piett held himself rigid and silent in the background. What did the Emperor know about Luke? Everyone knew he was Lord Vader’s obsession.

“Then we are powerful enough together to defeat him,” Luke argued. “You said so at Bespin.”

Alright, there was a lot to unpack there. Did the Emperor have powers of some sort? And had Lord Vader hunted his son from one end of the galaxy to the other to offer him the chance to kill the Emperor together?

So the speculation around Death Squadron was true, in a way. Lord Vader had been planning to overthrow the Emperor, only the Emperor was not the frail old man everyone thought he was. He had some sort of power to rival Lord Vader’s.

And yet, in the end, those powers wouldn’t be enough to save him.

“Not in the Light,” Lord Vader countered. “You don’t know the power of the Dark side. I must turn you over to my Master.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “I will not turn… and you’ll be forced to kill me.”

Lord Vader attached Luke’s lightsaber onto his belt and folded his arms. “If that is your destiny.”

Piett wanted to scoff. As if Lord Vader, after all this effort, would want to kill his son. Any fool could tell that wasn’t true, even without knowing the truth of Luke’s heritage.

“Search your feelings, father. We can kill the Emperor and topple his Empire together. I feel the conflict within you, let go of your hate!”

Lord Vader’s shoulders fell just a fraction. If Piett hadn’t been watching him so intently, he would have missed it. “It is too late for me, my son. The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force. He is your Master now.”

Luke cast his eyes down. “Then my father is truly dead.”

Lord Vader did not reply. Instead, he rounded on Piett. “You will speak of this to no-one, Fleet Admiral. Not even to the General. Take Luke to my shuttle and wait there with him.”

Piett bowed. “Yes, my Lord.”

Victory. He was allowed to visit the Emperor. But it didn’t feel much like a victory.

Piett led Luke, unresisting, to the turbolift while Lord Vader remained to stare like a silent sentinel out over the forest.

The sky was brightening into the first light of dawn by the time Lord Vader joined them in the shuttle. Before then, Piett managed to have a conversation with the now gloomy Jedi.

“I’ve never met him,” Piett explained, “but if the Emperor is so powerful with the Force, could he have done this to me? In some attempt to save his life?”

“The Emperor uses the Dark side, but the Force around you doesn’t feel Dark,” Luke argued, “It just… is. The Dark feels cold.”

Luke flexed his gloved hand. There was something more, there, Piett knew. His expression gave it all away. Piett felt for the boy, he really did, but this could be Piett’s last chance to learn anything else from him.

“So you don’t believe my resets have anything to do with the Emperor,” Piett prompted.

“No. Why would you loop some time after the Emperor’s death? Why not immediately after? It doesn’t make sense.”

Piett leaned back against his seat in the passenger’s hold. “Why not slightly later? As far as I have researched –” and by the Force had Piett researched – “there is no substantive evidence to support anything like this happening before. Nobody knows how it works.”

Luke turned to look at the closed landing ramp for a moment before returning his attention to Piett. “I read a story on the holonet once about time loops. It was about these criminals hunting for a device that –”

“Except we’re not in a story on the holonet, Luke,” Piett replied. “I don’t see how it would apply here.”

The landing ramp gave a small jolt and descended, revealing Lord Vader on the landing pad. Piett stood and saluted, but Lord Vader strode past him and Luke without saying a word, and entered the front cabin.

Piett sat back down and put his crash webbing on.

Luke did not say anything further on the flight to the Death Star, no matter how carefully Piett coaxed him. Piett eventually joined him in his silence, trying to think if he could offer some reassurance to him about the future, like he did with Veers, but he really knew nothing else.

He resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. He’d had three conversations with Luke Skywalker, the Empire’s most wanted rebel, and already Piett was going soft for him. Three conversations were all it took. Luke didn’t even remember one of them.

They arrived with little fanfare. Stormtroopers, pilots, technicians, and officers scrambled to attention but Lord Vader strode past them all without acknowledgement. Luke stayed close to his father’s left, and Piett would always be by his right.

They travelled through the station until they used one final turbolift, which opened to reveal a huge throne room. Piett was immediately struck by how dark it was, and cold, even in his uniform designed for the cool air all Imperial ships had. A massive void swallowed half the flooring, leaving only a thin walkway to the rest of the space. Suspended walkways filled the ceiling. Huge turbines framed a staircase that led to a central dais, which was in turn framed by computer terminals.

And, sitting past the computer terminals, sitting as a smear of darkness blacker than the void of space behind him, was the Emperor. The singular man in which all of Piett’s sacrifices had been for. The singular man in which everything had been for.

They stopped in front of him. Piett and Lord Vader bowed, and the Emperor opened his hands to greet them all.

“Welcome, young Skywalker. I have been expecting you.”

Well, greet one of them. Luke stared back at him into glowing yellow eyes.

The Emperor flicked his hand. “Guards, Fleet Admiral, leave us.”

“He stays,” Luke said, gesturing at Piett.

The Emperor cast those hideous eyes to Lord Vader while his red guards filtered from the throne room. Lord Vader said nothing.

“…As you wish,” the Emperor eventually replied. That was good, although it seemed like the Emperor didn’t know exactly who he was. It was unlikely, then, that he would task Piett to save his life somehow through these resets.

The Emperor returned his eyes to Luke. “I’m looking forward to completing your training. In time you will call me Master.”

Lord Vader had said Luke’s skills were complete. Then what could the Emperor teach him? How to choke beings like Lord Vader?

Luke stepped forward. “You’re gravely mistaken. You won’t convert me as you did my father.”

The Emperor stood and moved to stand eye to eye with Luke. “Oh, no, my young Jedi. You will find that it is you who are mistaken… about a great many things.”

This close, Piett saw the Emperor was no mere man. His flesh was melted and a sickly yellow-grey. His eyes shone with an unwavering intensity that lacked any warmth.

It was a far cry from the elderly face so often shown alongside the Empire Day parades. It was also much worse than the one shown on Piett’s personal holoprojector when the Emperor gave his orders about the trap for the rebels.

They were both lies. This was obviously his true face.

Lord Vader held out Luke’s lightsaber. “His lightsaber.”

The Emperor took it delicately and inspected it. “Ah, yes, a Jedi’s weapon. Much like your father’s. By now you must know your father can never be turned from the Dark side. So will it be with you.”

“You’re wrong,” Luke all but spat. “The Dark side cannot save you from your fate.”

The Emperor laughed. It was a grating, awful sound that turned Piett’s stomach. “Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack of your rebel fleet?”

Piett didn’t think so. Luke looked up at the Emperor, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” the Emperor continued, “I assure you we are quite safe from your friends here.”

Luke gave the barest fraction of a smirk. “Your overconfidence is your weakness.”

“Your faith in your friends is yours.”

Lord Vader added his own input. “It is pointless to resist, my son.”

The Emperor stalked away back to his throne. “Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design,” he pointed through the glass towards Endor’s moon. “Your friends over there, on that moon, are walking into a trap. As is your rebel fleet!”

Luke cast hurt eyes at Piett before looking away. Piett fought back a pang of guilt but really, what good would it have done to tell him? The rebels win in the end, anyway.

The Emperor caught the interaction and grinned. “It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator. It is quite safe from your pitiful little band. An entire legion of my best troops await them.”

That would be Veers and his men. Luke stared out over the moon, wordless.

“Oh,” the Emperor crooned, “I’m afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arrive.”

The Emperor settled himself on his throne and Lord Vader moved to stand at his side, watching his son carefully. Piett stood a little way away from them all, desperately listening, but also praying to the Force none of them would involve him.

The rebel fleet arrived. Their fighters streamed ahead of the larger and slower cruisers, headed straight for the Death Star.

At the very last moment the fighters curved away to the right, scattering like light through a prism, and their bulkier counterparts hurried to follow. Piett was yet to figure out exactly what tipped them off about the Death Star’s shield, but they always knew.

It was too late to retreat anyway. Imperial ships appeared behind them, trapping the cruisers between them and the Death Star.

Luke spared a sidelong glance at his lightsaber, sitting on the Emperor’s armrest. The Emperor, ever watchful, tapped a decrepit finger on its base.

“You want this, don’t you?” the Emperor taunted. “The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon and use it. I am unarmed.”

The Emperor gestured to reveal the lack of weapons within his cloak. “Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger. With each passing moment, you make yourself more my servant.”

“No!” Luke growled, and the Emperor’s grin widened.

“It is unavoidable. It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now mine!”

Inwardly, Piett recoiled. Did the Emperor honestly believe Luke would act in any way like his father? It would never happen.

The battle across the stars continued. Piett watched as Avenger slid and fell out of formation. The Devastator would be soon to follow.

The Emperor continued his monologue. “As you can see, my young apprentice, your friends have failed. Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station.”

He spoke into his comms. “Fire at will, Commander.”

The Death Star fired. The more manoeuvrable rebel ships darted out of their formations, panicked, before they changed their tactics and flew breathtakingly close to the Star Destroyers.

Laserfire covered the viewport in green and red light. The Devastator fell, along with one of the larger rebel cruisers.

“Your fleet is lost,” the Emperor said. “And your friends on the Endor moon will not survive. There is no escape, my young apprentice. The Alliance will die… as will your friends.”

Piett must have missed something while he watched the battle, because the Emperor laughed again. “Good, I can feel your anger. I am defenceless. Take your weapon! Strike me down with all your hatred, and your journey to the Dark side will be complete.”

Piett understood now. This entire battle, the slaughter of his fleet… it was politics. It was theatre. It was a production put together with the singular purpose of turning Luke Skywalker to the Dark side.

Death Squadron alone could have taken out the rebel fleet with proper tactics, but the Emperor didn’t care about the rebels. He didn’t even care about Death Squadron, or any of the other Imperial vessels here. He wanted to enrage Luke. That was why Piett, and his crew, and the Lady had died so very many times.

This was the man Piett had sworn oaths to?

Kark his oaths. And kark the Emperor too.

There was a flash of movement by the Emperor’s hand and Luke’s lightsaber returned to its owner. With a cry, Luke activated the blade and struck down at the Emperor, and Piett found he didn’t mind in the slightest. If Piett had a lightsaber, he’d be tempted to do the same thing.

Lord Vader moved quicker than lightning and blocked the blow. Luke swung again, and again, and the Emperor cackled away.

They fought.

Luke kicked Lord Vader down the staircase. Piett startled, shocked, because there was no possible way Lord Vader could lose this fight. He was Lord Vader. But despite what Lord Vader had professed on that walkway under the landing pad, Piett couldn’t see him killing his son.

“Use your aggressive feelings, boy,” the Emperor instructed. “Let the hate flow through you.”

Luke glanced back at him and deactivated his lightsaber. He clipped it to his belt as Lord Vader climbed the stairs, his own red blade still alight and dangerous.

“Obi-Wan has taught you well,” Lord Vader said, and there was something in his voice Piett couldn’t identify. If it were anyone else, he would have guessed it was pride.

“I will not fight you, father,” Luke replied, and well, it was a bit late for that. Lord Vader was the one who decided when he stopped fighting.

That blood red blade pointed at Luke. “You are unwise to lower your defences,” Lord Vader said, and then he lunged.

Luke was just as fast and if not faster than his father. He leapt backwards, impossibly high, onto one of the above walkways.

“Your thoughts betray you, father. I feel the good in you… the conflict.”

Lord Vader didn’t look conflicted. Piett noted the Emperor didn’t either. He simply leaned forward on his throne, grinning.

Lord Vader and Luke argued back and forth, and once Lord Vader was tired of arguing, he threw his lightsaber at Luke. The blade arced through the air and sliced through the walkway’s supports, throwing sparks across the whole throne room and crashing the walkway into the floor.

Piett couldn’t get out of the way in time. A falling cable sliced across his chest and sent him tumbling to the ground. He grunted and rolled onto his back, chest aflame as if he’d been shot, and tried to drag himself away from the wreckage.

It was pretty bad, Piett could tell by the blood, but hopefully not life threatening. He pressed a hand to the middle of the wound and hissed. He had to see this through.

He felt a chill through his red hot haze of pain and caught the Emperor watching him.

“Your presence here is an unwanted mystery, little Fleet Admiral,” the Emperor intoned. Piett stared up at him and tried to control his breathing. “When the boy turns, you’ll be the first I will have him kill.”

Piett didn’t have the air in his lungs to reply, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure what he’d say. Maybe tell him his name. The one thing he wouldn’t say was that he knew the Emperor would die first.

“Never!” Luke shouted from somewhere below them. Piett caught glimpses of hot metal flying around and he pulled himself into a sitting position.

Luke and Lord Vader came roaring out onto the narrow bridge that split the bottomless reactor shaft, blades clashing in a hideously bright wash of colours.

It almost looked like Lord Vader was losing. Piett must have a concussion. But Luke pounded away at him with a ferocity that seemed so alien and unlike him… but certainly like his father.

Lord Vader fell to his knees. With one final strike, Luke cut off his father’s hand.

Piett watched on in mute horror. How could Lord Vader lose?

But how could he have won? What would winning have cost him?

Luke pressed the tip of his lightsaber towards Lord Vader’s throat, breathing hard. The Emperor stood and shuffled over to watch the display.

“Good,” the Emperor sneered, “your hate has made you more powerful. Now, fulfil your destiny and take your father’s place at my side!”

Luke stared down at his own gloved hand and flexed his fingers. Winning was costing him something as well. Piett didn’t know anything at all about destiny, or the Dark side or the Light or all the shades in between, but he knew if Luke killed his own father a piece of himself would die here as well.

After a small eternity Luke deactivated his blade and stared the Emperor down.

“Never.” Luke tossed his lightsaber away. “I’ll never turn to the Dark side. You’ve failed, Your Highness. I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

Despite himself, Piett’s mouth twitched. Of course he was. How could there have been any doubt?

All that was left for Luke now was to kill the Emperor. Piett used a set of computer banks next to him to help him stand.

As he did, the already cool air in the throne room chilled to ice.

“So be it… Jedi,” the Emperor ground out. “If you will not turn, you will be destroyed.”

The Emperor pointed and lightning exploded from his fingertips. Piett reared back at the sudden light, losing his balance.

But that was nothing compared to what happened to Luke. The lightning struck him with enough force to send him careening into the building supplies left against the bridge’s railing. He held on for dear life while the lightning burned him, and the awful stench of burned flesh and hair filled the air.

Here was the Emperor’s power. It was awful. Surely Lord Vader would put a stop to this?

No, he merely struggled to his feet and limped to the Emperor’s side. He wasn’t going to save his son’s life?

“Young fool,” the Emperor said in a faux disappointed tone, “only now, at the end, do you understand. Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the Dark side.”

The lightning continued. Luke fell to the floor and writhed on the ground.

“F-father… please…” Luke begged, but Lord Vader only watched on.

“Now, young Skywalker,” the Emperor said, “you will die.”

The barrage of lightning increased. How could Lord Vader stand there and do nothing? Piett didn’t have the Force or a chance of stopping the Emperor, but he couldn’t just sit here and bleed while Luke suffered.

There had to be something he could do. He kicked himself for coming unarmed and cast his eyes about. Maybe there was a piece of rubble, or a datapad, or hells, Luke’s lightsaber must be laying around somewhere –

Lord Vader moved. He grabbed the Emperor and lifted him off his feet, his lightning losing its focus on Luke and spraying about in every direction. An errant strand of it lanced across Piett’s leg and he collapsed, hissing in pain.

The Emperor howled, directing some of that foul lightning at Lord Vader, but Lord Vader didn’t slow. Piett watched with wide eyes as Lord Vader carried the Emperor to the reactor shaft and tipped him over the railing.

He disappeared with a shout and, after his cries had faded away, the reactor shaft exploded with a blast of energy that roared through the throne room.

Piett shielded his eyes from the blast until the energy dispersed. The only sound in the throne room was the discordant noise of Lord Vader’s strained breathing.

Luke dragged himself over to his father and shifted him so he wasn’t in danger of falling down the reactor shaft himself. They sat there for a while, simply breathing, and Piett used that time to stand and hobble over to them.

“Lord Vader…” Piett murmured, “it was Lord Vader after all.”

Luke’s head whipped to Piett when he spoke, like he only now remembered Piett was there. “He saved my life. I was… I was right.”

Lord Vader’s breathing grew more ragged. Presumably the lightning had fried some of his internal circuitry. He needed medical attention, both him and his son. Piett too, but he knew he would reset soon before it mattered.

Piett spied Luke’s lightsaber sitting under the staircase and he staggered over to it and picked it up. He almost fumbled it when it was much lighter than he was expecting. Very easy to carry, all of a sudden.

He tried to hand it to Luke, and when he wouldn’t take it, clipped it to his belt for him. “We must go, Luke. Your friends will be destroying this station shortly, I believe. We need to go to the Lady and –”

Except the Lady had probably been destroyed by now, her team of specialised doctors qualified to treat Lord Vader with her.

“– We need to get to the shuttle. My Lord? Can you stand?”

Lord Vader did not reply, but he did begin the process of standing up. Luke and Piett supported him on his either side and they began a slow shuffle back to the shuttle.

Luke and Lord Vader would be fine. They would find another Star Destroyer to fly to, one that wouldn’t try to leave for no reason during the battle, and sort themselves out from there.

The Death Star was in pandemonium. Crew and Stormtroopers rushed about, looking for orders or arguing over escape pods. The floor shook with the impacts of the rebel attacks and cracks appeared on the walls. Nobody paid the three of them the slightest bit of attention.

Lord Vader’s shuttle had been left alone, at least, and he and Luke were able to drag Lord Vader inside and prop him up against a wall in the passenger hold.

“I’ll start the engines,” Piett said, hoping Lord Vader wouldn’t insist on flying even though he couldn’t stand.

Lord Vader didn’t argue with him, but as he turned to go to the front cabin, Lord Vader grabbed his arm with his one remaining hand.

“Fleet Admiral…” Lord Vader laboured to force the words out. “You are… a good… man, Piett.”

That hand briefly tightened around his arm before Lord Vader dropped it away.

Piett gaped at him. Lord Vader didn’t compliment him, not unless he was about to execute Piett. Why was he doing so now? “Ah, thank you, my Lord. I’ll… I’ll prepare the shuttle now.”

Piett entered the front cabin and began the process, flicking switches with a practiced speed. He spared a moment to look around for a medkit. Even if Piett couldn’t help Lord Vader right now, he could help his son.

It dawned on him that something was wrong. Lord Vader’s mechanical breathing was no longer permeating the background. Piett lurched back to the passenger hold and saw Luke kneeling by Lord Vader, holding Lord Vader’s helmet in his hands.

Piett was about to shout at Luke and force him to explain what he was doing, but then he caught sight of Lord Vader’s eyes. They were blue, blue as a cloudless sky, blue as his son’s eyes, and not the yellow Piett had seen before.

They were the eyes of Anakin Skywalker, not Darth Vader. An Anakin Skywalker, Piett realised, that was dying because he had chosen to save his son’s life.

“You can’t give up!” Luke argued with him. Tears tracked down his face. “I’ve got to save you!”

Anakin Skywalker smiled at his son. “You already have, Luke. You were right about me. Tell your sister… you were right.”

Luke cast the helmet aside and placed a hand on his father’s chest, just above his life support control panel. “Father… I won’t leave you.”

Anakin Skywalker’s eyes fluttered shut, and his head settled backwards to rest on the shuttle’s wall.

Piett stood on his bridge.

He stared at the crew in the weapons and defence stations working away. Between them, the crew in the Pit passed datapads around and pointed to their console displays, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Lord Vader stood staring out the front viewport, down, down to Endor far below.

Piett felt the breeze of the bridge’s air filters on his face, and he took a glove off and touched his cheek. He was crying.

Piett wiped the tears from his face and replaced his glove.

He understood.

Luke was right. Luke was right about everything. From his father, to the Emperor’s involvement in Piett’s resets, which was none.

No, this was all about Lord Vader. Piett frowned to himself. That wasn’t quite accurate. This was about Anakin Skywalker. Piett’s fate and his were irrevocably tied.

If Piett wanted to live, he had to save Anakin Skywalker’s life.

Piett straightened his spine. He had no idea how to go about doing that, saving a supposedly unkillable man from the most powerful man in the galaxy, but he knew what he had to do next.

Piett walked down the command corridor towards Lord Vader. When he reached the end, Piett bowed deeply to him.

“Lord Vader,” Piett said.

“Admiral.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms. Instead of squirming under his gaze, Piett tilted his chin up at him.

“My Lord, I have a matter of grave importance to discuss with you.”

Lord Vader tucked his hands into his belt. “Grave importance…” Lord Vader said slowly. “Does it concern Skywalker?”

“No, sir.”

“And is it urgent?”

“No, sir.”

“You have failed to convince me of the grave importance of –”

“It’s about you, sir,” Piett cut him off, and gestured to the nearest conference room. “May we speak privately?”

Lord Vader stared at him, utterly still. Piett waited, utterly calm.

“…Of course, Fleet Admiral.”

Chapter Text

“I am trapped in a time loop, my Lord.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms, considering. Piett gazed into Vader’s red lenses, holding his ground.

“…You are having a spice dream,” Lord Vader eventually decided, and waved a hand for Piett to leave. “Remove yourself until you are fit to –”

“It’s no spice dream, sir.” Piett said. “I can call a med droid to this conference room, if you’d like. The first time I looped I thought the same thing.”

Lord Vader towered over him. “You have wasted enough of my time, Fleet Admiral. If you are not on spice, you are having a bout of psychosis –”

“I have not gone mad, my Lord,” Piett insisted, voice cool. “If you would sense how the Force is clouded around me –”

Piett’s words cut off as an ethereal hand wrapped around his throat. The grip tightened until Piett choked, and his hand rose to clutch instinctively at his neck.

…And then he lowered it. Lord Vader could kill him if he wanted to, but Piett had a feeling he wouldn’t. Not yet.

“You would do well to remember your place, Fleet Admiral,” Lord Vader took a slow step towards Piett, his hand outstretched. “You know nothing of the Force, and you do not command me to –”

Lord Vader’s helmet tilted.

The pressure around Piett’s throat vanished, and the next few seconds were consumed by Piett heaving in as many breaths as his burning lungs would allow.

But he was alive. Piett had been right.

“How…” Lord Vader breathed, a faint note of puzzlement carrying across his vocoder.

Piett swallowed around a throat made of fire and fought to control his breathing. “You told me about the cloudiness yourself, my Lord, in another time. Believe me. This is no lie or trick.”

Lord Vader’s respirator cycled through several breaths. “…A time loop, Admiral.”

Piett gave an abrupt nod, the relief almost sending him to his knees. Lord Vader was going to hear him out. Perhaps Piett had been too cautious in approaching Lord Vader for help; after all, he probably knew of stranger things than a time-looping Admiral. “Yes, my Lord. One that begins at the top of the stairs on the bridge and ends with… your death, sir.”

Lord Vader turned away to stare out a viewport. This conference room was a floor below the bridge and did not overlook a starscape, but rather observed a hangar bay. Droids and crew-controlled mechatronics moved a fraction of the vast quantity of supplies needed to maintain a vessel the size of the Lady, and a constant stream of hovercrates, transport ships, and personnel passed by below the plasma-proof glass.

Lord Vader was silent. It couldn’t be easy hearing that you had died, repeatedly, especially for someone as powerful as Darth Vader. Was he aware of the rumours of his immortality that circulated around Death Squadron, and that Piett himself had believed up until a very short while ago? There might have even been a part of him that believed them himself.

Lord Vader deserved the full context behind his imminent demise. Piett tucked his hands behind his back and spoke as if he was giving a report. “Events will proceed as follows. A stolen lambda shuttle filled with rebels will gain entry to Endor’s moon. They will convince the local population to assist them in destroying the Death Star’s shield generator. In the late hours, Luke Skywalker will separate from his rebel allies and surrender to our –”

“What will happen to Skywalker?” Lord Vader asked without turning around, cutting Piett off. He should have guessed that was where Lord Vader’s priorities were.

“The Emperor cannot turn him to the Dark side and instead tries to kill him. Luke is saved when you take the opportunity to kill the Emperor, but you succumb to your own injuries, sir,” Piett reported. He kept his tone perfectly level, albeit with a slight rasp.

Lord Vader remained motionless. “And you have seen this?”

Piett nodded, even though Lord Vader wouldn’t see it. “With my own eyes. I have spoken to Luke multiple times and I have been there, on the Death Star, when the Emperor’s plans fail.”

Piett waited to see if there was some sort of visible reaction from Lord Vader. Piett’s words must be a bit of a shock, at the very least. It couldn’t be every rotation you learn you kill your Emperor and that your son is strong enough to escape your Dark side. But now they could start planning for a future where Lord Vader also turned away from the Dark side, and then he could work with Luke to kill the Emperor and then they would solve Piett’s time loop –

“What you speak of is impossible,” Lord Vader said, still staring out the viewport. “You are not the only one to see the future. The Dark side has gifted my Master incredible insights into future events, and his plans do not fail. The young Jedi has filled your head with foolishness and convinced you that you have seen something you couldn’t.”

Piett fought back a stab of irritation. The idea of a time-travelling Admiral was easy for Lord Vader to accept, but not the Emperor’s death? Perhaps Piett knew very little about the Dark side and the true nature of the Emperor, but he hadn’t imagined what he had seen. Luke hadn’t mind-tricked him in some way. Was it so hard to believe that the Emperor was wrong about Luke and his own mortality?

But if the Emperor was wrong about his own death and Luke, he was wrong about potentially any vision of the future. He was wrong about the power of the Dark side.

And if the Emperor was wrong, then Lord Vader was wrong, and not once in Piett’s career with Death Squadron had Lord Vader ever acknowledged he was wrong about something. It simply never happened.

Why did Piett think he was going to do so now?

Well, Piett knew now that there was one thing that could drive Lord Vader to do the supposedly impossible – his son.

“Forgive me, my Lord, but…” Piett took a bold step forward, “you do not deny you would take the chance to kill the Emperor. I am aware you have been plotting treason against him since the debacle at Bespin. You clearly did not believe in his insights then.” Piett braced himself. “And you are powerful enough to defeat him, I’ve seen it. You’ll give it all up: the Dark side, your loyalty to him, and even your life… if it means saving your son.”

The temperature in the conference room plummeted, enough for Piett to see his breaths in the air and for ice crystals to crack their way across the viewport glass. Some alarm light flashed in the below hangar bay, and a few concerned technicians gathered around a large console.

More pressingly, Lord Vader finally turned around and bore down on Piett. “You have spent your time loops meddling in my personal affairs, Fleet Admiral.”

Piett held his ground. “It was necessary, sir. My resets revolve around you and your death. If I am to free myself, I have to interfere. I have to save you.”

Piett suppressed a shiver in the freezing air. The conference room was deathly silent. Piett couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew Lord Vader was inspecting him, considering him.

“…These loops have clearly left their effects on you.”

Piett blinked – he didn’t think Lord Vader paid enough attention to him to notice a change.

“Lord Vader?”

“Somehow, repeated exposure to the truths of the galaxy have rendered you hopelessly naïve.”

Piett fought back a stab of irritation before his mind latched onto what Lord Vader said.

“You admit it then,” Piett replied, the words spilling out of him, “you know I’m telling the truth!”

“Watch yourself, Admiral,” Lord Vader warned, his words cut through with ice. “Continue to overstep your bounds and know your time loops cannot save you from me.”

Oh, Piett was well aware.

“You have some small knowledge of the truth,” Lord Vader continued, “which makes you dangerous. Unpredictable. You know of Skywalker’s heritage and my final plans for Lord Sidious, but the true nature of the Dark side of the Force eludes you. Its foresight toppled the Republic. Its power destroyed the Jedi. And once it has you in its grasp, it will forever dominate your destiny. The Dark side is more than you can comprehend.”

Piett looked away, thoughtful. While it was incredibly useful learning what he could about the Force, there was another thing Lord Vader said that was more important.

“Is Lord Sidious… the Emperor?”

There was a heavy cascade of static from Lord Vader’s vocoder. “Yes, Admiral. That is his true name. He has taught me the power of the Dark side for over twenty years, and it cannot be renounced as you have said. Even the Jedi of old knew it to be impossible.”

Piett’s heart sank through his boots. Was it truly impossible? If it was something only the Emperor had insisted was true, Piett would think it was a lie. But Piett knew what he saw on that Death Star, and he saw blue eyes and a father saved by his son.

But if even the Jedi believe it impossible… Piett could be mistaken. It had happened many, many times recently. What was once more?

Lord Vader cast his red lenses away. “I sense your growing doubt. Your weakness. Did you truly believe you were tasked to save me?”

Piett suppressed another shiver. “I… I can still save your life, sir. With Luke. We can –”

“Do what, Admiral? Plot treason against Sidious? He has foreseen and survived all other attempts, and if I have succeeded in your future, I have done so without planning it with you.”

“But you’ll die, sir!” Piett argued. “You’ll die each and every time, and me with you! Is that what you want?”

Lord Vader said nothing. It looked like he was waiting patiently, maybe for Piett to say something, but Piett had no idea what.

Piett ground his teeth, both against the cold and with his frustration. It didn’t make any sense. Here was Lord Vader’s chance to change his fate and he wasn’t taking it. Did he want to die?  “I don’t understand –”

“Because you’re a fool of an Admiral!” Lord Vader spat, hounding on Piett. “What have I commanded you to do since your promotion?!”

“I –” Piett blinked. He’d been ordered to hunt for Luke Skywalker, of course. Even before he became Fleet Admiral, it was Death Squadron’s first priority to find him and bring him unharmed to Lord Vader –

Piett’s eyes widened. This was still about Luke Skywalker.

Luke, who Lord Vader had given an incredibly high alive-only bounty.

Luke, who Lord Vader would kill his Master for.

Luke, who Lord Vader was willing to die for.

Piett had told him in the future Luke lived and the Emperor died. Why would Lord Vader help Piett change that?

“You don’t want to change the future,” Piett said softly.

That outcome was satisfactory to him, all other details be damned. Perhaps somewhat literally. Lord Vader had already sacrificed untold amounts of Imperial resources for Luke Skywalker. This situation was no different.

“Now you understand,” Lord Vader replied.

Did Lord Vader know what he was doing? Did he know what fate he was condemning Piett to? Events could not continue as they had originally. They simply couldn’t. It would mean subjecting Piett and Lord Vader to an eternity of dying, like someone replaying a tragic holonet drama on repeat.

To do so was abhorrent, unthinkable. But was that what Lord Vader expected him to do?

“Now listen and listen well,” Lord Vader commanded, his words cutting through Piett’s thoughts. The temperature in the conference room dropped another few degrees and Piett finally started shivering. Lord Vader crossed his arms and leaned over Piett. “You are the Fleet Admiral of Death Squadron. Your place is here, with your fleet, not interfering with my Master’s plans or my foolish son.”

“But my time loop, sir,” Piett had to say, “I reset whenever you die. Surely –”

“Surely you understand I have a vast experience with the Force,” Lord Vader continued. “It must be why you sought my counsel, so I will give it: the Force has seen it fit to trap you in a time loop, not me. Therefore what lesson the Force wishes to teach is for you. Your insertion into my affairs is merely an attempt to hide from whatever truth the Force will bestow upon you.”

Piett clenched his hands behind his back. He wasn’t hiding from any truth – he was uncovering it through no small quantity of his own blood, sweat, and tears. Lord Vader was the one who refused to see the truth. Piett was just the hapless messenger.

Lord Vader’s helmet leaned in close, close enough for Piett to see the speckles of dust and the scratches marring each red lens, smell the mix of sickly-sweet bacta and blood that permeated the air around him, and hear the mechanical pump of his lungs as they fought to draw breath. “Tell me, Fleet Admiral, what truth are you hiding away from?”

There were icy fingertips on the back of Piett’s neck. No, not on his neck – inside it. A painfully cold sensation swept up into his skull and dug into his brain.

Piett half shouted, half choked under the assault, unable to speak. Lord Vader was inside his head. Oh Force, Lord Vader was in his head and it burned like the core of a star and the absolute frigidity of space at the same time –

And then it was over. Piett gasped as the tendrils of cold faded away from his mind and he collapsed to his knees. The icy air of the conference room felt uncomfortably warm now, in the tendril’s absence.

Piett’s knees soaked into the saturated floor tiles. He trembled, and not from cold, unabashedly.

“You are not the only one who can pry into personal affairs,” Lord Vader said, lightly, and he turned away as Piett trembled on the durasteel floor.

Piett shook his head, trying to dislodge something that wasn’t there. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat and he leaned both his hands against the floor, because if he didn’t he would have fallen the rest of the way down.

So that was a mind probe. Even a few seconds had been agonising – how did a being endure it for hours? No wonder only a few remarkable ones like Princess Organa could, and with all their faculties intact. Piett doubted he would have his after another probe like that.

Lord Vader paced around him while he tried to gather his shattered thoughts. “I see you have neglected to mention your own deaths.”

Piett flinched. Oh, he would have rathered Lord Vader found anything else in his head. Princess Organa’s true heritage, for one. Perhaps the time Piett said to Veers that Lord Vader could get karked. Anything would have been better.

“They are not as important as your own or the Emperor’s,” Piett said, barely avoiding stammering, “and I –”

“And yet the Force did not allow us to change our fates,” Lord Vader said, “only you. Except you have not. You have died over and over again.”

“To save the fleet –”

“Which you have not done either. You cannot save yourself, you cannot save your fleet, but somehow saving me is within your power?”

Piett opened his mouth to retort, but he couldn’t find the words. What could he say in his defence that wasn’t just hearsay? He had no proof. He had no mastery of the Force, nor any real knowledge of events beyond what he had seen. All he had was a hundred different failures and a far too personal look into Lord Vader’s life.

And yet. And yet, Piett had watched Anakin Skywalker speak with his son, that first and last time on the collapsing Death Star. They changed the course of the galaxy to have one brief conversation. Surely these immensely important and powerful beings deserved more time than that, after all they had gone through? Weren’t Piett’s loops the Force’s way of giving them that?

Helping Luke, helping his father, it had felt right in a way few things ever did. There was a certainty to it that was addicting in the face of the blind unknowns Piett had blundered through in his loops. Finally, a course of action and a tangible goal Piett could throw his efforts into.

His failures had purpose. All his deaths, all the times his fleet was destroyed, it was to bring him closer to Anakin Skywalker’s salvation.

Surely, surely that had to be point. It must be. Because otherwise…

“Then what can I do?” Piett asked, sitting back on his haunches, exhausted from it all. “What is the point of this, if not to save anyone?”

“To impart a lesson upon you,” Lord Vader replied. He stopped pacing just as he reached the viewport overlooking the hangar. “Perhaps the most important lesson that can be learned: no matter what powers we have, or actions we take, we cannot save anyone. We are all doomed from the beginning.”

The chill in the air melted away all of a sudden, and the thin coating of ice over the viewport glass began to melt. Rivulets of moisture ran down the glass and onto the floor. Lord Vader stood in the centre of it all, lenses pointed at nothing, the hangar bay’s alarm lights flashing over him and the dampening floor.

Piett blinked up at him. That couldn’t be true – it simply couldn’t. It didn’t make sense. All of this, just to teach Piett that lesson? He wasn’t anyone special. He wasn’t important enough for the Force to waste so much effort on. The Force should have let him stay dead when that rebel bomber exploded through the bridge.

He didn’t remember the events of his first death too clearly. Commander Gherant had shouted something, there was sound of shattering plasma-proof glass, but Piett remembered little else. Only a sense of dissatisfaction that this was how he would die – in combat, yes, for his Empire – but only by sheer bad luck. He hadn’t been bested by a more cunning opponent. He hadn’t died nobly sacrificing himself. He died disappointingly, and that irked him.

A new thought occurred to him. What if this was what happened when any being died? And he was in some sort of hell, or purgatory, as he had correctly predicted in the beginning? This was just what the Force did – it made beings relive their deaths until they accepted them.

Was… was Lord Vader correct? Was Piett’s fate written on the durasteel walls, and he had just needed Lord Vader to spell it out to him?

No. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even want to think about it.

Piett cast his thoughts to Lord Vader. He was still staring morosely at a corner of the now-warm conference room while moisture beaded on his helmet. A few drops of water dripped from the detailing on his mask.

This lesson was obviously something deeply important to Lord Vader. Piett was tempted to ask him about it, but Lord Vader had already reacted negatively in regards to Piett prying into his life.

Luke might know. Piett would have find time to ask him about it at some point. Although the way Lord Vader had relentlessly tracked Luke across the galaxy, and would later die saving him, it seemed impossible Lord Vader could lose someone he was determined to save.

Then again, Lord Vader didn’t know Luke had a twin sister. Lord Vader wasn’t there when his children were born. That gave Piett a potential hint as to who he lost.

“My Lord…” Piett began, but he was unsure of what else to say. He didn’t want to argue anymore and condolences might get him killed.

His quiet words did manage to induce movement in Lord Vader, who disturbed the stillness of the growing pools of water around them and tilted his helmet towards Piett. “Once you accept this, Piett, I believe the Force will release you.”

He was still and silent for a moment longer, and then an ethereal force lifted Piett to his feet. It released him once Piett could stand on his own and Piett failed to suppress a shudder at the invisible touch.

Still. Lord Vader probably meant for the action to be… kind.

“Now I will hear no more talk of treason, Admiral,” Lord Vader continued, stabbing a finger into Piett’s face. “You will go to medbay and then remain in your quarters until the time to fight is upon us. Then you will do as you have sworn, as will I.”

Piett had no choice but to obey. Lord Vader was still his commanding officer. And his head still ached and he was more exhausted than he had ever recalled feeling before, so some time to think and rest would serve him well. After that… fine. Into the slaughter once more.

Piett tried to find Lord Vader’s eyes through the red of the lenses, even if it was always a fruitless pursuit. “As you command, sir.”

Lord Vader held his pose for a few seconds more before tucking both his hands into his belt. “Go.”

“Yes, sir.”

Piett offered him a brief, sharp bow and marched out of the conference room.

As soon as he rounded a corner, Piett staggered to a wall and slid down it, settling into a sad heap on the floor next to a waste disposal unit.

That had gone poorly.

It would have been easier if Lord Vader killed him. Kinder. Then he wouldn’t have been left with this doubt, which sat so firmly in his chest like a solid weight. Or this headache.

Piett wanted to melt into the wall. What had he been thinking? Walking up to Lord Vader and telling him about the future with barely a plan in place, arguing with him about the Force, and Force, shouting at him. It was no wonder Lord Vader had pushed back against his ideas so much – they must have sounded as if they came from a deranged person.

Maybe Lord Vader was right, and Luke had filled his head with foolishness. It had made sense on the chaos of the Death Star, but here on his Lady it all felt so different.

Maybe Lord Vader was right about many things.

Piett clenched one of his hands in front of him, the synth-leather of his glove creaking. He would know the truth if the Force would just tell him, like it told Luke and Lord Vader things. Just this one time, couldn’t it send him a message he could actually hear? Could it give him something, anything?

Piett opened his hand, his fingers shaking with the tension of spreading them so wide.

Nothing happened.

Piett sighed, feeling rather silly. He couldn’t stay here in the open where any of his doomed crew could see him. He made his painful way to his feet, straightened his soggy uniform, and lurched off towards medbay.

“…I’m leaving a copy of my recommendations in your holomail, Admiral. You are cleared for active duty, but please. Go to the Senior Officer’s mess and eat something before returning to work.”

It didn’t make sense.

Lord Vader claimed nobody could be saved, except in a rotation’s time he would sacrifice himself for his son. He claimed the Emperor’s plans do not fail, except he foiled them himself. He claimed the Dark side was the ultimate power in the galaxy, and yet he’d also say he was doomed and couldn’t be saved. That was a lot of contradictions.

Luke was at least right about his father being a man in conflict with himself. The only thing he was consistent with was how little he wanted Piett to interfere.

Another thing of note was how transparent Lord Vader had acted during the conversation. He revealed a great deal about the Dark side and his future plans, which Piett hadn’t expected. And he’d given Piett a path forward, even if it was one he didn’t like at all. Lord Vader had given help, in his own way. All Piett had to do was suffer strangulation and a mind probe get it.

“…Admiral?” Doctor Emerette asked.

Piett realised he was staring off to Doctor Emerette’s side instead of at her face and he quickly raised his eyes. “I am to return to my quarters, Doctor,” Piett replied. “No time for the Senior Officer’s mess.”

“Of course not, Admiral.” Doctor Emerette tapped something out onto her datapad with a suppressed sigh. “At least there is no permanent neurological damage, and Lord Vader’s permitted you some rest. You are more fortunate than Death Squadron’s other Admirals.”

Piett grimaced. “If you insist, Doctor.”

“I do insist, Piett,” Doctor Emerette replied, more forceful than Piett had ever heard her before. “And I can safely say I speak for everyone aboard the Lady when I say that we’d all much rather have you here, alive and inflicting your dry wit upon us, than dead and in our morgue like Lord Vader’s other Admirals.”

Piett blinked at her. Apparently he still had the energy to be surprised.

Doctor Emerette cleared her throat minutely and continued. “My apologies, Admiral. It’s just… my med team and the morgue staff have shouldered a significantly lighter workload under your command. And I doubt the implications of that have gone unfelt along the rest of the Lady.”

Doctor Emerette leaned in conspiratorially. “The word is we are headed into conflict soon. I wouldn’t be the only one here to tell you that I had a good feeling about it, Admiral. A very good feeling.”

She smiled at him and nodded to herself, satisfied she’d got her point across. Piett, with a superhuman effort, managed to thank her and leave without further comment.

With his chairs pushed to the sides of the room, Piett was free to circle around his caf table unimpeded. He’d shed his gloves and replacement jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt, and thrown his officer’s cap onto the table. A stylus flipped over his fingers in a complicated pattern, the motion fluid and well-practiced.

Piett didn’t have access to the same computational power in his quarters as he would in his office, but he could still use the hologram display in his sitting room. A map of Death Squadron’s current positions around the second Death Star and Endor glowed above Piett’s caf table, with Piett’s scribbled notes all over it indicating ship movements from the other Admirals. An untouched tumbler of whisky sat on the table out of the holoprojector’s range, watered down with long-melted ice.

Piett expanded the Death Star’s display until it filled the holoprojector’s range. He moved his stylus through the projection and marked a location with a bright glowing dot. “Northern Docking Bay number Ninety Six. That’s where we landed. I’m sure I saw Ninety Six written somewhere…”

He traced a path up through the Death Star with his stylus. “Through the Sector Eight Concourse… priority turbolift up forty floors… arriving at this staging area… which places the Emperor’s throne room…”

Finally, he circled a point and then shrank the display back down until Endor and the fleet returned to view.

“Devastator always falls once the Death Star is revealed to be fully armed,” Piett told the hologram. “Perhaps with the right timing it can be convinced to fall inside of the Death Star’s gravitational field, after the shield falls. Keeping in mind the orbit, rotation, debris spread… increasing the margin of error...”

Hmm. The Lady’s vast central computer system would have to run the numbers, but by Piett’s rough calculations it should be feasible to crash a Star Destroyer into the Emperor.

It would serve him right. The Imperial Armed Forces were not his personal disposable peons, as much as he might think so. Piett had a duty to the beings under his command and they did not deserve to be slaughtered.

Piett shut down the hologram display and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was just an idle imagination. The beings aboard the Devastator were not Piett’s disposable peons either.

But they were in wartime. Deaths were inevitable.

Then why shouldn’t Piett accept his own?

He tapped away at the holoprojector’s controls until a recording of the Emperor appeared. The serene face of Emperor Palpatine appeared before him in all its glory.

“Admiral,” the Emperor began, “you have been selected for a task of extreme importance to the defence of my Empire…”

Piett murmured along with the pre-recorded message, the words long since memorised but he wanted to hear them again.

“…Any deviation of your Star Destroyer from my design will be considered treason,” the Emperor droned on. “A surprise awaits the rebels if you hold your position as instructed. Under my guidance, the rebellion will be destroyed and we will shout our victory into a newly peaceful and prosperous galaxy. Those who seek to disrupt my reign will see the might of my Armed Forces…”

There were another few minutes of that before it ended, but nothing of any substance. How proud Piett had been to receive that piece of pre-recorded garbage, back during his first life. Orders from the Emperor himself. Every Admiral unfortunate enough to end up above Endor must have received the same message. The Emperor hadn’t even bothered to record a separate message for the Rear or Vice Admirals, let alone Piett himself.

Some of those Admirals would abruptly pull out of the coming fight and disappear into hyperspace. That was something that needed watching, Piett needed to remember.

Piett shut off the holoprojector once the message finished and leaned over the tabletop, his head bowed, his neck unable to bear the weight. There was a scuffmark on one side where Veers kept putting his boots up no matter how many times Piett told him not to. Numerous circles of old drink stains shone out against the more matte surface of the table. Piett’s ignored drink had pooled enough condensation for the water to escape the base of the glass, and a small trickle of water dripped onto his carpet.

Piett watched the dark waterstain grow with each passing droplet. A remembered pain in his head thrummed with each drip, but it wasn’t enough to move him.

…Was this truly his fate? Was Lord Vader right all along? To be the Admiral of one of the innumerable Star Destroyers lost over Endor?

Was it Lord Vader’s, or Anakin Skywalker’s, to die in his son’s arms? Piett wasn’t sure if there was anything he could say that would change Lord Vader’s mind on that, even with an infinite amount of time to try. Lord Vader wasn’t willing to risk Luke’s survival by changing the future.

Not even Luke could change his mind with words, on that walkway on Endor. It took Vader’s son’s near death by electrocution to force him to act, and by then his fate was sealed.

So what were Piett’s options? What was left for him to do?

His door chimed and Piett almost jumped out of his skin. It felt like eons had passed since someone last knocked on his door.

A display over the door told him it was a kitchen droid, of all things, outside.

“Enter,” Piett commanded, palming his vibroblade. The door slid open to his command and the kitchen droid rolled in, a sealed container in its hand.

“What’s this?” Piett asked. The droid deposited the container on his caf table and retreated slightly.

“Coruscanti style curry, Fleet Admiral,” the droid informed him. “From the Chief Medical Officer, Caito Emerette.”

Piett disengaged the lid and it slid back, revealing a steaming plate of meat, vegetables, and rice. He glanced up at the wall chronometer and saw it was almost lunchtime, although his own internal chronometer thought it was later. Doctor Emerette wasn’t to know that, though.

Piett put his vibroblade away and straightened, his mouth curling slightly. “Thank you. Please pass my thanks back to Doctor Emerette.”

“Yes, Fleet Admiral.”

The droid took its leave and Piett dragged one of his chairs back in front of his caf table. Alright, he could take a minute or two to eat something. If Doctor Emerette insisted.

It was… good. Very good, with a combination of flavours and spices he’d never had before, and when he was finished a quarter hour later the galaxy didn’t look quite so bleak.

He could always talk to Lord Vader again. Not during this loop, but the next one after tomorrow’s battle. If Lord Vader was going to be transparent Piett should take advantage and learn what he could. And he could also speak with Luke down on Endor.

So he had options, which was a relief. He didn’t quite have to abandon all hope of a solution just yet. All he had to do was endure tomorrow’s defeat, maybe a few times, and then he’d get more answers.

That wasn’t to say Piett wasn’t going to try in tomorrow’s battle. On the contrary, he was going to do a better job than he had in his last few loops and save as many beings as he could. To the nine hells with the Emperor, and his pointless waste of life, and Piett would prove Lord Vader wrong at the same time.

Right. Piett would have to start planning. He moved his lunch to the side, picked up his stylus, and activated the hologram display again.

Captain Venka offered him a crisp salute and then went to hand him a datapad.

“Good to have you back, sir,” Venka said, “I’ve just compiled a summary report on the fleet since you were last on the bridge.”

“Thank you, Venka,” Piett replied, “but not necessary.” He projected his voice to the whole bridge. “Comms! I want a reason why Hangar Fourteen’s relay is lagging!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Weapons,” Piett called out, “Send the word to amidship points one through thirty. Turbolaser cannons are to be focused for individual fighter craft, not larger rebel vessels, do you understand?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The bridge became a hive of activity. Piett turned next on the scanning technicians.

“You,” Piett pointed to an unfortunate assistant technician, “are going to provide me with updates on these ship movements.” Piett rattled off a list of ships under the direct command of other Admirals. “I don’t want updates when they make significant changes. I want updates on any movement, every five minutes.”

The assistant scanning technician gave a shaky nod. “Yes, Admiral.”

“Good.” Piett rattled off command after command until he was satisfied the Lady was doing everything she could to prepare for the coming conflict.

He stood at the very end of the command corridor, right where he was closest to the stars and Endor drifting by, so obliviously below. “The rebels will be here shortly. Let’s begin.”

The Lady burned.

Piett turned to Venka, raising his voice to be heard over the whining of the Lady’s failing engines and the warnings from the Pits’ consoles. “It’s been an honour serving with you, Venka.”

Venka coughed and found the strength to reply. “And with you, Fleet Admiral.”

Piett squared his shoulders and drew in a deliberately large breath. Back into the fray.

“I am trapped in a time loop, my Lord.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms, considering. Piett gazed into Vader’s red lenses, holding his ground.

“And I can prove it,” Piett added, before Lord Vader could speak. “I know things I couldn’t possibly.”

“Do you?” Lord Vader challenged.

“Luke will live, my Lord.”

When Piett said nothing else, Lord Vader tilted his helmet. “Is that all?”

“That’s all you care about.”

The conference room temperature dropped. Piett’s breath fogged in front of him.

“I think, Fleet Admiral,” Lord Vader said in a tone as cold as the room, “you had better explain yourself.”

Piett nodded. “Yes, sir. Events will proceed as follows…”

“The fact that time loops are possible,” Piett said, “why doesn’t it surprise you?”

Lord Vader took a moment before replying. “An old apprentice of mine once time-travelled two years into the future to escape me.”

Piett barely avoided gaping at him. “Are they – did you teach them that?”

Lord Vader waved a dismissive hand. “I did not. And the process involved places and people that no longer exist, none of which are relevant to you.”

“But –”

“If my Master could not uncover the process and use it for himself, I doubt you will succeed where even he failed.”

“Go and do as you have sworn, Admiral. As will I.”

Piett clenched his jaw. “As you command, sir.”

The broad benches of the Lady’s central computer system hummed with an almost eager white noise in the background when Piett sat down at a console.

“Thank you, Head Software Engineer,” Piett dismissed, and the Head Software Engineer saluted and went to hover behind someone else.

Piett input his credentials and his code cylinder and got to work.

“Darth Vader apprentice…” Piett murmured soundlessly to himself as he searched. He didn’t bother with any searches to do with time travel. He’d already exhausted every lead in that respect. “Nothing. Sith apprentice… Sith acolyte… Darth Sidious…”

Nothing. Not a single lead in the databanks of a ship the size of a city, just information about apprentice job offerings in a few major systems, and lists of Imperial Armed Forces apprentices leading back until the formation of the Empire.

What about before then?

Anakin Skywalker had been a famous (or infamous) Jedi General, at least towards the end of the war. So much surrounding him had been hidden by the Republic, or simply lost, but Piett was a Fleet Admiral now and had a high clearance…

There were only a series of articles confirming his demise at the end of the Clone Wars. All of them patently false. Piett slumped his shoulders.

“Come on, Lady,” Piett tapped his fingers gently on the side of the console, “give me something. Anything.”

The display screen flickered for a moment, drawing Piett’s eye, and for a hot Corellian second he thought he saw an image form but it was gone before he could get a good look.

Shavit. If there was information lurking in the Lady’s servers, it was still beyond him.

Another dead end. Piett withdrew his code cylinder and left without another word.

The Lady burned.

Piett helped a comms officer to her feet and she staggered back to her station. Thick smoke clogged the air around them.

“Sir!” an assistant technician called out. “Eradicator moves two klicks star-ward!”

Piett carried on without acknowledgement, his focus on returning to the front viewports without falling into the Pit. “Evacuate the central engines! They won’t survive another bombardment. I need that crew to split between our remaining rear engines and shield power control. Venka!”

“Sir!”

“Angle us down ten degrees portside. We’ll provide covering fire for Tyrant.”

“Yes, sir!”

The gravity generators groaned to accommodate the motion and the galaxy appeared to tilt slightly. A barrage of turbolaser fire scattered an approaching rebel attack, and the Tyrant’s bow avoided the devastation.

The same could not be said for the Lady. A different rebel attack slammed against her exposed underbelly, and Piett knew they were operating on borrowed time.

“Distress call from Tyrant!” a Communications Officer called. “They are requesting –”

“We’ve given it,” Piett replied, “tell them –”

The words froze in Piett’s throat. Lord Vader used the Force to stop his words, and Piett choked on them.

“When I say,” Lord Vader said slowly, “you speak of things you know nothing about, that is the end of the discussion. Do you believe what little you have stumbled upon allows you to take liberties with your position? Your oaths? Do you think I suddenly have a tolerance for insubordination?”

Piett was thrown backwards, too quickly to determine if it was physically or ethereally. His shoulder impacted with the freezing floor and wrenched in an unnatural direction. Dislocated. Sharp, hot pain radiated down his arm and across his chest, an awful contrast to the wracking shivers he experienced everywhere else.

At least he could breathe again. Piett gasped in precious air while Lord Vader paced around him. “The time for treason is long behind us, and I will not hear another word against the Emperor. You have a role to play, Fleet Admiral, and it is not to pry into affairs beyond your station. Leave matters of the Force to those trained to wield it.”

“Montferrat,” Piett growled into a comms officer’s handset, “your hangars are inoperable and your navigational shields are about to go down. Come to the Executor’s starboard side and we can send repair droids –”

“I can’t do that, Fleet Admiral,” Admiral Montferrat replied, shouting over the background whine of multiple alarms going off concurrently. “Emperor’s orders!”

Piett slammed a hand down onto the console, causing the comms officer to jump in his seat. “You’ll lose the Devastator!”

There was a long second of alarms wailing.

“I don’t have a choice, sir,” was all Montferrat replied, before he cut the connection.

“I had no choice!” Piett cried out from his position on the floor. He was able to manoeuvre himself up onto one elbow, at least, so he wasn’t completely prone. “My time loop is about you, sir. When you die, I reset back to the bridge. Everything I’ve done, all the things I’ve seen, every time I’ve died, it was for you. It’s your life that’s important, and I intend to save it.”

Lord Vader’s shadow swept over Piett as he approached, and Piett panted up at him, praying to the Force that he would see what Piett was trying so hard to tell him. That just this once in Piett’s miserable life, Lord Vader would see that he was right.

“And yet, you forget,” Lord Vader said slowly, deliberately, “I can sense the doubt growing in you. Is this really about me?”

“Starboard!” Venka roared over the din. “Why are we turning so slowly?”

Piett squinted through the smoke and saw the Chief Navigator was dead, his head caved in on the corner of his console. Piett dragged the body off his seat and into the arms of his fellow Navigators, then took the seat for himself and read the display.

“The central computer system isn’t receiving our inputs,” Piett derived from the complicated readout. “Our relays are too damaged.”

A Navigator frowned down at the display. “We could reroute through Communications, Admiral, they have intact supernodes.”

“Excellent idea, do it.”

The Navigator saluted. “Yes, sir. I’m on it.”

The Lady rocked in the wake of another explosion and Piett braced himself against the console until it stopped. His gloves came away tacky and wet with blood, so he pocketed them before climbing out of the Pit. “Shields?”

“Down, sir,” Venka replied. He coughed, and blood splattered against the command walkway.

“Comms, contact Tyrant’s Group Captain,” Piett instructed, “I want all their remaining fighters above our decks!”

Gherant wrapped an arm around Venka and led him to a railing where he could support himself. “And leave Tyrant undefended, sir?”

“It’s too late for them, Commander.”

Distantly, the dark shapes of TIE fighters peeled away from Tyrant’s listing form. They reached the Lady just as she commenced her starboard turn, the battle tilting as she banked.

“Bombers inbound!” a Scanning Technician called out.

Piett glanced at the console and it showed a rebel squadron peel away from the Lady’s bow and curve around her underside. Faint, distant trembles marked the bombing run but there was no further damage. The Lady’s alusteel underside was more than capable of taking the heavy hits her topside cityscape could not.

Something sparked next to the far end of the front viewports. The grey smoke choking the bridge thickened and darkened until it was almost impossible to see, except where embers and red-hot durasteel shone through.

“The glass!” Venka gasped out. Piett ducked low to escape the smoke and saw the glowing metal was pressed up against the plasma-proof glass.

“Evacuate!” Piett called out and the surviving crewmembers hurried to comply. “Prepare the auxiliary bridge –”

It was too late. The plasma-proof glass fractured into a million pieces and disappeared.

“Tell me, Piett,” Lord Vader leaned in close. “What secrets are you hiding away from?”

“Go and do as you have sworn, Admiral. As will I.”

Piett clenched his jaw. “As you command, sir.”

“As you command, sir.”

“As you command, sir.”

“As you command, sir.”

The Lady rocked in the wake of another explosion and Piett braced himself against the console until it stopped. His gloves came away tacky and wet with blood, so he pocketed them before climbing out of the Pit. “Shields?”

“Five percent,” Venka replied. He coughed, and blood splattered against the command walkway.

“Comms, contact Tyrant’s Group Captain,” Piett instructed, “I want all their remaining fighters above our decks! Ensign!”

Dopelmere hurried over, bent low to avoid the worst of the smoke. “Sir!”

“Fire suppression! Go!”

Piett pointed to the distant end of the viewport and Dopelmere scampered as quickly as he could to the sparks.

Gherant wrapped an arm around Venka and led him to a railing where he could support himself. “What of the Tyrant, sir?”

Piett braced himself for the Lady’s turn. “Nothing to be done. Get him to a medic.”

“Yes, sir.”

Distantly, the dark shapes of TIE fighters peeled away from Tyrant’s listing form. They reached the Lady just as she commenced her starboard turn, the battle tilting as she banked.

“Bombers inbound!” a Scanning Technician called out.

Piett glanced at the console and it showed a rebel squadron peel away from the Lady’s bow and curve around her underside. Faint, distant trembles marked the bombing run but there was no further damage.

And… the Lady was still.

“The rebels are retreating!” a comms officer reported. “They’re taking advantage of gaps in our formation.”

Piett waved a hand for an Assistant Scanning Technician to come over. “I need the names of the ships that were stationed in those gaps.”

The Technician scanned their datapad and started listing names. Piett mentally sorted them by ships he knew were lost and ships that were otherwise.

“If the rebels are retreating,” Piett told the bridge, “then they have completed their goal. I need our engines pointing between us and the Death Star! Defence, divert all power to our rear shields!”

“We’ve lost,” a Commodore gasped out. The motion on the bridge stilled.

“We did as we were commanded,” Piett snapped, and that broke the others out of their brief reverie. “We held the rebels as long as possible, and we lived to –”

Piett stood on his bridge.

He stared at the crew in the weapons and defence stations working away. Between them, the crew in the Pit passed datapads around and pointed to their console displays, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Lord Vader stood staring out the front viewport, down, down to Endor far below.

“…Tell the tale.” Piett finished, to no one.

He’d done it. He’d saved them. And it hadn’t mattered at all.

A pair of Commodores turned to him, having half-heard his muttering.

“Sir?” one of them asked.

“Nothing, Therell,” Piett ground out, slightly too harsh, enough for the Commodores to notice. “Return to your stations.”

They snapped their smart salutes and Piett marched past them without another word, his eyes locked onto Lord Vader’s brooding form.

Lord Vader stopped pacing just as he reached the viewport overlooking the hangar. “You are to learn the most important lesson that can be learned: no matter what powers we have, or actions we take, we cannot save anyone. We are all doomed from the beginning.”

“Who did you fail to save?” Piett asked, bold. Reckless. “Was it Luke’s mother?”

The viewport behind them cracked. If that was meant to intimidate Piett, it wasn’t working.

Piett took a step forward. “You have told me repeatedly that I am not the only one to see the future. I always thought you were referring to Lord Sidious. Was it you instead?”

The viewport cracked again, deeper and wider until the plasma-proof glass more resembled a dozen lightning strikes than a viewport. Tiny shards of glass glittered down to the durasteel floor.

Perhaps it wasn’t an intimidation tactic. Perhaps... Piett had actually thrown him.

A cold satisfaction settled over Piett. He’d put Lord Vader on the back foot. He would probably die for it, but he’d never felt so powerful before.

“What did you do for her?” Piett pressed, voice dead and flat. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough.”

The viewport behind Lord Vader shattered, and Piett ducked and raised his arms to protect his eyes. An alarm blared from the hangar bay below but the sound was drowned out by a roaring wind that had manifested in the conference room. The lights flickered, the room bathed red in the glow of emergency lights, and Piett fought to stay on his feet in the maelstrom.

“I did everything!” Lord Vader howled through the wind. “I killed the Republic!”

With the words came violent thrashings of wind, or maybe it was another invisible force, and Piett’s ears popped at the sudden change in pressure.

“I turned –”

Piett’s feet left the durasteel and he slammed into a wall.

“Into an abomination!”

Lord Vader’s cape writhed around him like an alive thing, obscuring his shape until he appeared to just be a mass of shadow, lit with red eyes.

And the shape approached Piett, and Piett had never been more terrified in his entire life –

“I sold my soul.”

The floor cracked, the lights shattered, the alarms blared, and Piett felt the weight of something immense settle over his mind.

Immense and… sad.

This was grief. All of this was grief, manifest. Grief, so wild and raw and destructive despite however many years since the death of Luke’s mother.

Was this – did Lord Vader feel like this all the time?

The storm whipped with a new intensity, and half of Piett’s vision was blocked by Lord Vader’s dark form. A wicked, blazing red light erupted from somewhere inside that form and pointed down towards Piett’s throat. Lord Vader’s lightsaber.

“There will be no more questions, Fleet Admiral.”

Lord Vader ran him through.

Piett leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat, careful to avoid an array of buttons on the arm rest that he didn’t know the function of. “In summary, I believe Luke and Princess Organa’s mother is at the heart of it all.”

Veers took a moment before nodding his head. “I agree,” he said evenly, “but I don’t think it matters.”

“Hmm? Why not?”

“I think it’s merely a distraction from how you finally tired of Lord Vader ignoring your every word, putting you down, and attacking your skills and integrity, so you tried to hurt him in return. And, unfortunately, succeeded.”

Piett pursed his lips. Veers was right. “You may be correct.”

“I usually am,” Veers told him. They sat in the head of Veers’ AT-AT, overlooking the forests of Endor’s moon, both with a drink in hand after Piett assured Veers that there would be no trouble for another rotation.

“Is Princess Organa like her father?” Veers asked, and Piett frowned for a moment, thinking.

“They are alike in some respects,” Piett said without inflection. “They have both killed me, for instance.”

Veers stiffened slightly. “Let me clarify. Does Princess Organa have the same Force sensitivity as her father.”

Oh. “Luke believes so. He says the Force is strong in his family, but the Princess herself was unaware of it until Luke told her.”

Veers sighed. “Two Skywalkers running amok in the galaxy is bad enough, but a third? How are we supposed to manage that?”

Piett hummed into his drink. “I think we’d be lucky if we survived it, Max.”

“You will, at least.”

Piett raised an eyebrow at Veers. “You don’t believe Lord Vader’s theory?”

“Not at all.” Veers shifted in his seat so he was better facing Piett. “You’ve seen him on the battlefield, haven’t you?”

Of course he had. Many times. “In my time as Admiral I believe I’ve seen him fight in a dozen space battles, probably more.”

“I don’t mean up in the stars, Firmus.” Veers adjusted a series of switches by the viewport and the AT-AT’s head tilted down, down below the forest canopy and towards the gloom of the floor. Piett had to wrap an arm around his headrest to prevent a fall out of his seat. “I mean on the ground, without his TIE fighter.”

“I’ve seen a few holos,” Piett admitted, but there really wasn’t much available. So much surrounding Lord Vader was hidden from prying eyes, except for some limited and cherry-picked propaganda.

Veers shook his head and took a swig of his drink. The change in angle didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. Of course, he was far more used to the movement of his AT-AT that Piett was. “It’s always a massacre. Every time. There is no finesse, no restraint, nothing for anyone on either side to do except for get out of his way or be destroyed. To see it in person is... it isn’t what war was meant to be like.”

Piett had never heard Veers talk like that before, nor wear such a dark expression. He looked down at the view Veers had shifted his AT-AT to reveal and finally noted that there was nothing living below them. Only rocks, refuse, and rubbish. Piett’s eyes caught on a pile of wooden spears and decaying bows and arrows.

This outpost was an Imperial dumping ground, swirling away into a dirty fog, just like so many other sites populating the galaxy. Piett gripped the back of his chair a little tighter, as if to save himself from falling in.

“And then you appeared,” Veers continued, “unravelling his every secret and telling him his life’s work is a lie, and for the first time he has a problem he can’t kill his way out of.”

“He certainly can,” Piett argued, but Veers waved his words away.

“Not in a way that matters. Firmus, I think you scare him. And so he spends most of these loops attacking you carefully, at your convictions, at your ego. Has he ever done something like that to anyone else?”

Piett didn’t think so. He’d never considered the possibility that Lord Vader could be afraid of him or, more accurately, the future he foretold.

“You are making quite an assumption based on my second hand account,” Piett said in reply.

Veers stared down into his drink. “I would do the same thing. For Zev – Zevulon.”

Piett shifted minutely away from Veers. “To me?”

“Not any of the – the mind probing, and the like, but…” Veers trailed off. He returned quieter. “I wouldn’t want the future changed. Not in a way that risked him.”

Piett let the silence hang heavy in the AT-AT. He didn’t know what it was like to have children, or what it was like to fear losing them. He had nieces and nephews, but they were relatively safe on Axxila, and they weren’t some of the Empire’s most wanted or toeing the line of treason in an Imperial military school. He wasn’t afraid in the same way Lord Vader and Veers were.

Veers cleared his throat and tapped at some controls until the AT-AT returned to its normal position. “Zevulon is all I – it’s just different, when it’s your kid. You’ll have to find another way.”

Piett took a small sip of his drink. “I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I.”

“Have you tried telling Lord Vader about his daughter?”

Piett shook his head. “It isn’t my secret to tell.” Besides, he would rather space himself than deal with Lord Vader’s emotional fallout from that again. Spacing himself was less tumultuous.

“What about asking Emperor Palpatine for advice?”

Piett suppressed a snort. “I am no longer loyal to him, and he’s a very powerful Sith Lord. The less he knows the better.”

Veers sighed. “Have you gone to the… rebellion, for aid?”

“I do not negotiate with rebels.”

Veers stared him down. “Except...”

Piett relented. “Except for Luke. But I am not some rebel looking to overthrow the Empire. I just need to keep Anakin Skywalker alive.”

Veers swore under his breath. “I cannot believe I’m suggesting this, but you don’t seem to have many options left. If it’s for Lord Vader…”

Yes, asking the rebellion for help was an idea Piett had discarded many times over. The last thing they would want was the continued existence of Lord Vader in some shape or form, and the last thing Piett wanted was to give the rebels information that they could use against his fleet.

Perhaps it was time to speak with Luke again. He could offer some advice.

“I’ll… consider it,” Piett settled on.

“Thank you.” Veers said. And later: “And Firmus,” his eyes flicked to Piett’s, “you can always come find me whenever you need advice. I don’t care if it takes hours to convince me about your time loops, you do it –”

“Thank you, Max,” Piett cut him off, “But I’m aware. Do you think this is the first time I’ve sat here?”

Veers looked suitably bewildered and Piett’s mouth twitched, just slightly.

Piett walked down the command corridor towards Lord Vader. When he reached the end, Piett bowed deeply to him.

“Lord Vader,” Piett said.

“Admiral.”

Piett opened his mouth to say the next part of his spiel, but then remembered he didn’t need it.

Lord Vader tilted his helmet at Piett. “Was there anything further?”

Piett shook his head once. “No, my Lord. It is nothing I cannot handle myself.”

Lord Vader waved an uncaring hand at Piett. “Very well. Carry on, Admiral.”

Piett was in Hangar Six when the holocall came through that the Tydirium was requesting access. Piett ordered the ship to be tractor-beamed to his location and waited with a long-mastered patience for the ship to land.

Stormtroopers quickly apprehended the occupants and within minutes Piett was informed he could meet the rebels at his leisure. A trooper handed Piett Skywalker’s lightsaber. It was light and warm in his hand, and he tucked it and his hands behind his back.

“Leave Skywalker with me,” Piett instructed. “The rest… take them to our security cells on level fourteen. Ensure a medic is allowed to see them. Dismissed.”

Luke watched on with wretched anguish as his friends were led away. Piett watched them go until, next to the stolen lambda shuttle, he and Luke were the only two who remained.

Once Piett had the desired privacy he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh and handed Luke back his lightsaber. “My apologies, Luke, for the fuss however I must speak with you. We have a small viewport until your father –”

“My friends – wait, what?”

“Your father, Lord Vader. Your friends will be quite alright, the security cells offer better amenities than the ones in the brig. We have a little time. May I speak with you?”

Luke glanced down at the lightsaber in his hands before looking back at Piett. “Ah…”

Shavit, Piett’s done it again. “My apologies again, Luke. I am Fleet Admiral Firmus Piett of Death Squadron. Your father is my commanding officer. I am currently trapped in a time loop, and we have a limited opportunity to speak discreetly.”

“A time loop?”

“Yes, and –”

“Really? What happens?”

“We really don’t have time –”

“I would remind you, Fleet Admiral, that you are arguing with a Jedi with a lightsaber.”

Piett forced himself to slow down. “You win, but at a great cost. The purpose of my loops is, I believe, to minimise that cost.”

Luke inspected him and for a brief moment Piett felt like his soul was visible before them.

“You’re telling the truth,” Luke decided, “and you’re –”

“Cloudy in the Force, yes. You’ve told me so before.”

Luke stilled, his expression thoughtful. Piett reminded himself that he was a patient man and resisted the urge to look at the blast doors he knew would open soon.

“I will help you however I can,” Luke eventually decided, “as long as you keep my friends from harm.”

Piett wasn’t sure if he could agree to that. “Your friends will be safe on this vessel, you have my word. But you will all be transferred to the Death Star, and I’m afraid I’m not sure of what happens after that.”

He could guess, though. In the absence of a rebel fleet Emperor Palpatine could threaten or torture Luke’s friends instead. The outcome would be the same, if the first loop where he spoke to Luke in this hangar bay was any indication.

Luke accepted Piett’s words with a solemn nod. “Very well. Why do you wish to speak with me?”

“Do you think there is anyone at your rebel high command who would believe me?”

Luke cast his gaze away. “Not that I can think of, not at so crucial a moment as now. And it’s Alliance High Command, by the way.”

“Alliance High Command, then. Or if not them, anyone in the Alliance?”

Luke was still, his eyes distant. “Perhaps… it depends entirely on what you mean by minimising the costs in this conflict.”

Their time was ticking away. “Luke, the Death Star is fully operational. When your fleet arrives, my forces ambush yours and keep you in range. The damage done to both our fleets…”

Luke paled and met Piett’s eyes. “If Death Squadron is here, we’ll be sitting mynocks.”

“It’s the largest gathering of Star Destroyers in recorded history,” Piett added, “and we are also sitting mynocks. Such a waste of life, all to show off an unnecessary superweapon.”

Luke cocked his head. “You don’t approve of a second Death Star?”

Piett pursed his lips. “I understand the necessity of shows of force. The Lady is a Star Destroyer of unparalleled design and utility, the largest ship ever built in the galaxy, and capable of rendering a planet to slag in minutes.”

Piett took a long look around the near-empty hangar. He wasn’t sure why he was saying this to Luke, but he also couldn’t think of a good enough reason why he shouldn’t. “Why isn’t she enough? Why is a greater show of force needed? Where does it end?”

“With the Emperor,” Luke said, “there is no end.”

That was a dreadful thought. What could the Emperor make next, with more time and resources? What could be more threatening than a planet destroyer?

Luke gave a humourless smile. “When my friends and I are transferred to the Death Star, do you know if my astromech and Threepio join us?”

Piett presumed so. “I presume so.”

“If only Artoo could somehow get aboard without a restraining bolt,” Luke said pointedly. “I know he’d love another chance to slice into a Death Star and cause some damage.”

“If you think for a moment I’m letting that horrid droid of yours loose –”

Piett’s heart skipped a beat.

“Luke, what do you mean by another chance?”

Luke’s eyes crinkled. “Artoo saved my friends and I from the first Death Star, and then he helped me destroy it. If you gave him the chance to slice into another one, I think he’ll take it.”

Piett stared at him. “He was there too? On the first Death Star?”

Luke inclined his head. “He’s a one-of-a-kind slicer. As far as I can tell, no-one’s wiped him in decades. He’s learned a lot.” Luke paused for a moment. “What do you mean he was “there too”? Where else would you have – ah. Bespin.”

Yes, Bespin. Not one of Piett’s finest operations. “Your diabolical little droid almost cost me everything.”

Luke’s expression became downcast. “I could say the same thing about your Imperial schemes.”

“How so? Bespin was where your friends escaped the Imperial Armed Forces, and you turned down your father’s offer of aid and treason and survived it.”

“Vader didn’t tell you? Aren’t you his Admiral?”

Piett stiffened. Tell him what? “Lord Vader must not have considered it pertinent.”

Luke inspected his own hand for a moment before pulling his glove off and raising his arm to Piett’s eyeline. “He cut off my hand. I almost killed myself trying to get away from him. Believe me, I wouldn’t consider that day a victory.”

There was a faint but unmistakable line on Luke’s arm where synth-skin met authentic, and Piett was momentarily thrown.

How could Lord Vader do that? To his own son?

But oh, it explained Luke’s reaction during their battle in the Emperor’s throne room. It felt like so long ago now, but Piett clearly remembered how Luke had cut off his father’s hand, the viciousness of the motion, the cruel satisfaction that seemed to pour off of him. That was how Luke took his revenge. Equally, delightfully. Monstrously. Just like his father.

“That’s – he did this to you, and you still think there is some good in him?”

Luke put his glove back on. “I know so, Admiral. As difficult as that may be to believe.”

Piett had seen it himself, but Luke was right. He did find it difficult to believe. But he also remembered that just like his father, Luke would turn away from that path.

Luke’s head snapped towards the blast doors behind Piett. “Vader’s almost here. You’d better take this back.”

Luke handed his lightsaber over to Piett. “And if I can’t convince Vader of the good in him, go find Artoo. Convince him to help you with the Death Star. If you want to save lives on all sides, Artoo is your only hope. Oh, and you’ll need to convince Threepio as well.”

The blast doors slid open. Lord Vader strode towards them.

Piett lowered his voice. “Why would I need the assistance of a protocol droid? But the point is moot, because I am not enlisting the help of your astromech –”

“They take care of each other. Threepio will help smooth things over. Force be with you, Admiral.”

Luke straightened, and Piett followed in suit. Their time had run out.

Lord Vader approached them and Piett gave him a bow. “My Lord,” Piett greeted, and held out Luke’s lightsaber. “Luke Skywalker wishes to speak with you.”

Lord Vader took the lightsaber and examined it, turning the weapon over in his hands.

“Prisoners do not decide if I will speak with them, Admiral. Leave us.”

Piett left without looking back, leaving Luke and Lord Vader to their confrontation. He was already thinking of his office where he could spend a few hours in solitude thinking.

An astromech? Really? That was Luke’s best suggestion? A droid that, if Luke was right, hadn’t been wiped in decades. No wonder it was so unstable and volatile, and no wonder it had dragged some poor protocol droid into its orbit. Worse, it almost caused Piett’s execution. Piett hated the blasted thing.

The whole idea was preposterous. Talking to Luke had been informative, but not useful going forward. Piett would have to think of something else.

“No sudden moves, astromech,” Piett warned, “or I blow the central processing unit out of this protocol droid.”

Piett pressed his service blaster against the protocol droid’s shiny golden head. The astromech let out a sharp blat of surprise and some low whistles, but stopped moving.

“Good,” Piett said, keeping his voice low. They had to stay quiet. Piett had appropriated a dilapidated hut away from the heart of the little tree bears’ village, but sound could carry. “Very good. If you do as I say, we will all leave here unscathed.”

Well, Piett had thought about it, and talking to Luke’s astromech really seemed his best way forward. Arguing with Lord Vader had gotten him nowhere. Surely a droid, as a bastion of computer logic and rationality, would be easier to reason with.

And Piett was all but out of other options, excluding giving up entirely. What did he have to lose?

The astromech beeped something at Piett.

“What did he say?” Piett asked the protocol droid.

“He asked what you wanted, Officer,” the protocol droid informed him.

The astromech beeped and whistled away again and the protocol droid gave a dramatic flinch. “By the stars! I am not repeating that!”

“Keep it down!” Piett commanded in a hushed whisper. He pressed his blaster a little harder against the protocol droid’s head. “All I want is a conversation. We talk, and then we go our separate ways.”

The astromech chattered something.

“I agree,” the protocol droid said, nodding, “this is all rather unnecessarily hostile for a conversation. We are mere droids, after all, and you are a fearsome Imperial Officer.”

Piett snorted lightly. The protocol droid was laying it on thick. “Oh no, I know exactly what that menace of an astromech has done. This is entirely necessary. Now, I –”

The astromech gave an intricate whistle.

“Really, Artoo?” the protocol droid whined. “Officer, he wants to know what you think he’s done.”

Piett narrowed his eyes. Very well. “I know you aided Luke Skywalker in first escaping and then destroying the first Death Star. And I know you’re the blasted droid that ruined all my plans at Bespin.”

The astromech, and Piett didn’t have a better word for it, laughed at him.

“Artoo asks if that’s it,” the protocol droid added, deadpan, speaking over the astromech’s frenzy of beeps and whistles.

Piett glared at the astromech. Horrid little thing. “That is all I care about. I’m sure you have a long and colourful history of causing headaches –”

The astromech gave two blats.

“He certainly does,” the protocol droid said.

“I don’t care,” Piett reiterated. “But I’m sure you care about the blaster I’m pointing at your friend.”

He shifted the blaster a little and both the protocol droid and the astromech settled down a little. “That’s better. Now listen to me. Instead of justifiably turning you two droids into molten slag, I have come to you with a proposition. Our interests align more than you may think.”

The astromech cautiously trilled something.

“How so?” the protocol droid translated.

“We both want that thrice damned Death Star gone,” Piett replied. “I know you, astromech, have some experience slicing them. Would you like the chance to do so again?”

There was a long pause. Faint torchlight flickered across the shining surfaces of the pair of droids.

Finally, the astromech trundled forward the equivalent of half a step and whistled in long, low tones.

“He’s asking why an Officer like yourself would want a Death Star destroyed,” the protocol droid said. “And to please call him Artoo.”

“Artoo, then.”

“And I am C3PO, but you may call me Threepio.”

“Yes, thank you.” Piett wiped some sweat away from his eyes with his free hand. This was good. Now he was making progress. “I am Fleet Admiral Firmus Piett, of Death Squadron. If that Death Star works as intended, which it will, my fleet will become obsolete.”

It was a plausible enough explanation. More so than Piett time travelling and turning traitor against the Emperor, certainly. Could droids even comprehend that? Add the reality of time travel to their logic systems?

Artoo warbled something.

“He wants proof,” Threepio said.

Piett had prepared for this. He fished his rank badge out of his sock, where he’d hidden it for safe keeping, and held it out where some torchlight could reach it.

“There, do you see? The red bars mean –”

Artoo beeped.

“Yes, he knows,” Threepio informed Piett. “And he also wants you to know he’s done this longer than you have.”

Piett bristled. He’d spent his entire adulthood in Armed Forces of some description, thank you very much. For Artoo to so easily joke about his level of experience… how old was Artoo, then? Luke said he hadn’t been wiped in decades, but how many? Was he older than the Empire?

“You are an older model of astromech, Artoo,” Piett told Artoo. “Were you with the Republic? Is that why you are loyal to Luke – he’s a Jedi, and you served the Jedi before him?”

Artoo was silent.

Well clearly Artoo’s longevity hadn’t granted him skills in lying. That was as good as a whole-hearted yes.

“That’s a yes, then.” Piett again pressed the blaster firmly against Threepio’s head. “Which Jedi did you serve?”

Threepio wrung his hands, an action Piett had never seen a droid do before. “Artoo, please answer him!”

Artoo made a series of staccato tones, his lights flashing.

“He said he would rather... oh Artoo… he said he’d rather we were both melted into slag before he’d tell you anything more.”

“While I am amenable to that,” Piett said, “I did say I was here for a conversation and I’m not leaving without one. Whoever you are protecting is long dead. Continuing to do so puts your friend’s life in jeopardy.”

Artoo rotated his dome from side to side – an action even Piett could translate.

“Have it your way,” Piett said, and flicked a switch on the side of his blaster. The blaster produced a powerful whirring noise as its heat removal systems recalibrated, a sound Piett guessed these droids wouldn’t recognise. To the uninformed, it was quite an intimidating racket.

“W-wait a second!” Threepio cried out, and then carried on much softer. “A moment, please, before you turn us to slag. Artoo, you knew Obi-Wan Kenobi, didn’t you? During the Clone Wars? You knew how to find him afterwards when he was hiding on Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi. Now that was a name Piett hadn’t heard in a long time. But the Jedi Master had been famous during the Clone Wars, and at the time it had been rare to go a standard week without hearing about one of his exploits. Piett remembered staring glued to the holonet feed, elbowing for space against the huddle of other fresh recruits for the Axxilan Antipirate Fleet, unable to look away from the Battle of Coruscant, knowing two Jedi held the fate of the galaxy in their hands.

It was assumed Kenobi had died soon afterwards. There had been rumours about him since then, that he had surfaced on Daiyu and Mapuzo, but there had been rumours about all the famous Jedi. Now, apparently he’d been hiding on Tatooine the whole time.

And if Artoo knew Kenobi… he also knew Anakin Skywalker. Kenobi trained him, and the two had been inseparable.

…Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

“By the Force,” Piett whispered to himself.

Artoo wasn’t protecting Kenobi. Artoo was protecting Anakin, because he’d been Anakin’s wretched machine, and now he was loyal to Anakin’s son.

Stars save him. But was there nothing in the galaxy safe from Anakin Skywalker? It seemed Piett couldn’t stumble two steps without stepping in Anakin’s history. What was next, had Anakin trained the little tree bears in their guerrilla tactics? Had he saved Threepio’s life at some point in the distant past? Did the galaxy actually revolve around him?

The two droids had a hushed argument while Piett tried to compose himself.

“He was going to kill us, Artoo,” Threepio said sternly over a barrage of undoubtedly furious beeping. “I don’t have a death wish. Don’t you take that tone with me, I’m only trying to help!”

“You’re Anakin Skywalker’s astromech,” Piett cut in. “Aren’t you. It explains so much about… about what you are. And you’re loyal to Luke because you are loyal to Anakin.”

The droid whistled in a way that could only be described as resigned. Piett was right, as much as he didn’t want to be.

At least this was something new he could work with.

Piett put his blaster away. He wouldn’t need it any more. “Coincidentally, I am also loyal to Anakin Skywalker. He is my superior officer.”

Threepio shifted in shock, but Artoo did not react in anyway Piett could discern.

“By the Maker,” Threepio gasped, “how could it be? Luke’s long lost father? Both of you know him?”

“You are not surprised, Artoo,” Piett said. “You already knew. You know Lord Vader is Anakin Skywalker. Did Luke tell you?”

“By the –” Threepio said again, but stopped to listen to Artoo’s chirps. “I see. You found out as part of a conversation with Luke and Master Kenobi’s ghost.”

Piett blinked. Okay, he wasn’t going to unpack that right now. It was probably a translation error.

Artoo whistled something else. “Is there anything of Anakin Skywalker left?” Threepio asked.

“I believe so,” Piett answered, “somewhere deep, deep inside that armoured suit. I believe it just as much as Luke does.”

Artoo beeped away. “That is your true purpose asking us for aid,” Threepio translated. “You wish to help the Skywalkers.”

Piett nodded. “And if you help me with the second Death Star, we can help even more beings. Your fleet, mine.”

Artoo trundled directly in front of Piett and whistled. “A word of advice about helping Anakin Skywalker,” Threepio said, “from personal experience. You cannot. He will do exactly whatever foolhardy, dangerous, stupid thing he sets out to do, and you cannot stop him. All you can do is pick up the pieces in his wake.”

Piett eyed Artoo up and down. “I have… recently come to accept that. You are remarkably astute for an astromech.”

Artoo trilled something. “And you are remarkably tolerable for an Imperial Admiral.”

Piett barked a laugh, much to his and the droid’s surprise. “You remind me of a friend of mine. Will you help me?”

Artoo gave a blat. “He said yes. What do you need him to do?”

Piett fished around in his other sock and withdrew his code cylinder, which he handed over to Artoo. “You’ll need this to gain access to the more sensitive systems inside the Death Star. While I shouldn’t technically have access to them, there is currently no-one aboard the Death Star with a high enough access to revoke mine.”

Artoo gave a series of beeps that sounded affirmative. “He said he can only access the Death Star’s systems from inside. How will he get up there?”

Piett gazed out one of the hut’s windows. The Death Star wasn’t visible at this time, but the gaseous planet of Endor hung high and bright in the sky instead. “I have a few ideas. Now listen closely, and I can finish explaining before your friends wonder where you are…”

Piett explained his plans to the droids and they listened quietly. When he was finished, Threepio wished him well and they departed.

Piett watched them go from the shadows of the dilapidated hut.

It had worked. He’d spoken to the astromech and he had listened to him.

It was working, and Piett’s knees wanted to collapse from the relief of it all.

Here was his way forward. Finally. Finally, finally!

There was still so much work to do – Piett couldn’t get ahead of himself. His plans with Artoo were only the beginning. There were other pieces he needed to put into place, officers to talk to, possibilities to explore. There were an unknown number of resets ahead of him while he sorted out the details.

But he knew the way forward. Piett slipped from the hut, climbed under the wooden walkway, and disappeared into the black forest below.

Chapter Text

Piett stood on his bridge.

He stared at the crew in the weapons and defence stations working away. Between them, the crew in the Pit passed datapads around and pointed to their console displays, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Lord Vader stood staring out the front viewport, down, down to Endor far below.

Piett greeted Dopelmere first, startling the Ensign, before nodding to the pair of Commodores chatting by the communications hub. He strode past them, past the weapons and defence stations, down the command corridor, across the pit, to Lord Vader. Piett gave him a shallow bow.

“My Lord.”

“Admiral.”

Lord Vader crossed his arms. He gave Piett the galaxy’s longest look, but didn’t say anything further and eventually returned to staring out the viewport.

When he’d had his fill of drinking in Endor he left the bridge, leaving Piett standing alone.

Piett stared out over the same swath of stars and saw nothing.

Once an appropriate amount of time had passed, Piett glanced overtly at his chronometer and clicked his tongue.

“Oh dear. I’ve almost missed breakfast. Venka, you have the bridge.”

Captain Venka hurried over, saluting. “Yes, sir.”

Piett left his slightly confused bridge behind and headed towards a mess hall. Not the Senior Officer’s mess, nor the one closest to the bridge. They hadn’t had what he was looking for.

He found a mess hall tucked away towards the Lady’s aft – from there, you could see the faint glow of the Lady’s rear engines down far below. The space was cosy, softly lit, and had groups of officers and technicians chatting about inside.

Perfect. Piett tucked his cap low over his eyes, ordered a cup of tea from a galley droid, and slunk to the side, just another officer enjoying a quiet moment before his shift. He kept his back to the wall and his tea carefully positioned over his rank badge, eyes darting about, looking for something in particular.

Piett’s tea was lukewarm by the time he found it. He sculled the last of his tea and headed over to a large pack of officers all listening intently to two engineers, who were speaking animatedly but still in whispers.

“It doesn’t matter,” one engineer emphasised, finger jabbing at the table, “Vader’s served him for twenty years or so, he wouldn’t turn on him. Not even for the throne.”

“My credits are on one of the Grand Moffs,” the other engineer said. “Come on, they’re power hungry in a way Vader isn’t. Give them five years and one of them will do it.”

“Conspiracy theorists, the lot of you,” an officer whispered harshly over the two of them. “Old age’ll get the Emperor, obviously. Ten credits says in the next five years, for sure.”

Credits appeared and changed hands around the table, one of the engineers keeping track, and that was when Piett reached them, his hand fishing for something in his pocket.

The conversation around the table dwindled away to nothing as the men realised who stood among them. Some of them flinched when Piett tossed a stack of credit chips onto the table.

“A hundred on Lord Vader,” Piett declared, then walked off.

Once he was a far enough distance away, shouting erupted from the men and Piett fought back a pleased smirk.

The speed of light was fast, sure. Information on the holonet faster still. But nothing in the galaxy was faster than fresh scuttlebutt as it tore through a fleet. And if it was the right scuttlebutt, at the right time, in the right place…

Piett took a slight detour on the way back to his bridge. The Head Software Engineer’s office was deserted at this hour and Piett wasted no time slipping behind his desk and accessing his drawers. Inside was a slicing tool and the various odds and ends one needed to perform maintenance on the vast swath of equipment aboard the Lady, as well as a half-empty flask of something that smelled like pure ethanol. That, he left alone, but the slicing tool and a few of the odds and ends ended up stuffed into his pockets.

Back on the bridge, Piett resumed command and quashed any whispering that was already sprouting up. It settled down by the time Lord Vader returned from his meeting with the Emperor and the Tydirium appeared on the Lady’s radar.

Piett was already there by the comms unit. “Shuttle Tydirium, what is your cargo and destination?”

“Parts and technical crew for the forest moon,” came Han Solo’s reply.

Piett turned to where Lord Vader would soon loom behind him. “Rebels. I presume you wish to deal with them yourself, my Lord?”

Lord Vader loomed over behind Piett and crossed his arms. “Have care how you presume, Fleet Admiral. Let them through.”

Lord Vader stalked off and Piett nodded for the comms officer to relay that final command to the Tydirium. The Tydirium carried on down to the forest moon and Lord Vader left soon after, presumably to strategise again with the Emperor.

Once the bridge resumed its normal activity, Piett called Dopelmere over.

“Ensign Dopelmere,” Piett canted his head towards a nearby conference room, “with me.”

Dopelmere startled and hurried to salute and follow. “Y-yes, Admiral.”

The Ensign was sweating around his collar when Piett shut the conference room door and rounded on him.

“I need you to complete a task for me,” Piett said, “secretly. Can you do this?”

Dopelmere’s shoulders dropped minutely and then he gave a solid nod. “Yes, Admiral.”

Piett fished the slicing tool and one of the odds and ends out of his pocket. “This is a slicing tool and a secure receiver. We will be entering conflict during your next bridge shift. When no-one is paying attention, I need you to attach that receiver to the bridge’s holoprojector.”

Dopelmere took the slicing tool and the receiver, turning them over in his hands. “I ah, I don’t –”

“There’s a panel that can be pried open on the side by the communication consoles. Insert the splicing tool into the port and wait until it deactivates the socketguard by the receiver ports. Insert the receiver and press that button there; that will activate the receiver.”

Dopelmere found the button Piett pointed out and took a moment or two before nodding again at Piett. “I understand, sir. But… I don’t understand why you’ve asked me. Sir.”

Piett’s eyes crinkled for just a second. “Because I cannot do it myself – I will not be present on the bridge and I could not do so unnoticed.”

Dopelmere blinked at that. He opened his mouth – and Piett could practically hear the question he was about to ask – but he merely saluted and tucked the tools away inside his jacket pocket. “Yes, Admiral. I won’t let you or… or Lord Vader down.”

Piett turned to the door controls, opening the conference room door. “I know you won’t, Chiel.”

“Admiral,” the Emperor began, “you have been selected for a task of extreme importance to the defence of my Empire…”

Piett waited while the holomessage played out for Captain Venka and Commander Gherant. They stood in Piett’s office, both looking a little haggard after their long shifts, but their eyes were still bright and focused.

“…Any deviation of your Star Destroyer from my design will be considered treason,” the Emperor droned on. “A surprise awaits the rebels if you hold your position as instructed…”

Piett paced back to his desk once the message finished and tapped away at his desk controls, searching the Lady’s files. “As you heard, the Emperor’s orders to myself and the other Admirals are quite clear. The rebels are to be prevented from leaving, not destroyed. These orders are to be relayed to you and the other Captains and Commanders just as the conflict begins.”

Commander Gherant stood a little straighter. “How long do we have before the rebels arrive?”

Piett shook his head, barely glancing up from the display on his desk. “Hours and hours yet, Commander. I am sharing these orders early as I will not be on the bridge to give them at the correct time.”

Venka and Gherant exchanged a brief look.

“You… will not be on the bridge for the battle?” Venka clarified. “You won’t lead us through this last conflict?”

“I will be following behind Lord Vader,” Piett replied, “elsewhere. Commander Gherant, you will be placed in charge of the fleet in my stead. This conflict will end agreeably so long as you follow the orders you have been given. Do not destroy the rebels. Do you understand me?”

Piett fixed Gherant with a hard stare. Gherant did not so much as flinch. “Yes, Admiral.”

Piett turned his gaze on Captain Venka and Venka gave a shallow bow. “Yes, Fleet Admiral.”

“Good.” Piett pressed one last button on his desk’s display and one of the rare holos of Lord Vader appeared, swinging his lightsaber through some droids. “I find in these critical times it is important to remember who we follow.”

The small Lord Vader tore through his enemies in between Piett and his two officers, and they exchanged another look.

“We will go where you and Lord Vader lead us,” Venka said. Gherant nodded along with him.

“Thank you,” Piett replied, and he meant it. “Venka, you are dismissed.”

Venka saluted and left; Gherant briefly locked eyes with him as he passed.

“I have one final task for you Commander,” Piett said, and handed Gherant a datapad. On it was a list of names. “I need you to apprehend these individuals. Pick a team and do it quietly.”

Gherant took the datapad and read over the names carefully. There was the slightest movement, like he went to chew the inside of his check, but he hid it well. “Their crimes, sir?”

“They forgot who they followed. You are dismissed, Commander.”

Gherant saluted and left.

One he was gone and, once the door slid shut behind him, Piett made a holocall.

“Max? It’s me. I have a favour to ask you. Can you fabricate a reason for me to join you on the moon? Yes, I’ll explain later…”

Chief Medical Officer Doctor Caito Emerette answered her comm with a salute. “Fleet Admiral Piett.”

Piett stepped over a large tree root. “Doctor Emerette. If I may, I have a request for you.”

“It’s your fleet, Admiral,” Doctor Emerette said, “you need not request anything… unless…” Doctor Emerette’s holo frowned ever so slightly. “Unless I am performing triage. What is your request?”

“Two medics, to meet at a shuttle at a time and a hangar of my choosing.”

“Well, Admiral –” she paused as a cacophony of squawks erupted from behind Piett. “Was that… were those birds?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Piett said, ducking under some branches. “Can you grant my request?”

Doctor Emerette’s holo frowned again, her eyes slitting.

“No, I cannot,” Doctor Emerette said firmly, “I’m presuming you want my medics for someone who will be injured. Who will be away from the fleet. I can only assume that the rumours of an upcoming battle are true, then. But Admiral, you should know that the delivery of an injured patient to a safe operating room is the most dangerous ordeal a patient and a medic can endure apart from the battle itself.”

“I do, yes,” Piett replied. He stumbled a step on some loose stones but caught himself before he could trigger one of the little tree bear’s traps. Barbed wire at ankle height. Nasty things, those ones.

Doctor Emerette pursed her lips. “So I cannot send medics into such a dangerous situation, not if there is conflict in the near future. I will need them more here. My apologies, I cannot grant your request.”

“I understand, Doctor,” Piett replied, darting around a mud puddle.

Doctor Emerette tilted her head. He could imagine her tapping her fingers against her desk while she thought, out of range of her holoprojector.

“I could send a droid,” Emerette mused.

Piett said nothing, pausing for a moment and resting his leg on a rock, waiting for her to continue.

“Which… I assume you also already knew.”

“I did, yes,” Piett said.

“There is a medical training droid on deck cresh. There’s a chance it can be reprogrammed for emergency situations –”

“It can, yes,” Piett interrupted.

Doctor Emerette gave a very professional sounding sigh that was barely picked up by her holoprojector. “To be perfectly transparent, Admiral, I’m not sure why we’re even having this conversation. You seem to already have the answers you are looking for.”

“I do, Doctor,” Piett said simply. “But I believe it important we both know where we stand.”

Doctor Emerette was still for a moment. Then: “You wanted to know why I wouldn’t risk my medic’s lives and I didn’t tout Imperial policy as a reason. And you wanted to see if I would tell you about the medical training droid.”

Piett met her eyes with his own. “I asked so we both know where we stand.” He resumed walking, looking down at the track. “Though I do still need you to arrange for the droid and the shuttle. I will not be on the Lady at the right time to do so myself.”

Doctor Emerette nodded. “Of course. Just give me the time and the locations, Admiral.”

Piett tucked his hands behind his back, frowning at nothing.

Was he missing anything? His most trusted crew would be ready when the time came. His least trusted crew would be handled quietly. He knew the paths around Endor’s moon like the corridors on the Lady. He could draw a map of the second Death Star’s relevant passageways in his sleep. A million tiny details were prepared or mitigated as required.

He was missing nothing. Only one last detail to arrange, and then…

“I need Mon Mothma’s comm code.”

Luke Skywalker’s eyebrows creased together. “I don’t think she’ll believe you. Not at so crucial a moment as now.”

“I agree. But the rebell – ah, Alliance High Command should be warned anyway, that they have more allies than they think. I believe that will be essential to my crew’s survival after you have won.”

Piett and Luke stood alone next to the stolen lambda shuttle, the hangar bay silent bar the steady hum of electricity and machinery in the background.

“How do we win?” Luke asked. “My friends are imprisoned and my father is on his way. If you’re really on our side, I could really use your help right now.”

“I’m not –” Piett checked his chronometer. They didn’t have a lot of time. “We are allied in that we have a common enemy. If anything, I am on your father’s side, but he doesn’t know it yet, so don’t tell him.”

“Aren’t you his Admiral? How could he not know?”

This was wasting time. “Can you give me Mon Mothma’s comm code?”

Luke fixed him with a steady gaze. “Only if you tell me what happens to me and my friends.”

Piett glanced at the hangar bay doors. Still closed. “I cannot say for certain. But I do know you figure something out.” Piett’s loops were a testament to that. “You do every time.”

That seemed to satisfy Luke. He looked towards the hangar bay doors as well, or more accurately, beyond them. “Vader’s almost here. You’d better take this back.”

He handed his lightsaber over to Piett. “And no, I don’t have Mon Mothma’s comm code memorised. But I know Leia does. You can ask her.”

Piett bit back a grimace, and it was quite the bite. That was not the answer he was looking for. Princess Organa was one of the last beings in the galaxy Piett wanted to speak to, and not even because she’d killed him. She was sharp, sharper than her brother, and holovids of her during Senate meetings showed she could be like a vibroblade if she wanted. She’d run verbal rings around him without breaking a metaphorical sweat.

At the very least he knew Princess Organa’s true heritage – perhaps that could make a good starting point in what was sure to be a truly horrific conversation. That would give him a slight advantage over the shrewdest ex-Senator the galaxy had ever seen.

Luke shot him a sharp look. “Please don’t tell her. That should – her family should tell her.”

Only vast quantities of practice allowed Piett to suppress his sigh. Very well. How could he say no to Luke?

“Very well, Luke. You have my word.”

Luke gave him a faint upturn of his lips, and then the hangar bay doors opened, and both of them straightened and quieted as Lord Vader strode across the space towards them.

“My Lord,” Piett greeted, and held out Luke’s lightsaber. “Luke Skywalker.”

Lord Vader took the lightsaber and examined it, turning the weapon over in his hands.

“The Empire will not forget your service, Admiral. Leave us.”

Piett met Luke’s eyes for the briefest second before turning and walking away.

There was likely only a small viewport of opportunity for Piett to speak to Princess Organa privately before she was taken with Luke to the Emperor. Piett found the security cells on level fourteen, dismissed the guards, disabled the cell’s listening devices, and entered her cell.

The cells here had better amenities than the detention cells. There was a dedicated sleeping area, a tiny viewport to view a handful of stars, and a table and chairs. From one of those chairs Princess Organa rose to meet him.

She was almost half a head shorter than him, though it didn’t feel like that when she approached. “Of course Vader would send one of his lackeys,” she began, her eyes burning holes into Piett’s. “You can leave, Fleet Admiral. If Vader cannot torture information out of me, I doubt you will succeed where he failed.”

“That is not why I’m here, Princess Organa,” Piett said as evenly as he could manage. “I only wish to speak with you.”

“Well I do not wish to speak with you.”

Piett looked at the floor, letting out a slow breath. This was a pointless exercise.

“Very well, Princess, I’ll leave you alone,” Piett said, and he took a step back towards the door. The Princess would never want to speak with him – perhaps Luke could convince her? They could all talk together by the Tydirium before Lord Vader came. Yes, that was a much better plan. He’d try that on the next loop.

But it seemed rather callous to just leave Lord Vader’s daughter here, like this, so Piett half-turned back around. “I can allow for General Solo and his Wookie to join you in this cell, if you wish it.”

Princess Organa narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but why?” she asked.

Piett turned to face her fully. “Why? Because this is my fleet, Princess. I am the Fleet Admiral. Force be with you.”

“No,” Princess Organa said. “No, I don’t understand. That wasn’t a real answer. Imperials don’t offer Alliance prisoners kindness for nothing in return, Fleet Admiral, so I want to know why you offer it to me.”

Kark. The Princess was interested in talking after all.

Very well. Piett would do his best here, or as well as he could without breaking his promise to Luke. He would stay until the Princess asked him to leave again, or their time ran out.

Or she killed him again. That was always a possibility. He’d have to remember to keep his distance.

Piett clasped his hands behind his back. “Because you are not my enemy, Princess.”

“As your prisoner I can’t currently say I feel like your friend,” Princess Organa retorted, and that was fair, “so I am still at a loss.”

They started at each other for a long moment – a silent challenge Piett didn’t have time for.

If he wanted this to go anywhere, he’d have to give her something. Something real, something truthful.

“I…” Piett trailed off. Braced himself. “Do you know about Luke’s father?”

Princess Organa’s gaze sharpened further. “Everyone knows he was a Jedi. One long dead.”

“His name was Anakin Skywalker. I met him once,” Piett said, the words slow and stilted. He hadn’t admitted this before, not even to Veers. “He didn’t have much time, but he – he only had seconds, but he took the time to tell me that I was a good man.”

Piett’s gaze had fallen to the floor. He took a moment to meet Princess Organa’s eyes. “I’m not quite sure why. But every now and then, I would like to believe that he was right about me.”

The Princess’s expression shifted from wary to something less guarded, though the calculation in her eyes did not falter. “May I have your name, Fleet Admiral?”

“Admiral Piett, Princess.”

“Admiral Piett. Are you trying to join the Alliance?”

Pitt took an unwilling step back. “Not at all. No, I just need to contact Mon Mothma.”

Princess Organa crossed her arms. “For what?”

“To discuss a… hypothetical situation.”

“Concerning?”

Piett stifled a sigh. “A ceasefire.”

“That doesn’t strike me as something someone would do if they were loyal to their Empire.”

Piett’s hand behind his back started hurting from clenching it too hard. He didn’t like what she was implying. “I am not a traitor to – I am not joining the Alliance. Despite appearances, I am loyal.”

Princess Organa tilted her head. “I can believe that. But to what? To who? I don’t believe you are to a long dead Jedi, so to who?”

Piett looked away. “I don’t have to answer that. Can you give me Mon Mothma’s comms code?”

“You are the one who came here and asked to speak with me. So speak with me. Answer my questions and you can have the comm code.”

Piett’s eyes snapped back to hers. He could scarcely believe what he just heard. “Just like that? Wouldn’t you rather a different exchange? An escape route? Insight into the Emperor’s plans?”

“No,” Princess Organa replied, sharp and to the point. She clasped her hands behind her back in a regal, relaxed mirror to Piett.

She wasn’t hurried. Only Piett was.

Piett sighed; deeply, audibly. It gave him a moment of preparation.

He drifted to one of the cell walls and pressed his hand against the durasteel. “You might know the name of this ship is the Executor. She’s nineteen klicks long and the flagship of a squadron of Star Destroyers numbering between three and five, depending on need. We call her the Lady. She’s… unique amongst ships.”

Princess Organa’s eyes moved off Piett and to the wall, and then the ceiling, but she didn’t say anything, and Piett continued.

“Her and her hundreds of thousands of crew. They are my responsibility. Mine.”

Piett swallowed.

“And they’ll tell you that it’s an honour to die with you, that it is sweet and right to die for your galaxy, but… if you hear it enough, it starts to ring hollow.”

He looked at her again, and he was abruptly reminded that her full title was not Princess Organa, but Princess Organa of Alderaan. He wondered how many beings had said that to her, both on her planet and after she’d openly announced her association to the Alliance, and how many of them still stood by her side.

Princess Organa, perhaps sensing his thoughts, quirked her lips in semblance of a smile, but her eyes were big and distant. “You rather wish they’d live for it instead.”

Piett inclined his head. “That, or at least not dying for…” He trailed off. Glanced out of the tiny viewport, where the second Death Star hung amongst the stars. “It’s a waste. All of it, it’s a senseless waste, for nothing. I know what he is planning, and it shouldn’t be done. It just shouldn’t.”

Piett pulled back, straightening his uniform. Force, why couldn’t he have problems that could be resolved with his blaster or vibroblade or hells, his own two fists. Something he’d trained for. Something he didn’t have to talk about.

“Are you satisfied, Princess?” Piett said, unable to cut the bite from his tongue. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

His tone hadn’t fazed her. She looked at him with fresh durasteel in her eyes. “It’s something I’ve heard before, certainly… from every ex-Imperial officer that comes to the Alliance.”

Piett shook his head.

Princess Organa took a step closer to him. “The ex-Imperials I speak to are loyal to the crews they serve with, the durasteel that protects them, and the galaxy they live in. And being loyal to these things means they can be in no way loyal to the Emperor. It isn’t possible, not when the Emperor so readily disposes of these things. And that difference in loyalty is the only thing that matters.”

“Surely it matters that we want different things for the galaxy, different views –”

“Fleet Admiral,” Princess Organa said from too close for comfort. When did she get so close? “The Emperor isn’t going to care about the differences in our politics when he has us both executed for treason. This is the only distinction that he will make; if we are on his side, or not. And we are not.”

Piett stared at her, bewildered.

Princess Organa gave his arm a pat. “Welcome to the Alliance. Do you need a stylus and some flimsy?”

“What?”

“To write down Mon’s comms code.”

Piett blinked at her. “I still don’t understand why you would willingly part with her comms code for a conversation.”

Princess Organa gave him a soft smile. “Not just a conversation. For something that is worth forgoing an escape route or insight into the Emperor’s plans. Something that we are both willing to risk everything for: a ceasefire, an end to the conflict.”

Piett met her eyes. Really met them, for the first time, in this cell. She was so young. In the harsh lighting of the cell it was easy to see the dark circles, the red veins streaking across the whites of her eyes, the tiny scars across her skin that should decorate an old combat veteran’s, not someone barely out of her teens. And yet through that her expression was steady, her eyes bright, her features relaxed. She wasn’t afraid of what was coming. She was prepared for it.

It wasn’t fair.

Piett took off his cap. “You shouldn’t have to. I’m so sorry you’re here, and that this responsibility rests on your shoulders. It shouldn’t. And I’m sorry I cannot do more for you.”

The soft smile turned into something sad. “It is only good men that have that concern. Can I give you the code now?”

Piett straightened and put his cap back on. The Princess must have sensed that their time was drawing to a close. “Yes, Princess. I don’t need a stylus or flimsy.”

She told him the code and he dutifully committed it to memory.

“Thank you, Princess,” Piett said, stepping away, “I’ll… I’ll, have your friends escorted here.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” Princess Organa replied. “Force be with you.”

“And you.”

Piett sat down at his desk. Straightened his uniform.

Took a deep breath.

His desk’s holoprojector sat before him and, without a reason to put it off, entered the string of digits and symbols that made up the Alliance Chancellor’s comms code.

There was a long pause.

And, with a flicker of blue static, the Chancellor of the Alliance appeared before him.

She was looking down and to the side, likely off to a datapad on her own desk, and in the time it took Piett to wonder if he should clear his throat or something to attract her attention, she had glanced up at him.

“Yes?” the Chancellor asked. She took him in properly and her expression dropped into something far more guarded. “Who are you?”

“I am Fleet Admiral Piett, Chancellor. I –”

“How did you get this comms frequency?”

“Ah, Princess Organa gave it to me.”

At that, the Chancellor’s countenance brightened. “I see. How can I help you, Fleet Admiral Piett?”

Piett blinked at the sudden change. “Well I – I would like to discuss a hypothetical… are you – really?”

The Chancellor looked down her nose at him. “Excuse me?”

“You are open to a – a discussion. With the Empire. Just like that?”

The Chancellor leaned back in her seat. “I’m hardly having a discussion with the Empire. I’m having one with you. Some would consider the distinction to be quite important.”

“I… I suppose.”

“And you say Princess Leia gave you my comms code, which I believe, because there is no other possible way for you to have obtained it. Therefore she wanted you to speak with me. And so I am willing to discuss whatever it is that you need.”

Piett couldn’t really argue with that.

“Thank you, then, Chancellor. I would like to discuss some hypothetical combat situations, and on an unrelated note, your conditions for a ceasefire…”

Piett stood on his bridge and wondered, for the first time in a very long while, if it was the last time he would do so.

He stared past the crew in the weapons and defence stations working away. He barely spared a glance at the Pit crew passing datapads between themselves. He saluted Lord Vader, they had their customary exchange, and Lord Vader left the bridge.

Piett glanced overtly at his chronometer and clicked his tongue.

“Oh dear. I’ve almost missed breakfast. Venka, you have the bridge.”

Piett tossed a stack of credit chips onto the mess hall table.

“A hundred on Lord Vader,” Piett declared, then walked off.

“I need you to complete a task for me,” Piett said, “secretly. Can you do this?”

Dopelmere’s shoulders dropped minutely and then he gave a solid nod. “Yes, Admiral.”

With a flicker of blue static, the Chancellor of the Alliance appeared before him.

“Yes?” the Chancellor asked. She took him in properly and her expression dropped into something far more guarded. “Who are you?”

“Princess Organa gave me your comms code,” Piett said. “My name is Fleet Admiral Piett. There is a situation unfolding I must discuss with you…”

Piett pressed one last button on his desk’s display and the holo of Lord Vader appeared, swinging his lightsaber through some droids. “I find in these critical times it is important to remember who we follow.”

“We will go where you and Lord Vader lead us,” Venka said. Gherant nodded along with him.

“Thank you,” Piett replied, and he meant it.

Piett came to a stop just inside the blast doors of the small hangar that held his shuttle. The hangar was deserted, his shuttle prepped and ready to depart for Endor’s moon – but he paused.

He walked to the blast door’s frame and pressed his hand against it, his glove growing cold against the durasteel.

“Goodbye, my friend,” he murmured to his ship. “You’ll be alright. I’m making sure of it.”

He nodded to himself, let his hand slide away, and strode off towards his shuttle.

Piett met Doctor Emerette’s eyes through the holoprojector. “I asked so we both know where we stand.” He resumed walking, looking down at the fern-lined track. “Though I do still need you to arrange for the droid and the shuttle. I will not be returning to the Lady to do so myself.”

Doctor Emerette nodded. “Of course. Just give me the time and the location, Admiral.”

Piett, crouched in one of the tree bear’s dilapidated huts, withdrew his code cylinder from his jacket pocket and handed it over to Artoo. “You’ll need this to gain access to the more sensitive systems inside the Death Star.”

Artoo gave a series of beeps. Threepio turned to Piett to translate. “He said he can only access the Death Star’s systems from inside. How will he get up there?”

Piett wiped some sweat out of his eyes. “I have a plan. But we will have to move quickly…”

Piett landed his shuttle on the Imperial base’s landing pad just as the word came through that Skywalker had been found.

“I’ve arranged for Luke to be brought here,” Piett explained to Artoo. “The base Commander will hand him over to me. There will be some time before Lord Vader’s shuttle arrives.”

Artoo beeped impatiently.

“Yes, yes, I know you know the plan,” Piett hoped that was what the droid was beeping about. He was growing used to Artoo’s mannerisms enough to infer the meaning. Probably. “It is helpful to me if I say it aloud. I have a lot more of the plan to remember than you do.”

Artoo rolled into his leg, and Piett winced. “Ow. Could you be more careful? Or did you do that on purpose?”

There was a very pointed camera lens focused on Piett’s face. Piett pointed a finger at himself.

“Do you mean me? Do you want me to be careful?”

Artoo trilled a high note, which Piett took as an affirmative.

“You are sweet in a horrible sort of way, aren’t you,” Piett said. He ran his hand over the top of Artoo’s dome. “I will do my best. As will you, I presume.”

Artoo trilled again.

The Commander saluted Piett and handed him Skywalker’s lightsaber. “He was armed only with this, sir. I believe there must be more rebels around, and I would like to conduct a search of the area.”

Piett took the lightsaber and tucked it into a pocket. “Excellent idea, Commander.” Piett pointed off into the thicket in the opposite direction he knew Luke came from. “Take your Stormtroopers and start a sweep from the west.”

The Commander, slightly pink with the praise, saluted and left without another word.

Once they were alone on the under walkway, Luke levelled him with a carefully blank expression. Piett knew him well enough by now to know he was hiding his nerves.

“I have a good feeling about this one, Luke,” Piett told him, handing him back his lightsaber. “And a plan this time.”

Luke looked at the lightsaber in his hand and then back to Piett. “Huh?”

Piett, just for a brief moment, placed his head in his hands. “I do this every time. I am Fleet Admiral Piett, and I lead your Father’s fleet, Death Squadron. I am currently trapped in a time loop, but I think I’ve figured it out. I have a plan that’s going to help us both.”

Luke blinked at him. “You’re… I see. That explains why you are –” Luke gestured vaguely at Piett – “cloudy. In the Force.”

Piett sincerely hoped so. “As I’ve been told.”

“But why help both of us?” Luke asked. “Why help me? You’re Vader’s Admiral, shouldn’t you be helping him? Or the Emperor?”

Piett gave him a soft smile. “You are someone who needs help. So why shouldn’t I?”

Skywalker’s lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile of his own, but then he let it cover his face. “Forgive me if I am wrong, Admiral, but that sounds very much like something I would say. We really have met before, haven’t we.”

Piett inclined his head, deeply enough that it could be considered a shallow bow. “Indeed we have. Though I do hope that this is our last first meeting.”

“If you have lived this before, do you know the future?” Luke asked. “Am I right about my Father? What will happen to my friends? To the Emperor?”

Piett had an answer for this. “Some things you must learn on your own, Luke. But I can tell you this. Everything that you need to know, you already do.”

Oh, Piett was proud of himself for that one, even if it did make Luke huff and turn away. “I should trust my feelings, you could say.”

“I could,” Piett said. “Now – would you like to hear the plan?”

“I have a feeling you are not going to tell me the whole plan.”

Piett smiled again. He’d miss this. “You are wise beyond your years, Luke.”

Piett bowed as Lord Vader approached. If he was surprised at finding Piett here instead of with Veers, doing what Veers had required of him, he didn’t show it.

“My Lord,” Piett greeted, and held out Luke’s lightsaber. “Luke has surrendered to me. He was carrying this.”

Lord Vader took it and turned it over in his hands. “Excellent work, Admiral. Now leave us. It is beyond time you returned to your fleet.”

“I am going to stay, sir.” Piett said firmly. “I need to see this through.”

That prompted Lord Vader to tilt his helmet dangerously in Piett’s direction. “What you need, Fleet Admiral, is –”

“Can you not feel it, Father?” Luke cut in. “How the Force twists around him? He needs to stay.”

Lord Vader levelled Piett with a long look. Piett weathered it like a durasteel wall.

“Why?” Lord Vader demanded. The temperature of the under walkway plummeted.

Piett endured the display with mild annoyance. He’d seen it all before. “I am forming a hypothesis –”

“You have guesswork,” Lord Vader waved a hand dismissively. “I will uncover the truth once this current matter is dealt with.”

Lord Vader turned his attention to Luke. “Luke.”

Luke watched his with wary eyes. “Father.”

“I see you have accepted the truth…”

They arrived on the Death Star with little fanfare. They travelled through the station until they used one final turbolift, which opened to reveal a huge throne room. A massive void swallowed half the flooring, leaving only a thin walkway to the rest of the space. Suspended walkways filled the ceiling. Huge turbines framed a staircase that led to a central dais, which was in turn framed by computer terminals.

And, past the computer terminals, sitting on the throne like pus on a wound, was the Emperor.

They stopped in front of him. Piett and Lord Vader bowed, and the Emperor opened his hands.

“Welcome, young Skywalker. I have been expecting you.”

Luke stared back at his glowing yellow eyes.

The Emperor flicked his hand. “Guards, Fleet Admiral, leave us.”

“He stays,” Luke said, gesturing at Piett.

The Emperor cast those hideous eyes to Lord Vader while his red guards filtered from the throne room. Lord Vader said nothing.

“…As you wish,” the Emperor eventually replied.

They performed the same song and dance that they had before, the Emperor cruel and goading, Lord Vader a statue at his side. Luke, faithful and resolute. Piett only half listened, his eyes locked on the viewport where the Alliance fleet would arrive from.

And there, the Alliance fleet appeared as it always did, the fighters streaming ahead of the larger and slower cruisers, heading straight for the Death Star. They parted and broke formation just before hitting the deflector shield, an action that Piett still had no explanation for. As they turned to retreat, the Imperial ships appeared behind them, trapping them in a web of durasteel and laserfire.

“You want this, don’t you?” the Emperor taunted. He tapped a decrepit finger against Luke’s lightsaber, displayed neatly on the arm of the Emperor’s throne. “The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon and use it. I am unarmed.”

“No!” Luke growled, and the Emperor flashed his rotten teeth.

“It is unavoidable. It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now mine!”

Outside the viewport, the battle writhed. To the untrained eye it appeared as a mess of light and twisting shapes, but Piett knew better. Much better. He knew exactly what these ships were capable of.

He saw Avenger and Devastator drift slightly out of formation, their turbo canons blasting redundantly into the void of space. He saw the Tyrant cover the Conquest’s weaker starboard shield generator. He saw the Lady, carving a path between the bulkier Alliance vessels and the other ships of the Imperial fleet, tilting to reveal her alusteel belly, which was more than capable of taking the turbolaser fire of every ship in the battle.

All around them the Alliance fighters swarmed the Death Squadron’s ships, close enough to brush shields, yet it appeared the Alliance fighters were surviving the encounter unharmed. It was almost as if they had been granted permission to fly within Death Squadron’s shields. Other, unknowing Imperial ships from the broader Imperial fleet slowed their rates of fire, unwilling to hit their own supposed allies.

To Piett’s eyes it was clear as day that the Alliance fleet was taking far fewer loses than they should have, sequestered as they were amongst the particularly loyal Death Squadron ships. Lord Vader should have seen it too, but he was preoccupied with the conversation inside the throne room. Either that or he didn’t care.

The Emperor had never been a soldier nor had he trained in battle tactics, as far as Piett was aware, and it was evident now. The Emperor monologued on.

“As you can see, my young apprentice, your friends have failed. Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station.”

Luke, eyes narrowed and watching the conflict carefully, said nothing.

The Emperor spoke into the comms unit in his throne. “Fire at will, Commander.”

They all stared out the viewport.

Nothing happened.

The battle outside carried on unchanged.

Piett let out an internal sigh of relief. Artoo must have successfully made his way off of Lord Vader’s shuttle and found a quiet access port to plug himself into. Piett wasn’t sure what exactly Artoo had planned to do, but it worked. The Death Star could not fire, and the fleets outside could continue their dance. The Emperor could not force Luke’s hand to prevent a massacre if no massacre was taking place.

The Emperor spoke into his comms again. “I said fire, Commander, and if you cannot, I want my fleet to destroy every last rebel ship! Tell them to attack!”

Piett could hear the spluttering Commander on the other end. “If they m-mount a full attack, they’ll destroy themselves in the p-process!”

The comms unit in the throne cracked and shattered, annihilated by an invisible force. The Emperor clenched his fist and slammed it down on the throne, cracking the material. Luke’s lightsaber clattered to the floor.

Luke turned his gaze back to the Emperor. “Your plan has failed, Your Highness. The Alliance is overcoming your fleet. It all ends here.”

The Emperor snarled, rising from his throne. “Silence! There is treachery afoot.” He cast his hateful eyes on Piett. “You. You have done this! You betray me!”

It wasn’t a surprise the Emperor had singled him out – Piett was the unknown variable in the Emperor’s schemes. Or perhaps the Emperor had sensed his actions somehow. In either case, there was likely little point in trying to convince the Emperor otherwise. Whatever chances Piett had of watching this from the sidelines like the first time had dwindled away to nothing.

Piett drew himself to his full height. “I do, Your Highness,” he said. “And you deserve it.”

The Emperor reared backwards at his blunt response.

So did Lord Vader, the abrupt jerk of his helmet giving away his surprise. Piett wanted to laugh at that. Lord Vader, so focused on acquiring Luke, missed Piett scheming away directly under his nose. With his enemy, the Chancellor of the Alliance. With his fleet. With his son.

With his astromech.

“You,” the Emperor said again, jabbing his finger at Piett. “I will have your name, Fleet Admiral.”

Piett shook his head. “I am nothing, no-one. It doesn’t matter.”

The Emperor cast his hand out towards Piett. “In this one regard, you are correct. Your treachery is insignificant against my master plan. Now, Fleet Admiral, die.”

In the next instant, Piett was consumed by lightning.

There was no moment to prepare or flee or dodge. The air was empty, and then the air was filled with violet-blue pain. There was no breath without lightning in his lungs. There was no twitch of movement without a lance of fire following after. It was as if Piett was getting run through with a lightsaber, everywhere, forever.

Then there was a flash of green.

Piett slowly came to the awareness that he was lying crumpled against the throne room’s durasteel floor. He gasped in a shaky breath, his chest spasming, and tried to focus his eyes.

He managed to see the throne room again. The lighting had abated.

Or, more accurately, Luke must have taken up his lightsaber and attacked the Emperor – and Lord Vader had moved to his defence – that was the only reason Piett could think of as to why the Emperor had not finished him off.

Luke had attacked the Emperor… for Piett. It wasn’t – Piett hadn’t – without the threat of the Alliance fleet getting obliterated, Piett thought the Emperor would just order Lord Vader to attack Luke. But he never considered…

He could think about it later. His ears were ringing, he just noticed, but it was fading and the sound of clashing lightsabers filled the throne room instead. Piett lifted his head and caught sight of green and red flashes under the throne room structure, with the occasional explosion of yellow sparks. Luke and Lord Vader must be duelling below.

Piett fought to his knees, his heart a stuttering thing in his ribcage, but he ignored that and looked around. The throne room was destroyed now, with lightsaber marks on the walls, cables littering the floors, and a hanging platform now collapsed through the stairs.

He also saw the viewport, and his cap sitting next to him, and he took the time to jam it back on his head with trembling fingers before taking in the scene through the plasma-proof glass.

He watched the ships outside fight in a flurry of plasmafire. The Emperor’s orders were taking their toll. A Star Destroyer that was unmistakably the Tyrant went dark just before shearing in two, both halves flinging away into space, shrouded in a cloud of shredded durasteel.

“Your betrayal was for naught,” the Emperor said. Piett whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the voice, and settled on the Emperor’s glowing eyes across the throne room. They were directed at the fight below, but his words were clearly for Piett.

“Everything proceeds as per my design. Your rebellion will be destroyed and your last hope either –”

“I don’t care, Your Highness,” Piett said.

Those sickly yellow eyes focused on Piett, then, but with a spray of sparks Luke and Lord Vader brought their fight back to the throne room stairs.

Luke was ferocious – his lightsaber an attacking streak of green light against Lord Vader’s faltering red. Lord Vader retreated under Luke’s unwavering blows until he stumbled back against the narrow walkway over the reactor shaft.

Lord Vader fell to his knees.

With one final strike, Luke cut off his father’s hand. He pressed the tip of his lightsaber towards Lord Vader’s throat, breathing hard, and Lord Vader raised his remaining hand in surrender.

Piett, in that brief pause, hauled himself to his feet using one of the computer terminals. He couldn’t let go of the terminal for fear that his legs would give way, he was shaking that badly. There was something wrong, something in his chest that wasn’t the understandable aches and burns, but there was nothing to do about it now.

The Emperor shuffled over to the throne stairs watch the display.

“Good,” the Emperor sneered at Luke, “your hate has made you more powerful. Now, fulfil your destiny and take your father’s place at my side!”

Luke stared down at his gloved hand and flexed his fingers. Piett knew, knew the outcome but he still held his breath.

Luke deactivated his blade and stared the Emperor down.

“Never,” Luke said, and Piett breathed out.

Luke tossed his lightsaber away. “I’ll never turn to the Dark side. You’ve failed, Your Highness. I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

All of the warmth in the throne room disappeared, and the Emperor scowled.

“So be it… Jedi,” the Emperor ground out. “If you will not turn, you will be destroyed.”

The Emperor pointed and lightning exploded from his fingertips. Piett closed his eyes to the initial flash, but he forced himself to squint down at Luke afterwards. He had to see. There was nothing Piett could do to help at this point, but he could bear witness.

After an agonising few seconds, the Emperor halted his attack to goad Luke.

“Young fool,” the Emperor said in a faux crooning tone. Lord Vader had managed to stand by now, cradling his ruined arm, and he stood by the Emperor’s side. “Only now, at the end, do you understand. Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the Dark side.”

The lightning continued.

Piett could only look on.

Luke writhed on the ground. “F-father… please…” Luke begged, he was even capable of raising a hand up to plead to Lord Vader, but Lord Vader only watched.

Piett had a brief moment to wonder if Lord Vader felt the same helplessness that Piett did, before the Emperor spoke again.

“Now, young Skywalker,” the Emperor said, “you will die.”

Luke screamed.

Piett watched the violet light play across Lord Vader’s helmet, praying to Force-knows-what for him to act, to stop this madness, to do what Piett could not, and it felt like it took an eternity, but in amongst Piett’s silent pleas Lord Vader had looked away from his son and turned towards the Emperor.

Lord Vader moved, grabbing the Emperor and lifting him off his feet, raising him high above Lord Vader’s head, and Lord Vader lunged for the reactor shaft.

The Emperor howled, directing some of that foul lightning at Lord Vader, but Lord Vader didn’t slow. Piett watched as Lord Vader carried the Emperor to the reactor shaft and threw him into the void.

He disappeared with a shout and, after his cries finished echoing around the throne room and petered into nothing, the reactor shaft exploded with a blast of energy that roared through the throne room.

Piett watched the crackling energy dissipate around the throne room’s ceiling and vanish into nothingness.

The Emperor was dead.

Piett pushed himself off the computer console and staggered over to Luke and Anakin Skywalker. Their work was not yet complete. There was still more to be done.

“Are you alright?” Piett asked them both, coughing a little as he did.

Luke nodded absently before snapping to attention and focusing on Piett. “Are you okay?”

“I can keep going,” Piett said, and it wasn’t a real answer, but Luke was in no condition to challenge him on it.

Piett felt a little steadier on his feet anyway, and spotted Luke’s lightsaber under some nearby debris. He retrieved it and quickly passed it over. Luke took it wordlessly and clipped it to his belt before trying to help his father stand.

“We need to move,” Piett told them. “The Alliance will destroy the shield generator and we must be off this space station before then. Artoo!”

The droid trundled out of the turbolift and whistled in a pleased, high-pitched tone.

Piett had never seen two heads turn so quickly before, once Luke and Anakin heard the droid make his entrance.

“Artoo?” Luke said as the droid rolled over. “How did you get here?”

“I brought him,” Piett answered. “Well. He snuck aboard the shuttle while we were chatting with your father. Sneaky, that one.”

Piett held his gloved hand down to Anakin Skywalker. “I can help, sir. We need to leave.”

Anakin watched him carefully through his helmet’s lenses, but eventually relented and allowed Piett to help him rise.

Luke tried to lead them towards the turbolift but Piett urged them another way.

“Lord – ah, your father’s shuttle is too far away,” Piett said, “but there is a docking bay over there.” Piett jutted his head at a corridor. “One of our shuttles will meet us and take us back to the Lady.”

Anakin came to a dead stop and tilted his helmet at Piett. His laboured breathing filled the otherwise quiet throne room.

“You… have foreseen this.”

“I have done more than that, sir,” Piett said, “I have lived this. There is a time loop involved.”

“…I see,” Anakin said, after a pause, and then didn’t say anything further. Piett found himself somewhat grateful; the last thing Piett wanted to do was have an argument on the subject.

While Anakin’s lack of interest in the new development was slightly worrying, there was nothing for it now. Piett could puzzle it out later.

They continued on their way to the docking bay. Partway there an alarm started up and wailed down the corridor, but no-one came to investigate it, not even any of the Emperor’s red guards, wherever they had wandered off to.

Artoo opened the blast doors for them and they arrived just in time to spot the shuttle Doctor Emerette sent as it approached the landing zone. Behind it the battle raged between Death Squadron, the other Imperial ships, and the Alliance, though at this distance and through the blue haze of the docking bay’s shields it was difficult to tell which was which.

They would know soon enough. To reach the Lady they would have to fly through it.

“There is a medical droid on board,” Piett explained to Luke and Anakin, “and once we make it to the Lady, there is –”

The shuttle exploded.

Flames and debris crashed against the docking bay’s shields, with scant smaller pieces passing through and clattering against the durasteel floor at their feet.

Piett bit back a sigh.

Very well. This was something he’d need to account for in the next loop. He didn’t even see how the shuttle was destroyed, if the shot came from an Alliance or Imperial ship. Perhaps he’d ask Doctor Emerette to send two shuttles –

“Don’t even think about it,” Luke cut through Piett’s thoughts. “We made it this far, we aren’t giving up yet.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Piett said. “There’s no time to send for another shuttle or find another nearby to take.”

“True.” Luke beckoned Artoo over, who trundled towards him. “But you’re forgetting there’s a lot of ships out there who’ll give us a hand. Artoo, can you put me through to Lando?”

Artoo trilled an affirmative and opened up a comms line.

“Is that you, Han?” General Calrissian’s voice came through Artoo’s comms. “I told you, not a single scratch on her! And you’ll never believe it, but we’ve had some help. Half of the Imperial fleet –”

“It’s me, Lando,” Luke said.

“Kid! Where are you, what happened?”

“I’ll explain later. I need a ride off the Death Star, are you nearby?”

“The whole fleet’s nearby, and we’re getting closer. We heard the shield generator just went offline. Do you have coordinates?”

Piett replayed them to Luke who gave them to General Calrissian.

Luke eyed the scattered shuttle pieces around them. “And bring an escort, too. We might need one.”

“You got it, Luke. Be there in half a Corellian second. We’ll try to hold off the attack until you’re clear.”

“Thanks, Lando.”

Artoo ended the transmission and Luke leaned heavily on the droid’s dome, clearly exhausted. Piett felt it too, a tiredness that made it a struggle to stay on his feet, and there was a pain in his chest that was growing difficult to ignore. He couldn’t imagine how Anakin was feeling either, by his raspy breathing or the sparks that occasionally crossed his life support panel. They had to get to the Lady, sooner rather than later.

In no time at all General Calrissian’s ship arrived at the docking bay, with what seemed like half of the Alliance’s X-Wings hovering around by the entrance.

As it landed, Piett took a good look at General Calrissian’s ship and swore.

“Kark me,” Piett said.

Really? Of all the ships in the known galaxy, General Calrissian had to be flying that one? The Millennium Falcon?

Luke must have seen the disgust cross Piett’s face. “She doesn’t look like much, but she flies like one of the best.”

“Oh yes, I’m aware,” Piett replied, lip curling, “I followed her from Hoth to Bespin.”

“Ah.”

The landing ramp lowered and General Calrissian hurried out. He stopped dead when he caught sight of Anakin.

“Kark me,” Calrissian said to Luke, “don’t say you want him to come with us.”

Luke offered Calrissian a tired smile. “You are not the only one to have Imperials help you, Lando.”

General Calrissian approached them slowly, eyeing Anakin carefully but Anakin was leaning more and more heavily on both Piett and Luke, and was in no condition to do much of anything.

Calrissian stopped and crossed his arms once he was close to speak without raising his voice. “I can’t say he’ll get a warm reception back on Home One, no matter how much he helped. I don’t care if he spaced the Emperor himself.”

Piett thought Calrissian might, actually, but they were wasting time talking here. Anakin was growing weaker by the second.

“We are not headed for Home One and the Alliance fleet,” Piett said, and General Calrissian seemed to see Piett for the first time. “We would like passage to the Executor, the flagship of Death Squadron.”

“Would you,” Calrissian said, giving Piett a once-over. “And who are you to ask that of me?”

“Fleet Admiral Piett, of Death Squadron,” Piett said, and he would have offered his hand out to Calrissian if he wasn’t already using it to keep Anakin from falling to the floor. “I am the reason you had help from half of the Imperial fleet. Do you have medical supplies on your ship?”

That prompted Calrissian to at last take a proper look at them, specifically Luke, and what he saw spurred him into action.

“Basic supplies, Admiral. Fine, all of you get on board, but this better not be some trick.”

They shuffled aboard just as the Death Star began to tremble from the first wave of attacks. The rest of the Alliance fleet was not waiting for them, it seemed. Piett had barely leaned Anakin against the med area’s wall before Calrissian took off, the ship grinding and groaning around them, but they swiftly undocked and launched themselves into the fray, surrounded by X-Wings, carving a path to the Lady.

Piett could see flashes of the battle through a gunner’s viewport, just a little way down the hall. He couldn’t see the Lady from here but he knew where she ought to be, and they had a fair amount of space battle to traverse before they reached her.

The main thing, though, was that the battle had changed enough for her to still exist at this point in time. There was still a Lady to flee to.

Luke fumbled around the med area while the ship rocked and rolled beneath their feet, but he managed to find a scanner and took Anakin’s readings. Confident Anakin was in the best available hands, Piett tapped a finger on Artoo’s dome to get his attention.

“Artoo, do you still have my code cylinder?”

Artoo trilled an affirmative.

“Good, you will need it again.” Piett fished around in his pocket for one of the items he’d appropriated from the Head Software Engineer, a secure transmitter, and screwed it into one of Artoo’s open ports. “We are almost in range – this and my code cylinder will allow you to transmit a holo to the Lady’s central holoprojector, and from there, to every ship in the battle.”

Artoo beeped away, the new little dish attached to his port whirling, and Piett nodded in understanding.

“I know you know, but Luke and his father need to hear the plan. We need to spread the word that Luke and Lord Vader have joined forces, killed the Emperor, and are calling for a ceasefire to begin negotiations. That will be the fastest way to stop the Imperials still loyal to the Emperor from their attack and to build trust with the Alliance.”

He paused as General Calrissian’s voice crackled across the ship’s speakers. “We’ve picked up some Imperial fighters on our tail. Hold onto something!”

Piett and Luke braced Anakin against the wall while the Millennium Falcon spun. The X-Wings must have done their duty as after a few long seconds Calrissian’s flying levelled out again.

Anakin’s breathing grew more laboured.

“Your vital signs are dropping,” Luke told Anakin, reading from the scanner before tossing it away. “We have bacta and oxygen, but I don’t know how useful they’ll be.”

Piett watched Anakin’s chest struggle to rise and fall. Yes, they had supplies, but nothing that could pump his heart or control his lungs. Only his life support panel could do that, and it was still sparking and barely functional. He needed the Lady and Doctor Emerette and her team, or at the very least a med droid, but they were all still so very far away.

“We must proceed with the holo,” Piett decided, “I will do all the speaking. All that would be needed is one word from you and Luke, sir. One acknowledgement, and the holo will be believed. Just hold on until the end –”

“Admiral…” Anakin Skywalker gasped out, his voice weak, “could I have… a moment with… my son.”

Piett stopped short. “But the holo. The fleet –”

“Will be left… in your capable hands… Piett.”

Piett, despite everything, flushed.

“I… sir, I suppose…”

Piett made to stand, to offer Anakin and Luke some privacy, but stopped. Something was wrong. This was familiar.

This was exactly what happened before Piett watched Anakin die that first time. Which meant…

Anakin was dying again. And he wasn’t going to fight it.

He still believed his death was an acceptable outcome so long as Luke lived – nothing Piett had done had changed that. Maybe it was even preferable.

Piett had to change his mind.

They were so close – only distance keeping them away from salvation. It was only a matter of time. They could make it if Anakin wanted to, if he waited to see his son with his own eyes, if he fought death with the vigour as Piett knew him to fight everything else. All Piett had to do was convince him to.

But Piett had tried before, and it never worked. Piett had tried until it killed him and then still tried a few more times after that for good measure.

How was he supposed to convince Anakin now? It shouldn’t have been Piett’s responsibility – there was supposed to be a med droid that would have neatly sidestepped the problem entirely. But there wasn’t, and Piett had no plan, and his chest was hurting almost as much as he could stand, and it was probably best to just let this loop play out and try to plan better for the next.

But there was also Luke.

Luke was frantically trying to reboot the life support panel while it sparked and spewed smoke. Luke was holding his father steady as plasmafire shook the Millennium Falcon’s shields, with General Calrissian’s voice through the speakers providing updates over the rumble of the engines. Luke was giving a brief smile as Anakin drew in a rare full breath, and encouraging him to do so again, and again, and again.

Luke was not giving up. How, then, could Piett?

But Piett still had no answers. How was he supposed to save Anakin Skywalker when he didn’t want to save himself?

Piett realised he’d been paused as still as a statue, half raised out of his seat for too long, and he sat back down and cleared his throat.

“Ah, no sir,” Piett said.

Anakin’s helmet tilted fractionally.

“No,” Piett said again, more firmly. “I won’t leave you alone. I have lived through this as well. If I leave, you will die, and I cannot allow that. I won’t.”

“Piett…” Anakin gasped out, but Piett held up a hand.

“I am not finished.”

Anakin Skywalker remained silent. Either he did not have the energy to speak again or he was marvelling at Piett’s audacity, but regardless Piett was going to make the most of Anakin’s quiet attention while he had it.

“I don’t want the fleet left in my capable hands, sir,” Piett continued, “I want it in yours.”

Piett had to turn away at the end there, and in doing so caught Luke looking like he was about to say something, but he held himself back, and he nodded at Piett.

“Death Squadron has rebelled for you, sir,” Piett said, “and they are fighting for you as we speak. Your son left himself at the Emperor’s mercy to save your life. I have… well.”

Piett swallowed. “You are not the only one to give everything you have, and some things you do not, for a fight you cannot win.”

The ship lurched beneath them, rolling from an impact.

“We did this for you, sir,” Piett carried on, a touch of heat in his tone, “can you do one more thing for us? Just this one thing. Just see this through to its end.”

Anakin’s helmet tilted again, and from the askew angle Piett did not know if it was intentional or not.

“This… is… my end.”

Piett shook his head and, exasperated, took off his cap and crushed it in his hands. The silver emblem on the front of the cap peeked out from between his gloved fingers, catching the flashing colour from the Falcon’s emergency lights, glowing a luminous red.

Piett didn’t know why he bothered. He knew Anakin well enough at this point in time to know that that sort of argument was pointless. Anakin was always going to do things his way, on his schedule, and not even the galaxy falling down around his ears was going to change that.

A wicked thought crossed Piett’s mind.

If a genuine emotional plea wasn’t going to work from Luke, as Piett knew from his first time watching Anakin die, it was highly unlikely to work coming from Piett. But arguing against unbridled stubbornness? For the first time Piett thought he just might have the advantage.

“Very well,” Piett said, and shook his cap out, trying to remove some of the creases. “If that is what you wish. But you should know that because of the time loop, our fates are tied together. When you die, I begin the loop again. And I will do all this again. And I will keep doing it until we all survive.”

Piett put his cap back on. “I’ve already figured everything else out – how to stop the Death Star, how to save ours and the Alliance fleets, even that Artoo was your droid, sir, during the Clone Wars.”

That prompted a startled look from Luke towards Artoo, but Piett carried on.

“I will figure this out as well. From my perspective, you have two options. Either you can find a way to save yourself, or I will do it for you. The choice is yours.”

Anakin was still for a long time.

A very long time, long enough for Piett to grow concerned, but then:

“Artoo… there is a port… for diagnostics.”

Artoo trundled over and plugged into Anakin’s life support panel. After some whirring the astromech pulled out an arc welder and started making repairs.

Luke blinked down at the scene. “Are you… Father, will you be alright?”

Anakin’s helmet rolled to face Luke. “Artoo has fixed more… complicated machines than me… my son.”

Piett made brief eye contact with Luke before they both turned back to Anakin.

Had that… would he…?

They would have to wait and see. Anakin was fighting now and that was the important thing. Whether or not he was fighting off dying or the implication that Piett could do something that he couldn’t was up in the air, but not important for now.

“Thank you, sir,” Piett said too quietly, but Anakin must have heard him, considering how the red lenses of the helmet returned to Piett.

“Your holo… Piett.”

Oh, right. Yes. They should be in range now.

“Whenever you are ready, Artoo,” Piett said, straightening his uniform. “Broadcast the transmission to the Lady – she’ll relay it out to every available frequency.”

Artoo whistled and his new transmitter dish stopped whirling around and focused on the Lady, somewhere outside the Falcon. Artoo beeped one last time and, still manoeuvring the arc welder around Anakin’s life support panel, turned on a holorecorder light on his dome.

Piett spoke.

“Attention all beings. I am Fleet Admiral Piett of Death Squadron. I have an announcement to make:

“The Emperor is dead.”

Piett waited a moment for his invisible audience to absorb the news before continuing.

“He was destroyed by the combined efforts of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. They have negotiated a truce, and they will extend it to all members of Death Squadron, the Alliance, and other Imperial forces, so long as these instructions are followed...”

This was something Piett had workshopped with Veers one time. Neither of them were great public speakers, but Piett felt he was getting his message across.

“Withdraw your fighters and cease hostilities at once. To the beings aboard the Death Star – evacuate now. I cannot guarantee the integrity of its structure. You will be given refuge and a chance to add to the negotiations. To those who do not comply… don’t bother leaving a holo for your loved ones. What the Lady does not kill will burn up in the nearby moon’s atmosphere.”

Piett gestured for Artoo to turn his head towards Anakin. “I will leave you with a few words from Darth Vader.”

Artoo’s flashing light centred on Anakin’s helmet.

“…Do as the Admiral says,” Anakin said, and Artoo’s holorecorder winked out, and for a brief period the only sound was of Artoo’s arc welder.

A handful of seconds later the turbulence outside seemed to quieten down. The ships harassing them were leaving.

There. It was done.

They would make it to the Lady. Luke and Anakin would survive.

Piett’s work was complete.

Piett sagged against the medbay’s wall and rested his head against the aged cabling and yellowed cloth cushioning. He’d done all he could.

His heart stuttered in his chest. The pain that he’d been ignoring flared up and he couldn’t help but clutch at the front of his uniform.

“Admiral?” Luke asked.

“The lightning,” Piett said from between clenched teeth. “I don’t know – I think –”

“We’re so close, sir,” Luke said, eyes focusing on some unseen point outside the Falcon, “we can make it! Admiral, we’re almost there!”

“I believe you,” Piett agreed, but the pain made him twist. “But I think – it is out of my control.”

Force, it was like something was trying to eat its way out of his chest. Piett had no way to know if this was what typical damage by lightning felt like or if the Emperor’s lightning was different, but either way it was too much for the Falcon’s medbay to treat. Nor did Piett have a life support panel that Artoo could fix.

Piett was dying, and there was nothing he could do to fight it. This would be an acceptable outcome, except…

Piett had no idea what would happen next. With Anakin’s survival, there was no reset. Was this death permanent, then?

The pain ebbed. A dreadful coldness settled over him, which felt worse than the pain, in a way.

“Admiral…” Anakin rasped.

Luke left his father’s side to crouch in front of Piett. “You can’t die. You’ll reset, and all of this will be for nothing!”

Piett let out a breathless laugh. “I think this,” Piett raised a shaking hand at Luke and Anakin, “is everything. This is what matters.”

Luke shook his head. “What about you?”

Piett’s shaking hand dropped over one of Luke’s. “This is the first rule of the time loop, Luke. It’s alright. It isn’t about me.”

Luke said something in reply, but Piett didn’t hear it.

Piett found his eyes fluttering shut.

He let himself drift away.

Piett stood on his –

He stood on his –

Piett didn’t know where he was. He was laying down, and his legs were all wrapped up in fabric, and he had to get to his bridge, he had to greet Lord Vader and –

And he was on the floor. Must’ve died doing something suitably dramatic, if only he could remember how, if he was to avoid it the next time –

“Piett, force.”

Piett blinked, finally looking around, and recognised the Lady’s medbay. He was in one of the private suites. General Veers peered down at him, one of his hands pressing down on Piett’s shoulder, his other hidden in an air cast.

“You’re fine, Firmus, you’re in –”

“Medbay,” Piett said. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I see now, yes.”

Veers retracted his hand and helped Piett into a sitting position. Piett moved slowly, his body protesting each movement.

But at least he could move.

He was alive.

“Lord Vader?” Piett asked. “Is he – is Luke Skywalker –”

“They’re fine,” Veers assured him, sitting back on his haunches. “You just came out of bacta after a heart surgery. Kicking and screaming, I might add. How are you feeling? Do you need a med droid?”

Piett waved off his concern. “Just sore. No med droid.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Veers said, “because you have a lot of explaining to do. Firmus, you instrumented a coup, and you started the negotiations for a ceasefire with the rebellion. And I had to hear about it from an emergency broadcast after the Emperor was already dead. Why didn’t you tell me? Surely you knew I would have supported a plan of yours and Lord Vader’s.”

Piett rubbed at his eyes, buying him a moment. He was also quite certain he still had dried bacta caked to his eyelids. Force, he hated coming out of surgery. “It wasn’t Lord Vader’s plan. He didn’t know about it either.”

“He didn’t –” Veers cut himself off with a shake of his head. “You planned all of this yourself?”

Piett felt his lips quirk. “Of course not, Max. You’ve helped me more than you could know.”

“For kark’s –” Veers ran his uninjured hand through his hair. “Could you start from the beginning?”

“There will be time for that later,” Piett said. He’d promised Veers he would, a very long time ago now, and he intended to keep it. Just not right now. Not while sitting on the floor, fresh from a heart surgery, and without pants. “How is the fleet?”

“We lost the Tyrant,” Veers said. “Some other ships fled or were destroyed, though at this stage it is impossible to know which. But the word is you prevented a massacre on both sides.”

Piett leaned his head back against the side of the medical bed with a sigh.

He’d really done it, then. Most of Death Squadron had survived, as well as any other ships from the greater fleet that chose to join them. The Alliance vessels too. The Skywalkers. Even Piett himself.

But really, that was only the beginning. There was still the monumental task of figuring out how to end the loop. How to keep this ending.

“Where is Lord Vader?” Piett asked.

“Lord Vader – though he has decided to go by a different name now – had shorter surgeries than you did. Came out of bacta a few hours before you, and is currently negotiating with the rebellion’s, er, the Alliance’s top brass as we speak.”

Piett coughed once more. “And Luke?”

“Commander Skywalker is with him on Home One. They saved your life, you know – force, Piett! What are you doing?”

Piett stopped trying to leverage himself off the medbay floor. “I have to speak with them. Can I have a hand?”

“Back into the medical bed, of course,” Veers replied. “Have you forgotten you’ve just come out of surgery? The Lady’s medical team is amongst the best but their work isn’t instant.”

Piett grumbled, but allowed Veers to help him back onto the medical bed.

“Commander Skywalker helped save your life,” Veers said, sitting in a nearby chair with a grunt. “He and General Calrissian performed chest compressions until you arrived back on the Lady. Thank the Force Calrissian brought a co-pilot. Lord Vader assisted with the Force somehow as well, I’ve been told. You were lucky – fate must have been smiling down on you.”

Piett grimaced.

“And,” Veers continued, “Lord Vader has renounced his name and titles. You’ll never guess what his real name –”

“Anakin Skywalker,” Piett said immediately, and it was Veers’ turn to grumble. Obviously he’d been waiting to drop that plasma charge on Piett. Well too bad.

“It follows that you will not be surprised to learn that Commander Skywalker –”

“Is his son, yes.”

Veers leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. “You’d better start explaining yourself, Firmus.”

“Later,” Piett said again. “Would you be able to get me a datapad or my comms? I need to contact Anakin and Mon Mothma. Potentially Luke and Doctor Emerette as well.”

Veers stared him down. “No. You’re on bedrest, as any of the Lady’s medical team would tell you if they weren’t so busy with the aftermath of the battle. Can you not stay here and rest for a few hours?”

“No,” Piett said. “No, Max, I am the only one who knows everything that has happened. I’m the only one who can explain it all.”

“They are sorting it out right now.” Veers’ expression softened. “It’s our task now to let them. You’ve done enough. Let someone else save the galaxy for a few hours.”

Piett glanced down at his hands. “I’m not very good at that.”

“Now is your chance to learn, then.” Veers reached over and gave his leg a pat. “Sit back. Tell me everything.”

Piett let out a long breath. “Very well. If you insist.”

It was two rotations later that Piett found himself back on Endor’s moon. The night sky above him was streaked with meteors, the debris from the space battle and the Death Star’s consequent explosion still raining down and burning up in the atmosphere in bright slashes of light.

Piett still hadn’t received a straight answer over how the Death Star exploded. One of the Alliance pilots boasted he fired the deciding shot but Artoo was adamant that it was his own meddling that did it in. If Piett had to bet, though, he knew where he’d put his credits.

A short distance away a funeral pyre burned. Piett wrinkled his nose as the wind changed and the tang of burned duraplastic filled the air. Acrid smoke billowed up from the pyre and into the trees, before wafting away and becoming indistinguishable from the night sky.

Anakin Skywalker, Luke, and Piett watched the armour of Lord Vader burn.

Eventually Luke turned to his father. They shared a look and Luke left, heading towards a second group huddled a fair distance away from the flames. Piett could just make out Princess Organa’s face in the gloom, and she appeared to be squinting at him, like she was trying to recognise him from somewhere.

Piett tucked his cap a little lower over his eyes. He didn’t want to know. That was a problem for another day.

“What is it like?” Anakin asked without preamble. His face was lit with orange from the flames, the cannula in his nose bright and glinting.

Piett knew what he meant. “It’s… lonely. In a way I wasn’t prepared for.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t your doing, sir,” Piett replied.

“I am sorry regardless. You must know Luke and I will be doing everything in our power to free you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They watched the flames for a while.

“And you?” Piett asked. “How does it feel to be free of the armour?”

“Freeing, in more ways than one.”

“I see.”

“Admiral, I…” Anakin trailed off.

“Sir?” Piett said, facing Anakin instead of the flames.

Anakin’s eyes were a vivid blue, stark against the reds and oranges of the fire. “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for my family. And for the fleet. What you have sacrificed.”

Piett ducked his head. “Ah, thank you, sir. I’m pleased it turned out this way, even if our work is not yet over.”

“Yes.” Anakin frowned. “Apart from your time loop, there is the matter of the missing ships. Our next priority will be identifying those who abandoned the fight once you made your transmission. They could cause us problems in future.”

Oh yes, that. It was a good thing Piett had already spent several loops identifying those ships then. Piett rattled them off and Anakin stared at him, slightly bewildered.

“You are truly my best Admiral, Piett. The Admirals and Captains of those vessels… they have the most Outer Rim and Unknown Region experience. That, or they are the most fanatically loyal to Sidious…”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “I believe Sidious may be plotting something, even now. Perhaps he even prepared for this outcome.”

Piett frowned. “I watched you kill him, sir. What plans could he possibly have?”

“I do not know, but I suspect he may try to return from the dead.”

Dread coiled in Piett’s gut. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

“No, we cannot.”

Anakin eyed Piett up and down. “Something… hmm.” He turned back to the flames.

Piett tilted his head. “Sir?”

“There was a cloudiness to you, in the Force. It just… disappeared.”

For a brief pause Piett was still.

“…Oh…Kark.”

Piett dropped to his knees.

“Admiral?”

Piett clutched at the ground with one hand and clamped his other over his mouth, in some instinctual bid to prevent whatever it was that was about to come out of his mouth. A laugh, a sob, a scream. Piett honestly could not tell which it would be. But the tension that had held him up for so long, the strain that kept his back straight and his chin up and his eyes forward had left him in a rush. In its wake Piett was left scrambling.

A very heavy hand touched his shoulder.

“Piett, what –”

“That was it,” Piett said around a throat thick with tears. “Stopping the Emperor a second time. Once we figured that out, the time loop ended. It’s over. I’m free.”

Piett heard Anakin sit down next to him. Piett swallowed heavily, blinking, and eventually sat back on his heels.

He looked over at Anakin to see him looking back at Piett. “I am glad to hear it. Even if it is… difficult, to be free.”

They watched the flames a little while longer, as the pyre began to collapse in on itself.

“I will not force you to stay,” Anakin said once the flames had exhausted themselves to a faint glow. “I can give you an honourable discharge. Enough credits to retire. Enjoy your freedom.”

Piett, despite himself, scoffed.

“And how will you stop the Emperor a second time without your best and favourite Admiral? Sir,” Piett tactfully added on the end.

Anakin huffed a laugh. “You are not the same man I knew from a few short rotations ago, Piett.”

Piett cast his gaze across the pyre, to where Luke and Princess Organa and their group of Alliance friends were pointing up at the sky, watching as fireworks exploded between the meteors.

“You are not the same man either.”

Anakin stood. “Then let us start over. We have both been given one last chance to make things right.”

He held his hand down to Piett.

Piett clasped his arm and rose. “Let’s not waste it.”

They headed over to Luke and Princess Organa. And later Piett would have to do a hundred things, make endless holocalls and take stock of the fleet, negotiate with the Alliance and deal with the survivors of the second Death Star, mourn the dead and thank the living, but all of that could wait. All questions could be answered tomorrow. Right now, he was happy to receive a warm handshake from Luke and cautiously greet Princess Organa and their friends, and walk with them all back to the celebrations in the Ewok village.

Artoo greeted them on the wooden platforms with a serious of loud blats, loud enough to be heard over the music and the sound of hundreds of dancing footsteps, and Threepio threw up his hands in exasperation.

“You don’t need to shout, Artoo. He is pleased to see you all, as am I.”

Anakin shook his head. “That’s not what he said, Threepio.”

Threepio tutted. “I am attempting to keep the peace, sir, something I am still surprised to learn that you of all beings programmed into me.”

Piett stopped walking. He turned on Anakin, pointing a finger at his face.

“You… you built this droid?”

Anakin frowned at him. “Yes?”

“Of course you karking did. Of course.” Piett pinched the bridge of his nose. “The whole bloody galaxy…”

“What do you mean, Piett?”

“Nothing at all,” Piett adjusted the brim of his cap and caught the eye of someone waving at him through the crowd – it was Veers. He was with Venka and Gherant, and they were all holding drinks. Excellent. Sometimes it all worked out in the end. “Just an inside joke. Can I get you a drink?”