Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shmi drew a shaky breath and looked around at her fellow passengers—-all recently rescued from the slave ship taking them to Zyggeria. 

They were all the worse for wear—how could they not be?----but this crew in their plain, sand colored uniforms had just pulled off what Shmi would have considered impossible.

And they were all so young .

She’d noted that immediately. 

Their commander couldn’t be more than thirty. The rest were clearly a range of boys and girls who could be as young as sixteen all the way through their twenties. 

But the firm professionalism and confidence they displayed spoke of far more experience than Shmi cared to ponder as they helped guide people onto their ship and began assessing the needs of the former captives. 

Beside her, little Lynytt shivered and tightened her grip on Shmi’s ragged dress. She was only four, as far as Shmi could gather, and had barely spoken three words since she’d been herded onto the slaver ship along with five other people. They'd been shoved into a cargo hold containing roughly thirty more beings---all destined for the dreaded slave markets.

Shmi had seen immediately that Lynytt was Astyrian by heritage—--her lovely purple eyes were unmistakable. No doubt why she’d been taken.

Shmi had thought unprintable things about the slavers as she watched the girl weep violently in terror. None of the others were family, nor did they know where she’d been taken from.

So Shmi had gathered the child into her arms and rocked her gently, humming and stroking the silvery hair until the girl calmed. 

It had been a miracle when that cargo door had opened, spilling in light and salvation.

A young officer approached them, his hazel eyes swiftly taking them in and assessing as Lynytt tucked herself halfway behind Shmi’s leg.

“Ma’am,” he said respectfully to Shmi. “Air either o’ ya injured?”

“No,” she replied. “Just hungry and rather…uncertain of our fate.” She tilted her head to the little girl, hoping the young man could see just how traumatized Lynytt was.

He nodded, slipping off his cap to reveal close cut hair that curled a little rebelliously nonetheless.

Then he took a knee on the hard deck and gave Lynytt a small little half smile.

“And yore name, ma’am?” he asked. The girl watched him without moving a muscle. 

“Lynytt,” Shmi answered for her. “That is all I know, ah…” she wasn’t familiar with the rank bars or the charming accent. 

“Ah'm Lieutenant Piett,” the boy said in friendly tones, gaze not leaving the child. “We’re here ta bring ya back ta yore families if possible.”

“And who is we , Lieutenant?” Shmi asked. She was reasonably certain these were the good ones. But after a life of slavery and blows in the Rim, she took nothing for granted.

“Apologies,” the Lieutenant said, looking up at her. “Ah should hev said. The Axxilan Anti-Pirate Fleet. And you are?”

“I’m Shmi,” Shmi returned. “Skywalker.”

Piett offered a hand and she shook it. 

He returned his attention easily and calmly back to the Astyrian child. 

“Lynytt,” he said easily. “Ah’m glad ta meet ya. Air ya hungry?”

She was still frightened and suspicious. But her head gave a jerky nod, strands of the fine silver hair falling into her eyes.

The Lieutenant leaned in just an inch or two.

“Do ya think,” he whispered conspiratorially, glancing up at Shmi again, “thet Shmi is hungry too?”

Tiny shoulders shrugged.

“Hmmm,” the boy said, pretending to ponder. “Ah’ll bet she is. But Ah dinna know what she likes. Do you?”

A more confident answer with a negative shake of the head.

“All right,” the Axxilan replied, frowning a little as though in thought. “Pairhaps she’d like ta choose. Thar’s three kinds o’ hot dinners.”

Lynytt was definitely interested and more curious now. She stepped fully into view beside Shmi.

“I would love a hot dinner,” Shmi told her, smiling down. “Shall we go look?”

Lynytt nodded and switched her grip from Shmi’s dress to Shmi’s hand. 

“Well grand,” the Lieutenant stated, rising to his feet once more. “Right this way.”

“Thank you,” Shmi told him in low tones as they moved across the deck to a large stack of crates currently being unpacked by numerous Axxilan crew. “I haven’t seen her respond even that much to anyone else.”

“Little ones nade patience,” replied the young man seriously. “Especially in thase circumstances. All right. Tis nothin’ grand, but they’re all hot. We’ve got Axxilan chicken, a vegetable tagine, and um…” he squinted as he lifted the last self heating ration. “Somethin’ thet claims ta be nerf stew, but no promises.”

Shmi took a chicken as that sounded the safest. Lynytt immediately copied her as the Lieutenant gestured for them to sit on an upturned crate.

“One moment,” he told them, and trotted to another pile of supplies as Shmi helped the little girl rip open the self heating container. 

She opened her own and inhaled the processed scent of a hot meal. And yes, she could taste the chemicals used to preserve it, but twin suns it was so good after their ordeal.

“Here we are,” the Lieutenant stated, returning to their crate holding a fluffy blanket. “It’s purple like yore eyes, darlin’.” 

He draped it carefully around Lynytt’s skinny shoulders and the corners of her mouth lifted for the first time that Shmi had observed.

Her free hand stroked the soft fabric before she resumed eating at a furious rate.

“Slow down, honey,” Shmi admonished. “Don’t want to choke.”

“You kin kape tha blanket,” the boy told Lynnyt, smiling at her once more and perching on another crate, one booted foot swinging. “Now,” he continued, getting more business like, “we’re headed ta the space station near Iego. It’s our typical location fer relocation’ families or gettin’ beings on transports far where they wanna go. We’re hopin’, Lynytt, thet we find yore family and git ya back safe ta them.”

Shmi hoped that wasn’t false hope. None of them could guarantee that the girl’s parents were even alive. 

“Mama?”

The voice was soft and tiny, but it was the first time the little one had spoken since their rescue.

“Ah hope so,” Piett replied. He looked up to meet Shmi’s eyes. “As she’s tha youngest o’ ya, we’ve already sint out inquiries. Ta…avoid potential disappointment.”

Shmi nodded, rubbing a hand over Lynytt’s back. 

Something beeped on the battered data pad the Lieutenant held, and he glanced down. 

“Oh marvellous. If ya like, ma’am, we have sonic showers available. No water Ah’m afraid, but better than nothin’. If ya wish.”

He rose and gestured behind him toward the far bulkhead. Shmi could see a small queue formed there that disappeared into a corridor. 

“Ah’ll stay with Lynytt,” he said, meeting her look with understanding. 

Shmi nodded gratefully.

A shower .

“Lynytt?” she asked. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Can you stay with Lieutenant Piett?”

He seated himself on a crate beside the Astyrian girl. 

“We kin wait far Shmi together,” he said cheerfully. “Is thet alright, darlin’?”

Lynytt was immediately tense, little mouth working and eyes wide in fear.

“Or,” Shmi said, thinking furiously, “we could all walk over there. And you could see where I go, Lynytt?”

The girl nodded.

Piett bit his lower lip briefly, then rose.

“May Ah carry you over?” he asked, holding his arms out to Lynytt. “And we’ll all go over there?”

Shmi held her breath. This poor child desperately needed security. But she also needed help from more beings than Shmi. 

Lynytt studied the Axxilan and then moved toward him.

He lifted her into his hold easily and dug his cap out of his pocket.

“Could ya hold that far me, Lynytt?” he asked seriously. Shmi smiled a little. Very good. Give her something to do. Something to be responsible for.

Lynytt studied the cap in her hands, running small fingers over the fabric. Shmi walked beside the boy as they made their way across the deck to the queue. 

Another officer handed her a small pile of simple clothing, but it was clean. A plastic packet of lotion and toothpaste was included on the top of this pile and Shmi took her place in line.

The young man was already comforting the girl in his arms a few feet away. Shmi waved.

“Ya see?” Piett was saying. “She’s right there. She’ll get all clane and be right back. We’ll stay right here, Ah promise.”

Lynytt was clearly distressed, and watched Shmi anxiously as she rounded the corner and someone pointed her to an available cubicle. 

She was as swift as possible in the sonic shower, and felt like a new woman in the simple tunic and trousers. She slipped on the thin socks and shoved her feet back into her worn boots before she hurried back out to the main deck.

True to his word, the young Lieutenant was pacing slowly back and forth nearby, Lynytt cuddled on his shoulder—a fuzzy purple bundle—as he held her closely, humming something Shmi didn’t recognize.

Lynnytt’s eyes were drooping as Shmi approached and she rejoiced inside. If she was secure enough to fall asleep on this boy’s shoulder, things were on a good track for her healing.

Shmi reached them and kissed Lynytt’s head gently. The girl smiled dreamily and it seemed that was all she needed—the security of her person nearby— to fall asleep. 

“Thank you,” Shmi whispered to Piett.

Those hazel eyes, too old for such a young face, smiled at her.

“Ah’m goin’ ta have a medic examine her,” he murmured. “If ya come with me, Ah’ll show ya what we’ve put ya both. Ah hope it’s all right if ya share quarters?”

“Of course,” Shmi responded.

So he led her to a lift and they ascended a few decks to what were clearly accomodations reserved for refugees like themselves. Numerous beings, dressed much like Shmi, were being shown to their own quarters. The ship was an older model and Shmi could see the wear in the painted bulkheads and the scuffed deck. But it was safe. It was free.

The little space she entered was as comfortable as the Axxilans could no doubt make it.

Piett laid Lynytt on the lower level of a bunk bed, and tucked another blanket over her.

There were two bunk sets and Shmi decided she’d sleep across from Lynytt on the other bottom bunk. 

A medic stepped in, her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hi there, Firmus,” she greeted, shoving back a strand of black hair. “Sorry, this was the soonest I could deal with your patient.”

“No worries,” he replied in soft tones. “It’s likely aysier now she’s asleep.”

He turned to Shmi and shook her hand.

“Good ta mate ya,” he said. “Anythin’ ya nade, ya can ask far me.”

Shmi smiled at him.

“I will.”

The medic declared Lynytt healthy and merely in need of rest and food. She urged Shmi to get some rest herself and departed in a hurry. 

Shmi tried to sleep, but after some time, she found she was too restless in mind. She looked over at the girl, and as she was deeply asleep, Shmi decided to head to the promenade section of the deck the Axxilans had mentioned they could use. She locked the small quarters with the code cylinder she’d been handed and moved swiftly through the much quieter corridors.

The promenade area wasn’t very large, but it had the luxury of wide transparisteel viewports and Shmi moved to one of these quietly, to gaze out at the velvety darkness.

She’d always been kept in the hold with the other ‘cargo’ and of course, she had never left the surface of Tatooine until she was sold and then kidnapped by the slavers. 

She had never seen the stars like this. 

They were in system and thus travelling at sublight speeds, so the galaxy spread out before her with all its color and beauty. 

When was the last time she had been able to just stand still and drink in the glory of nature?

Across the way, two massive Wookiees were speaking to an officer with their characteristic huffs and rawls. It took Shmi long moments to realize the officer was none other than Piett. And gradually, she noted that he could understand them even though he couldn’t reply in Shryyyiwook.

She jumped when one of the Wookiees—-a male with matted chesnut fur—seized the boy and crushed him to his huge chest.

Oh Force. Where were the others? The Wookiee could kill that young man in seconds…

But then she realized that the Lieutenant was flushing bright red and smiling sheepishly as… the Wookiee stroked his head. 

Ah.

Clearly he was receiving thanks and affection.

The Lieutenant wriggled his way out of the embrace and patted the massive paw that could kill him in one blow before he straightened his jacket and moved away to check on others around the promenade. Shmi smiled and turned her attention back to space. 

There was so much more variety than she had expected. Those must be nebulas out there. And if she wasn’t mistaken that green and pink area was a gas cloud. For the millionth time, she wondered if this was what Anakin saw on a regular basis. Did he travel around the galaxy? Was he looking for her even now?

“Ma’am?”

She turned her head to see the young Lieutenant standing at a respectful distance—-the light of a pale blue nebula reflecting off his lean features.

“Do ya nade anything?” Piett asked her.

She smiled.

“No, thank you. Just…enjoying the view.”

He turned to look at it himself, hands clasped behind his back.

“Tis not somethin’ Ah ever tire of,” he agreed. “Ah just wondered, ma’am, if you naded rest. Most of the others are sleeping.” He gestured back toward the lift which led to the passenger berths several decks down.

“Mm.” Shmi pressed her fingers to the viewport, appreciating the coolness on her skin. “I did rest, thank you. What of you Lieutenant?”

He sighed a little ruefully.  “Ah’ll git some kip soon, thank you.”

They shared a comfortable silence before Shmi recalled she had questions.

“You mentioned we could try to find family,” she said. “How do we go about doing that?”

Piett nodded.

“The station has long range capability,” he answered. “It’s not tha most state of the art search engine, but tis not bad. Lot’s o’ people there willin’ ta help ya. Who are ya lookin’ far, ma’am?”

Shmi had only one family member she longed to contact, but she had no idea if he lived. The Empire had been born violently a year ago and she was desperate for news of Anakin.

“My son,” she replied softly. “He always promised he’d come back for me, but—I fear he may have searched and found I was gone.”

Piett nodded in sympathy.

“Did ya know what he did far work? Where he lived? Thet helps narrow the search.”

Shmi smiled at him proudly.

“He went to train as a Jedi. On Coruscant. Well. Imperial Centre I should say now, I suppose.”

The boy shocked her when his expression changed swiftly into one of concern and pity.

“A Jedi…” he echoed. 

“What is it?” Shmi asked, heart clenching. After all these years of hope, please Force…

Piett’s jaw tightened and he tilted his head a little, clearly searching for words.

“Ma’am…the—-the Jedi were declared traitors to the Empire. You may not have heard that, but—many of them were apprehended and…”

She watched him, not breathing and holding a hand to her chest as he closed his eyes briefly before opening them again and reaching for her hand.

“Many of them were killed, ma’am. Ah’m so sorry.”

Killed.

The Jedi.

“But…” she began numbly, appreciating his grounding grip. “I…I don’t understand. The Jedi represented so much good . They…they helped people…! They wouldn't—-!”

“Ah’m sorry,” Piett repeated helplessly. “Out here, we dinna know as much. We’re still focused on the problems o’ the Rim Jist…it was one o’ the early orders from the Empire. Jedi are traitors. Kill on sight orders, ma’am. But Ah could assist…if ya still wish ta look…”

Shmi squeezed his hand—-this sweet boy, doing his best to help her. She was grateful.

“How old are you, Lieutenant?” she asked, releasing him to take a breath and compose herself. 

He blinked at this abrupt switch.

“Ah…well. Ah’ll bay twenty soon enough,” he told her, the tips of his ears growing red.

Younger than Anakin but not by much. Still old enough to fight and die out here. 

“And…you are Axxilan yourself?” she pursued. 

He nodded. “Yes.”

“When did you join this fleet?” Shmi asked him.

He placed his hands behind his back again and breathed out through his nose.

“Ah was fourteen, ma’am.”

Fourteen .

“Not so different from my son,” she murmured, turning back to the stars. “He wished to help people. To free slaves. To be a Jedi because they represented so many admirable things. Courage. Sacrifice. Peace. Kindness.”

“Perhaps…” Piett said hesitantly. “Perhaps he is still out there, ma’am.”

She inclined her head, widening her eyes and looking up so her tears would not fall.

“I would like to think so. But…given the circumstances, that search will take some time. I do not wish to spend that time marooned on a space station.”

“We kin arrange transport ta many places,” the young man reminded her. “Whare would ya like ta go?”

Where indeed?

“What is Axxila like?” she asked, smoothing a hand over the simple green tunic, wondering how she might find better clothes. Or a job.

“Well…it’s a desert,” Piett replied with a little shrug and rueful smile.

“Does it have two suns?” Shmi asked him. “I was on Tatooine for years so…”

He laughed a bit. “No. Not that sort o’ desert. Ah laud ya far livin’ there. No, Axxila is--- verra red. Red dirt an’ stone. It’s lovely in tha right light. And there are a few small oceans and more scrub forests.”

“I think I would like to go to Axxila then,” Shmi informed him. 

“If that’s what ya wish, ma’am, Ah kin assist ya with that,” the boy said earnestly. “But there are many other lovelier planets…”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But getting to them would be difficult. I’m Shmi by the way. Not ma’am. You helped save my life after all. I think we can move past formalities. Do you come with a first name, not just a rank?”

She smiled at him.

He flushed a bit and inclined his head. “Ah…yes ma—-yes, Shmi,” he replied. “I’m Firmus.”

“Well then, Firmus. I would appreciate your assistance and anything you can tell me about living on Axxila.”

Chapter Text

Piett waited in the long queue while various officials sorted out data and clearance checks for hundreds of beings. There were five other lines leading up to the kiosks here and the impatience was thick in the air.

Some beings were waiting for flight clearance. Others were making inquiries about living family members. Some were seeking job assistance. 

And some, like the queue Piett was waiting in, were going to be reunited with family.

“Hungry,” Lynytt told him for the fourth time in as many minutes. 

“Ah know, darling,” he replied, shifting his hold on her. Tiny as she was, they’d been standing here some time and his shoulders were getting tired. “Shmi is gettin’ you something.”

It was remarkable and soul warming to see her so comfortable in his hold. And she was talking. Not very much, but enough to communicate what she wanted or felt. 

Firmus still marveled over the fact that not only were both her parents living, they had managed to trace them within three days of arriving at the space station in orbit above Iego. 

This was such a rare occurrence in his experience, and he had not been able to stop smiling while Lynytt’s parents spoke to her via the computer while he stood in the background and Shmi held the little girl so she could see properly. 

The change in Lynytt had been enormous after that.

True, she had wept bitterly once the call ended, but she now had tangible evidence that her parents would be coming. 

Frequent requests for ‘mama’ and ‘da’ were met with Shmi’s patient answers, and they were able to connect with Lynytt’s parents once a day.

He kept Lynytt’s happy smiles and laughter in his mind while he went about the more sobering searches for many others who were not as lucky as the Astyrian child. The ones who wore their grief in their eyes. The ones who withdrew into silence. The ones who couldn’t stop weeping. 

“Pete,” Lynytt said, patting his cheek gently. She couldn’t pronounce ‘Piett’ properly, but he didn’t mind. He realized he’d been lost in thought, and the line had shifted. He stepped forward with her.

“Thank ya, milia,” he told her.

“I’m Lynytt,” she told him with a small frown—the sort of expression children took on when they suspected they were being made fun of.

“Ah know thet darlin’,” he replied on a smile, moving forward a few inches. “It ah…it’s like a nickname in mah language. It manes ‘sweet’.” 

“But I’m Lynytt,” she insisted, not understanding. 

He nodded.

“That ya are. Apologies.”

“Sorry for the wait,” said Shmi arriving at his side. “The lines are extensive everywhere. Here you are, honey,” she added, handing over a small meat pasty from one of the vendors here. It was merely something frozen and reheated—-not nearly as good as the ones made on Axxila or Felucia. But they were popular and easy to make, so the vendors did well here with the cheap knock off versions. 

Lynytt didn’t seem to mind and bit into it with relish, licking pastry bits off her fingers as they moved forward again.

“Is it always this busy?” Shmi asked him, looking around. 

“It sartainly has ebb and flow,” he replied. “But there aren’t many stations like these in tha Rim, so this is fairly normal traffic.”

“And…how often do you come here?” Shmi pursued. “To…to try and help all these beings?”

“Depends,” he admitted, weary just thinking about all that still needed to be done. “Ah’ve been here maybe six times now. Our ship is more often in battle than rescue like this.”

Shmi touched his arm lightly.

“Thank you,” she said, tanned face full of understanding. “It is…this sort of profession carries a heavy burden.”

She wasn’t wrong there.

Firmus had frequently paused to wonder what actual childhood felt like. He was well aware he’d never had one, and it was one of the driving reasons that he was passionate about his career. So that little ones like the girl in his arms, could experience a childhood.

“It does,” he agreed, looking over at the various groups of beings near the far bulkhead. The ones seeking meagre privacy after having just learned that loved ones were dead. “But Ah would choose it always.”

At last it was their turn and Piett presented the necessary forms and authorizations to move beyond this point to the hangar bay where small passenger ships were landing, each carrying relatives for someone on the station. And somewhere in there, they would find Lynytt’s parents.

They passed through the blast doors which had seen better days and out into the less crowded hangar bay. 

“He said landing pad seven right?” Shmi asked, scanning the area.

Piett nodded. “This way,” he said, walking confidently toward the ship he could see. And beside it…

“Mama!” Lynytt yelled, crumbs spraying out from her snack as she twisted in his arms. “Mama!”

He set her down and she sprinted for the Astyrian couple while he and Shmi followed at a more sedate pace. 

“ Lynytt !” the mother also ran, dodging strangers to drop to her knees in front of the child and fling her arms around her. “Oh my baby.”

Firmus smiled. 

It was so rare he saw moments like these. An entire family reunited without harm. No doubt the girl would struggle with nightmares. But she was young. They would ease swiftly in the care of her parents. He was abundantly grateful they had intercepted the slaver ship when they had.

Beside him, Shmi sighed in content.

She had been unfailingly wonderful to the child, and Firmus was glad to have had her help. 

He shook hands with Lynytt’s mother and father, receiving their profusion of gratitude. Shmi kissed the girl and shook hands with the parents. Lynytt waved at them happily over her father’s shoulder as the family walked back to the ship.

“That is a lovely sight,” Shmi remarked as they boarded.

He nodded.

“Tis. A verra rare one Ah’m afraid, but a reminder thet this is why we do what we do. We hope far this outcome.”

“And now?” Shmi asked, as they turned to walk back into the center of the space station. “Do you get to sleep?”

His mouth curved in a rueful smile.

“No rest far the weary, so tis said,” he answered with a little shrug. “Still other beings ta help. Ah’m afraid ye’ll be a bit bored, but perhaps ya could use the station computers far news of yore son?”

She inclined her head as they re entered the processing area.

“I would appreciate that, yes. But also…I admit, Firmus, that I don’t do well with idleness. Is there some way I can be helpful?”

He understood this desire. It was partly what made him such a terrible patient. He detested being useless and even when he was injured, lying around drove him insane. The ship’s doctor had already had reason to threaten him with sedation on at least three separate occasions, but while he liked her, he found it virtually impossible to obey all her directives when injured. 

He racked his brain for a place that Shmi could volunteer without needing extra training or clearance. His gaze fell upon another weeping individual who had no doubt just been given bad news about family. 

“You were so verra good with Lynytt,” he said quietly, gesturing across the room to the Rodian. “Would ya be willin’ to comfort others?”

Shmi’s eyes followed where he indicated and she blew out a small breath.

“Yes.”

So Firmus introduced her to the official working at the kiosk who seemed only too glad for extra help. They were stretched thin on staff here on the station. While they could deliver bad news, there weren’t a lot of people who could then comfort those on the receiving end. 

Just how it was in the Rim.

They had another two days here while his ship stocked up on supplies, filed reports on the locations and actions taken on this latest tour of duty, and their captain checked in with command on Axxila for what to expect once they arrived in orbit.

Firmus was aware that they were long overdue for a proper shore leave, and bets were being taken amongst the crew about whether they would get one or not.

After leaving Shmi, he’d gone about his duties before at last retiring to his ship for the evening, doing his best to walk like an officer and not trudge through the docking gangway in his weariness 

He sat on his bunk, boots placed tidily beneath it and one knee drawn up so he could rest his data pad on it while he worked.

The quarters for junior officers were shared by necessity, four to a room, but he was long used to it. 

His direct superior, Commander Larga had asked him to finish some simulation ideas they’d been discussing for away teams on pirate freighters, so he was doing just that. His duty jacket was draped over the end of his bed and he really should change out of the rest of his uniform, but he was on a roll and just wanted this done. 

Above him, Lieutenant Brainard was snoring softly, having been asleep for two hours now. The door to their quarters hissed open, admitting the other two occupants, just coming off midshift.

“Still up, Piett?” asked Renslo. He was Axxilan as well, but from the Eastern Hemisphere, where there was more water and thus, the bulk of the crops for the planet. This somehow made him better in his eyes, than many of the crew.

“Aye,” Piett replied without looking up. Renslo was an ass, but easily ignored. The trouble was, he frequently loved to make Piett a target for reasons he didn’t understand. 

“Ayyyyyyye,” Renslo repeated, drawing out the first syllable. “Honestly, Piett, you’d think you could pick up a more civilized accent serving with us.”

“Shut up, Renslo,” said Ensign Dinlay, shoving past Renslo. Dinlay was Corellian and made no bones about the fact that he’d joined the Axxilan Fleet because he was a wanted man on his home planet. 

“Oh yes, two criminals sticking up for each other,” Renslo mocked, his angelic appearance at odds with his sneer. He had blue eyes and white blonde hair—-unusual for Axxila, but apparently his mother was from Alderaan as he liked to remind everyone. 

Firmus merely rolled his eyes and continued tapping at the pad with his stylus. 

At seven years old, he’d been brought to a local magistrate for stealing a jubal fruit from the packaging plant where he worked with other boys. Half of them were always hungry—there was never enough food at home—-and it was not unheard of for a fruit to go missing occasionally.

Piett had seen the one who’d done it. A miserable mite smaller than himself whose mother had died two weeks previously.

And so, when the overseer, a cruel man who had a free hand with the lash, gripped the younger child’s arm, Piett had stepped forward and confessed.

The man had taken it to extremes and charged him with theft before the magistrate.

Firmus had been sentenced to 12 lashes—publicly before all the other boys—as a deterrent. 

He bore the marks still.

“Ah was seven,” he remarked in superior tones. As though he couldn’t still smell the dust that day, or feel the exact way the eleventh blow had cut into already bleeding wounds. “But yis, Renslo, Ah’m still wanted in six systems far stealin' fruit.”

Dinlay chuckled as he unlatched his jacket and tossed it on the end of his bunk—the lower one opposite Piett’s. 

“Dangerous man,” he commented, dropping heavily onto the blankets with a long sigh. “What are you working on, Firmus? You should have been asleep a long time ago.”

Piett inclined his head ruefully.

“Yis well…Larga wanted me ta finish this simulation so…”

“Got a bit of a crush then, Piett?” Renslo drawled as he hung up his jacket in their tiny closet and tossed his boots somewhere on the floor. “Need to be the favorite?”

“Who’d be stupid enough to have a crush on Larga?” Dinlay asked, one arm over his eyes. 

“Jist followin’ orders, Renslo,” Piett replied calmly. “Because she is—-follow me closely—-our direct superior. Ah rather think we’re supposed ta follow orders in tha navy.”

Renslo’s eyes narrowed, but as he was not getting a rise out of Firmus, he turned his attention to Dinlay.

“Scared of her, Dinlay?” he sneered. “Of a tiny woman like that? I could break her like a twig.”

“You probably could,” the Corellian agreed, moving his arm to look down at the bullying bastard. “In some universe where you got close enough to do so before she shot you between the eyes.”

It was well known that Commander Larga always had three blasters hidden somewhere on her small person. She was even shorter than Piett, which was saying something. But her aim was impeccable, and her quick draw practically magic. She also had a good ten years on all of them, and legends had been built around the fate of the unfortunate beings who had tried to flirt with her.

“For the love of the Force , would you all shut up and let me sleep!” Brainard exclaimed, tousled dark hair popping up above the rail of his bunk. A pillow sailed over to smack Renslo in the face. “Put that in your fat mouth, Renslo, you slime sucking kriffer!”

As Brainard was 6’5 and pure muscle, no one argued with him.

Renslo slunk grumbling to his bunk while Firmus and Dinlay shared a smirk. It took him another thirty minutes to finish his project and he divested himself quietly of the rest of his uniform, tugging on shorts and t-shirt before sliding under the covers.

The image of the pillow in Renslo’s face sent him into a happy sleep.

**************

Shmi tried not to tap her knee nervously as the transport ship entered Axxila’s atmosphere. 

The red hue of the planet was remarkable and she had to really search for small spots of green and blue. 

“Tha main ocean is jist there,” said the boy at her side, pointing toward the spot out the small viewport.

“Have you been?” Shmi asked him. Considering that Tatooine had no oceans or lakes whatsoever, even small bodies of water like the one she was looking at were remarkable.

“No,” Piett answered with a small sigh. His mouth curled a little in regret. “We ah…didna have a lot o’ money growin’ up,” he told her. “And now thet Ah could go, Ah dinna have the time.”

Shmi privately vowed to herself that she would see that ocean—-tiny as it was. She would walk its shores and dip her feet in the water.

The planet swiftly became larger to their view as the ship soared smoothly toward the surface. She could see a few large cities now and then the dots of smaller, more remote settlements. 

Then they were slowing over one of the large cities and she saw the distant mountain range—-deep red of course—-cutting into the blue sky.

It made for a very pretty picture from up here. 

“Are you sure you have the time to introduce me to your friend?” she asked again as they rose to wait in the line of officers seeking to disembark. Firmus had told her he’d been given three days’ leave and that didn’t sound very generous to her ears. Not after all they’d done.

That lean face broke into an easy smile. 

The boy really had the most charming smile—a little crooked and shy—and it lit up his large hazel eyes. Shmi liked seeing it, given how solemn he was most of the time.

“Ah am honored ta do so,” he replied. “Plase dinna worry about it.”

They exited at last, the Lieutenant with his duffel over his shoulder, and Shmi with a small bag containing a few necessities she’d been given on the space station.

He hailed an old speeder cab just outside the spaceport entry and Shmi raised an eyebrow at him.

“We can walk—-” she began, and he snorted, opening the door for her.

“Tis a good two miles,” he answered, sliding in beside her. “And we are both tired.”

She was rather certain that a Lieutenant's salary did not allow for frequent luxuries like speeder cabs, but she appreciated the gentlemanly gesture. 

In short order, after some very questionable piloting in Shmi’s opinion, they pulled up outside a fairly nondescript building. The entire street was very shabby, and clearly not an affluent part of the city. But she did note that it was clean, and that while the paint might be peeling on numerous signs, it didn’t feel dangerous.

Piett paid the pilot and then turned to her, gesturing at the shop before them.

“Here we are,” he said.

Clothing Repair by Clio, declared the sign above the tall window. There was a plant box beneath this window and Shmi admired the vibrant yellow flowers there. She touched one as they approached the sliding door and was pleased to discover it was real. She noted that there were a great many pots and plant boxes all down the street.

The door squeaked oddly as they entered and the Lieutenant took off his cap. 

It was dim in here and not quite as warm as the outdoors. A small cooling unit hung from the back corner of the ceiling and there was a broad counter of heavy black stone before them. 

On the walls hung slightly faded examples of the sort of work that this Clio could do, and there was a cracked fake leather sofa underneath one of these posters for those needing to wait.

She could hear a machine going through the entrance which led to what was presumably a back room.

“Clio?” Firmus called, leaning up on the counter and allowing his duffel to slide to the floor by his boot.

The machine sound stopped and then a woman swept through the beaded curtain that draped the door to the back room.

Shmi blinked.

The woman was huge .

Not overweight—-she was easily 6’4 and the muscles of her shoulders were well defined as she was wearing a sleeveless dress in the warm climate. She had smooth walnut colored skin and interesting green tattoos curling up both arms like vines. 

“Well,” she said, planting her hands on her hips and grinning widely at the young man before her. “As I live an’ breathe. They let you off that ship.”

She swept around the counter to sweep Piett into a firm hug which he returned a little awkwardly, patting her back.

“Good ta see ya too,” he told Clio as she released him and looked over at Shmi. 

“Is this tha lady yore tellin’ me about?” she asked. She studied Shmi critically, though without hostility.

“It is. Shmi Skywalker, this is Clio. She hasna given me her last name, so Ah hope ya might do better and find it out.”

Clio grinned again and held out a hand to Shmi.

“Well met,” she said. “This child tells me yore a capable hand with sewin’.”

“Not a child,” Piett mumbled in the background, but Clio ignored this serenely. 

“I’m all right,” Shmi said carefully. “I told Firmus I can do a number of tasks. I don’t know that I’d call myself an expert in any of them, but I can learn fairly quickly.”

Clio nodded, sucking in a corner of her mouth.

“Well. Come on back then. Take a gander at tha machines. See what ya kin do. An you ,” she said, turning back toward Piett. “Shoo. Ah’ll put ‘er up far tha night. Ah know you types. Go sleep, child.”

Color tracked up Piett’s cheekbones, but he managed to turn back to Shmi with dignity.

“Clio has always felt a certain ah…proprietary interest in us urchins,” he explained. “Makes her belave she kin jist boss us around.”

“Ah’ve known ye since ye were nine, Firmus Piett,” Clio huffed. “Officer or no, Ah kin boss ya around. Go, before ya go face down on that couch.”

“She’s harmless,” Firmus told Shmi, face still scarlet. “Ah do assure ya you’ll be safe, Shmi. But if ya wish, Ah’ll return in a few hours an—-”

“ Out .”

Shmi couldn’t help her wide smile. It was heartening to know that this weary young man with the good heart had someone here on Axxila in his corner. 

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. “I trust you. And I agree—- you could use the rest. I will enjoy getting to know Clio.”

“Damn straight ya will,” Clio agreed heartily.

Piett patted her shoulder and hefted his duffel.

“Fine then,” he said with dignity. “Ah’ll come by tomorrow.”

Clio slung an arm over Shmi’s shoulders and ushered her to the back room.

“He’s a good boy,” she said, tapping at another cooling unit rattling away. “He checks in once in a while. Glad ta know he makes it out alive on thase missions. Now. Let’s see about usin’ this machine.”

Shmi was glad to discover that the sewing machine she was presented with was an older model she could easily use. She proceeded to do what Clio asked and worked with different fabrics and stitches. 

Clio quizzed her a little about her background and what had brought her to Axxila. Shmi told her of Tatooine and the slavers without going into too much detail.

Clio nodded, popping a piece of fyf gum into her mouth. 

“Tis the Rim,” she said matter of factly. “The amount of young ‘uns over the years without parents that Ah’ve seen. Tis the spice out here. That’s the big issue. Takes so many lives. But yis—the slavin’ and pirates too.”

“Is…that what happened for Firmus?” Shmi asked. “Is that how you met?”

Clio inclined her head.

“Let’s go to tha kitchen. Tis the dinner hour and we can chat over some grub.”

She put Shmi to work chopping simple vegetables while she tugged out some pots. It was a galley kitchen, but it smelled good with all the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. 

“Firmus is sadly one o’ many,” Clio continued. “But yis, Ah came across him after both ‘is parents were gone. He ‘ad his sister then. Lovely girl. He hasna said anythin’?”

Shmi shook her head. She knew very little about the young officer. Just that she liked him and found herself invested in what became of him.

“Hmm,” Clio responded, opening a tiny cold storage to pull out some raw meat. “Well. Don’ know as Ah should share too much. Jist…his life, like many, has bin hard. But unlike a lot o’ the others who’ve crossed my door, he chose the Fleet. Not common with a background like ‘is. Most of ‘em go into the very crime thet put them and their parents into this situation.”

Shmi logged this away and liked Firmus all the more for it. 

She and Clio had a pleasant conversation over the simple meal and she was shown to a small room above the store where Clio stored her selection of fabrics. But there was a cot here and another cooling unit.

“An it’ll cool down in tha night as well,” the woman said. 

Shmi was used to far more uncomfortable temperatures on a planet that rarely got cool for more than a few hours during the night. So she slept reasonably well and woke to the smell of fresh bread and caf.

Piett, true to his word, came by just as the two women were rinsing their mugs. Clio immediately got to work making tea and the spicy scent was enticing.

“Ya dinna have to—-” Firmus began, but was quelled by a stern look from the blue eyes. “Axxilan tea,” he explained to Shmi. “Ah don’t much care for caf, but this is one o’ the few things Ah miss when Ah’m on tha ship.”

“An Axxilan ship doesn’t have Axxilan tea?” Shmi asked curiously as he took a sip.

“More expensive than caf,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Clio. “Which is why Ah verra much appreciate it.”

“Go on with ya,” Clio snorted, waving a hand, by which Shmi understood she was pleased. “Besides, ya brought me jist the help Ah naded. If yore willin’,” she added, looking to Shmi.

A warm glow burned in Shmi’s chest. 

A job. 

A job with a wage .

She’d never had one in her life, and it was tangible evidence of her freedom. She could support herself. 

And just maybe—she could see about searching for her son.

The next two days passed swiftly. Firmus came by both days once she was done working and took her to the library and the largest open market respectively. 

“So ya kin git started,” he said simply.

Shmi found that her heart hurt, however, when he came to say goodbye.

“And you?” she asked him as they stood outside the shop, “where will you go next?”

He stood before her—-so very young—-holding his cap in his hands in the dusty street some miles from the spaceport. 

“Not sure yet,” he answered. “Ah’ll find out once Ah’m aboard agin. Ah…Ah hope ya find news o’ yore son, Shmi.”

Shmi hoped so too. But her heart was drawn to this young officer.

“Can I write to you, Firmus?” she asked. Given her recent discovery that he had no family perhaps this pulled her to him. Two people without anyone else in the galaxy.

That tiny little smile of his bloomed into evidence again.

“If ya wish,” he answered, pulling out his datapad. “Let me find the shop comms unit…there we are. All right. Ah kin respond ta you on the shop computer til ya git yore own comms unit. Does that work?”

“It does,” she told him, patting his arm. “Be safe, dear.”

He flushed nicely at this term of endearment.

“Thank ya,” he said, and then he turned and walked away, back straight.

Chapter Text

Shmi came down from her little storage room two days after Firmus left, curious about the voices echoing up the stairs since the shop wasn’t open yet.

Standing at the entrance to the shop stood a very slim individual with olive skin and a dark, carefully groomed moustache and goatee. His dark hair was peppered with grey, but he was quite youthful looking despite this. Shmi couldn’t guess his age, but could guess why he was here since he was toting a large repair kit over one shoulder.

The backroom cooling unit had broken and it was quite impossible to work there without one in this climate. 

So Shmi was glad to see him.

Clio, on the other hand, was standing with her arms crossed and a skeptical eyebrow lifted in the man’s direction. 

“Ah wilna say it agin, Fronterro,” she stated firmly. “Ah wonder if yore brain freezes a bit more evra’ time ya repair one o’ these. A’hm not marryin’ you.”

What now?

The man caught sight of Shmi on the stairs behind Clio and his face lit up. 

“Oh. Oho. And who might you be, glorious creature?” he asked, bowing gracefully.

Well.

As gracefully as a man loaded with a heavy tool kit clanking on his shoulder could do.

Clio turned to see that Shmi had descended, and gave a despairing shake of her head in Shmi’s direction before she turned back to the man.

“This is Shmi Skywalker. She’s workin’ with me now. Shmi, A’hm sorry ta tell ya, that this reprobate is Fronterro. He’s tha cooling unit repairman.”

Shmi set foot on the floor and crossed the shop to hold out her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Fronterro.”

He placed a hand over his heart and took her fingers, lifting them to his lips.

Shmi couldn’t recall anyone kissing her brown, work roughened hand in her life.

“Beautiful Shmi,” he said, releasing her hand and gazing at her with doe eyes, “your name is so very appropriate. You have come down from your walk in the stars to grace us mortals.”

“Dinna git fresh with her, ya waste of oxygen,” Clio admonished, smacking him sharply in the shoulder.

Fronterro looked offended and straightened the fabric of his deep red shirt.

“I am not being ‘fresh’, as you so crudely put it, Clio, love of my life. I am stating an objective truth. Consider carefully. You could lose me to a beautiful woman such as this.”

Shmi snorted loudly, looking over to Clio.

Beautiful was quite a stretch for a former slave in her late forties.

Clio was serenely unimpressed and merely waved toward the back of the shop.

“And you could lose tha repair credits ta another contractor, ya smooth tongued lizard. What shall it be?”

Fronterro hefted his repair kit with dignity. 

“I will of course fulfill my obligations. You wouldn’t dare hire another, O silver tongued Clio. I am the best. This we both know.”

Clio rolled her eyes and merely made her way to the back. Shmi followed after Fronterro, amused at this clearly long established bickering.

“You see, Shmi from the stars,” Fronterro said, setting the kit bag on a table and opening it to reveal his tools, “I am a wanted man. This is merely my undercover persona.”

“Oh not this agin,” Clio groaned, ducking through the bead curtain to heat water for tea and caf. “Dinna belave a word he says, Shmi.”

Fronterro smoothed his moustache reflectively as he watched Clio disappear.

“Three times have I nearly been captured by the Empire,” he told Shmi, lifting a hydrospanner and dragging over a stool so he could reach the cooling unit. “I have six Hutt bounties upon my head. Because I am so very good at what I do.”

“You have bounties for repairing cooling units?” Shmi asked him skeptically, and heard Clio snort laugh out in the little kitchen. 

Fronterro heaved a dramatic sigh as he opened the side panel to the unit and set it on a nearby shelf.

“No. I have bounties for…I cannot say. T’would put you in danger and we cannot have that. So for now—I am merely the best repair mechanic on Axxila.”

“Would tha best repair mechanic like cream in his caf?” came Clio’s voice from the kitchen.

“As only civilized beings do,” Fronterro called back with dignity. 

He fixed the unit in roughly thirty minutes, with a great deal of running commentary on his dangerous undercover persona and the skill he was using.

Clio sniped back every time, but as they both seemed to enjoy it, Shmi was content to merely listen and nod.

“Tha ego on that man,” Clio said, shaking her head one he had departed. “But he is the best for the coolin’ units, so Ah canna complain too much. If he ever bothers ya too much, Shmi, jist say so.”

Shmi laughed.

“I’m not worried if you’re not,” she replied.

******

Shmi enjoyed building a life on Axxila. 

The very first thing she did when she had a moment was to walk to the library and use the public computers to try and understand more of what had happened with the Jedi.

She thanked the young lieutenant in her head for taking her here so she could walk with confidence through the hot and dusty streets of the city.

It was blessedly cool in the library after she’d been blasted a little by fans in the entryway to blow off the red dust which settled on people who came here on foot.

She must have looked somewhat lost because the sweet Twi’lek at the front desk shoved back her spectacles and addressed her.

“May I help you find something?” she asked.

“Well…” Shmi began reluctantly. She wasn’t certain how much attention she wanted to draw to herself as she researched what had happened to the Jedi. On the other hand—-this was the Rim. Did they really keep all that close an eye on the local library in a city on Axxila?

“I um….” she lowered her voice, “I am looking for any information on the Jedi. I have…well I couldn’t get any holonews for some years and I did not know what happened…”

The girl’s eyes widened and her lekku twitched slightly. 

“We’d all like to know that,” she murmured. “I don’t know that you’ll find anything, ma’am, but I can get you set up with the computers. Do you have an account?”

“Not yet,” Shmi replied, feeling so backwards and ignorant. But the Twi’lek girl took this in cheerful stride.

Her name was Crysantha and she was working on her degree in bio engineering and climate studies.

“Very slowly,” she informed Shmi, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard as she set up a holo account. “Just online classes because, you know, Axxila. And I can’t afford to attend uni in person on the other hemisphere, so here I am. Name?”

Shmi blinked.

“Shmi,” she replied.

“Right,” the girl said, pausing to look at her. “But if you want a, you know, a username. I mean, you can use your real name if you want, but if you would rather be more private you know…”

This appealed to Shmi immensely.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Ah…” Fronterro came to her mind and she smiled. “How about ‘Shewalksthestars?”

“Oh that’s lovely,” Crysantha agreed, typing away, lekku waving gently. “All right. You’re all set. You can research and send messages whenever you sign in. We have a thirty minute time limit per session.”

Shmi thanked her, and Crysantha waltzed away to her front desk, tapping her glasses back down on her nose and reading something studiously on a datapad. 

Shmi got to work typing in various searches.

Jedi .

Very little there except that they had become traitors to the glorious Empire.

Nature of the Jedi treason.

Nothing except that it had been committed and many beings had died because of it. 

Jedi known to have been killed.

The list was heartbreaking. 

Shmi took a breath. Then she typed: Anakin Skywalker .

And—

Nothing.

She sat staring at the old galaxy news report, her body numb with this information.

How was that possible? Nothing at all?

Perhaps he escaped. It was possible after all. But something in her didn’t think so. Her son loved her. He had promised to come and free her. If he hadn’t, he was…he was dead.

But it was torture not to know that for certain. Because hope had ever been strong in Shmi, even in her darkest hours, and she couldn’t crush it.

She blinked tears and pressed a fist to her mouth, the screen blurring in front of her.

She longed for comfort, but she wasn’t going to saddle that young girl at the desk with her grief. 

And then—

Firmus .

Firmus with the shadowed eyes and serious countenance. He knew loss, Shmi was certain. 

She tapped in his ship and then searched for his name on the crew list.

There he was:

Piett, Firmus–First Lieutenant Makri Division.

So Shmi typed in his holocom address and began to write. 

He wrote back two days later. 

Dear Shmi,

While I was grieved at the content of your letter, I was simultaneously grateful to receive communication from Axxila.

It’s been a long while.

I’m so very sorry I couldn’t respond right away. Sometimes hope is far more cruel than confirmation—-I wish I knew how to comfort you. I can only say—-whenever you wish to just express your thoughts or feelings, I am very happy to receive it. 

I see from the receipt stamp that this is the library unit.  At some point, when I’m able perhaps we should try a holo call? My schedule and location are always changing, so I’m sorry it won’t be consistent, but it’s something. 

And if I hear anything about your son, I will of course pass it on to you. Perhaps I can find something out during this deployment.

May you find comfort,

Firmus.

PS–try the pitchak. They’re wonderful

Shmi found a pitchak stand the next morning outside the bright blue front of the butcher shop, and stood watching the vendor deep fry the flaky and layered pastry before he rolled it in butter and candied, crushed nuts.

It was divine.

And she felt better after having one. 

**************

“Stay on them!” Piett snapped into his comms, sprinting down the filthy alleyway after his quarry. He could hear Sergeant Lunders panting behind him, but he couldn’t worry about whether the big man could keep up. Piett had to keep their targets in sight.

“On it, boss,” Dinlay’s irreverent tones came back in his ear.

They’d spent too much time tracing this particular group to lose them now. Two lay dead half a mile back after attempting an ambush. Renslo was sporting a nasty blaster burn from that encounter, but Brainard had knocked him sideways just in time. 

There .

A flash of yellow jacket at the end of this tiny alley. It was barely wide enough for Lunders to fit through.

Piett put on an extra burst of speed and exited the alley into a small square. At the far end people were yelling and screaming. He could see the overturned vendor stalls—-bright awnings ripped and muddy from the rain the night before.

Firmus dodged through angry and frightened beings and locked eyes with his target just as the men whirled to see where he was. 

The spicer snarled at him and seized the closest person—a young boy who squawked and flailed as his mother screamed nearby in fear. 

“Come one more step and his brains are on the ground!” snapped the spicer, grinding his blaster into the boy’s deep purple hair. 

Piett paused, his own blaster raised.

He could hear Lunders running up behind him once more, his booming voice rising above the hubbub of the crowd.

“Drop it,” the spicer ordered, narrowing his eyes.

Piett allowed his arms to lower…

…as Lunders reached him…

…and the spicer’s eyes flicked to the big sergeant.

Piett took that moment, whipping his arms back up and firing a single shot.

The spicer went over backwards without a sound, falling away from the trembling, crying boy whose mother raced in immediately to hold him tightly to herself. 

“Excellent shot, Lieutenant,” Lunders panted. “Spang between the eyes.”

“It naded ta be, Sergeant,” Piett replied quietly. “Couldn’a risk tha boy.”

The rest of the squad reported in not long after and Piett joined them. In all, they managed to arrest two to stand trial, and four had been killed trying to flee.

He wasn’t crying any tears over that. 

These people and many like them spread unimaginable suffering and death all over the galaxy, but particularly in the Rim. Firmus had seen people dying of spice addictions. He’d seen spice mines, and he’d freed slaves bound for them or the pleasure houses. 

So the bodies of spice traffickers would not ever cause him to lose sleep.

He delivered their prisoners to detention and made his report to Commander Larga.

By the time he reached the small shared quarters, toweling his hair from a quick shower, Brainard was already asleep and only the light above Piett’s bunk was on. He dropped onto his mattress heavily, leaning into his pillows and tapping tiredly at his datapad.

“Really? Can’t just go to sleep?” hissed Renslo from his bunk. “Some of us need that light out, Piett!”

“Ya could ask nicely,” Piett reminded him, raising an eyebrow in his direction, but pressing the light pad to turn it out, leaving only the glow from his datapad screen.

It didn’t appear that he had anything urgent to deal with as he’d already delivered his report from their mission. The rest of these items could wait. 

Except…

He didn’t recognize the handle of the sender, but the beginning code numbers were from Axxila.

He could guess.

Rubbing at his neck, he opened the message and found that he was correct.

“Message from a girlfriend?” inquired Renslo, and Piett didn’t have to see him to hear the smirk.

“No,” he replied coolly, looking at the time stamp. She’d sent it two days previously

“True. Who’d date a shrimp like you?”

“Give it a rest, you kriffer,” groaned Dinlay across from Piett. “He just doesn’t know what it’s like to have any species of the opposite sex attracted to him,” he explained, his grin flashing white in the darkness.

“I’ll have you know—-” Renslo began, when Brainard snorted and growled into his pillow. They all paused for a moment.

“It’s tha woman we helped,” Piett said quietly. “Tha one Ah helped to settle on Axxila.”

“So girlfriend,” Renslo persisted.

Piett angled a look up at the little blot even though he likely couldn’t see it.

“She could be ma mother ,” he stated. “Honestly, Renslo.”

“Don’t know that your mummy would approve of that,” Renslo replied, juvenile in his insults as ever.

“Firmus’s mother is dead, you completely foul ork slug,” Dinlay hissed in disgust.

There was an awkward pause and Piett was content to let Renslo feel the weight of that.

“Go to sleep all of you or I will rub my used socks all over your pillows,” came Brainard’s muffled and kriffed off tones.

“Sorry, mate,” Dinlay whispered, kicking the bottom of Renslo’s bunk.

Piett at last turned his attention to what Shmi had written.

Dear Firmus,

I hope you don’t mind if I address you that way. ‘Lieutenant’ is just so formal and ‘Piett’ is more suited to your military comrades. 

As you can likely tell, I have set up an account for myself at the library you brought me to. A very sweet college girl helped me, so I’m hoping this finds you on your ship and that you’re well. 

I…well, I don’t have anyone else to write to, Firmus, and as you are very aware of my past circumstances, I needed to tell someone…

I can’t find any trace of my son. There’s minimal information about the Jedi. About the steps taken to stop their ‘treason’. But I just can’t believe it, I can’t. I knew several of them. And the list of the dead is so long…

But he is not on any list that I can find. It’s as though he never existed. And part of me wishes to live in hope that perhaps he’s still out there. But I just wish to…to know . 

I’m sorry. My first letter to you is burdening you with my troubles. I hope you know that I am very much enjoying my life here.

Clio is wonderful and an excellent employer. I enjoy the work we do. I met the cooling unit repairman a few days ago. He’s quite a character, but harmless enough. 

I truly do hope you are safe, Firmus. I would love to hear from you when you have a moment—but no pressure. I know how hard the work you do is. 

Very sincerely,

Shmi

Piett scooted further down onto his pillows and read her message again.

It was so remarkable to have any communication that wasn’t within his ship or the fleet. He’d never received any from his family as they’d all been dead by the time he joined the fleet. 

So this was what it felt like.

Someone back on Axxila who cared whether he lived or died. Who wanted to share about their life and ask about his. 

He glanced to the time at the top of his datapad and winced.

It was ridiculously late and he had a bridge shift in four hours. He would have to give her a lengthier response another time, but he could send her a short missive now.

He tapped the ‘reply’ button and smiled a little to himself.

Dear Shmi—--

It took him mere moments to respond, and he wished he could offer more comfort to her, but that was best saved when he had more time or possibly over a live holocall.

Piett slid the datapad on the shelf above his head and pulled his blanket over his shoulders. 

He hoped she liked the pitchak.

Chapter Text

Shmi wasn’t quite sure of herself for a moment. She stopped and did a double take at the sandy colored uniform and the boy who had called her name, his duffel over his shoulder and hat under his arm.

She’d come down to the market for her morning shop and had been intending to make a stop at the pitchak stand to grab some pastries for herself and Clio. The air was still somewhat cool at this point of the day, and she enjoyed the tangy scent of the red earth underneath all the smells of the market. 

Was it really him?

“Shmi,” he repeated, smiling somewhat shyly and walking toward her.

“ Firmus ,” she managed, blinking in her astonishment. “What in the galaxy… ?” 

The smile faded from his face.

“Ah, well, Ah had some lave, an’ Ah thought perhaps…” He paused and cleared his throat uncertainly. “Apologies if Ah overstepped, Shmi, you have yore life an Ah wouldna want ta inconvenience…”

Shmi gathered herself, setting down her basket, and moving swiftly to him, enfolding him in her arms.

“No, stop. I’m sorry, dear boy, I was just that surprised. I had thought you were quite far from Axxila at the moment. I’m absolutely delighted to see you!” 

His arms tightened around her back, and he gave a small sigh of content that warmed her soul. 

“Ah did want ta surprise ya. Clio said you were down here. An we are quite far at tha moment. But Ah had a little lave and Ah really wanted ta see ya.”

She stepped back, looking into tired hazel eyes.

“How long do you have, Firmus?”

“Two days,” he replied. “Couldna be more due ta tha travel Ah’m afraid.”

“How long did it take to get here?” she asked, retrieving her basket and sliding her hand under his arm to walk back toward the shop. 

“Three days,” he told her.

“THREE days? Both ways? Dear, that’s not much of a shore leave. Were there no closer places…?”

She trailed off as he flushed a little, and Shmi considered what it meant that he’d sacrificed six days of his precious leave to spend two with her.

“ Dear boy,” she murmured again. She desperately wanted to kiss his cheek, but as they were in public she refrained. Young he may be, but Firmus was an officer and possessed a more reserved disposition. 

He smiled at her tone and pressed her hand.

“Ah’ve niver had a raison to come back here, not since joinin’ tha fleet,” he told her as they turned the corner and headed up the familiar street. 

“Well I’m honored to be the reason,” Shmi told him, feeling so fond of this slim officer at her side. “What did you have in mind for your leave?”

He shrugged a little sheepishly.

“Ah…mostly jist wanted ta get here. See you. Sleep. Nothin’ fancy,” he replied. 

“All right then,” Shmi said, a plan blossoming in her mind as they reached the shop where Clio was outside cleaning the broad window. “Will you let me plan things, Firmus? You can’t come all this way merely to watch me sew.”

He laughed and Clio looked up to see them, dropping her rubber scraper in the bucket and wiping her hands on the towel.

“Well,” she said, smiling smugly. “Ah see ya found ‘er. Sneaky little pucksy you are.”

“Hello, Clio,” the boy said, as she gave him a hearty clap on his shoulder.

“Clio,” Shmi said, “As Firmus has come all this way, I wondered if it would be terribly inconvenient of me to steal him away for two days.”

“Hmmm.” Clio crossed her arms, tattoos gleaming as she considered them both with a frown. But Shmi knew her employer well enough now to see that she was not serious. “He always had a knack fer trouble did that Piett kid.”

The corner of Firmus’s mouth curled a little even as he half turned toward Shmi.

“Ya really dinna nade ta…” he began, but Clio cut right across him. 

“Where are ya thinking, Shmi?” she asked, turning to walk into the shop. They followed and the door hissed behind them, allowing the cool air to stay inside. 

“Well,” Shmi replied, patting Firmus’s arm and moving toward the datapad she’d left on the counter. “I have yet to see an ocean. And this one here has only been on covert missions aboard ship so I don’t think that really counts.”

“Perfect,” Clio agreed, moving to peek over her shoulder. 

Shmi glanced over to the young man who was looking both bemused and pleased by this turn of events. She knew enough about him now to know that sweet Firmus had a deep and very charming love for the sea. 

“This seems the closest,” Shmi said, pointing to the map on the datapad. “Suggestions on where I should rent a place to stay?”

“No, no,” Clio answered, rounding the counter to pick up her own datapad. “Ah have a second cousin’s friend’s place that I kin use whenever Ah want. It’s right on the beach as well. Not verra big, but it’s just tha two o’ ya, so…Ha.” 

She held up the datapad triumphantly. “No trouble atall. An’ ya know ya kin rent a cheap speeder—this one knows how ta pilot.”

“Listen,” Firmus tried, setting his duffel on the waiting bench, “tis immensely kind of both o’ ya, but Ah’m aware that ya nade—-”

“Shush,” Clio ordered. “What do ya know o’ what Ah nade, ya young ingrate? Ah do know what our fleet does, Mister Lieutenant, so ye’ll let me be patriotic an support tha efforts of our forces, hmm?”

“Fales like Ah’m imposin’...” he continued stubbornly, and Clio heaved a loud sigh. 

“Ya brought me tha best assistant Ah’ve ever had. Call it even. Go on now, both o’ ya.”

Shmi trotted upstairs to pack a quick bag while Clio bullied their Lieutenant into a cup of tea and a bun down below.

In short order, she and Firmus had set out once more toward the spaceport. It was a bit of a walk, but neither of them minded, as she filled him in on more aspects of her life here. He seemed content to listen to her rather than speak of his own doings, but that was all right. She would gently pull that out of him once they were at the sea. He did not often share the difficulties of his duties, choosing instead to discuss his crew and the on board dynamics he lived with as opposed to the actual missions he took part in.

She was well aware that he did not wish to burden her with the heavy things he experienced all too often. But she was equally determined that he recall she was no stranger to such a life—-that she too knew of the tragic, awful, and heartbreaking ways of the galaxy. Of the Rim. 

Things he and his people had saved her from. The least she could do was provide an outlet for him when he needed it.

They procured an old speeder—the paint peeling and rusting—but Firmus was certain it was a good make and would serve them well.

It was the sort that had a roof, but was not completely enclosed so that one could slide in and out of the vehicle easily. They skimmed over the red deserts and past small scrub forests, the young man’s capable hands moving easily on the controls as they spoke over the wind about the nature of Axxila’s small oceans.

Three hours passed easily and as he slowed, descending toward the little town, Shmi caught her first glimpse of a long blue expanse that extended across the entire horizon line. 

Once they dropped down to ground level and moved at a sedate pace around the buildings and trees that actually bore leaves , she inhaled a wonderful scent—clean, and salty and sharp—-like nothing she’d ever smelled before. 

Firmus brought the speeder to a stop where their computer indicated and Clio was right. It was more a cottage than a house—comprised of golden brick and a red tile roof—but it was right by the shore, up a ways on a gravel hill with a solid stone retaining wall. 

The boy had been watching her and he grinned brightly at her expression.

“Shall we walk ta tha waves?” he asked, climbing out of the speeder to come around and offer her a hand. “Before anythin’ else? We kin unpack in a bit.”

It was precisely the thing and Shmi took his hand to exit their vehicle.

They strolled slowly down the fine gravel to the sand, and the sound of the breakers on the shore with the mina gulls calling overhead—their bright green plumage flashing in the sun—-was like entering a dream world she never thought could be real.

“Firmus…” she murmured, lifting her face to the sun and allowing the delicious breeze to caress her skin. “...how can I ever thank you?”

He laughed—-a free and unfettered laugh—-as he undid his duty jacket and shrugged it off. 

“Shmi, yore tha one that brought us here. Ah was virtually kidnapped, so Ah kin hardly take credit for this.”

She looked over at him, the wind ruffling his hair and smoothing the lines of trouble on his face before her eyes.

“Dear boy,” she said fondly, slipping her hand under his arm once more, “you saved my life from those slavers. The reason we’re standing here is because of that.”

“Not jist me,” he reminded her.

“True,” she agreed, “but it was you who brought me here. Gave me the means to build a life. I shall never forget that, Firmus.”

He gave her that little half smile again, and for long minutes they just stood on the edge of the wet sand and allowed the sun’s rays to soak into them.

Then they went back to the cottage to unpack their things and see about a wander into the small town for food supplies.

That night they grilled sausages over an open fire and Shmi made a small green salad. They opened a bottle of wine—-nothing fancy, but Axxilan wine was decent enough in most of the planet’s climates—-as they watched the stars come out one by one in a far vaster sky than even the Tatooine desert had provided. 

Perhaps it was because the ocean reflected the starlight back, Shmi thought, leaning back on the cushioned wicker chair and drawing the warm blanket around her shoulders as Firmus built up the fire again and seated himself cross legged on the small wicker sofa across from her. 

He looked far younger somehow, no longer attired in his uniform and Shmi’s heart beat with a dull ache for the son she had lost. 

“What air ya thinkin’?” Firmus asked quietly, drawing up one knee to rest his chin upon it.

Shmi took a thoughtful sip of wine. 

“I…am thinking about Anakin again,” she admitted. “I know that he is likely dead. But—-”

Firmus nodded, his large eyes reflecting the fire’s flames.

“Hope is a blessin’ and a curse,” he agreed. 

“So many millions of beings in the Rim live without it,” Shmi commented. “Painful as it is, I would never want to lose hope. Here I am, after all.”

“Ah…have seen many terrible things,” the young man said quietly. “And…to a point Ah have ta put them out o’ mind. Or Ah would go insane. But Ah’ve had good experiences too.”

There was a long pause as the fire crackled and the waves continued their soothing rhythm.

“Firmus,” Shmi said carefully, “I hope you know—-you don’t have to keep all those terrible things to yourself. I am always happy to listen or—or read about it, should you need.”

He let out a long, slow breath before he met her gaze once more. 

“Thank you,” he replied simply. “Ah shall remember that.”

They had an absolutely perfect two days. They slept as long as they wished and cooked together in the cozy kitchen. He took naps in the shaded hammock while Shmi practiced her knitting—she was still quite awful, but a blanket was a good thing to start with. They walked the beach as often as they wished and Shmi collected little, colorful shells while Firmus walked in the shallow surf because he enjoyed being in the water more than she did. They said goodnight and Shmi retired to her little bedroom with the thick blue rug and the ocean view. 

It was difficult to return after an all too brief stay, but something in her soul had been healed by the sea and there was more peace in Firmus’s countenance. 

But oh, for Anakin…

***********

Firmus tapped the screen in the private comms booth that junior officers could use for live communication with family or friends. It was quite rare that he had time to use this and he treasured the moments with the only person in the galaxy who cared to speak with him. 

“Hello, dear,” Shmi said immediately, brushing strands of sun weathered brown hair from her face. “I’m using the library comms for this. Crysantha showed me how to activate the privacy setting so I don’t disturb the other patrons.”

“Oh verra good,” he replied with a smile. “And how are things? Ya mentioned an idea ya’d had last time ya wrote.”

“Oh I do want to tell you about that,” she agreed, nodding, “but we need to discuss something else first, Firmus Piett.”

He could see she wasn’t angry. It was very rare that Shmi was angry—at least at him—-and this was not it. But she’d dropped into a stern tone that he thought of as her ‘mom voice’.

“All right…?” he replied, raising his eyebrows inquiringly.

“Don’t play innocent either,” she continued, but her mouth curled a little at the edge as she pointed at him. “I received a notice of credits pending for my account a few days back. Want to tell me about that?”

He’d wondered how she might react about this, but hadn’t known how to write and explain, so had decided to wait to do it like this.

He had sent her some of his last pay packet as he certainly had no need for that many credits. His savings account was not immense by anyone’s standards, but it was comfortable, and he wanted to make things a little easier for her.

“Ah thought ya could use it,” he replied, straightening his spine slightly. “An’ given all the gifts ya send an’ all…it’s a way Ah kin say thank you. Which—-” he continued, “thank you far tha tree. It’s so perfect.”

He’d pointed out the tiny trees in the market at the seaside, and mentioned that he liked having a bit of green in his space aboard ship. 

A month after his visit to Axxila, a tiny Rinduan spice had arrived for him. His fellow officers had poked fun, but he didn’t care. It was tiny and perfect and green . He took immaculate care of it and broke a few fragrant needles to let Dinlay smell it. Then Brainard wanted a whiff and proclaimed he liked it so Piett had kept it on the small shelf above his bunk. 

“You’re welcome, dear, but really , Firmus. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness. But you should be saving for your own future.”

“Ah am, Shmi,” he told her earnestly. “Really. So—”

“I’m doing just fine, Firmus,” she insisted. “I know you aren’t getting a lot and—”

“Shmi," he inserted quietly, but with authority in his voice. “Ah…ah would do it for ma mother. If she ware livin’.”

She stared at him, lips parted slightly and her hand came up to her chest to press tightly against her blouse.

Time stretched as he watched her eyes fill with tears and his gut clenched a little.

“Shmi?” he asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “Plase let me do this?”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

“All right then. How can I refuse that , Firmus Piett?” she replied, sniffing loudly. “And I hope you know you’ve been my son for some time now.”

Shmi didn’t say things she didn’t mean.

It was his turn to be still and wrestle for composure. Even when his mother lived, she had not treated him as a mother should treat a son. He could forgive her now, knowing what he did of the hardships in her life. But a seven year old could only see that he wasn’t wanted—that he was an inconvenience. 

He’d never for instance, been a ‘dear boy’ to his own mother.

“Thank ya,” he replied hoarsely. “Now. Were ya wantin’ ta tell me about this fabric design o’ yours?”

************

Two years after living on Axxila, Shmi earned enough to put a payment down on a simple little home about a mile’s walk from her place of employment. Thanks to her experiences on Tatooine, particularly with those who worked machinery, Shmi had proposed a design for the coveralls they made in bulk for the numerous spaceport workers, as well as the local blue collar types.

This design was more durable and more easily repairable when it was damaged, without raising the price point due to the way Shmi proposed to utilize two fabrics in its creation.

They were in great demand now—so much so that two more workers had been hired by Clio, and a lovely new auto cut machine purchased. 

Firmus had been able to take a small leave roughly two months after she moved into her home, and so he stepped off the military transport he’d managed to talk his way onto, stretching sore muscles.

Comfort was not a consideration for Axxilan military cargo ships, but it was worth it for a brief time with his feet on the ground. 

As he exited the landing platform out into the large terminal, he realized that he knew the figure approaching him. 

“Someone should be here to meet you when you come home,” Shmi said, smiling broadly. She was attired simply in a blue and red dress, but the cut was very good and it looked new.

She drew him into her arms without hesitation, and he dropped his duffel to return the embrace.

She couldn’t possibly know how wonderful it was to have someone waiting to see him at the spaceport.

“Pitchak?” Shmi asked as he hefted the duffel again and they walked toward the exit.

“A small one,” he agreed. “Nade ta give ma stomach a little time ta adjust.”

So they purchased some pitchak and a creamy glacha for him, its spiced sweetness a welcome feel on his tongue.

“I haven’t tried glacha,” Shmi told him.

“It’s like…well a creamy sort o’ tea,” he answered, sipping it carefully. “More mild than standard Axxilan blend.”

They chatted easily as they walked, and he told her of some recent adventures while they made their way through the nicer bits of the city. He’d never been allowed here as a boy, he informed her, as they both admired the elaborate flower boxes in front of the houses.

Shmi huffed a small laugh. “Firmus dear, you are still a boy,” she informed him with a smile.

“Twenty-three is hardly —-” he murmured, but she swatted his arm.

“Practically a child,” she teased, nudging him to make his mouth curl slightly in response. 

At last they made their way up a busy street in the lower middle class area of the city. One could always tell where the various neighborhoods began, Firmus thought. Axxila hadn’t changed all that much with its class divisions over the centuries. Just how they manifested.

The upper class neighborhoods were usually white plaster homes with red roofs and elaborate flower boxes. Sometimes even green lawns.

The middle class homes never had lawns and less flamboyant flowers, but often could be spaced out.

The lower middle class homes were usually constructed as town houses and painted in a myriad of bright colors with contrasting flower boxes in the front. 

The large poor populace stretched from there out to the slums on the edges of the city. 

One thing they all had in common, however—-almost everyone had a flat roof or terrace near the top of their homes to retire to when the desert night occurred and things cooled down a bit. 

Shmi stopped in front of a pale green townhouse with a red door and tapped at the security pad to let it slide open and admit them. 

It was scrupulously tidy inside (not that he was surprised) and very simple, yet welcoming.

“May Ah hev a tour?” he asked, allowing his duffel to slump against the wall by the door.

“My dear, you are so tired, surely—-” Shmi began, but he held up a hand because he could see the proud eagerness in her face.

“Ah’m not that much o’ a delicate flower,” he interrupted, grinning and removing his cap. “Really, Shmi.”

She swatted his arm for impertinence and gave in.

“All right, well—the living area obviously,” she began, sweeping her arm around.

It contained a small sofa, two fat chairs, a thick rug and a low table in the middle. To the side was a simple wooden hutch upon which sat three lovely millaflower plants in deep blue pots. A wide arched opening took them through to the narrow dining room filled only with a long golden oak table and a number of mismatched chairs. And beyond that was the kitchen where something was smelling delicious in the oven and numerous pots were at work on the stovetop. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Shmi said apologetically as he admired her blue and white tiled floor. “But I’m having a few friends for dinner to celebrate you coming home.”

Home .

Axxila had never been home before. 

All right, yes technically it was, but he considered it a place he lived, not home in all the deeper senses of the term.

But when Shmi said it, he believed it.

He blinked and nodded.

“Ah would like that,” he agreed.

She showed him her sleeping quarters and then led the way up the narrow stairs to a little landing where there was a second bedroom and a small lounge area where one could look over the rail to the living space below.

“You can stay here,” she told him proudly and he smiled at the tidy little space. A simple painting of the seaside graced one wall and the bed, with its blue blanket, was up against the wall under the window.

A wardrobe sat against the other wall and a leafy Dinubian fig stood in the corner, a faint pleasant fragrance emanating from it. 

“Shmi,” he said, turning to her, “tis absolutely fantastic.”

She cupped his cheek with a hand.

“I’m so glad you can be here, Firmus,” she said. “The fresher is downstairs as you saw. Feel free to tidy up and then come talk to me while I cook.”

He trotted back down the stairs after her and retrieved his duffle in order to do just that. He didn’t have much in the way of civilian dress, but a basic pair of trousers and simple long sleeved shirt.

He took a swift shower and exited with his hair still drying to find Shmi.

She smiled as he came into the kitchen.

“I like the curls,” she told him, and he sighed long sufferingly.

“Aven with a military cut,” he replied, folding his arms on his chest, “Ah canna make ‘em behave.”

“Hmm,” Shmi responded, handing him a knife. “Chop those dear. I think perhaps, Firmus, those curls are a good metaphor for you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her as he obeyed, chopping the bright purple vegetables.

“You have excellent discipline and self control, my dear,” Shmi continued, tasting something on the stove. “But I know you now. There’s that stubborn fighter inside and he can show up when needed.”

Well.

She wasn’t wrong there.

He was put to work setting the table and in a short while the door chimed.

Clio was the first to arrive and she slapped him on the back heartily.

“Canna say yore taller, but yore not so much o’ a baby face now, air ya, Firmus?”

“Good ta see ya too, Clio,” he answered, amused. 

Right behind her was Fronterro, the cooling unit repairman, looking exceedingly dapper for a simple supper gathering. 

He ignored Firmus altogether initially, in order to drop to one knee before Clio.

“Marry me you gorgeous creature,” he declared, one hand on his heart and one extended toward her.

Clio snorted and smacked the hand away.

“Yore ridiculous, Fronterro,” she declared, though Firmus could see she was pleased at the homage. “Git up off o’ Shmi’s clane floor, ya nerfherder.”

Fronterro sighed dramatically, but rose and turned his attention to Firmus.

“Aha,” he said, holding out a hand, “the hero returneth. Are you Shmi’s boy then?”

Piett gripped his hand at a loss for what to say, but Shmi herself stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron.

“He is, Fronterro. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Right proud of you she is,” Fronterro told him, shaking his hand vigorously until Firmus freed himself. “Talks about you all the time.”

“Well…” Firmus began, and found he had nothing to say. His lungs and heart were glowing, and the damned flush was working its way up his cheekbones. “Ah…thank you.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the man continued as the door chimed once again. “Anyone in the Axxilan forces is all right by me.”

The last of their little gathering was the Twi’lek girl, Crysantha. She was sweet and shy, constantly shoving glasses up her nose, and just happy to be included it seemed.

The dinner was a lively affair given that both Clio and Fronterro were present. Firmus was content to mostly listen, occasionally offering an observation or responding to questions. He made it an objective to draw Crysantha out and managed to get her started on her degree which was in applied bio engineering for desert worlds.

She waxed eloquent on this, and Shmi met his eye across the table to smile.

Fronterro produced a bottle of after dinner liqueur and their little gathering got more merry as stories of repair calls, irate customers in Clio’s shop, and Crysantha’s opinion of the baristas in the spaceport caf place were all shared. 

At last they all said their goodbyes, after everyone insisted on helping Shmi clean up. 

He was shooed up to bed despite his protests—-

“I can see your eyes drooping from a mile away, Firmus Piett.”

—-and he slept better under the blue blanket than he had in months. 

Chapter Text

“Get me comms to Javitz!” snapped the Captain, wheeling on Piett. “I don’t care what you need to do, send flares if you have to, but we have to coordinate with him!”

Piett swallowed his panic and moved the body of the comms officer as respectfully as he could given the chaos around them. 

The attack had come out of the black hell hole of nowhere .

And if reports were correct, it was immense. 

The Black Sun was making a play for territory that had been purged of their presence some ten years before at great cost to the Axxilan Fleet and to the system at large. 

Clearly, the cartel had not forgotten and they were ruthless in their efforts to get back this territory.

Piett slid into the chair and slid the headset on in order to communicate with their troops planetside. It was imperative they were warned that they were about to face far greater odds than any of them had anticipated. 

The ship shook once more with another impact and various pieces of equipment sparked around him. 

But he managed to get through at last, and he communicated the urgency of the situation as concisely as possible over the staticy connection.

Over the course of the next six hours, Piett moved about the bridge going wherever he was needed. He found himself at weapons and then on his back rewiring a control board for navigation, before he was back at comms, and then sprinting one deck down to retrieve a repair kit because the lifts had gone down to the bridge. 

And still the battle continued. 

At some point, the first officer was wounded and Firmus knelt beside her with blood on his hands as he tried to stem the flow on her thigh. And there was nothing for it after the medics retrieved her but to wipe his hands on his uniform trousers and carry on.

“Piett!” the Captain barked as he moved back toward comms.

“Sir.”

“You’re the most senior officer next to me at the moment. I sent Commander Uwata to deal with the plasma tube issue. You’re acting XO. I need you here.”

Uwata was the second officer. He had no idea where the third officer was so things were dire indeed, if Piett was the only recourse for that position.

But he nodded sharply.

“Yes, Captain.”

There was a brief moment of hope as a small cohort of reinforcements showed up, but it was short lived.

The Black Sun had arrived in extensive and well armed numbers. The only thing keeping the Axxilan Fleet in the fight was the skill of the captains and the excellent communication between orbital and planetary forces. 

For countless hours, Piett and the Captain survived on ration bars and flasks of ridiculously strong tea—the sort of brew that coated one’s tongue and sent caffeine directly into the blood stream. 

Somewhere in there, the XO returned and Piett was allowed to step away from the pressures of being the first officer so he could help rally the weapons station.

And the battle raged on.

**************

Shmi paused in writing her response to a customer in order to stare at the holo screen.

What had that newscaster just said?

She was in the office, taking care of the administrative sorts of things that Clio abhorred doing before stepping out onto the production floor to see how things were going.

But she devoted all of her attention to the holonews as the hosts spoke with serious faces and tones. 

A massive incursion by the Black Sun…

The Axxilan Fleet was fighting desperately…

Axxilans were warned that the cartel presence could be in system within 24 hours…

Shmi’s breathing was difficult. 

Firmus was in the thick of that. 

Please, Force—-

There was a growing murmur out on the production floor, and Shmi exited the office to see Clio stepping up onto the ladder they used to reach the fabric drying lines.

“Settle down!” she roared as the worried voices rose in pitch. The sound died away and Clio looked around at all the anxious faces below her, briefly meeting Shmi’s gaze before returning her attention to the small crowd of their workers. 

“Ah understand tha concern,” Clio declared, “but nothin’ is gained by panickin’. Axxila’s faced this bifore. And we kin do it agin. Let’s git back ta work until we know more solid information.”

Her authority and confidence were potent. The workers returned to their jobs, though the tension and fear was still clearly present. Clio switched the holonews to the Imperial Channel, which most people on Axxila didn’t watch as it was full of pompous propaganda.

She made her way up the steps to where Shmi stood and inclined her head for Shmi to follow her into the office.

“Tis bad,” she stated, without any preamble once the door had hissed shut behind them.

“You just said—” Shmi began, gesturing out at the production floor.

“Ah know,” Clio interrupted grimly. “An’ ya know why Ah had ta do that. Does no good fer anyone ta panic. Better for em all ta kape their minds on tha job rather than useless worry. They’ll hev rale worry soon enough if this kapes up.”

Shmi blew out a breath.

“What should we do?” she asked.

Clio nodded slowly.

“There are those who will flee tha system if they can. If ya wish ta do so, Ah kin help ya find—-”

“Will you leave?” Shmi asked, twisting the fabric of her skirt a little in her hands.

“Ah was here last time they got this close,” Clio told her, eyes glinting. “Ah dinna have any intention o’ leavin this time either.”

Shmi pressed her lips together briefly.

“Then neither do I. Firmus is fighting out there. The least I can do is hold the line here. Where else would I go?”

Clio grinned at her.

“Yore made o’ the right stuff, Shmi,” she said. “Ah knew ya were.”

But Clio was right.

The next two days saw thousands leaving the planet for the relative safety of nearby systems. 

Many Axxilans were angry that the Empire wasn’t doing more to combat cartels like the Hutts and the Black Sun. All the holonews could talk about was the growing threat and why politicians were not increasing the size of the Axxilan Fleet. Of course, no one addressed the fact that there were utterly no credits to do such a thing. 

Shmi and Clio took extra shifts as several of their workers left the system to visit family, but neither of them minded. It felt better to do something with their hands than just sit and watch the tiny amounts of blurred footage the holonews had of the battle.

But at last, the news broke that the Axxilan fleet, with the help of a small force from Jumara, had held off the Black Sun and their forces had retreated. It seemed the fleet—what was left of it—--was returning to Axxila for repair and offloading all the seriously wounded. 

Shmi had not heard from Firmus for two weeks, and she checked the spaceport rosters every hour for a list of the ships that had returned.

When she found Firmus’s ship on the roster, Shmi didn’t even have to ask Clio for time. 

“Go,” said her friend, eyes kind. “Take whatever time ya nade.”

So Shmi joined a thick crowd of family and friends waiting anxiously at the exit to the spaceport, all craning their necks for a glimpse of those dear to them.

Eventually, people trickled away—some with loved ones—-many more without, and weeping bitterly.

Shmi’s lungs got tighter and tighter as the people around the landing pads cleared. 

Please, please, please…

Then—--

There he was.

If she didn’t know better, she might have assumed he was drunk with the way he wove toward the exit. 

“Firmus!” she called and he paused, swaying a little to squint in her direction. His uniform was soot smudged and sweat stained, and even from here she could see he hadn’t shaved in a while.

She moved to him quickly as he blinked at her in disbelief.

“Dear boy,” she said, taking him cautiously by the arms and scanning him swiftly with her gaze. “Are you hurt?”

“Ah…” he paused, and looked around. “No. No, not injured. Just…have’na slept in three days.”

She folded him to herself tightly then, patting his back and feeling the muscles there trembling in his fatigue. 

“I presume they have given you some leave?” she asked, pulling back to place a hand to his lined and weary face. 

“Yis,” he answered briefly. “Ah…three days.”

Three days seemed ridiculously inadequate, but she would take what she could.

“What is your plan?” she pursued. Whatever it was, it for damn sure was going to include him sleeping and eating under her watchful eye.

“Um…Ah just…Ah usually rent a room in a hostel…” he swayed again, and Shmi got an arm about his waist in alarm, worried he might pass out. 

“Obviously not, dear,” she told him briskly, deciding that she was taking command now. “You are in no fit state. You will come home with me. I’ve been meaning to tell you that room upstairs is yours anyway. Let’s get a speeder cab.”

“Shmi…” he began and then sighed, hanging his head as though it was too heavy for his neck. “All right.”

She coaxed his kit bag from his hand and slung it over her shoulder before she guided him out into the busy sounds of the Axxilan crowds and hailed a speeder.

Her heart was beating joyfully, despite his haggard appearance.

Alive, alive, alive, it sang.

He didn’t speak as the speeder whizzed through the streets and Shmi was content to sit in silence. Later they could deal with the horrors he had lived through. Later, after he had slept and eaten, they could work on healing the damage to his soul. It was enough that he was here by her side.

In short order they’d arrived at her humble home and she nudged him to the fresher, turning the shower on for him and leaving him to fumble with his uniform. She rummaged in his kit, relieved to find a simple pair of knit shorts and a t-shirt which she placed on the toilet once she heard the water going. 

She hustled upstairs to grab his pillow and the quilt from his bed and trotted back down to make a cozy spot on her fat sofa. She was not going to try and force him upstairs. She recognized the look of a man using his last shred of stamina. 

So when he stumbled out of the fresher, hair still dripping and very curly, she guided him to the sofa first, well aware he’d likely be there for a while. 

She moved into the kitchen and pulled a small pan from the stove to pour the contents into a mug.

“Drink,” she told him, folding his hands around the mug which held the thick and creamy stitla that was nutritious and comforting for the native population. He obeyed her though he only managed half of it before she could see that exhaustion was winning.

“Here,” she said, plucking the stitla from his hands.

“Shmi…” he mumbled.

“I’m here, Firmus,” she replied gently. “Sleep. You’re safe.”

The moment she guided his head to the sofa pillow his eyes closed, and she tucked the blue quilt over him. Then she sank to the cushion beside him and breathed out. 

The awful tension of the last few weeks slowly bled away, leaving her feeling hollow and emotional. She watched the quilt rise and fall in a regular rhythm with his breathing and rested her fingers on the damp curls, stroking them slowly. 

She’d never been given this opportunity with Anakin. Never been there to welcome him back from a mission and take care of him in this way. She had been robbed of seeing him grow into manhood. Oh she’d glimpsed a few images of the ‘hero without fear’. Her Ani had become a handsome man and a respected Jedi. But she hadn’t been there.

And—-

—-he’d never come for her.

She knew why that was now. It was most likely that he had been cut down as a traitor to the Empire, along with all the other Jedi. Because if he had survived, she had to believe he would have sought to find her no matter what obstacle stood in his way.

Shmi sighed heavily.

She needed to care for the son in front of her now and not pine for the one who would never return to her. 

She bent and kissed Firmus’s forehead softly before she rose and went to the fresher to gather his uniform and begin cleaning it. 

He slept for seventeen hours straight and she went about her business as usual. She checked in with Clio who reiterated that she was to take all the time needed for ‘the boy’ to rest and recover. Then she got to work prepping a special dinner. It was the type of dish that needed most of the day to slow cook, and the fragrant scents of the spices and meat began to permeate her little house in marvelous ways.

Firmus woke just as she was putting the finishing touches to dinner, and groaned into the pillow as he tried to move.

“Hello dear,” she told him, wiping her hands on her apron and moving to place a hand to his shoulder. “I imagine you’re sore. Take it slow.”

“Shmi…?” he asked in puzzlement, opening one hazel eye to take her in.

“Yes indeed. You were very tired. You’re home. And it’s time to eat.”

He eased himself into a sitting position, rubbing at sore shoulder muscles before he sniffed the air and looked to her inquiringly.

“Are you….is thet lamnessa ?” he asked curiously.

“It is,” she replied brightly. “Third attempt is the charm I think. My sweet neighbor two doors down has been teaching me Axxilan dishes.”

“It smells wonderful,” he said, “but…usually we have it far dinner not breakfast.”

Shmi laughed and moved to dish the fragrant tagine into her simple red clay bowls. 

“It IS dinner, silly boy. You’ve been asleep for ages. And don’t worry—you told me how long you have leave. We’re doing fine. Your job is to sleep and eat.”

He accepted a bowl, placing it on his knees, as she came to sit beside him.

“What is it?” she asked, noting that he was merely staring at the bowl, rather than eating.

He started almost guiltily. 

“Ah…Ah’m wonderin’ if this is rale,” he said, voice a little rough from sleep. “Sittin’ here like this…”

Shmi considered the sort of whiplash military personnel felt coming home after intense and terrible combat. 

“You’re all right…” she began, and started when he interrupted her abruptly.

“Am Ah?” he asked, jaw tight. “Dinna want ta blur reality…People git hurt that way…”

Shmi waited, uncertain how to proceed. He wasn’t angry, but he was clearly tense and afraid.

“Take a bite,” she encouraged quietly at length. “It’s too hot and will burn your tongue. At least, that’s always how I knew the difference between dreams and reality. Feeling pain."

He blinked a little at her and then returned his attention to the bowl. Then he gave a little nod to himself, gripped the spoon, and took a bite that was too big.

He immediately coughed, face going red, and Shmi rose quickly to retrieve a glass of water which he gulped like a man coming from the desert.

Then she waited again.

He set the glass on the low table and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he murmured at last. “Ah jist…Ah’m not sure how ta…”

She ached for him.

“Neither am I,” she agreed, resting a hand carefully on his back. “Just know that you’re not alone, dear. I always try to just do the next thing. Whatever that may be.”

He took another drink of water and then his mouth curled slightly at the edge.

“Ah like that,” he said quietly. “Good advice. Ah’m afraid ya might nade ta be quite patient with me.”

“Well that’s not hard,” Shmi told him, lifting her own spoon to take a little bite of lamnessa.

He huffed slightly and then followed suit.

“This is…verra good,” he informed her. “Sweeter than ones Ah’ve had before. Ah like it.”

They finished their meal in contented silence. 

He slept again—-this time in bed in his room—-and woke for breakfast. His ship was in need of extensive repair and Shmi secretly rejoiced when he told her he would be planetside for the next few weeks, traveling back and forth between the ship in orbit and home for the evenings. 

She treasured that time with him. It brought her heart joy when she could coax that slow smile onto his countenance, and she watched the lines of weariness and defeat slowly smooth from his young face. 

He helped repair the Reliant during the day and returned home, sometimes to quiet suppers with Shmi and sometimes to the little gathering of her friends. It seemed to help him to listen to Crysantha discuss the progress she had made on her degree— “I’m likely to graduate in the next year!”----or to watch Fronterro’s continued efforts for Clio’s affections— “Ya brought me a ridiculous bunch o’ flowers, ya chuckle head.”

Occasionally, they had time for walks in the market or the small park, and he would frequently close his eyes and breathe deeply. 

Shmi hoped that all of this was healing the parts of her boy’s soul that had been hurt.

When he had to depart, she coaxed him to leave his shorts and t-shirt in the drawer of the upstairs bedroom.

“For next time,” she told him, kissing his cheek and bringing forth that charming flush. “Be safe.”

“Thank you, Shmi,” he replied, and she watched that straight spine until it disappeared into the brightly clad crowd.

Chapter Text

“Why can’t they just die ?” yelled Renslo, firing without lining his shots up to be as effective as they could have. 

“They would if you actually hit them, Renslo!” Piett snapped back at him, fed up with the man’s incessant complaining. 

They were all tired. They were all hungry and half of them were wounded. They had not expected the large cohort of Shistavanen mercenaries the Thalassians had hired and thus, things had been far bloodier and more awful than anything Firmus had yet seen in his service.

What had been intended as a hit and run raid on Thalassia to cripple some of their slavery rings had now turned into a desperate fight for survival.

Their squad had been separated from the main body of Axxilan troops, and Commander Larga was doing her utmost to get them out of the hot zone from sheer memory. Their comms had been jammed just as she was speaking urgently with the Vengeance, and they were therefore completely unsure if the fleet was actually sending a rescue ship to the surface or not. 

Firmus wasn’t holding out a great deal of hope for that. 

Brainard had the rear guard, his head wrapped in gory bandages to cover the wing shot he’d taken. It didn’t seem to be slowing the big man down, but one inch further over and he wouldn’t have been with them.

Dinlay was limping but stalwart, having had the misfortune of a ricochet to his left calf. He’d stabbed a numbing agent into the area himself and wrapped it up.

Young Qiuzel had gone down two hours before, and Firmus was still trying to keep that awful image out of his head. Shistavanens had wickedly sharp fangs and claws. The boy had been torn almost in half—his gasping cry of anguish was the last thing they’d heard. 

It had been Qiuzel’s first mission. 

The narrow rocky passage through which they were now jogging provided cover of sorts—--Larga was reasonably confident it opened out to a wooded area where they could take cover and try to contact the Fleet once more. 

The narrow strip of blue sky could be seen far above them, giving dim illumination as they moved, the walls on either side rising at least six hundred feet above their heads. 

But the brief security this provided was shattered as the Shistavanens attacked—- from above.

The thing about a species with claws and a build like that? They were excellent climbers.

“Keep moving!” Larga bellowed ahead of them, having taken point herself. 

It was the only thing that could save them.

Humans were smaller and due to this, they could maneuver in here where the Shistavanens could not with their broad build. But the enemy had weapons too, and while their aim wasn’t great since they had to hang onto the rocks with one arm, there was not time to loiter.

Piett paused, took aim, and drilled one between the eyes. It was too big to fall to the ground and hung grotesquely above them, mouth wide and dripping.

“Keep moving!” he reiterated, placing a hand in Renslo’s back and pushing. Lunders fired behind him, and Brainard just missed having his throat opened by a vicious claw swipe.

Even for them, the passage was getting uncomfortably narrow, and Piett had numerous abrasions on his face and hands from running into the damp rock surface. 

Later, he really couldn’t be sure what it was that had him whip his arm in front of his face. Some flicker at the edge of his vision perhaps? A sound above him?

Whatever it was, his movement saved his life—-instead of his face being torn off, his left arm was opened from wrist to elbow.

He knew he yelled, the pain was blinding, and he wasn’t sure of his surroundings as he stumbled back into the rock. A strong arm was around his waist and shots were fired right by his ear.

“...got you, sir,” said a voice as though from a long tunnel. “Keep your feet, Lieutenant!”

“Firmus.”

Dinlay’s pale face swam before his. Then a sharp sting bloomed on his cheek. 

His friend had slapped him.

“Be here!” snapped Dinlay. “You have to be here right now , Piett or you will die.”

The Corellian dug a bandage from his field kit and wound it tightly around Piett’s arm, each loop causing new agonies. But his head was more clear and became more so with the hiss of a hypo into his neck.

“Stim,” Dinlay said briefly. “Terrible but necessary. Come on , Firmus.”

The entire left side of his uniform was wet and clammy with his blood but he moved forward on his own, pressing the wounded arm to his stomach as he used his right hand to lead with his blaster.

Dinlay and Lunders stayed in front of and behind him as they moved as quickly as possible. 

He couldn’t see Larga, but he could hear her as she continued to urge them on.

The passage widened and they were able to jog now, keeping a constant eye on the sheer walls above them.

“Where are they?” growled Brainard.

Piett was certain they hadn’t killed all of the enemy.

“Regrouping,” he said with certainty. “We nade ta go cautiously here.”

They all moved swiftly despite their injuries and Piett spotted Larga now. She’d lost her cap, but her blonde hair was like a beacon as she waved them on. 

There were indeed trees just beyond the opening of the passage, further up a grassy slope. If they could hide in there…try to reach the Fleet…

Just as Brainard cleared the passage, Larga turned.

“That ridge!” she yelled, gesturing up at it. “We can—-”

A bright red shot took her in the throat and she went down, her surprise forever frozen on her face. 

“Force damn it!” Piett shouted, wanting to weep, but knowing he could not waste time on such things. 

There they were. The mercenaries had been joined by Thalassians who were all wielding bowcasters. It had been one of them who’d taken out Larga.

If they tried to run up the slope they would be ridiculously easy targets. 

“Here!” he ordered, moving for the meagre shelter of a basalt pile near the opening of the passage they had just escaped from. It wasn’t much, but it provided some protection if they managed to lie fairly flat.

“Are they coming for us, Piett?” panted Renslo who had ended up on his left side.

“Ah dinna know,” he replied grimly. Larga thought she might have got through, but the whole point of trying to reach a ridge was to get a signal and communicate with the Fleet clearly.

Shards of rock and dirt blew over and around them as the enemy fired on their position.

“It’s a matter of time before they charge us!” Dinlay hollered into his ear. “We won’t stand a chance!”

Firmus was well aware. 

Shmi flashed into his mind. His peaceful room on Axxila she had made for him. 

No time for that. 

“Gather every denton we have!” he ordered. “Brainard, stuff em all in yore kit bag.”

They all obeyed, shuffling and rolling awkwardly to get to the weapons from their prone positions.

Piett cautiously peered over the rock again to be sure of his idea. There was no guarantee this would save them, but it could buy some time. 

“Done, sir,” Brainard snapped. They were the same rank, but right now he was deferring to Piett.

“When Ah give tha word, Brianard,” he said, slinging his blaster rifle around awkwardly with one hand, “Ah want ya ta throw it as hard as ya can into tha entrance of tha passage.”

“All right.”

“Why?” Renslo asked tensely, watery blue eyes fixed on the aliens still shooting at them from the ridge over the passage.

“Because Ah want to collapse that area and take ‘em with it,” Piett replied, internally cursing his useless left arm. “Damn it. Ah nade someone else ta take tha shot…”

Dinlay scoffed at him.

“None of the rest of us have a chance in hell of hitting that, Firmus. It has to be you.”

“Ah canna steady the barrel…”

“Oh, kark it, I’ll do that,” Renslo huffed beside him, and surprised Piett by rolling over to hold the rifle steady. “Anytime now.”

Piett sighted down the scope, and gripped the trigger with his right hand. 

“Brainard,” he said, breathing out as steadily as possible, “ NOW .”

The big man stood while Dinlay covered him as well as he could, and hurled the kit bag up and into the passage opening.

Right at the peak of its arc, Piett fired two shots and the dentons erupted in a blinding orange fireball. 

All of them pressed themselves flat to the earth as screams sounded above the roar of rock collapsing. The ground shook all around them as the passage collapsed on itself, sending a huge cloud of earth and debris over them.

“Go!” Piett shouted, spitting out mouthfuls of mud. He was half blind, but blinking furiously. One thing he knew—-they had to move now while they had a tiny advantage.

Someone helped haul him to his feet, his wounded arm throbbing viciously with every breath he took, and then they were off, stumble running their way to the meagre shelter of the trees. 

“Incredible shot, sir!” shouted Lunders as they fled.

Firmus didn’t have breath to answer him,  his legs shaking with his effort. He didn't think he could have done it if whoever was beside him hadn't gripped his uniform and practically dragged him along.

Renslo reached the tree line first and Piett realized it was Dinlay who’d been at his side this whole time.

“Comms,” Piett gasped to him. “We need someone to—-”

Inexplicably, Dinlay shoved him flat to the ground and white agony ripped through him from his wounded arm.

Why the KARK…?

“Dinlay,” he groaned, moving to hands (well, hand) and knees. 

“Are you hit?” Dinlay asked, and coughed beside him. 

Piett realized that Dinlay was still lying on the ground and there was bright blood all over his chin and—-

No, no, no no…

“Reynam!” Piett exclaimed, scrambling to reach his side as Lunders fired over head.

“Firmus we have to get into the trees!” Brainard shouted further up, and couldn’t they see …? Why weren’t they helping?

“They…need you…” his friend panted, and the blood all over his abdomen told the tale Piett didn’t want to read.

Dinlay had shoved him down. He’d deliberately put himself in harm’s way to save Firmus.

“Plase…” Piett pleaded, hand pressing futiley over the wound, the blood strangely warm over his fingers. “Why would ya…”

“Lead ‘em, Firmus…” Dinlay coughed again, another bright fountain coursing over his cheeks. “I don’t…regret anything…”

He was gone half a second later, staring up at the sky with a strange little half smile on his blood soaked lips. 

“Sir!” Lunders urged, gripping his good arm. “We have to retreat!”

Tears were making tracks in all the grime on Piett’s face, but he nodded as he allowed himself to be hauled to his feet and they ran the last staggering steps into the trees. 

There were significantly fewer Shistavanens and Thalassians approaching, many of them limping and blood streaked, but they would still easily overpower the four humans. 

Piett dug for his commlink and pulled it out, the smell of Dinlay’s blood strong and coppery on his fingers. 

“Squad Eight requesting—-” he began when the trees around them all bowed to the mighty rush of air above, right before the ship fired at the advancing enemy, wiping them all out in a matter of seconds. 

Lunders was bellowing in triumph, shaking his fists to the sky, while Renslo merely slumped in relief against a nearby trunk and met Piett’s eyes. 

The ship landed on an incline and several familiar uniformed figures exited. 

“Are there more of you?” hollered the leading Commander—a middle aged Twi’lek with a missing lekku.

“Not…not livin’,” Piett replied, squaring his shoulders and attempting to scrounge up the officer he was. “There’s bodies…”

“There’s bodies everywhere if you haven’t noticed,” she told him dryly, taking in his bloody appearance. “And you clearly need medical.”

“Plase,” he said, turning to Lunders. “Dinlay and…and Larga…You and Brainard…”

“On it, kid,” Lunders said more gently than Piett had ever heard. “I mean, sir.”

“We don’t have much time!” the Commander shouted as the two big men jogged down the torn up earth.

“Won’t take much time!” Brainard threw back over his shoulder while Piett was led to the landing ramp.

A medic forced him to sit and in short order he was attached to a drip while they cautiously unwound the filthy bandage.

“Kark me,” one muttered under his breath. “This…you’re going to need surgery no doubt.”

“Ah know,” Firmus told him tiredly as they bathed the awful wound in antibac and gave him a potent painkiller before wrapping his arm in thick field dressing. 

Lunders and Brainard stumped up the landing ramp not long after, each bearing their sad burdens. 

Dinlay and Larga were wrapped respectfully in black tarp and their bodies secured with transport webbing at the other end of the hold.

“Would you like to lie down, Lieutenant?” asked one of the medics, proffering him a water. The ship’s ramp closed and he felt the surge as it lifted away from the planet’s surface. 

“Ah’m fine here, thank ya,” he replied. Renslo sank to his side and downed half of his water.

There was a long silence as the crew went about their duties and Piett leaned his head wearily back against the metal bulkhead.

“I’m sorry,” Renslo mumbled next to him. “I know he was your friend.”

Piett glanced at him, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected sympathy.

“Thank ya,” he replied briefly, throat tight.

“And…I don’t ever see a situation where I’ll like you,” Renslo continued, looking at his dirty fingernails, “but you should know—-I’d take orders from you anytime, Piett.”

Couldn't ask more than that really. 

Firmus nodded slowly, closing his eyes.

“Ah appreciate that,” he said.

Their return to the ship was sober—they were not the only ones to return with the dead and the wounded from this attack. 

Firmus accepted Lunders’ help in disembarking, but he put out his hand to wait a moment as the bodies of Larga and Dinlay were carefully retrieved.

“Sir, you need a grav sled,” Lunders said, and Piett nodded wearily, well aware of his physical limitations. 

“Ah will, Sergeant,” he agreed. “Ah jist…Ah nade a moment…”

He moved to Dinlay’s covered form and rested his hand on his friend’s head. 

I’ll try to be worthy of your sacrifice. But I hate that you did this.

“Ya did everythin’ you could, kid,” Lunders said quietly behind him. “It’s why four of us are still alive.”

Piett released a long breath.

“Ah know, Sergeant. But you know how it is.”

“Yeah.”

The living would always carry guilt for the dead in circumstances like these.

After a few minutes he allowed himself to be deposited on the grav sled and transported to medical.

Three days later, having been informed that he would indeed keep the arm and use it once more after some PT, Piett was summoned to the Captain’s office.

“Sir,” he said, saluting and not caring for the strange way his duty jacket swung over his sling. But at least he was in uniform again. 

“Piett,” the Captain said, gesturing to a shabby chair across from his desk. “You’re welcome to sit if it’s more comfortable.”

“If you are, sir,” Piett replied, definitely not feeling comfortable sitting if his superior officer was standing. 

The Captain pursed his lips, but left the topic alone, moving to pick up a datapad and pace behind his desk.

“I looked over your report. Excellent work, Lieutenant. That was a hairy situation and you responded to the challenge.”

Firmus recalled that Larga had been the Captain’s friend.

“Ah’m…Ah’m sorry about Commander Larga, sir,” he offered. “She was one ‘o the best.”

The other man’s throat worked a little and he paused, sighing.

“Yes. Yes, she was,” he answered, before meeting Piett’s eyes once more. “We lost a lot of experienced officers in this action, Piett. And her death means I’m short a commander. So. Congratulations. Resh Company is yours.”

Piett blinked. 

“Sir, Brainard is of equal rank and was with me far this action. He—”

“----heartily recommended you for the promotion. Did you think that I wouldn’t speak to the men you serve with?”

“Um. No, sir.”

The Captain allowed his mouth to curl a little.

“Your response, Commander Piett, is to say ‘thank you, Captain’ and then get out of my office.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Captain,” Piett responded automatically, turning to obey. But his commanding officer stopped him.

“Piett. You’ll need these.”

He turned back to see a new rank badge in the Captain’s hand. The other man considered his sling for a moment, gnawing his bottom lip briefly before he came around the desk.

“Here.”

He swiftly removed the old rank badge and replaced it with the new one.

“Now you can go.”

Piett saluted and made his way to the public comms stations. He was not allowed to be on duty yet, but he had a very important message to send. There was too much damage to the ship to record a holo message at the moment, but he could use the voice control to write to Shmi.

Activating the privacy field, he seated himself and began.

************

“Nerfs do that…chakka awwk aaaaaaah….chenaka chanaka chenaka…parparpra…hello!”

Shmi smiled at this unconventional greeting as she entered the house.

“Hello to you too!”

“Karking kark kark…screeah screeah, aaa aaa…”

“Booka, you are very loud and that is so inappropriate,” Shmi told the wretzel and he raised his scarlet crest, tilting his head to study her and then swaying back and forth in excitement.

Two weeks before, Shmi had been passing a small exotic animal dealer and the wretzel had been in the window. 

Shmi had never considered herself a pet person, but for some reason the bird had caught her eye and the two of them had stared at each other for a long minute. Then Booka had lifted one taloned foot and touched the window lightly. Impulsively, Shmi had placed her hand against the glass on the other side and watched the red crest slowly flare as the bird watched her.

She went inside to inquire and was told that the wretzel had been donated to the shop as the previous owner found him too irritating. 

“Kriff you!” shouted Booka behind them as this was said.

“You see,” the shop owner said, gesturing and raising his eyebrows. “Are you certain that is the animal you want? I have some lovely sweet vacqels and—”

“Kriff you!”

Shmi smiled.

“I think it needs to be the wretzel.”

And so Booka was installed in her home. He could only flutter about as his wings were clipped, but he enjoyed walking around just as much. He had quite the mouth (well, beak) on him, and Shmi did her best to only say nice things to him in the hopes that she might have a better influence on what he yelled.

He had only recently taken to fluttering out to greet her, and he did so now, landing on her shoulder to continue with his funny imitation of human speech, nodding his head vigorously and stretching his white wings occasionally. 

And it was strangely comforting to have someone to talk to in her little house, even if it was just a bird.

Clio loved Booka immediately, and happily swore back at him whenever she popped in. Booka found that Clio also had the best dance moves and he did his most energetic dances when she came.

“Honestly,” Shmi said, shaking her head as the two of them bobbed their heads and moved about in the living area. “Maybe you should have him.”

“No, no,” Clio had responded, grinning at her widely. “He’s all yours. I already have an annoying creature that I try to deal with in Fronterro.”

Shmi moved to her kitchen and opened the cold storage to pull out one of Booka’s treats. It always amused her to watch him take it so carefully in his talons so that he could enjoy every last bit. 

He fluttered from her shoulder to his perch and proceeded to delicately nip at the treat while Shmi tapped at her computer and set it on the dining table.

Thank the Force.

A message from Firmus was blinking at her and she sat down immediately to open it.

Dear Shmi,

I wish I could send you a holo message, but we’re conserving power at the moment after this last mission, so I’m writing instead.

That’s likely just as well. This was a…a difficult one. We lost a lot of good people and I don’t know that we gained all that much. Well. That’s not entirely true. We freed some slaves, and that is always a win when we can take beings out of such horrors.

Her dear boy. The holonews had praised the actions of the Anti-Pirate Fleet. But the casualty numbers had been terrible. 

I’m sorry this won’t be as lengthy, Shmi. I’m feeling rather wrung out at the moment.  

How she longed to hug him. 

You should know I was wounded, but I swear to you that I’ll be fine and am healing very well at the moment. I’ll be back on duty in a few days. 

Firmus’s idea of ‘fine’ was not most people’s and Shmi pressed her lips together. What had happened?

The Captain promoted me to Commander, since, as I mentioned, we lost a lot of officers. It’s a small pay bump and I get my own quarters. Granted, they’re about the size of a large closet and nothing on the lovely room in your house, but I do like the privacy.

Well! She would need to send him a celebratory gift for that. Commander Firmus Piett. Yes, that sounded very important indeed.

Dinlay was killed.

I wrote that and it feels very surreal. I was there—I saw it happen. He did it for me, Shmi. 

And now he’s gone.

Tears pricked her eyes for the sake of the son who was hurting so far away. She’d always hoped to meet Dinlay as Firmus spoke of him with fondness. Oh, Firmus.

Don’t misunderstand; I’m grateful to be alive, but I keep turning around expecting to see him and I just…I don’t.

If the galaxy was in any way just, she should be able to just appear at his side so she could hug him.

I hope you’re well. I would love to hear about everyone when you get a chance. Your letters always remind me that there is life outside of the Fleet and that I am doing something which keeps dear people safe. 

All my love,

Firmus

Shmi wiped the damp from her face and stared sightlessly out the window.

The Rim was not easy. She had become soft, staying here where she was free and making a good living. Where she had friends, and good food, and a bird. All very modest by most standards, but she was content. 

Her boy though—

Her boy faced the scum of the galaxy and saw first hand what sentient beings could do to each other, and he did so every day. 

She returned her attention to the computer and pulled up a new tab. She would send him another little tree to celebrate his promotion. That one would do. It was supposed to have very soft needles and a gentle, sweet scent.

Once the tree was ordered, she settled in to write Firmus a response. 

Dearest Firmus,

I was so very sorry to hear about Dinlay. I realize that nothing I say can really bring any sort of comfort to you, but I long to be there so that I could hold you and just breathe. 

Sometimes that’s all there is, isn’t it?

Did he have family? Would it be all right, do you think, if I wrote to them? To tell them how grateful I am for the fact that he gave his life for my son’s? If it was me, it would help to know that his death was so brave and sacrificial. But if you don’t think they’d appreciate it, I won’t.

And I know you, Firmus Piett. You’ll be ‘fine’. I really dislike that word. Please, please dear, assure me that you were not about to die. 

I know the circumstances are not happy, but you should know I’m just so proud that you were promoted. Your Captain knows quality when he sees it. Expect a little something from me when…well whenever they can deliver it to you I suppose. 

I can’t say anything too dramatic is happening here, but then, I suppose that’s a blessing for us both isn’t it?

Crysantha graduated with honors and we had a little party for her on my roof. I’m looking forward to a time you can see what I’ve done up there—the flowers are just magnificent. I’m quite proud of myself—who would have thought a woman from a completely desert plant could grow things?

I bought a wretzel. I know, bizarre impulse on my part, but I just…knew he needed to come home with me. He’s rather loud and annoying, but I love him and he makes me laugh. His swearing is terrible—worse than a sailor, Firmus dear. 

Naturally, Clio loves him. And I should tell you, I THINK that it is possible Fronterro is wearing down her resistance. I never would have imagined it, but the other night he brought her a ridiculously bright bouquet, and while she did punch his arm, she TOOK IT.

I’ve never seen her do that. Fronterro acted like a happy drunk all evening and he never had a drop of the alcohol. So. Make of that what you will. 

I miss you terribly, dear. Please know you are dearly loved and not just by me. My friends ask about you all the time. 

Stay safe. The Force keep you.

Love,

Shmi

She sat back after she pushed send.

Why had she added that?

She never had before. The Force was something she acknowledged, but tried not to think too much about after Ani’s birth. Of course, those born of the Desert knew the old ways. Knew that the Force had ancient roots under all the sand and rock. 

Why had she said that to Firmus?

She meant it of course. She would do almost anything to keep her boy safe. But she couldn’t really say that the Force had done all that much good in her life. 

It brought you Ani, her brain reminded her.

And she would always be grateful for that. But deep in her heart, Shmi had always wondered—-

Why?

Chapter Text

“Shmi?” asked the male voice at the other end of the comms call. “Shmi Skywalker?”

“Yes,” she answered, fear already clawing at her insides. This call was coming from the Fleet Hospital. 

“Kriff you!” shouted Booka in the background.

“I was given your name to contact,” the man continued, as she placed a hand blindly to the wall and took deep breaths. “We have an officer here—-”

Oh Force. Oh, STARS.

It had only been six months since he’d told her he’d been wounded in that mission on Thalassia. She wasn’t sure she could do this—-how did parents the galaxy over send their children to war? How did they handle the surge of fear every time an unknown voice came over the comm line?

“Is he all right?” she broke in, desperate to just know. “Please—”

The tears were already springing to her eyes and she stuffed a fist into her mouth.

“So you know him then? Firmus Piett?”

“YES. Please , just—-”

“Kriff you!”

“He’s mostly all right, ma’am,” the voice reassured, and she breathed once more, fat tears overflowing onto her face. “But after the Fleet’s return, we’re overrun with serious cases and are therefore trying to get the walking wounded to their families and friends. Are you able to—-?”

She nearly went to her knees on the smooth floor in her weak relief.

“Can I come now?” she ran over him again in her keen desire to see her boy. She hadn’t even known the Fleet had returned to Axxila. And wait—walking wounded?

“Kriff you!”

That damn bird.

“Absolutely, thank you. He’s got a concussion or we would have let him do this himself. Come to the main lobby.”

She was there as fast as the speeder cab could take her, and she jogged through the sliding doors into a sea of people doing just what she was.

Harried personnel were trying to maintain some sort of order at the large front desk and Shmi did her best to be patient in the lines. After all, she knew that her dear one was alive and likely to remain that way.

It was only at this point that she realized she was wearing mismatched shoes. She’d just shoved them on in her haste to get to the hospital. Ah well. No one else would care, certainly. 

The girl who looked over her computer screen to help her was a very obviously exhausted Elesian, her normally orange skin tones slightly pink and her antenna drooping over her hair.

“Sorry for the wait,” she began in long suffering, practiced tones, “But—”

“No need to apologise, dear,” Shmi interrupted kindly. She should have brought hooba snacks or something . “I can see how overrun you are. I just need to locate Commander Firmus Piett and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The girl tapped away on her computer. 

“Third floor. There’s a public recovery area. He’ll be somewhere in all of that. Next!”

Shmi thanked her, even though the girl couldn’t hear her and moved toward the lifts. The lines for these were also immense, so she resigned herself to a great deal of exercise and began to ascend the broad stairs.

She had to pause at the top of the second set because she wasn’t as young as she used to be and there were a lot of stairs. And who knew this many people could be packed into this hospital? Her heart ached as she passed group after huddled group—-some weeping loudly, others with that thousand yard stare as they tried, no doubt, to process their grief. 

She was one of the lucky ones.

At last she reached the third floor. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as the ground floor, but it was busy enough—-far more than this hospital had ever seen, Shmi was certain. Every corridor leading off of the recovery area had grav sleds and med beds along the walls, and medical personnel were running back and forth constantly. 

Shmi began to walk methodically around the room, looking for Firmus, and at last she spotted a familiar curly head in a hover chair near the bright yellow potted ferns. She honed in, dodging numerous people and trying to be polite in her urgent need to reach her boy.

A med tech in a limp, white uniform was standing by Firmus, who was seated in a hover chair amongst numerous other military personnel who were deemed to have ‘minor’ injuries.

“I’m Shmi,” she informed the man. 

“Oh excellent,” the somewhat frazzled man replied, tapping at his datapad. “We are overrun .”

“M’sorry,” Firmus murmured, head leaning wearily back on the hover chair. “They wouldn’a let me jist go without botherin’ you—-”

Shmi studied him swiftly with a well practiced eye. He looked as though he’d been wrung out and dropped into that chair. A black eye was evident, and he was gazing at her as though he didn’t quite see her.

She placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him.

“And that’s enough out of you, Firmus Piett,” she said as though he was ten. Even the medical attendant’s eyes widened at the authority in her tone. She turned to him.

“What do I need to know to look after him?” she inquired. 

“I can send you with pain meds and something to help with the broken bones,” the man said, looking over at a little white droid that zipped off immediately. 

“Broken bones ?” Shmi flashed Firmus a swift glare, and he sighed.

“A few cracked ribs and a cracked tibia,” she was told. “He’ll be able to walk without crutches in about four days. Utterly no walking about in the first 24 hours. Give the bone regen time. That’s the blue bottle.”

The droid returned, its hidden grav motors smelling hot from its haste as it handed Shmi the blue bottle as well as a small packet of pain meds. 

She took the meds and the flimsi list of instructions before signing something to release Firmus into her care.

As she pushed the chair toward the lifts, he made another ridiculous attempt to eschew aid.

“Ah’m sorry,” he repeated. “Ah just—-there wasn’t anyone else and really a med droid could do this…”

“Now you’re just being insulting, silly boy,” she answered as they waited in the long line. “I will always come for you. And when you have a home to go to you will not be finding somewhere else…honestly…”

He gaped at her, utter confusion all over his countenance.

“You…Ah hev…ma home is with ya? Ah hev a home?”

Her heart clenched in pain once more.

She bent over him, moving the hover chair slowly as the line advanced.

“ Firmus . You have a home. And I love you. That concussion did a number on you.”

She pressed a kiss to his head and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He was silent for long moments.

Then—-

“Ah’m sorry. Damn brain…verra jostled…Shmi…”

He lifted a hand and she took it in hers and held it all the way into the lift and down to the main floor.

Here she helped ease him into the back seat of a speeder cab and gave instructions to the driver before she slid in beside Firmus.

“Ah don’t want ya ta worry, Shmi,” he said quietly. “Ah know it’s hard for ya…”

“I’d worry a lot more if you didn’t tell me! You are such a nerf sometimes, Firmus, for all that you’re a commander.”

But she smiled and took the hand closest to her, reveling in its warmth. 

He was alive. He was with her. 

“I’m so grateful it isn’t too serious,” she said quietly, appreciating his lean form beside her. 

He relaxed at last, accepting that he was firmly in her charge, and allowed his head to drop to her shoulder.

“Thank you for getting me,” he replied.

She gave silent thanks to the galaxy.

“Always,” she told him.

****************

Firmus wasn’t sure if he slept or not, he just knew that Shmi was an anchor and he leaned his aching head on her shoulder until the movement about him stopped.

“We’re here,” she said quietly, and he eased into a sitting position, wondering if it was possible for literally every bone in one’s body to hurt simultaneously.

He decided, that yes, yes they could as Shmi gave him a hand to scoot from the back of the speeder cab and stand on one leg as she gathered his crutches to hand to him as well. He knew she was doing her best to be gentle, but having one’s ribs and one’s knee be damaged at the same time just meant inevitable pain.

But at length they made their way inside her cheerful little home and the door hissed shut behind them with a comforting ‘thunk’. Shutting out the galaxy for the time being. Shutting out the pain, and noise, and overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

“Kriff you!”

“Booka!” Shmi admonished as Firmus looked around at this loud declaration. 

Right. The bird. The wretzel she’d adopted.

It was sitting on a tall wooden stand beside its cage, which Shmi had situated by the window in the living area. It tilted its head, red crest flaring as it studied him. 

“Hello, Booka,” he told it tiredly, and the bird bounced a few times, still watching him.

“Kriff you!”

“He still says that to me as well,” Shmi told him apologetically, moving to her cold storage to retrieve what looked like a bright blue caterpillar.

Because it was a caterpillar, Firmus realized as Booka fluttered to her arm to retrieve it, muttering like an old man the whole way. Once he grasped the treat, he nibbled Shmi’s earlobe, yelled ‘sleemo!’ to the general air and fluttered back to the perch.

“You’re taking my room for the moment,” Shmi continued, lifting his kit bag and moving in that direction. 

“Ah’m happy for tha sofa…” he began, and she laughed. 

“Booka wouldn’t give you any peace, dear. No, my room. I won’t have any arguments.”

And in short order, he found himself bullied into bed, Shmi dutifully giving him the bone regen and pain meds. 

He fought sleep for some minutes after she kissed his forehead and left. Her room was not as familiar as his room upstairs, and he ran his eyes over the comforting signs of her presence.

A desk with her designs and ideas pinned physically to various spaces around her computer. Thick, caf colored drapes over the window to keep the room cool. A painting of waterfalls from somewhere like Naboo or Alderaan. The lamp on her bedside table with a shade composed of multiple colored panes of glass.

And below that—-

Firmus’s throat tightened a little.

There were two very simple holo frames on the table. One displayed a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, smiling out at him with one tooth missing. The image was a little frayed at the edges, and he suspected it was the only one Shmi had. He knew who it was without asking.

But the other…

He wondered who had taken it. He had no memory of it happening. But there he was, a half smile pasted on his face as he looked off camera. He was in uniform, so he had to have been on leave here at some point when it was taken. 

Being loved, he thought drowsily, healed a great many things.

Shmi stuck rigorously to the medical instructions for his healing, and he spent the first two days mostly on the sofa while Booka swore colorfully at him and Shmi fed him all sorts of good things. 

This seemed to offend the wretzel most deeply, and it didn’t take him long to be bold enough to stomp over in that funny crooked walk of his to steal bits of Firmus’s food. 

“Booka, stop that!” Shmi ordered, holding out one of his treats instead.

“Rakka rakka rakka, nerfs, nerfing, wannahave…kriff treats…KARK,” Booka replied, successfully freeing a piece of the cheese bread from Firmus’s fingers and sitting right there to eat it in front of him, eyeing him with challenge.

He grinned.

“Yore so jealous, ya daft bird,” he told it and the crest flared again. 

“Kriff you,” it declared, a crumb dropping from its beak.

“Yes, same ta you,” Firmus answered.

Shmi sighed.

On the third day of his recovery, Shmi had a little party, complete with a frooja cake and wine. She arranged it on her roof in the midst of the beautiful garden she had created up there and did not allow Firmus to do anything but relax on a lounge chair. This had him nearly crawling out of his skin until Clio arrived.

“There ya are!” she declared. The bright orange dress she wore suited her skin tones perfectly, and she had wrapped a green silk scarf around her head to keep her hair back. “Ya have ta stop worryin’ ma friend so much ya silly boy!” she told him, smacking gently at his shoulder before she turned to take the tray out of Shmi’s hands. “I’ll arrange this and kape this ‘un out o trouble,” she informed Shmi with a grin. 

Shmi smiled and disappeared back down the stairs while Clio set the tray on the small table over by the fragrant, climbing vines. She stood there for a moment, hands on her hips as she gazed around at the color and beauty Shmi had created on the roof.

“Ya know if anythin’ serious happened to ya, she’d be devastated,” she said bluntly, striding back over to seat herself on the chair beside him. “Bear that in mind, hmm, Commander?”

He looked down at his lap and breathed out. 

He did know. It was difficult, loving people and being loved by them. Because he also had his duty to carry out. And in critical moments, he couldn’t just stop and think about himself.

“As much as I can,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

She nodded, chocolate eyes unusually serious. 

“We’re all that proud of ya, kid. Ah hope ya know that too.”

He reached out a hand and she gripped it in hers firmly.

Shmi returned, Fronterro hard on her heels.

“See the conquering hero comes!” he declared, spreading his arms with a flourish and bowing toward Piett.

“The cheese has slid right off yore cracker, hasn't it, ya daft bugger?” Clio told him with an unimpressed look. 

“I am of course, referring to our young Commander here,” Fronterro responded, completely unruffled. His shirt this evening was an eye watering pattern of hot pink flowers and yellow vines. “Clio, my goddess, do you not think that tonight is the perfect night to marry me? Here on this roof?”

Clio rose and snatched the bottle of brandy he’d brought from his hand. 

“If yore gonna be a fountain o nonsense, Ah nade ta start drinkin’,” she said, prying out the cork. 

But Firmus had seen the corner of her mouth curl.

Hmmm.

Crysantha arrived shortly after, towing a gangly youth with a shock of ginger hair and somewhat goggly green eyes. He was introduced as the boyfriend and their little party got started as Shmi brought up the cake.

Firmus held that night close to his heart for many years to come. 

The sky around them turned glorious shades of pink and orange and lavender as the sun set. Then, the deep and glorious blue of twilight was upon them as well as the first stars. Shmi had colorful hover lights all around the roof top which illuminated all of her guests in warm and forgiving hues. 

The food was simple and delicious. Fronterro burst out into random bits of song, and Crysantha’s boyfriend joined in occasionally, demonstrating surprising ability to harmonize with a deep baritone. The alcohol made them merry and it was very late indeed before everyone left in a haze of happy goodnights.

And at last, it was merely he and Shmi. 

She returned to the roof after letting their guests out, bearing a quilt for him and drawing a shawl around herself before she too settled on the lounger beside him and they gazed up at a sky bursting with stars.

Memory swept him then, and he appreciated Shmi more than ever for not speaking right away. 

“Rill an’ Ah used ta do this,” he told her after a moment. “T’was the only peaceful place, our roof. So we’d come up an’ look at tha stars.”

Shmi’s hand found his under the quilt, and she squeezed it. 

“That’s the Krayt,” he told her, pointing up at the familiar massive constellation. “Tha snout is those three stars, an’ then tha eye is tha massive one ya see?”

She nodded.

“Over there,” he continued, “that’s tha whomp rat.”

She laughed.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Yes. But, over there, near tha horizon, that’s tha Ship.”

He smiled as he traced the familiar lines of the constellation with his finger.

“There’s the masts, and then tha prow. That’s her hull outline. And that slightly blue star? That’s the flag.”

“Oh that sort of ship,” Shmi said in understanding. “One of the ancient ships. Yes, I can see.”

“Tis ma favorite,” he admitted, and her hand squeezed his again.

“I’ll think of you when I see it,” she said.

*************

Dearest Shmi,

I’ve started this message a hundred times it feels, but it always sounds so…blunt. Harsh. And yet, I didn’t want to just spring this news on you when I come for leave.

The thing is, mother of my heart, when I come to see you next, it will likely be the last time for…I’m not certain how long. 

You can likely guess now what I have to tell you, after our last conversation about it, but I need to say it nonetheless.

I am joining the Imperial Navy. 

You were immensely helpful as we discussed all the pros and cons of this, and I realize this is not the path you had hoped I would take. Please believe I’m going into this with open eyes—I know that the Empire has many flaws. However, the Rim is struggling. We both saw how effective that action was against the Hutt Cartel near Trogan. That is the sort of effect the power of the Imperial Navy can bring. 

I want to be part of that effort. To bring stability to the Rim. 

But the other thing is, Shmi…you and I both know that being ‘requested and required’ to join the Imperial Fleet is more about required than requested. I do not want to risk undue attention to family and friends if I refused this opportunity. I assure you, I do not feel as though I am held hostage here. I WANT to do this. In speaking with the naval representative for the Imperial Forces, she was very encouraging about the efforts the Empire plans to take in order to curb the suffering and crime out here. 

I’m to be posted to the Avenger as the weapons officer. Which means I will be reporting directly to the first officer and stationed primarily on the bridge. A star destroyer, Shmi. I can picture you shaking your head, but…you know how I am about ships. It’s a Victory class and it can even be taken to the surface of a planet! I confess I want to be aboard one that does so just to see how they manage it. 

The Avenger has roughly ten thousand crew. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around such a massive shift from the Axxilan Fleet. 

And it is a wrench to leave. But my Captain was one of the people who encouraged me to take this posting—he pointed out that it is very rare that the Empire takes notice of Rim officers and I should not waste this opportunity. 

I can’t wait to see you, and I dread it at the same time as it means we will be parted for a long while, Shmi. I am most sorry for that. 

All my love,

Firmus

Shmi leaned her head on one head and blew out a long breath. 

They had been discussing this for the last two months—-ever since he’d told her of the Empire’s summons. In one sense, it was a tremendous honor, and she was very proud he’d been noticed and recommended. 

But in another sense…

She sighed again, and Booka, picking up on this, stalked over to her to bob by her foot and do the funny little song he’d come up with. 

She smiled at him and rose to get him a treat and a cup of caf for herself. 

Firmus was still so young, not even thirty, and she could hear the eagerness in that message—-that keen desire to save the galaxy. Despite what he’d said, Shmi was rather afraid that he was looking at this with more naivete than he realized. 

But she’d given her thoughts. They’d had many discussions and messages about this. He was always respectful, her dear boy, and he listened to her, weighing her opinions seriously. She’d known though. She’d seen that light in his eyes as they spoke over holo image. He truly believed he could do more good this way. He believed what that Imperial representative had told him about helping the Rim.

Shmi did not. 

But he had made his decision and she would respect that and support him as she always had even as cold fear chilled her insides. She sipped her caf in an attempt to warm up. 

The Empire was not known for grace or humanity. Yes, they sought to crush pirates and slavers, but equally—-it did not seem that they cared to do much more than that for the beings harmed by them.

Several days later, she travelled to the space port to wait for him, trying to view it as any other time. He was not a prisoner, after all. He was not leaving forever. He would still communicate and see her. Just…

…not very often.

And he would be so far away. 

Kriff, she hated being on the verge of tears like this. For days now, she had found that tears were always right below the surface. She was glad to have Booka swearing his way around the house because he could yell what she felt in her heart. 

The Empire was taking her boy. 

Just as they had taken Anakin.

She couldn’t help but think of that. And she knew it wasn’t the same, yet—-

She brought the tiny tree she was holding up to her nose and breathed in the faint scent from the soft lavender needles. This grounded her and when she looked up again, she saw that a young man in deep olive green was approaching her.

It took her brain long seconds to process that she was seeing Firmus.

He grinned at her, clearly having noted her surprise, before he removed his new cap and swept her into a hug. 

“Shmi,” he breathed, “Ah have missed ya so much.”

“And you, darling,” she returned, one hand around his back and the other protecting the tiny tree from getting crushed between them. “But look at you! You didn’t say that you were already in uniform!”

She stepped back to take in this new appearance.

The Axxilan uniform had been the color of sand, complete with brown boots and unremarkable cut.

Firmus made an undeniably attractive figure in this new and very well cut uniform. The jacket had clean lines and hung crisply at his shoulders, tapering to his waist and hips. He had on jodhpurs which tucked neatly into the highly polished black boots that ended right below his knees. 

It was simple and elegant and suited him very well, even as she struggled with all that it represented.

“You are very handsome, Commander Piett,” she said, patting his chest and eliciting that flush on his cheek bones. 

“Verra kind,” he murmured, ducking his head a little. “Is…thet far me?”

He gestured at the little tree and she nodded.

“Of course. I presume you’re taking your collection with you?”

“Ah am,” he agreed, as they made their way out of the spaceport. “Thank ya far that.”

Once outside, he stopped her from hailing a speeder cab.

“Can we…can we jist walk?” he asked, “Ah’ll carry tha tree. But if it’s too far…”

“Of course not,” Shmi replied, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m not that old, Firmus.”

He smiled a little.

“Ah know, jist didna want ta impose.”

So they walked slowly and easily toward Shmi’s house. She could see that he wanted to ingrain his surroundings in his memory, and he often pressed the hand she had over his elbow. 

“Ah’m sorry,” he said at length as they moved through the small park on this side of the city. “Ah know this is not what ya hoped far…”

“Firmus,” Shmi interrupted. She paused on the bridge that spanned the artificial pond where bright blue linx ducks were floating lazily. “This choice is not about me. It is about you. What you want to do with your life.”

He leaned on the railing beside her, hazel eyes grieved.

“Ah appreciate that. But—-you are part o’ mah life. A verra important part. Ah jist…Ah dinna want ya ta fale as though Ah jist cast aside your thoughts. Or think Ah’m…Ah’m abandoning you.”

She sighed. Sweet Firmus was all too conscious of how she struggled even now because Anakin never returned. 

“My dear,” she said, her eyes on the fat female duck below them, “I know you have not just dismissed me. It is possible for us two to disagree and still love one another. And you are not running off to join a cartel. You are joining a Fleet with the end goal of making us all safer here. I may not see this move quite as you do, Firmus, but I will support you. I assure you, I don’t feel abandoned.”

He was quiet, watching her steadily as she turned to face him.

“I do have dear people here,” she continued, reaching up to frame his cheek with her hand. “However,  none of them are you . And I will miss you in a different way. You will not even be in the same sector. So. I have the right to worry about you. But I will not undermine your decision.”

He swallowed and leaned slightly into her palm. 

“Ya are the kindest soul Ah’ve ever known,” he told her. “The best woman in the galaxy.”

“Sweet talker,” she responded, patting his cheek gently and removing her hand so they could keep walking.

“Ah mane it,” he said earnestly. “Plase never doubt it. Ah owe a great dale of who Ah am to you.”

He was not given to flattery, her Firmus. He was very sincere, and appreciated others being so with him. 

“Well,” Shmi said, sliding her hand back under his arm. “I’m honored. Make certain you stay precisely who you are in the Imperial Navy. Don’t let them change you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

And if anyone could keep such a promise , Shmi thought as they passed cheerful flower boxes and a fragrant pitchak stand, it was Firmus Piett.

Chapter Text

Piett did his best not to peer out the viewport at the Star Destroyer like a Rimmer rube as their shuttle approached. 

But, oh she was lovely. 

You’re such a nerf , echoed Rilla’s voice in his head from long ago conversations. Hot roofs and childish dreams.

How he wished she could see him now, accomplishing exactly what she’d hoped he would do by going to the stars.

Avenger was one of four destroyers docked at this space station—-a minor one in the orbit of Ord Cestus. The Empire had established a small presence here on what they saw as the frontier to the Rim. The planet contained a decent Imperial medical facility and was capable of processing a handful of Star Destroyers and their crews when they docked.

As now.

They passed into her mighty shadow, and Piett took note of all the hangar bay entries and the vast amount of much smaller vessels coming and going constantly. Their transport shuttle was but one drop in the vast, orderly traffic.

As they touched down, the officer who had met him at the orbital station, rose from his seat.

“Your deck officer will meet you,” he said dispassionately, “And explain where to go and who to report to. And, Piett—”

He paused and gave Firmus an up and down glance as though he’d tracked in mud.

“----lose the accent.”

He gestured, clearly expecting no further communication, and Piett stepped out onto the landing ramp, duffel over his shoulder.

Lose the accent?

How in the galaxies was he to do that? Did they expect that he would literally change his entire way of speaking?

The deck officer was a harried looking woman who made it clear to him that she had much better things to do than on boarding new recruits. 

She took him to his living quarters first, and while his area was small, it was still his alone. Apparently, the rank of commander did mean something to the Imperial Fleet. Then he was led to the senior bridge with repeated commands on the lift ride to be quiet and not disturb those on duty.

As though he was a small child, Firmus thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

But it was magic to step out onto the bridge of a Star Destroyer. 

No one shouted orders. The crew moved about smoothly, boot soles designed not to make noise on the deck plating. Beneath it all was the serene hum of numerous control panels, and of course, the movement of the ship herself. 

“The first officer is in command at the moment,” the deck officer told him. “This way.” Piett followed the woman to an alcove in the atrium. 

“This is Commander Nixon. He is the senior coms officer. You report to him.”

Commander Nixon was very tall and quite slim— a man in his fifties with an elegantly trimmed salt and pepper beard. 

“Thank you, Frella,” he said, and held out a hand to Piett. “You must be Commander Piett.”

“Yes, sir,” Firmus replied, shaking his hand. The man’s grip was gentle, which was consistent with his mild demeanor. 

“Well then. Let’s see what you know and what you don’t,” Nixon commented, turning to the coms area.

Piett spent two hours familiarizing himself with coms. Five people were on duty at all times in this area to convey necessary information from within the ship, from ship to ship, and more long range to space stations and to Coruscant itself. 

It was not entirely dissimilar to what he’d done before, but the equipment was, of course, new and state of the art. He would need to look at the ship’s manuals on his data pad and study before he knew all of it. 

As he was seated at the internal coms station, the first officer came over. 

“Sir,” Nixon greeted, saluting as Piett rose in respect. “This is our new coms man. Commander Piett. Piett, this is second Captain Harbaugh.”

Harbaugh was a bit fleshy and had clearly struggled with acne in younger years, judging by the pock marked skin. He might have been handsome had he bothered to use weights and eat healthily, but Piett recognized a drinker from his ruddier skin tones. The first officer curled his lip slightly and stared at Piett with icy blue eyes.

“Mm. The recruit from…Axle?”

“Axxila, sir,” Piett said, holding out a hand. “A pleasure ta be aboard.”

The man huffed audibly and ignored the hand. Firmus lowered it back to his side.

“Yes it would be,” he drawled. “Try to recall this is his Majesty’s Imperial Navy, Piett, and not some spice freighter that has seen better days.”

“Aye, sir,” Piett replied somewhat uncertainly.

“ That ,” Harbaugh sighed. “You cannot sound like the Rimmer yokel you are. Stars . Work on that, would you, Commander?”

And he strode back up the central walkway without waiting for a response.

Piett’s cheekbones were hot, and he clasped his hands behind his back lest Nixon see that he had clenched them into fists.

“Hem, yes, well. Ah…Harbaugh can be…off putting,” the senior comms officer said apologetically. “Don’t let it get to you, Piett. I’m sure you’ll do great work. Just ah…work on perhaps…softening the tone a bit. You know…” 

He trailed off, clearly a man who didn’t like such awkward situations, and who wanted to move on as swiftly as possible.

“Yes, sir,” Piett answered briefly, feeling ill inside. 

Wonderful. A mere six hours aboard, and all he needed to change was a fundamental part of who he was. 

Things only proceeded to get worse.

Firmus was faced with his own naivete on a daily basis. Had he really believed that he could just come aboard an Imperial ship and start fixing the galaxy? Learning a new ship and its workings was immense. On top of that, he downloaded linguistic studies and began to work on changing his voice. 

It was agonizingly difficult, not only because moving his mouth and tongue in such a foreign way was hard, but because he felt as though he was playing a part. Wearing the mask of someone else. 

Firmus Piett, the officer from Axxila—-the one who had shed blood fighting spicers and slavers, the one who had friends and a mother, the one who loved plants and the sea—-he had to be hidden away behind Commander Piett of the Imperial Navy. The one who was correct and polished, neutral of face, and elegant in speech.

He learned very quickly that Core prejudice was rampant, not just on the Avenger, but in the Fleet. 

Renslo had been small potatoes compared to this. 

So Firmus dedicated himself to being the very best officer he could be. Axxila would be a weight around his neck if he reminded people of it too often. After his shifts, he ate quickly and then retired to his quarters to spend several hours studying—first his linguistic work, and then ship’s schematics. He was determined that not only would he know coms inside and out, but that he would know the ship that way as well. 

Things were far more compartmentalized in the Imperial Fleet. He understood the necessity of this, given how immense it was. But even so—a good officer should know his ship, not just his area of specialty. It would not help anyone in the heat of battle if the bridge officers were clueless about engineering or weapons. 

He was not under any illusion that he was the only one to think of this. Any decent officer should have a broad knowledge of their vessel. Further, any officer with aspirations to command---  well. That officer should set themselves apart. 

But Piett had found very quickly that he was not going to be given many opportunities to prove himself. He was given the most menial tasks possible. He was never put in command of coms while on the bridge even though that was a rotating position to give all of them experience. 

Nixon seemed to like him just fine, and would even offer mild corrections to Piett’s developing accent at times. But Nixon was the type who had reached the height of his promotions. He was not ambitious and he was not very driven. He was clearly quite happy to be doing exactly what he was doing, and he was reasonably competent. Piett didn’t see a situation therefore, where Nixon would push back against the decisions of first officer Harbaugh. And he had no doubt it was Harbaugh who made certain that he did not get assigned tasks which had much importance. 

The captain of the Avenger was a dark skinned woman with a build like Clio’s, but none of the warmth. She had been civil when she met Piett, and did not seem to have any underlying prejudice. She was just a very cool individual and was not given to speaking superfluously. 

On a ship of roughly eight thousand crew, Firmus found himself achingly lonely. Some of this was his own fault because he would go from shift to mess to studies without much time for social life in between.

He was on civil terms with the coms team, but no one went out of their way to invite him for drinks or boonta ball, or anything that others did in their down time. 

He’d put this down to being a newbie at first. Then he thought it was possible they didn’t care for the Axxilan background. 

But ultimately, it was clear that an unspoken understanding ruled the bridge on the Avenger: class pecking order was not to be meddled with. 

Captain Dura was above all of that, and in her presence, everyone was scrupulously neutral and polite. 

But when Harbaugh had the bridge, Piett made certain to stay out of his notice as much as he could. The trouble was, the first officer often sought him out, because he clearly enjoyed persecuting the recruit from the Rim. 

Thus, Piett’s frequent menial tasks. 

He did his best to keep his roiling frustration out of his communication to Shmi. 

She was his lifeline and he loved her more dearly with all this distance between them. She would send him holo messages when she could, and he would play them over and over to hear the sound of her voice and see her face. 

Booka was usually swearing in the background and even that made him smile and miss Axxila keenly. 

She would send images of her friends as well, and he enjoyed scrolling through them, imagining he was there listening to Fronterro’s nonsense and smelling the sharp cheese on a warm Axxilan night and joking with Crysantha’s boyfriend. 

One evening, his despair and loneliness were so keen he thought he might choke from it. He sat with his head in his hands on the edge of his bunk and closed his eyes against the angry tears that were threatening.

He was a grown man and a seasoned officer, Force damn it! Weeping like a child was not an option.

But in that black moment— even then—he couldn’t find it in himself to give up. To surrender. To accept that this was all he would be.

One of Shmi’s recordings was playing behind him and quite clearly Booka yelled, ‘kriff you!’

Firmus laughed. 

It was somewhat hysterical yes, but it was a needed release which didn't involve weeping. 

Because the wretzel had perfectly expressed his own soul in that moment.

“Kriff you!” he yelled into his room. At the galaxy really. 

All right. Harbaugh was determined to grind Piett under his Imperial heel. He may not be able to distinguish himself on the bridge. Fine. 

Piett would work with other parts of the ship. Get to know the crew and look for ways he could be truly useful. He’d always enjoyed engineering, so he’d start there. 

With this new resolve, he slept better that night than any other since he’d come aboard the Avenger. 

And the following day, after his bridge shift, he made his way to the vast engineering bays, munching on a pre packaged Dinubian pastry. 

Five months into his posting, and roughly three weeks after Firmus had decided he would not be cowed, Harbaugh called him into his office after a shift.

This had never occurred before, and Piett stepped in to stand as straight as possible before the man’s desk.

“You wished ta see me, sir.”

He kicked himself internally at this small slip. His accent had been all but smoothed away, but nerves had produced that little roll.

Harbaugh smiled nastily up at him.

“Still need some work on that then, don’t you, Commander?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Piett replied, stone faced.

“I have a job for you,” Harbaugh continued, rolling a stylus between his fingers. “We will have an army contingent coming aboard from Devastator to train our own army people. Tiresome, but there you are. So it’s the perfect task for you, Piett.” 

He rose and lifted a bottle of cheap brandy off his shelf to pour himself a glass. A very generous glass.

“You will liaise with the major while they’re aboard. This means, I don’t want to hear about any issues between the army and the navy during that time, is that understood, Commander? You will figure out what they need and keep it off my desk.”

As far as Harbaugh, and much of the Imperial navy was concerned apparently, the army was the second rate section of the Imperial Forces and the animosity was strong on both sides. The navy saw the army as neckless grunts, while the army considered the navy to be useless nepotism picks. 

Piett heard discourse like this all the time, from the mess halls to the bridge. 

It was a far cry from the way the Axxilan forces worked together. Oh, there were rivalries and divisions there too, of course. But they were mostly good natured, and put aside when dealing with the much bigger problems that faced the Rim. 

“Yes, sir,” Piett repeated blandly, determined that Harbaugh would not see any visible emotion at this assignment. 

“Keep the army from dirtying up the ship,” the man said, gesturing with his glass. “And if there are problems , Piett, I will be laying them at your feet, understood?”

“Understood,” he said. 

“Good. Then get out of my office and start working on this.”

“Yes, Captain,” Piett answered. “And the name of the officer I am to liaise with, sir?”

Harbaugh huffed as though Piett should just have known this.

“Major Veers.”

“Aye, sir.”

He promptly retrieved his data pad and set about communicating with Major Veers. His first message was redirected to a Captain Travis with a terse note– ‘administrative inquiries do not go to the senior officer’----and Travis was the one to respond to Piett’s questions from there on. 

It was likely a faint hope that he hadn’t just screwed up and offended the Major.

He arranged for their temporary quarters which they wished to have near the hangar bays where they would be working. This was rather tricky since most of those quarters were for the deck crews and engineering personnel. 

Happily, this was an area where his efforts to get to know the officers in engineering paid off, and they assisted him to work this out.

Something with the designation of ‘AT-AT’ was referred to frequently in the messages, and so he did some research. He then immediately shot off some questions for Travis regarding the transport of these machines because holy kark, that was going to present a serious storage issue, not to mention how were they transporting them over?

Overnight, Piett became an expert in gozanti cruisers as well as the retractable leg system the AT-ATs possessed. 

At 0300 with seven hours to go before Veers and his team arrived, Piett rubbed his blood shot eyes for the millionth time, and reviewed his list in a quiet corner of an officer’s lounge. 

He was essentially doing two jobs in the next several weeks and he vaguely wondered how the hell he was going to survive. Sleep would be a very rare commodity. 

He rolled his neck muscles and squinted at the screen as he scrolled down his list.

“Sir.”

He looked up at the mechanical voice to find a server droid at the table, its gleaming white metal body hovering at the exact height to carry trays properly. 

It took him a long beat to realize there was a beverage on its tray.

Had he ordered something…?

Apparently he had paused too long while trying to remember.

“Commander Nixon’s compliments, Commander. I am to convey the following message: ‘it’s not your tea, but it has caffeine and you might like it. Best of luck, Piett.’ End message.”

He allowed himself a small smile as he lifted the metal flask. 

Nixon was the right sort to be a bartender himself, he thought, as he took a careful sip. Not that he should ever say such a thing to his direct superior. But the man was the nurturing sort with a sympathetic ear. Not really the best for success in the Imperial Navy, but excellent for morose drinkers.

The beverage tasted vaguely of chocolate with caramel and spice hints. Almost like a Chandrillan mocha, but with a black pepper twist. Not his particular taste, but the thought was generous and he appreciated the caffeine.

He tapped a quick thank you message to Nixon and continued his perusal. At 0345 he decided that he no longer had the mental capacity to do anything useful, and he had to hope he had thought of everything necessary.

He managed four hours of sleep before he stumbled sleepily into the shower (real water was one of the other few perks he enjoyed in the Imperial Navy. They rarely had it in the Axxilan fleet due to water shortages) and then into a fresh uniform. 

He reached hangar bay 14 with ten minutes to spare and greeted the deck chief there.

“Some big deliveries coming our way, Commander,” the man said. Piett inclined his head.

“Certainly are, Wilmis. Thank you for all the effort in preparing.”

“Just my job, sir,” he answered, freckled face looking pleased at the compliment. 

Firmus spotted the gozantis a full thirty seconds before the announcement of their impending arrival sounded over coms. He watched as they passed skillfully two by two through the energy barrier and landed ponderously in their assigned slots. Then, in reverse order, they hissed, steam filling the bay as they released clamps and lifted very slowly away from their cargo.

Piett and Wilmis watched them exit once more, and then a lamda soared through to land very precisely in the middle of the bay. 

Piett knew without a doubt who this would be, and he stepped forward as the landing ramp came down.

A group of ten officers strode down the ramp to the deck and the tall one on the right pulled away, his keen gaze finding Firmus immediately. Piett allowed himself to blow out a quiet breath and then lifted his chin, hands clasped behind him. 

“Major Veers?” he asked, though he knew. 

The man stepped forward as his officers scattered toward the AT-ATs and their crews.

“That’s right.”

“Welcome aboard the Avenger, sir. I’m Commander Piett. I’ve been speaking with Captain Travis and will be the naval liaison while you’re aboard.”

“Hm.”

Veers was every inch the proper Imperial officer. Tall, handsome in an icy sort of way, with hard grey eyes and a ‘don’t kriff with me’ demeanor.

“Would you like me to show you where your quarters are first, or would you like to speak with the Deck Chief and his people regarding…?”

“Mostly, Commander,” Veers interjected coldly, “I would like you to stay out of our way. I am aware a naval liaison is required, but equally, we know our job and do not need the navy's ineptitude cluttering things up. You may show Travis where we are bunking and consider your duty complete.”

This.

Kriffer .

Dismissing him as though he was a bellhop.

Granted, he was treated like this by Harbaugh all the time, but this man had no cause to behave like this.

“ Due respect, Major,” he replied, enunciating all the syllables as elegantly as he’d been learning, and imbuing his tone with as much of a ‘kark you’ as he could possibly get away with, “but I must follow the orders of my superiors, and I am not allowed to just…leave you to it. So. I will be here for whatever you need.”

His jaw tightened as the Major stepped into his space, attempting to intimidate him with the height advantage. 

Firmus narrowed his eyes, and refused to look away even though he had to tilt his chin up to hold the gaze.

Veers was silent for long seconds, glaring down at him. 

Piett began to think it was quite possible that he could get arrested. After all he’d endured so far, if this man did so much as shove a finger into his chest, he was going to hit him. 

Inexplicably, Veers’ mouth curled a little and he stepped back.

“Fine. But you will need to stay out of our way. One of these transports is worth more than all the salaries of this crew combined.”

“Yes, Major,” Piett managed, and Veers moved off. 

Firmus released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and also began walking to the other side of the bay to find Travis.

He made sure to stick like a Corellian burr to the army training group. He would not be accused of shirking his duties. 

So he showed them the mess halls and recreational facilities. He took care of any and all requests they made, and watched the training of Avenger’s army personnel when he had time while not on naval duty. 

It was draining beyond expression, but he had never worked this closely with Army people and it was an interesting look into their duties. 

On the third day, a number of both Avenger’s and Devastator’s army crew came down with Rubix flu. It was common enough, but it meant that Major Veers was short handed while trying to meet a training deadline. 

The man didn’t complain, Piett gave him that. In fact, he stepped in personally to maintenance the AT-ATs and show Avenger’s troops how to go about the repair and upkeep of their machines. 

Even so, Piett could see his frustration at how long it took. 

So after the training session was complete, he intercepted Veers.

“Yes, what is it, Commander?” the man growled, wiping his hands on a towel.

“I wondered if you could use my help,” Piett told him, gesturing back at the massive machines. “Given that a number of your people are in sickbay at the moment. I have some mechanical knowledge.”

Veers swept him with a cynical gaze and narrowed his eyes.

“I have never known the navy to be all that useful,” he said, lip curling a little.

“There is that matter of transporting the army all over the known galaxy,” Piett replied, allowing no expression in his face or in his voice.

Veers paused and then dropped the towel on the deck at Piett’s feet before he reached for his duty jacket.

“Yes,” he answered slowly, shrugging it on. “Convenient for you vac heads. Nice and clean and tidy up in the stars. I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty.”

“We do wear gloves,” Firmus pointed out mildly, wondering a little at his own daring, and tilting his head slightly in challenge.

Veers could bust him for this.

The Major crossed his arms over his chest and Piett kept his spine as straight as possible.

Then he continued.

“I can take them off, of course, to handle a hydro spanner,” he added, allowing himself a small smirk.

Veers raised his eyebrows slightly in disbelief and then finished belting his jacket.

“I would rather you didn’t damage the very expensive equipment belonging to the Empire, Piett,” he returned. “I doubt you’re that useful.”

Bastard .

“Afraid ta give me a try?” he asked, and cursed himself silently at the accent slip.

To his surprise, Veers huffed a brief laugh. 

“Where are you from, Commander?” he asked, pulling his own black gloves over dirty hands.

Piett pressed his lips together, but there was nothing for it except honesty.

“Axxila,” he replied. “Sir.”

“I see,” Veers mused, and Piett wondered what he was thinking. “Walk with me, Piett.”

Great .

Now he was no doubt going straight to the first officer because Piett just couldn’t leave well enough alone. 

Well.

His own damn fault. Still, what Shmi would say when—-

“You were recruited then,” Veers said into these thoughts as they exited the hangar bay. “That is fairly impressive as the Empire doesn’t often do that from the Outer Rim.”

“That is correct, Major,” Piett answered, not certain where this was going. Hopefully not to Harbaugh. 

“Did you serve in the fleet then? The ah…Pirate Fleet?”

“Anti-Pirate Fleet, sir,” Firmus corrected. “And yes, I did.”

“Mmm.”

“Not a lot of resources out there. How did you get your mechanical experience?”

“Necessity, Major,” Piett said as they moved through the corridor. Perhaps Veers would actually give him a fair shot. “There is not the same ah…animosity between divisions out there. We are often called upon to do many different jobs.”

Veers was quiet a moment. Piett wondered where they were headed.

“Did you see action planetside?” he asked seriously, turning a corner. Ah. They were heading to the officer’s mess down here.

“Frequently,” Piett answered, memories flooding his mind. This must have been conveyed in his tone.

Veers nodded. 

“All right. I’ll give you a chance. But if you screw up, you can go back to being just as useless as the other navy boys. Now. Come have a drink and talk to me about your Axxilan Fleet experience.”

He walked into the mess and toward the bar, leaving Piett at a bit of a loss from this whiplash turn of events.

The Major realized Piett wasn’t with him and glanced back with an expectant expression.

“Let’s go, Commander. I can make it an order if you wish. You’re the liaison. Liaise.”

And Piett couldn’t help the smile as he moved forward.

Chapter Text

Dearest Shmi,

I do apologize that so much of our communication is written as opposed to speaking with you live. I miss seeing your face so very much. 

But, as you’ve gathered, I have not been given a great deal of time for such luxuries. And I am very much the low man in the pecking order so I’m afraid that won’t change for some time. 

Shmi sighed aloud as she read this. She missed the face of her boy immensely and glanced at the holo image he’d sent to her a month back. It was his official record image for the Imperial Fleet, and he gazed back at her with serious hazel eyes, looking so distinguished in the new uniform.

She was grateful though, for Firmus’s thoughtfulness in writing to her whenever he had a chance. Especially when—-she squinted at the time stamp on his communication—-he’d done so at 0214 his time. 

If you like, I can try and record a message. I’ve been thinking about doing so, and now officially have the clearance.

The clearance?

The clearance to write to loved ones? Or record messages for them?

Shmi frowned. It was one of many small ways the Empire seemed to love exerting control over its servants. 

And I have to tell you, Shmi, after a great deal of…less than pleasant circumstances—-

Shmi snorted.

—-I have met an army Major who just might have the makings of a friend. At least a respected acquaintance.

Well.

Force knew Firmus deserved buckets of friends, but he always seemed to be placed in positions that made such a thing nearly impossible. 

Obviously, he had Shmi and Clio and Fronterro and Crysantha. Even Booka in his way. But they were more family than anything else, and while she knew he loved them, it was not the same as having someone right there in the trenches, so to speak. Someone who could understand the life her boy was leading in ways none of the rest of them ever could. 

Ever since Dinlay had died, Firmus had seemed more…cautious about friendship. He was friendly with numerous colleagues, but a true friend?

It had been years. 

Shmi had ached for him, discerning the loss and longing that her boy thought he covered so well. 

I was ordered to be the naval liaison for the army as they train some of our people with this new technology and Major Veers was sent to do that. I confess, mother of mine, that I may have given in to my snarkier impulses in the face of what I considered unbearable condescension. 

Shmi smirked. She had seen that side of Firmus and it was amusing and devastating in equal measure. 

I was bracing myself for a deserved dressing down, possibly a write up, but he just laughed and demanded to know more about me.

As he should, Shmi thought, nodding to herself in approval. 

So. He and his team are here for a few weeks and I am to meet him on one of our ranges this evening as apparently the army enjoys relaxing by shooting at things. I wish I could say I was surprised.

Shmi hadn’t heard Firmus sound that upbeat in some time. Despite not hearing his voice,  there was something more…light. Hopeful.

I am, of course, expecting more holos of the wedding dress you and Clio are making for Crysantha. She would not have asked you to do it if she doubted your skills, dear Shmi, so you needn’t worry. And yes, I am secure enough in my manhood to look at lovely things and not be bored. I can’t attend the wedding after all, so I feel that I should at least get a glimpse of the masterpiece you’re creating.

Shmi laughed and sighed. Crysantha’s boyfriend had finally popped the question with far less flare than Fronterro (thank the Force) and so she and Clio were embarking on a more unusual piece of work. She glanced across at the filmy lavender veil sitting across from her. It didn’t look like a masterpiece yet, but the concept was glorious, and Clio had enough confidence for both of them. 

And with that, I need to sleep for an hour or I will be useless for…everything. I love you always. 

Firmus

Shmi switched off the console and leaned her elbows on the table. There was much Firmus didn’t tell her—she knew he was trying to spare her from the daily hardships he faced. But Shmi was well trained in reading between the lines. For example, he’d made an innocuous comment some time back about trying to ‘fit in smoothly’ and that his commanding officer had suggested a ‘polished accent’. 

He’d moved on to other topics, but that had stuck with Shmi. She suspected many officers were Core bigots—it only made sense, particularly in such an elite squadron as Firmus had found himself in. 

Her boy was no coward. She had every confidence he would do his best regardless of the circumstances.

But what mother wouldn’t hurt when she knew her child was struggling?

Major Max Veers, Shmi thought, you had better not disappoint me. 

*****************

Piett looked about him as he stepped into the range. There were roughly fifty of these facilities on the Avenger, but he’d only ever been in the two closest to his quarters. And even then, he rarely had time to use them. 

This was a standard layout, but it was a larger range given its proximity to the army barracks aboard Avenger, so it was more heavily used. 

He easily spotted the tall form of Veers to the right and made his way through the milling troops to the little group at range lanes 4 and 5. 

“Ah the navy man cometh,” remarked the Major, holding out a hand in welcome. Piett shook it, not failing to miss the more reserved expressions on the faces of Veers’ command crew. He’d worked with them enough that he was aware both individuals served in Veers’ personal AT-AT which was stored back on the Devastator. But he couldn’t recall their names. 

“This is Commander Travis,” Veers told him, pointing to the strawberry blonde man with a well kept goatee. Travis inclined his head civilly. “And this is Gunnery Sergeant Prakk.”

“Prakk attack,” Travis murmured, and the woman shot him a look as she shook hands with Piett. She was stunningly beautiful with almond eyes and dark, honey skin, her glossy black hair in a professional bun at the base of her neck.

“Commander,” she greeted cooly. “Thank you for your assistance while we’ve been here. It’s not been…as terrible as the other ships.”

Piett raised an eyebrow at Veers with this remark and the Major grinned.

“Let’s just say that our experience with the naval crews in the Fleet is deeply underwhelming.”

“Which is unsurprising, so we’re used to it,” Travis put in, almost challenging Piett to rise to the thinly veiled insult to the Navy.

“Mmm,” he said noncommittally, noting that they were all shrugging off their duty jackets. They must take range time seriously then if they wanted free range of movement. 

They glanced at him curiously when all he removed was his gloves and hat, but they said nothing. No doubt they thought he was a naive naval officer. Only Veers gave him a  brief assessing look before he gestured to Piett’s service blaster at his hip. 

“Level one begin,” Travis said, and the computer set up the targets. 

“Navy first,” Prakk stated, and they stood back to watch as he drew his weapon.

It was just a friendly competition, Piett reminded himself. He was well aware it had been two months since he’d done this. Still. A lifetime in the Axxilan Fleet was some pretty damn good training. One didn’t completely lose that.

He fired ten shots, and then moved aside to allow Veers his turn. Travis and Prakk made no bones about watching this as opposed to starting their own round on the other range lane. 

Veers hit every single target in the center. Piett had hit all the targets, but only six were center. The Major was generous.

“Not bad,” he said, clapping Piett’s shoulder. “Gets us both to round two.”

Prakk exchanged a look with Travis and they commenced with their own targets.

“You can take off the duty jacket you know,” Veers told him as the new targets were set by the computer. “Helps with range of motion.”

Piett nodded, jaw tight. 

“I agree, but where I’m from, there’s rarely time to remove one’s duty jacket when lives are on the line.”

“Don’t be so serious, Piett,” Travis commented somewhat condescendingly. “It’s just a friendly bit of range time.”

Firmus concentrated before each shot, breathing out and getting his rhythm. This time the results were nearly equal. Veers had still hit each one spang in the center, but Firmus had achieved nine of ten as well.

The Major loaded the third level and this time they dealt with moving targets.

Piett allowed himself to completely focus, ignoring all others around him as he concentrated.

And when the results flashed up after Veers was done, he couldn’t help the small smile.

“Hot damn,” Travis said near them.

Piett had hit all of the targets–-14 of 15 in the center. Veers had missed one and achieved 12 of 15 in the center.

“Nicely done, Commander,” Veers said, that knowing look back in his eye. “Is this how you shot in the Axxilan Fleet?”

“I t’was better then,” Piett told him, and hesitated a bit when he realized he’d slipped into the accent.

But none of them blinked. 

Three more rounds with increasing difficulty. 

By the seventh round, Piett finally shed his jacket and rolled his sleeves. By now, Travis and Prakk had abandoned any pretense of completing their own range and were openly watching him and Veers shoot. 

Several other troops had wandered over as well. 

And Piett rolled his neck, the familiar feel of a blaster in hand and a target to hit sending endorphins to his brain.

Through it all, Veers was an excellent opponent—-tough and fair at the same time.

The targets moved faster and changed color. Then came the added challenge of civilian targets mixed with threat targets.

Then disappearing targets.

And at round 12, Veers was officially eliminated. 

There was a healthy crowd now, and the naval element cheered while Piett shook his hand.

“Keep going,” Travis said, grinning now. “I want to see how far you can get, Commander.”

Piett made it to round 15, and Prakk tapped his shoulder as he took a drink from a water bottle while the range reloaded.

“Try with this,” she said, handing him a blaster rifle.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and numerous army elements hollered derisively.

“I trust you’re not backing out with the challenge,” she said, eyes narrowed.

“Not likely,” he replied calmly.

He took the rifle and checked it to make sure all the parts moved smoothly before he placed it to his shoulder and backed away from the target section so he could sight down the barrel effectively. 

“You’re too comfortable with that,” Veers murmured so only he could hear. Piett shot him a swift, very small curve of his mouth, and then settled in as the challenge began. 

They couldn’t know that he’d been a decent sniper for a number of years.

Three rounds later, the range was raucous and someone had broken out Corellian beer and Piett discovered for the first time in his life, what it felt like to be truly included.

Admired even.

Eventually, even he had to admit defeat when the targets were just too fast. 

He was coated in sweat, but received multiple slaps on the back and shoulder as he handed his rifle off to Travis.

“That was…remarkable,” the army commander said in friendly tones.

Prakk glared at him, then grinned.

“You just lost me fifty credits, Navy,” she said. “How in the nine hells did you learn to shoot like that?”

“I had to be a sniper numerous times in the Axxilan Fleet,” he said mildly, but unable to help the twitch of his lips as he slipped on his jacket once more. 

“You sneaky kriffer,” she declared, but she almost looked pleased.

Veers shooed the others away easily, claiming pride of place beside Firmus as they exited the range.

“Well obviously we’ll need a rematch,” he said as Piett tugged his cap back on.

“Obviously,” Piett agreed, glancing at him.

There was a comfortable silence between them for long minutes before Veers spoke again.

“That accent slip out often?” he asked.

Piett sighed.

“I was…informed that I needed to get rid of it, Major. But yes, it still crops up in moments of intensity.”

“Hmm.”

They entered the officer’s lounge they had been frequenting ever since that first invite from Veers. 

“I think that’s frankly reprehensible,” the army man said at length. “But. If you want some help with how to sound like a pretentious bastard, I’m happy to assist.”

Piett couldn’t help the snort laugh and he actually grinned up at Veers.

“Very kind,” he managed. “But you’re leaving in two weeks. Not a lot of time.”

“We’re in the same fleet,” Veers pointed out as they found a table by the viewports. “I’m sure we can coordinate our duty schedules for in person visits once in a while. And holo comming will be simple.”

“You make it sound like prison visitations,” Firmus told him as a waiter droid hummed over.

The Major chuckled.

“You are in the Navy,” he replied, teasing glint in the grey eyes. “Same difference.”

“Ha,” Firmus answered flatly while Veers ordered.

But inside, his chest glowed with the warmth of the banter.

****

Those two weeks flew by, but while Piett’s workload was intense, it was no longer drudgery. And when Veers and his crew departed back to Devastator, he wasn’t worried. By that point, even Prakk had warmed up to him, and he found more affinity with the army officers than he had ever felt from the Imperial Navy personnel. 

So perhaps he was naive to think his contentment could last. 

Particularly when Captain Dura openly complimented him on the bridge for his liaison work, and poached him from Comms to Defense. 

Nixon had given him a gentle smile and nod of approval, but Harbaugh had glared murderously behind Dura’s back. 

Piett was well aware why he was the object of Harbaugh’s ire. The Captain personally moving him to a more prestigious position like that was at least tacitly saying that Firmus was potential command material. 

He ought to be happy about that.

But the next three days he was haunted by whispers and looks in the corridors and the mess halls. Harbaugh and his cronies were planning something, he was certain.

However, a week went by and nothing occurred—-no strange duty shifts or messing with his food. Piett began to hope that perhaps they were content just to hate him.

That hope was smashed as he made his way to Hangar Five to greet Veers who was using six hours of his precious off duty time to see Piett and share drinks. Maybe some more range time.

He stepped out of the lift, and breathed in the familiar scents of plasma and hot metal which inevitably filled all the corridors off of the hangar bays. He made it approximately four steps when a firm hand was clamped over his mouth and an arm of steel wrapped around his waist, yanking him from his feet and down a small side corridor.

Piett immediately went limp, his training serving him well even as his mind wanted to panic.

It nearly worked.

His attacker made an exclamation at Piett’s sudden dead weight, and the cruel grip over his mouth loosened. 

Piett immediately seized that arm in both hands, flinging the body behind him over his head and to the deck.

“Hel—!” he managed before he was crushed to the metal plating, all breath driven from his body. 

This time, packing tape was slapped over his mouth and he heard someone above him saying, ‘move on, not your business’ before he was hauled back by two sets of hands on his arms, still fighting to regain his air.

He was dragged and then flung to the floor once more, and he decided he must be in one of the tool storage rooms as his gaze landed on a shelf at eye level containing large drill bits and plasma hose rolls.

That was all he got though before receiving a brutal kick to his stomach that left him retching behind the tape and praying he didn’t suffocate.

“This is a message, Axxila!” snapped a voice above him. The room was dim and he couldn’t see through the tears in his eyes from trying not to vomit. He was hauled up by his arms again, and this time someone punched him in the face, breaking his nose and sending blood spraying. 

“Don’t think for a Kessel second that you are ever getting promoted into command !”

Another meaty fist to his gut.

He struggled then, panicking a little as he couldn’t breathe…

“Wriggly little shrimp aren’t you?” said another amused voice. His right shoulder was wrenched with horrible force and he was certain they were going to dislocate it when—-

“Evening.”

He hadn’t heard the door hiss open, and apparently, neither had his attackers.

But Firmus knew that voice. 

And it held all sorts of malice in that drawled greeting.

“I wasn’t invited to this little gathering,” the voice continued and bootsteps sounded on the decking as the person entered. “Looks cozy.”

“Walk away now, Major,” said someone. “This isn’t your concern. Navy business.”

“Well that’s the thing,” Veers commented factually. Piett was unable to look up, but it was Veers. “This particular Navy business also happens to be mine. Let go of my friend if you want to use those hands in the next two months.”

“You were warned,” someone snarled, and the focus shifted as two of the people in the room moved to attack the Major. 

Piett managed to jerk his left arm free and then ripped the tape from his mouth before swiping out with his right leg. He was already on the ground, he might as well use that.

He brought down a swearing body and he rolled, despite the screaming of his ribs, to collide with another shelf.

 A shelf that contained a plasma wrench.

He seized this immediately and came up swinging.

At last he could get an idea of what he and Max were facing. All of their opponents were burly navy men and he recognized one of the petty officers as a Harbaugh stooge. He took one second to marvel at the stupidity of attacking someone like Veers—-the Major made it seem as though he was in a hand to hand training session, not a speck of blood on him.

Piett waded in and clocked one of the men upside the head. He went down without a sound and Piett was seized from behind once more.

But this time, Veers was able to step in and crush his fist into the attacker’s nose.

More hot blood splattered across Piett’s right cheek and the man’s grip went slack as he shrieked in agony.

Piett stepped away and used the wrench to put the kriffer down with a hit to his knee. Then he found himself side by side with Veers as they faced the remaining four opponents. They’d sent seven for him, Piett saw, but he wasn’t flattered.

“I’m going to testify against every one of you kriffing bastards,” Veers snarled. “I’ll see you court martialed for this!”

And it was mere moments later that both of them were the last men standing, panting over the bodies of their enemies with blood in their teeth. 

“How?” Piett managed, wiping carefully under his nose to clear some of the blood. “How did you know where I was?”

Veers hunted out some clean rags from the shelves and handed them to Piett. 

“One of the deck officers,” he answered, wiping his face of sweat and dabbing at his bloody lip. “She found me just as I landed,  and told me.”

Piett recalled the person who’d been told to ‘move on’ by his attackers and resolved to send her a thank you.

“I need to…comm the MPs,” he said, wincing at the grind of bone in his face. 

“Oh I did that the moment she told me what was happening,” Max informed him calmly. Piett could hear the sound of booted feet running down the corridor. 

“And… you didn’t wait for them?” Piett asked incredulously.

Veers gave him an eyebrow.

“While my friend was getting pulverized? I should think the hell not. Don’t be daft.”

It was the second time he’d used that term so easily, and Piett grinned again even though it hurt. 

“Veers,” he said. “Max. I just want you to know…you’re the best man I’ve ever encountered.”

The Major tapped him on the shoulder in approval as the MPs entered and took in the room. They gave their statements and the lead officer insisted that they get medical attention.

“Oh we will,” Veers said. “Are we free to go now?”

“Yes, sir, if you’re certain—-” the man said doubtfully, gazing at their blood spattered uniforms.

“Minor injuries,” Piett assured him, loftily ignoring Veers’ quiet snort.

They exited the storage room, but Veers turned toward the hangar bays.

“Come,” his friend said, squinting at him. “I’m taking you to Devastator. We’ll have my medic patch us up.”

Piett blinked.

“We have perfectly suitable medbays here…”

“I don’t trust many people on this ship to have your back, Firmus,” Veers said seriously as they walked. “I want your injuries both recorded and taken care of because you had better karking believe this court martial is going to be vacuum sealed.”

Piett was uncomfortable with the idea of having to detail his injuries even though he knew the Major was right. 

But he didn’t say so, and they returned to Veers’ shuttle where the bemused pilot wisely didn’t question the order to return to the Devastator. 

The flagship.

She was impressive—-much bigger than her Victory class sisters—-and the knowledge that Lord Vader commanded Death Squadron upon her added to her gravitas.

Veers glanced at him knowingly when Piett stared out the viewport too long.

“You should transfer to her,” he commented, and Firmus flushed.

“You know as well as I do that my application would never be accepted. I doubt it would even be sent.”

“What about your Captain?” Veers asked as they passed into the shadow of the mighty ship. “She seems fair.”

“She is,” Piett agreed, “but I would be jumping over so many heads to appeal to her it doesn’t bear thinking about. I’ll earn my command, Major.”

Veers grinned.

“Yes, you will. Don’t worry, I wasn’t doubting you could do it on your own.”

It was so incredible to be walking the decks of the flagship, that Piett could almost overlook the pain of his injuries. They both received curious looks at the blood on their uniforms, but they reached the medbay at last and Veers ordered fresh uniforms to be sent while they were attended to. 

Midway through this process, as Piett was getting a bone regen hypo, an authoritative and irritated voice cut through the gentle murmurs of the medical personnel. 

“Am I reading this report correctly, Major?” it asked.

A man with steel grey hair and a barrel chest moved into Piett’s line of sight, fixing Veers with a glare that would make any drill sergeant proud. 

“Your injuries are from a brawl ? On another ship?”

There was a beat as Veers stared back at him without expression and the doctor (there was no doubt it was a doctor judging by the white uniform jacket and suffocating condescension) included Piett in his critical gaze.

“Which makes you Commander Piett, I presume,” he sniffed as though Piett had personally offended him by existing.

“Commander,” Veers said flatly, “meet our CMO, Doctor Henley. Doctor, this is indeed Commander Piett, and I don’t see why you need to subject either of us to that tone. It was not a brawl, it was self defense, and there is a pending court martial. I came back here as I trust Devastator’s medical staff more than Avenger’s.”

Henley smiled tightly. 

“As you should. Curious that you came to this medbay and not mine which is closer.”

Veers’ expression was stony.

“You didn’t need to be troubled by minor injuries,” he replied.

Henley lifted the scanner from the medic attending Piett without a so much as ‘by your leave’ and looked at it.

“Mmmhm.  Tell me, Commander, are you also prone to overlooking injuries and illness in order to prove Force knows what to Force knows whom?”

“I…don’t overuse medical if that’s what you mean, Doctor,” Piett replied carefully. Veers allowed his mouth to curl and Henley narrowed his eyes.

Wrong answer then. 

“So that’s a yes, then. Wonderful. All right, both of you can go, but I am noting in both files that you will be checking in to medical in the next 48 hours to be assessed.”

“Right,” Veers answered through his teeth.

A droid whirred up with their fresh uniforms and Veers used the opportunity for them to exit the medbay. 

Only after they had changed in the closest set of freshers and were walking back to the hangar bays, did Piett bring up the CMO.

“Is there um…some history with Doctor Henley I should be aware of?” he asked.

“He has a history ,” Veers growled, “of being the galaxy’s biggest pain in the ass, but I have to admit that he’s also a brilliant doctor. You may never tell him I said that, by the way or—-”

He cut himself off immediately, snapping his mouth shut and looking ahead, his shoulders drawing back and spine going straighter than it already was.

Piett followed his line of sight and immediately spotted the tall, dark figure striding toward them. 

Stars.

Oh FORCE.

This was not the way Piett had envisioned meeting the Supreme Commander of the Fleet. He’d not ever thought he would meet him at all, truth be told.

Vader paused as they reached him and Veers also stopped to snap a salute, Piett following suit.

“Major Veers,” Vader said in a deep voice. His respirator made a kish kosh sound at regular intervals. 

“My Lord,” Veers said simply, and Vader’s helmet turned toward Piett.

“Commander Piett, my Lord,” he said immediately. “SSD Avenger.”

There was a long pause and Piett did not dare look away from the lenses of that inscrutable helmet. His spine ached from being so straight, but he almost felt himself…assessed, and so held a perfectly correct military pose out of respect.

“You have initiated a court martial, Major,” Vader said at last, returning his attention to Veers. “I trust you have the evidence needed.”

Did Vader know everything that happened in the Fleet the moment it occurred?

There was a brief inclination of that helmet toward Piett, and he tried to clear his mind of any thoughts. 

“I do, my Lord,” Veers answered calmly. Piett admired his composure. 

“Very well. I trust it will be worth your time. And the Fleet’s.”

Veers gave Piett a swift glance.

“It will be, sir.”

“See that it is,” Vader said, and swept off.

Only once he had turned a corner did either of them relax.

“Well,” Piett stated, blowing out a breath as they continued on their way. “That was….terrifying.”

Veers grinned.

“He’s like that. You do get used to it once you’ve served on this ship a while. Not that you ever take his presence for granted.”

“Are you in trouble?” Piett asked in concern.

“No,” his friend replied confidently. “Trust me when I tell you, you would be quite clear on whether Lord Vader disapproved of your actions. He just doesn’t like his officers to waste time or resources.”

Firmus nodded, his heart still thundering from the encounter.

“Duly noted.”

And he was deeply grateful to be stationed on Avenger because he doubted he could ever ‘get used to’ serving with Lord Vader. 

Chapter Text

Shmi waited in the vast spaceport, feeling very much like a backwater Rimmer as numerous polished beings hurried past. 

It was like a vast steel and glass cathedral and far beyond them through the viewports, the velvet blackness of space and the glow of the stars provided a ceiling more beautiful than anything made by human hands. 

It was the closest to the Core that she had ever been in her entire life, so she was also feeling far more displaced and unsure of herself. 

However.

She had two days in which to spend time with her boy, and Shmi would do far more than travel to Aleron Spaceport for such a gift. 

She checked the instructions he’d sent on her datapad for the millionth time and re read the message Clio had sent roughly forty minutes ago, assuring her that Booka was just fine and swearing at all the blue sparrows that liked to use the garden feeder.

Across from where she sat on the moldable plasteel bench [they didn’t have any of those on Axxila and it was admittedly comfortable] were a number of tasteful shops which displayed only a few items in their window with graceful understatement as to their immense value.

Well dressed beings of all sorts perused these shops, though Shmi had definitely noticed that humans were the dominant species here. 

Unsurprising on an Imperial Spaceport in the Colonies. 

To the left were easily fifty sets of grav stairs that quietly moved around and around, taking beings up to the next level where fine dining establishments were serving up exotic and delicious smelling dishes. 

Shmi self consciously smoothed a hand down the dark blue dress she was wearing. She’d been so proud of it before she left—she’d made it herself by imitating the most modern styles coming out of Coruscant. 

Now it felt frumpy and very homemade. 

She was aware that her luggage was very faded and indeed, even as she had the thought, a passing woman in crisp, stunning white gave her a little glance and frowned slightly with distaste.

Shmi’s cheeks flamed. 

This shouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. She was here to see Firmus and therefore all the women ever could be snobs. They didn’t have him.

“Shmi?”

She looked beyond the older couple who had also eyed her shabby luggage to see him hurrying toward her from the left.

He was smiling broadly, and whipped off his hat to stuff into his belt before he enveloped her in his arms, any onlookers be damned apparently. 

“Oh, Firmus,” she said, every uncertainty and shred of shame swept away in the warmth of his embrace. “I have missed you so!”

“Mutual,” he told her, pulling back to examine her. “What a beautiful dress. Shmi, you look so elegant . Kark, I should have worn the dress uniform.” 

The grin suited him, and he could have no idea how healing and reassuring those words were. 

“Thank you, dear,” she replied as he easily reached for her bag and gestured back the way he’d come. 

“I am allowed to stay on the station while we’re docked here,” he informed her as they walked. “Captain gave me special leave. Perks of being the first officer. So I’ve booked us two rooms at the Marestella. My treat.”

It was very fascinating to observe people’s reaction to her now that she was in the company of an Imperial officer. It was a subtle shift, but where there had been more arrogant eyebrows or sniffs, she now saw acceptance or even a few nods.

Firmus didn’t pay attention to any of it—-his attention was on her as he pointed out the amenities of the space station and bits of history or interesting facts he’d found out. 

Because of course he had. 

It was what made him not only a good officer, but also what made him who he was. He’d always had a thirst for knowledge ever since she’d known him, and he delighted in history and cultural customs. 

She listened to him with half an ear while she wondered how long he’d not been able to share his passions with someone who cared. He’d been so very careful in their early interactions—-saying very little of himself and encouraging her to speak about her interests and her past. 

As their friendship developed into the deeper bond they shared now, he’d opened up more. That trip to the ocean had been a tipping point, she thought. Several days where her boy had truly shed his social armor to be just himself with her and the sea. 

“Are you all right?” he asked at length as they stepped onto a grav stair and moved up to the next level. “You’ve been a little quiet.”

She smiled and slipped her hand under his elbow, delighting in the firm muscle and bone under the gaberwool which told her that this was real and Firmus was right here beside her after so long apart.

“I like hearing you talk, dear,” she assured him. “You didn’t as much in the early days. It makes me happy to listen to you.”

He flushed, as she’d known he would, and looked up toward their destination on the next floor. 

“It’s lovely of you to come all this way,” he said, pressing her hand gently to his side with his arm. “I can’t tell you how I appreciate it.”

“Of course I was going to come! We have to celebrate this after all,” she replied. “Besides, I never in my life thought I could afford to travel like this. I feel like I’m playing a part, and this is someone else’s life.”

He smiled then as they stepped off the grav stairs and walked a little further toward an elegant structure that boasted the title Marastella in deep, glowing green above the gilt doors. A doorman tipped his hat to them as they entered and Shmi gave a little gasp.

“Oh, Firmus dear. Are you certain you can afford…?”

“Ah ah,” he interrupted easily. “Two days will not kill my credit account, mother of mine. Isn’t it grand though?”

It certainly was.

The lobby ceiling was three stories tall and as they entered, it was the massive fountain to the right which caught the eye first. It was done in turquoise marble so polished it almost looked translucent. The design was very clever as it was made to allow the water to move gently from level to level so as not to splash too much or be too loud. 

As they passed it, Shmi saw numerous brightly colored little octopus moving gently around. Some even seemed to be deliberately allowing themselves to get sucked up to the next level. Even as she watched, five of them tipped over the edge of the marble and she waited for the inevitable splash.

Instead, they all flared their legs, making little parachutes of themselves in order to drift lightly back to the original level and sink gently into the water once more. 

“I could watch them for hours,” Firmus said beside her, and she realized they’d stopped because he had paused to let her observe the fountain. “Shall we check in first?”

“Sorry,” she told him as they walked toward the huge front desk which was also done in a different shade of blue marble. She could see immediately why her boy had found this hotel appealing. These wonderful shades were reminiscent of the sea and looking up, the marvelous crystal lighting was clearly designed to look like beautiful coral. Indeed, most of the glass was done in various coral hues as well as shapes. 

It took no time at all to get their code cylinders for their rooms and they took a lift up to the third floor.

Another doorman was waiting at the top, and Shmi felt a little bit like aristocracy with all this gilt and elegance. 

They went to her room first and her feet sank into thick deep green carpet. She had a view of the grand piazza below where visitors and travelers could stroll amongst exotic greenery and flowers. It was a square mile and she stared like the Rimmer she was at the sheer size and beauty of it. 

“Sorry I couldn’t get us a space view,” Firmus said, setting her bag on the white sofa and coming to stand beside her. “But those are very exclusive. Besides, I hope you don’t mind, but I do see space quite often.”

She laughed and turned to embrace him tightly once more. 

“My dear,” she murmured into his uniform, “this is glorious . I’m so very proud of you!”

“Just wait until you see the swimming pool though,” he told her, kissing the top of her head and grinning happily. “It was actually built with incredibly thick transparisteel so that they could place it outside the station. It’s like swimming in the stars.”

She stared at him.

“That…seems a bit unnerving,” she told him. “What if it failed?”

“It’s heavily protected with fail safes,” he replied, hefting his own duffel once more. “I think we should do that first. Unless you’d like to rest. Or dinner?”

“We are here to celebrate your promotion,” she reminded him, even though the idea of this pool had her stomach a bit tight. “Let’s go swim in space then.”

It was as incredible as Firmus had made it sound. 

Numerous beings were taking advantage of the pool, or lounging beside the vast stretch of water. It was well lit so one could have an idea of the bottom and sides, but even so, it was indeed like floating in space—-while being able to breathe.

The views were stunning. Three different nebulas in shades of violet and orange were visible through the top of the swimming area. The bottom of the pool looked down at Aleron itself which looked uniformly pink.

Firmus informed her that was due to the smog atmosphere which was not altogether pleasant as it was caused by the gases and busy mining on the surface. Most cities were underground or in domes as a result.

They both swam for awhile, just to appreciate the idea of doing so amongst the stars. Shmi still found it a bit nerve wracking, so she climbed out to rest on a lounge chair while her boy did another two laps before joining her, rubbing a hotel towel over exceedingly curly hair.

“Even a military cut can’t stop it,” he commented, sinking onto the chair beside her with a sigh. 

“I like it,” Shmi reminded him as a waiter droid hummed over to offer her a drink or an appetizer. “Do we pay extra for these?”

“No,” he grinned, accepting a tumbler off the tray. “Rather swank isn’t it?”

It was.

They passed a pleasant hour before they went back to their rooms to shower and change for dinner.

Here, Shmi insisted on ordering Dinubian champagne, her treat. 

“To you, my son,” she said, holding up the fizzing glass with its fragrant yellow bubbles. “I’m so very proud of you and your hard work. But most of all I’m proud of the fact that you are a good man.”

He ducked his head a little self consciously as he clinked his glass to hers.

“Thank you, Shmi,” he said quietly. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you to accept my choice to join this Fleet…”

No it hadn’t. But on the other hand, if more people like Firmus were part of the Imperial Forces, then perhaps there was hope that the Empire might actually follow through on various promises throughout the galaxy. 

Besides, it said a great deal that he had been chosen for this position. The Captain had clearly seen his potential and when that nasty, bigoted Harbaugh had been transferred, she had immediately tapped Firmus for the position of first officer.

So if the Captain could do that, Shmi felt it spoke well of her. And while she was still dubious in her views of the Empire, she allowed herself some cautious hope.

“You are working with a lot of good people,” she told Firmus sincerely. “Your Captain. Major Veers. Nixon. And they all have the intelligence to value you. I will always support you , dear.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he told her, the candlelight softening his lean features as he raised his glass once more. “To the woman who stepped into the very challenging role of mother to a nerf like me. Force grant you patience.”

She laughed and clinked glasses again.

It was an all too short visit with him. But they filled their two days with leisurely walks, hours of easy conversation, and more swims in the stars.

It would be one of her most treasured memories in the years to come.

**************

Piett looked up at the door chime, his brain trying to comprehend why someone would be needing his attention at—-he checked the chronometer—0145. 

“Come!” he said aloud, rising and tugging at his uniform jacket in a futile attempt not to look rumpled.

Veers paused in the doorway to sweep him with a critical glance and shake his head.

“Max,” Piett blinked and came around the desk. “What in the kark are you doing here at such an appalling hour?”

“I could ask what you’re doing at your desk for the same reason,” Veers grinned, stepping in to let the door shut behind him before he reached into his carry bag to pull out a large bottle of purple liquid. “But I already know. Thus, my presence.”

Piett raised an eyebrow at him.

“Contraband, Colonel?”

“Right of passage, Captain.”

He couldn’t deny that it appealed hugely at the moment. And Veers had gone to the trouble of taking a shuttle from Devastator at this disgusting hour to congratulate him personally on the promotion.

“Is it now?” he asked dryly, nonetheless moving to his desk and retrieving the two glasses he kept in the right drawer for this reason. He had only had all his belongings moved to this office six hours previously, and was desperately catching up on all the flimsi work from the transition. 

Piett really had not expected to be made captain when Dura was promoted. It was Death Squadron after all. One of the most prestigious in the Fleet. He’d thought it would take many years more before he was given his own command. Usually, a Core officer was brought in from a different ship when a command position came open.

But the word had barely swept the ship that Dura had been promoted to Rear Admiral when she called him to her office.

“Piett,” Dura said as several aides continued packing her things. “Thank you for your promptness.”

“Ma’am,” he responded, standing at attention before her. “Congratulations on the promotion. Well deserved.”

“Thank you,” she said briskly, tapping something on a datapad. “They may try to put me behind a desk. I will naturally expect to continue actively on a different ship.”

No doubt she’d get exactly what she wanted too, Piett thought. She was just that sort. One didn’t question her.

This statement didn’t seem to merit a reply from him, so he’d merely waited, wondering what she wanted him to do for the transition.

“Obviously, Avenger will receive a new captain,” she’d continued. “I told them it was you or no one.”

He’d stood as still as stone.

She met his eyes and allowed a very tiny curl of her mouth.

“Didn’t expect that, did you? It’s part of the reason why you’re the man for the job. I’ll be done here in about two hours, so you’ll need to arrange for moving your things from your office to this one. The quarters will be ready in about 12 hours’ time I expect.”

He swallowed and tried to recall that he was an officer and should actually say something instead of wondering if he was dreaming.

“I…thank you, Ma’am.”

She held out a hand and he clasped it.

“Strength and honor, Captain Piett.”

“Strength and honor, Admiral.”

He’d not even had time to message Veers or Shmi about this promotion in the flurry of activity during the transition. The Empire never missed a beat, and so the moment that Dura left Avenger with all due honors, Piett received the full weight of the ship upon his shoulders. 

However, scuttlebutt in the Fleet was legendary so he supposed he shouldn’t be stunned that Max had heard about this.

His friend had been promoted to Colonel only the year before—one of the youngest in the Fleet. It was quite clear to everyone that Veers’ star was ascending. He’d already guest lectured at the prestigious Corulag Academy a month ago regarding his work with AT-ATs and been given a tour of the new ship being built at Kuat.  

Veers poured two generous glasses of the Alderaanian scotch and handed one to Piett. 

“To the Captain of the Avenger. It couldn’t be more well deserved. Safe stars always.”

Piett lifted his glass in salute, grateful for this man.

“Thank you, Max. Good hunting to you as ever.”

They both took a drink and grimaced at the pleasant burn.

“Have you told your mother yet?” Veers asked, moving to lean against the sofa and rifle through the pile of books that Piett had not had time to put on shelves. Firmus had told Veers that Shmi was not his blood mother some time ago, but it still made his heart warm when his friend casually referred to her like that.

“No time,” he sighed, perching on the corner of his desk and allowing one foot to swing in an effort to ease stressed muscles. “And of course Dura enjoyed just springing that on me and leaving, so there was no easing into it. I’ve been buried in here trying to catch myself up not only on the ship’s workings, but the Fleet’s in regard to Avenger.”

Veers took another sip of his scotch and nodded.

“I figured as much. Thus, my presence.”

Piett rolled stiff neck muscles and took a generous drink, clenching his teeth a little as it slid down his throat to warm his chest.

“Very kind of you, Veers. Don’t you have a shift in the morning?”

“Mm. 0630. But then, so do you, I imagine.”

He did. He’d looked at the duty roster he himself had made and adjusted it for his presence instead of Dura’s. Then there was the business of appointing his own first officer. He’d tapped Lorth Needa who had been on Weapons. The man was a little more hesitant when it came to command, but he was experienced and fair. Piett felt they would work well together.

“Is Lord Vader content to allow his officers to slip around the Fleet at odd times?” he asked, gently teasing as he tried to ignore the five different data pads on his desk. 

“Lord Vader is not aboard Devastator at the moment,” Veers replied smugly. “Or yes, I might be a bit more hesitant to do this. He’s at Kuat again.”

Piett was deeply curious about this new destroyer. Rumors were flying that she would be the foremost weapon in the galaxy. All he knew from Veers was that she was nineteen kilometers long and would ultimately carry a crew of three hundred thousand.

“Is all on schedule for the new flagship?” Piett asked, swirling the scotch a little and inhaling the fumes.

“I imagine it will be shortly if it wasn’t before,” Veers answered, giving him a knowing look.

Yes. Lord Vader’s presence would be most inspiring, Piett imagined. 

“And I don’t suppose you recall more details on what she actually looked like?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

“Firmus,” Max stated longsufferingly, “I am an army man. She looked like a destroyer. I was frankly more interested in the engines and what they had to say about that.”

Piett sighed. “Yes, fine. I was just hoping to have something pleasant to think about while I slave away on these reports.”

“You have scotch. And me.”

He couldn’t help the laugh.

“Yes, true. Thank you for that, I do mean it, Veers. It was very good of you to come here and fortify me.”

He finished the scotch and rose. 

“Try to get some kip, hmm?” Veers asked, handing the bottle over for Piett.

“You’ll want that,” Firmus told him.

“Yes, I know. When I’m here. In your office. The good stuff should be drunk with Captains who will need to decompress.”

“Well. Thank you indeed,” Piett replied, accepting the bottle and slipping it into the drawer. “And for the effort to get over here.”

Veers clapped him on the shoulder.

“Write to your mother. Take a nap. I’ll see you soon.”

Piett stood in the midst of his still half unpacked office, friendship and scotch creating a warm aura about him.

Captain .

Everything he’d dreamed of and fought for.

His own command.

It was heady and terrifying at once. 

So. Do the next thing. He couldn’t possibly do it all at once and the next thing entailed the reports on his desk. 

Piett squared his shoulders and returned to the fray. 

Chapter Text

Shmi inhaled deeply as she paused by the vendor’s stand, the brightly striped awning shading her from the mid afternoon sun. 

This particular scent always took her back to the first days she had spent on this planet trying to come to terms both with her freedom and the loss of her son. It had been a bittersweet time, but she could look back at it now with the painful bits softened in her memory, while the good things were firmly established.

She lifted a pinch of the dried leaves from the first bin and inhaled deeply. These were a bit sweeter, with orange overtones. She liked this one, but it wasn’t the one she knew she needed. She moved to the second bin and took another pinch, crushing the leaves between thumb and forefinger. This one was potent , the smell of peppers and cinnamon almost burning her nose.

This was the one Clio favored, but Shmi didn’t need her tea quite that strong.

The fourth bin contained the one she was after. 

It was spicy, but the dominant scents were cloves and cardamom, and the heat was countered by the vanilla as well. 

“Two pounds of this one,” she told the vendor who raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Is a lot, Miss Shmi,” he answered, dutifully pulling out a self vacuum sealed bag nonetheless. “I am here always. You come visit me and get more fresh.”

“I know, Matese,” she said, pulling out her credits, “but this isn’t for me. And I never know how long it takes to reach him so I like to make certain he has enough until I can send him more.”

The vendor nodded, bright orange hair flopping over his forehead slightly while his four arms moved smoothly about, measuring the tea into the bag on the scales before he tapped it and it sealed itself. 

“Very good. You want anything else?”

“No thank you, Matese,” she said, taking the package. 

She stopped once more to grab some chocolate because while Firmus did not have much of a sweet tooth, he had a weakness for Dinubian chocolate. 

Then she proceeded on toward the factory, tapping her code cylinder and inhaling the scent of new fabrics as she stepped inside. 

Shmi wove between workers, exchanging greetings and peeking at the progress of various items before she made her way to the stairs and ascended to the second floor catwalk where Clio was examining a deep green swatch of fabric.

Clio paused with the piece of fabric in her hand and eyed the smooth wooden box.

“Ah hope those are for me,” she boomed, causing several of the workers down on the floor to look up. 

They shouldn’t be surprised by now at Clio’s carrying tones. Shmi smiled. 

“Sorry, no. They’re for Firmus. And the tea.”

“Spoilin’ him rotten as ever,” Clio responded, though Shmi knew she didn’t mean it.

“I don’t think it is actually possible to spoil Firmus Piett too much,” she fired back with a superior expression. Clio couldn’t intimidate her after all these years. 

The other woman snorted, but her lips curled as she turned to make her way across the catwalk, Shmi following. 

“An’ what is the occasion then? Did Ah forget t’was his life day?”

“CLIO!”

Both of them peered over the railing to see a slim figure in a shirt so bright it was possibly emitting radiation, standing on the production floor. He was wearing a flower at his collar and his dark hair was glistening with the amount of oil he’d applied to it.

“Dinna come an’ holler at me in mah own shop, ya walkin’ spot light!”

“Why does Firmus git all this then?” Clio continued as though they hadn’t been interrupted. 

“Promoted to Captain,” Shmi informed her, unable to quell the absolute pride in her tone. She felt as though she might pop with the feeling. 

“Ohoho,” Clio responded with a wide grin. “Our boy whippin’ em inta shape then.”

She proceeded onward, heading toward the fabric storage and Shmi followed.

“Why is Fronterro  here?” she asked. “Did the cooling unit break on the floor?”

They’d been having trouble with it. 

“It did, but Ah thought he fixed it yesterday. The amount o’ trouble Ah’ve had with it, Ah—”

“CLIO!”

“What did Ah say?” Clio hollered back over her shoulder without stopping. “Anyway. Ah thought he’d finished with it. If it’s broken again, Ah’m gonna accuse him o’ sabotage—”

“My GODDESS!”

Shmi could hear the laughter of the workers below as the machines hummed on and Clio moved with serene purpose to the storage room, tapping the codes to enter once they reached it. 

Fronterro was hurrying through machines and people down on the production floor, trailing leaves and petals from the ridiculously enormous bouquet he was holding. 

“I WISH TO ASK FOR YOUR MOST LOVELY HAND IN MARRIAGE!!” he yelled up at them. 

“Yes, yes, fine, all right!” Clio shouted back, entering the storage unit to place the fabric away and then exiting. She completely ignored Shmi’s dropped jaw as she moved to the railing and leaned over it.

“Get up here, ya daft nerf!” she boomed down at him. 

“You…you…you…” Fronterro tried, his brain clearly broken by this response after years of his attempts.

“Was Ah spakin’ a different language?” Clio asked. “Come on!”

Fronterro’s weathered face became suddenly beatific and he turned to face all the grinning workers, his arms spread wide.

“Did you hear this? Do I dream? Behold the most joyous man in the galaxy!” he declared to them all as they started applauding and whistling.

“Clio—-” Shmi managed, unable to believe it herself. Surely her friend wouldn’t be so cruel as to lie to Fronterro. But no.

Clio herself was grinning widely in a way that Shmi had never seen before. 

“You’re going to marry him?” Shmi managed over the din down below. 

“Well Ah’ve become so accustomed to him asking,” Clio informed her. “And A’hm not gettin’ any younger, so…”

“Clio, those aren’t reasons to marry someone!” Shmi exclaimed, following her back toward the office.

“Git back ta work, ya layabouts!” Clio boomed down at the floor. Things quieted considerably, but the workers were all still smiling. They were well aware that Clio’s bark was far worse than her bite. 

Fronterro began to bound up the stairs toward them as Clio turned back to Shmi, countenance incredibly soft. 

“He’s faithful an’ funny, an’ he adores me, Shmi. An’ Ah’ve found that Ah nade him around.”

“I could say the same about a pet dog,” Shmi replied dryly, raising an eyebrow. “Clio—”

“An Ah might be fond o’ him, there are ya happy?” Clio snapped, crossing her arms.

Shmi smiled, heart at ease.

“Yes, yes I am thank you.”

Fronterro reached them and thrust the flowers at Clio, his face still wearing that stunned, slightly disbelieving look.

“You have given me all the happiness that a man could ever—-” he started, clearly ready for another ornate speech, when Clio seized him and kissed him hard.

Wolf whistles floated up from the floor, and Shmi laughed before making her way back toward the stairs to leave the love birds to it. 

She had some gifts to send to her boy.

****************

Piett took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to five in his head before he stepped into the main conference room aboard the Devastator.

While he had visited the ship a number of times now, this was his first invitation to the flagship’s conference room and a meeting of the Fleet Captains with Lord Vader.

It would have been nice to see Veers, but his friend had duties as well, and was no doubt making some young ensign cry somewhere with his Herd.

Piett had seen some of the faces here on holoimaging at different points, but he had never met any of these officers in person. 

Well.

He’d never been a captain before either.

He still marveled that Lord Vader had approved his promotion. Piett had done his homework on the records of his fellow captains. Of the 15 destroyer captains present, including himself, 11 were from Core worlds. Two were from the Colonies, one was from Coruscant itself and only Piett was from the Rim.

He shouldn’t have been surprised therefore, when only Enrix nodded to him. The man was from Giju, and despite having been in space for many years, he still had the dusky skin typical of his people. He always looked healthy and tan due to this, and Piett was keenly aware that he must look quite pasty himself by now. 

The Imperial Navy did not see fit to have its ship captains lead planetside missions as much as he’d done in the Axxilan Fleet.

They all remained standing around the massive round table until another door hissed open and Lord Vader strode in, accompanied by the Fleet Admiral, a man by the name of Kendall Ozzel.

All conversations died, and each of the captains straightened to full attention as the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy looked around at them all slowly. 

What was behind that inscrutable black mask? Piett wondered. What had necessitated such an extensive suit and respirator?

Lord Vader’s gaze stopped right at him as soon as he had these thoughts and Piett swallowed, straightening even further. 

Could he…read minds?

He really ought to have done his research on Sith and Jedi before coming aboard—- kark, kark, kark…

The Dark Lord moved his gaze away from Piett.

“You are here because it is past time that we put a stop to Rebel supply lines in the Mid-Rim,” Vader said without any preamble. He gestured briefly with one hand and all the captains seated themselves, Piett scrambling to follow suit and hoping he didn’t look like a green recruit.

A holo map snapped into existence over the middle of the table, rotating gently in the midst of them.

“We are well aware that certain worlds are the chief offenders when it comes to supplying the enemy,” Vader continued and a space route lit up in bright red. “The Namadii Corridor. Our mission is to intercept any suspected Rebel ships or ships consorting with the Rebellion from Ghorman to Vondarc. We will, therefore, split Death Squadron into small groups. Hunting packs if you will.”

A number of the officers around the table allowed themselves predatory smiles at this statement.

“The main objective is to utterly deter those foolish enough to help this Rebellion,” Vader stated, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “If possible, disable the ships and arrest those in authority. Seize the cargo and use it as you wish on your vessels. However, if the resistance is causing too much damage to our ships, destroy them. Admiral Ozzel.”

Ozzel rose, stiff moustache bristling at them all as he gazed around the table, lip curling slightly as his eyes landed on Piett before he looked away once more.

“We will divide the Destroyers in groups of three,” he said, importance oozing out of every pore. “Some groups will also be given cruisers depending on the assignment. Devastator will lead Farnight and Starburst. Conquest will take lead for Stalker and Ultimatum. Tyrant will lead Avenger and Eclipse. Malevolence will lead Lancer and Nephilim while Storm takes lead for Retribution and Loyalist. Are we clear?”

There were nods all around the table. Piett glanced to Captain Cresek who was at least twenty years his senior and the commander of the Tyrant. 

“Good. Then let us move on…”

Ozzel turned the rest of the briefing to his Captain who gave them their patrol sectors and covered how and when they could provide assistance to other hunting packs as needed. 

They were going to be deployed along the Namadii Corridor for the next two months. Should they discover a major supply depot planetside, the army was authorized to seize it and destroy all means of storing and transporting it. 

When the briefing finished, Lord Vader did not linger, his black cloak flowing behind him as he strode out.

Only after the doors hissed shut did anyone dare to speak. 

All conversations seemed to be about the mission, or of a personal nature, and no one bothered to approach Piett. He didn’t wish to be the first to leave lest it was a breach in protocol, but eventually, he observed Cresek depart, and took that as his cue.

He moved through Devastator, resigning himself to messaging Veers later when the lift doors opened on the hangar bay deck and he found that he was staring right at a grinning army Colonel.

“You didn’t think you were going to slip off ship without at least a hello did you, Captain?” Veers asked him as Piett stepped out and gripped his friend’s hand. 

“Didn’t want to interrupt your duties, Colonel,” he replied, as Veers fell into easy stride beside him and they entered Hangar 4. “I’m still new to all of this as you know.”

“Indeed,” Veers said, nodding at the salutes of several troopers they passed. “So. We’re splitting up the Squadron. I confess to being disappointed we’re not working together, but it’s unsurprising as you’re the most junior captain.”

Piett raised an eyebrow at him.

Veers smiled.

“Just facts, Piett, I’m not giving you a hard time. If you want to work with Lord Vader, you have to prove yourself first.”

They reached the shuttle and Firmus held out a hand, appreciating his friend for taking the trouble to come find him.

“What is it you army boys say?” he asked as Veers gripped it firmly. “Good hunting?”

Veers huffed lightly in approval.

“You’ve been paying attention, who knew? Yes, we do. What does the navy say?”

“I don’t know about the rest of the navy,” Piett told him, “But I like what you said to me once. Safe stars.”

The Colonel’s face grew more serious and he nodded.

“Make sure they are, Firmus. Safe stars.”

***

“Sir!”

Piett accepted the grimy hand extended toward his face and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, breathing through the wrenching pain a dislocated shoulder caused.

“Come about port,” he panted, gripping his bad arm with his good hand to try and relieve the pain. “And then—-”

“Sir, the Rebels went to light speed after that last attack. I think they flung everything they had at us and fled,” Needa told him. 

His first officer had lost his cap somewhere in the battle, and his face was coated in black smoke from a control panel explosion, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Piett moved toward the head of the catwalk to stare out the viewports. Aside from their own small group of destroyers and cruisers, they were alone in the stars. 

“Get me in touch with Captain Cresek,” Piett ordered, making his way to comms. “Damage report to my datapad as soon as possible.”

A young ensign darted up with his datapad. The screen had a slight crack, but overall it looked better than he did at the moment. 

The comms officer put him through to the captain of the Tyrant, and Cresek’s small blue image stood on the panel before him.

“Piett. Good work. How bad is the damage to Avenger?”

Piett scanned his reports rapidly, trying to ignore the vicious throbbing from his dislocated shoulder.

“We have several decks open to vacuum, sir,” he answered, ‘but engineering is confident they can have a temporary seal in a matter of five hours. We’re able to go to lightspeed after that.”

Cresek nodded. 

“Good. I would rather rejoin the Fleet than limp to Kuat. I’m putting you in for a commendation. That last move was brilliant.”

Firmus flushed a little as the officers around him were listening.

“All credit to our TIE divisions, sir.”

“I’ll let you commend them, Captain. Report when you’re ready for lightspeed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cresek disappeared and Piett turned to move back up the central walkway, but Needa stepped in his path, brown eyes narrowed.

“Captain. I’ve informed Doctor Zefrop that you’re coming to see her, sir.”

“Lorth…” Piett sighed quietly.

“Didn’t think you’d want the whole bridge watching you have it replaced, Captain,” Needa insisted as a medic approached.

No, the kark he did not.

“Let me just do a temp sling, sir,” the medic told him, swiftly looping a narrow white cloth over Piett’s head. He gritted his teeth while the medic rested his arm into the loop, but it did take away the sharpest pain. 

“You have the bridge, Commander,” Piett said in resignation, and Needa smiled a little.

“Aye, Captain.”

“And then you are going to take some kip when I return,” Piett informed him, turning to walk out the blast doors without waiting for argument.

Lorth Needa had become a friend, and Piett was grateful to leave the Avenger’s bridge in his hands. But he was also far more cautious than Piett himself, and this included being far more concerned about minor injuries, whether they were his or someone else’s.

In the Axxilan fleet, this injury would have been given a sling and a painkiller and he’d deal with it when he could.

The doors hissed open to the CMO’s sickbay and while it was busy, it wasn’t completely overrun. Avenger had fifteen medbays with Zefrop’s being the largest and it contained two state of the art surgical suites. 

The doctor herself saw him enter from across the room, and immediately handed over her task to a subordinate as she approached him. 

An Alderaanian native, she had the classic dusky skin and dark hair, which made her both beautiful and intimidating. She was also Piett’s height so when she wished to make a point, she did not shy away from getting in his face. 

At first he’d thought this meant she didn’t like him at all, but then discovered that she was like this with literally all of her patients. 

Well.

The stubborn ones.

He’d observed her be incredibly gentle and forbearing with other crew, so this attitude was reserved for him and other officers who did not feel the need to come to her with every cut or scrape.

“Captain. Glad to see you making use of our services,” she greeted, scanner already out. 

“This could have waited—” he began, but she turned from him to summon over a medic.

“Let’s get him on the floor,” she said calmly, setting aside the scanner and turning to look at him expectantly.

Piett blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is much easier when I have the right leverage,” Zefrop told him as the medic shook out a thick blanket and laid it on the floor. “So you need to lie down.”

He frowned at her.

“I do not question the way you run this ship,” Zofrop said, folding her arms, grey eyes boring into him.

“Yes, you do,” he reminded her, but the corner of his mouth ticked up. 

“Only when you get us shot up,” she replied calmly. “Floor. Now.”

He sighed, but decided it wasn’t worth it. He needed to get back to his duties. So he cautiously went to his knees and the medic helped to ease him back. A painkiller hissed into his neck and provided blessed relief while the doctor undid the sling and carefully stretched the arm out perpendicular to his side. Even with the painkiller, he felt that, and tightened his jaw.

“Hold him steady on that side,” she ordered the medic. “This part is going to be terrible, Captain,” she informed him. “But it will be over in seconds. Hold fast.”

He nodded and she rotated his arm to send  lightning shooting through him. The medic pressed firmly on his chest as Piett flinched and then she yanked hard and back.

His vision whited out for just a moment and then—-

Kark .

He looked up at her smug expression as she offered him a hand.

He took it and allowed her and the medic to assist him back to his feet.

“Told you,” she said. “Aren’t you glad you came right away rather than waiting for it to swell and be worse?”

He opened his mouth, but she plunged on.

“The muscles are bruised and strained, so you need to be in a sling for a day or two. But you can go about your duties within reason. If I hear you’ve been on a ladder, we will have words, Captain.”

“I’m not likely to be climbing ladders, Doctor,” he answered mildly as the medic fitted him with a proper sling which had adjustable straps and a cushioned arm rest.

“You never know with your type,” Zofrop returned, moving over to one of the hover carts and rummaging in a drawer. “Here. Five painkillers. Every six hours.”

“Thank you,” he replied, placing them in his trouser pocket. 

He returned to the bridge, making certain that Needa took some well deserved kip. Once the second officer relieved him, however, he found himself too restless to sleep. 

It was something of a habit of his to roam his ship in the off hours. It helped him to think and he’d been able to more quickly be acquainted with his crew by doing so. 

Thus, Piett made his way down a few decks and ended up outside the office of the senior TIE group commander. 

The door hissed open when he tapped the access pad, but he could see that Commander Liam Ciprone had not expected his captain. 

“Sir!” he exclaimed, rising from behind his desk.

Piett waved him down and entered the office to allow the doors to close.

“Sorry,” he said as the Commander sank back into his desk chair. “I was just passing by. But I don’t want to interrupt long. Just ah…checking in.”

It suddenly felt a bit pathetic. 

This man had lost numerous pilots today thanks to Piett’s orders. Further, it had been Piett’s idea to use the TIE fighters as the primary aggressors to achieve what they had. 

Ciprone was either too polite or too good an officer, however, to allow any resentment to show.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said. “Are you all right, sir?” he gestured at the sling.

“Babying a dislocated shoulder,” Piett replied dismissively. “I wanted to thank you, Commander. You and your people were utterly outstanding. We could not have defeated the Rebels so handily without you.”

There was an awkward silence, and Piett internally kicked himself. 

Yes, they’d won today, but the cost had been highest for the TIE divisions. He’d likely made no friends amongst all the TIE groups and—-

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I’m so very sorry for the losses you suffered. I wanted you to know I do not take that for granted. So.” He gestured with his free hand.

Ciprone was a big man—-broader than Veers—and so when he stood, the office seemed a bit crowded.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said, holding out a meaty hand. “Kind of you to come down.”

Piett’s fingers were engulfed as he shook the Commander’s hand.

“Least I could do,” he said. “Aside from putting you all in for a commendation. If you’re, ah, writing letters, you can add that.”

Ciprone inclined his head, placing his hands behind his back.

“I will, sir.”

Piett turned to go when the man’s voice stopped him at the door.

“Captain.”

He turned inquiringly.

“How many letters for you, sir?”

He paused, unsure why he was being asked this, then huffed out a breath. He always knew the number. 

“Ninety-seven.”

Most of those had been from the damaged decks that had opened to vacuum.

“And would you have done the same tactics over again, sir?”

Piett made himself look into Ciprone’s scarred and impenetrable face. Considered all he had done this day, and what he had ordered Avenger to do. 

“Yes,” he settled on simply. “I would.”

Ciprone nodded.

“So would I, Captain,” he replied. “Thank you.”

Piett exited the office feeling a bit lighter. If he was not mistaken, that had been approval from the TIE commander. 

He considered a chronometer on the wall opposite him and weighed whether he was ready for bed or for a walk to engineering.

He knew what his CMO would say. But he found it healing and helpful to wander his ship and as engineering was the heart of any vessel, he enjoyed going there.

Piett turned his steps to the left and made his way to the lift for engineering decks. 

If he needed any ladders, Zofrop didn’t have to know about it.

Chapter Text

Piett stared at the screen and then refreshed the monitor. 

It had to be wrong. This was a prank, there was no way—--

The screen came back unchanged. This was real. 

He read the message for the fifth time.

Captain Piett—

Your presence is requested and required by Lord Vader at 2100 hours aboard SSD Executor. 

Hangar Bay 43

Meeting Location: Lord Vader’s Office. Deck 66

Promptly reply to this message to acknowledge orders.

On autopilot, Piett replied in the affirmative and then sent the message.

What had he done?

Had Vader perhaps reviewed the recent battle footage and found him wanting? 

It was a truth universally understood that if one was meeting with Lord Vader, one might very well not be returning. 

He glanced at the chronometer. 

1938.

Right then. He had some things to accomplish before this ‘meeting’. 

First he sent a long message to Shmi, saying all that was in his heart, even as he strove to reassure her that all would be well.

He didn’t know that.

And he hated to worry her, as he knew he would, but it would be worse if he left her without any note at all. 

Next he wrote to Veers. By necessity, this one couldn’t be as long because he needed to change uniforms and get things in order aboard Avenger. But his friend deserved to know what was happening as well.

He then ordered Needa to meet him in Hangar Bay 14 at 2015 hours before he double checked his legal documents and the brief will he’d drawn up when he joined the Imperial Forces, which left everything to Shmi.

Then he rose and looked around his simple quarters. He was proud of what he’d built here. He enjoyed the homeiness of his second hand sofa and the thick woven rug he’d found at a market a year ago. It was done in cheerful autumnal colors and it made his quarters feel welcoming. 

His little tree collection.

The miniscule stash of good alcohol for Veers’ visits. 

The painting of an ancient masted ship that Shmi had sent him only three weeks ago. 

Stop.

He musn’t allow himself to grow maudlin now. Not before a meeting with Vader.

He showered with naval swiftness and put on his clean uniform carefully, making certain not a crease was out of place.

He took a final look in his mirror. He looked strained to the breaking point, but that couldn’t be helped. As long as the uniform was pristine.

Then he walked out of his quarters and down toward the hangar bay.

He noted all the familiar details of his ship—-

The slight dents in the wall near the lift he was taking which had occurred before his time as Captain. Apparently someone had accidentally backed a work rig into it while ironically doing repairs on the ceiling. It still hadn’t been addressed.

He knew the rivets in the floor of this lift well since he took it most days. One of them was a little loose. It was tempting to find a tool to fix it, but no.

When he stepped out at the hangar decks, he was met with the scents of ozone, plasma riveters and oil. As he always had been when he came down here. 

Would this be the last time he smelled it?

He moved with as much poise as he could muster, nodding and saluting as he passed crew members.

Needa, who had been near Piett’s shuttle, moved to meet him halfway across the deck, his perpetually worried expression more severe as he approached.

“Sir,” he said quietly, saluting and falling into step beside his Captain. “What do you need me for?”

“I’m heading over to the flagship, Lorth,” he responded, somewhat astonished at how steady his voice was. “I have left some instructions for you which I sent to your computer. But I wanted to speak to you here in person so that we avoid too much scuttlebutt.”

“You have me worried, sir,” Needa replied, glancing down at him.

“Sorry, it can’t be helped,” Piett told him, swallowing and nodding to the deck chief across the way. “I have been personally summoned to speak with Lord Vader.”

Needa stopped dead.

“Lorth,” Piett said, pausing. “Don’t make a scene. Keep walking.”

Needa opened his mouth a little, shut it, and obeyed.

“Sir…” he managed in a whisper. “Why?”

“The message didn’t say,” replied Piett. “That’s why…look. We don’t have much time and we both know things might end…badly. I need you to hold the ship together, Commander. You’ll read my instructions. And my thank you note to you. But I appreciate you being here. Please…try to carry on as usual regardless of the outcome. I put in a good word for you.”

Needa’s jaw worked and his face crumpled momentarily before he gained control like the officer he was.

“I’m not reading that until I know exactly what has happened!” he insisted in intense, but quiet tones. 

“Fair enough,” Piett said. “I appreciate it.”

“I’ll be here,” Lorth told him, holding out a hand. “When you get back.”

Piett gripped it, wishing he could say so much more to this good man.

“Thank you,” he answered.

“One more thing,” Needa said as Piett set his foot on the landing ramp. “Does Veers know?”

Piett nodded.

“I sent a message.”

“All right then.”

Needa stepped back and saluted—-not something he typically did when they acknowledged each other, but Piett appreciated the feeling behind it and saluted back.

Then he moved up into the cockpit and started up the shuttle, taking it smoothly from the hangar bay toward Executor.

Normally, he enjoyed approaching the flagship—he would drink in her beautiful, sleek lines and the dagger sharp tip of her. He freely acknowledged that he was a nerf for ships as Veers liked to tease him about. Piett had always retorted that a naval man should be a nerf for ships. If a captain didn’t love and respect his lady, there were consequences.

Veers liked to point out that the army was not nearly so romantic about it and Piett would sigh at him and shake his head. 

He didn’t recall much about his journey, doing everything on autopilot until the tractor beam took hold of him and drew him gently into the hangar bay on Executor.

An aide met him, young face peppered with freckles as he saluted and led him to the correct lift for Deck 66. 

They didn’t speak on the eternal ride through the ship. Piett knew it wasn’t really all that long, but it felt a great deal like the last walk of the condemned. The young man with him had an impressive neutral expression so that was no help in determining what sort of meeting he was about to face. 

Once they disembarked, the aide walked with him until the rounded a final curve in the corridor.

“Those doors are for Lord Vader’s office,” he said. “Just push the panel to the side and you will be admitted.”

“Thank you,” Piett replied, hoping his voice didn’t have any tremble in it.

He walked to the doors indicated and pressed the flat panel to the right.

Immediately, they hissed open and he stepped inside, surprised to find how dim it was.

Even as he had the thought, the lighting rose slightly.

It revealed a standard Imperial office in many ways, though it was much larger than anything most captains or even admirals would have. 

It was very spartan—-a massive desk stood opposite Piett with two chairs on one side and a very high backed chair on the other. There was a thick grey rug that covered most of the deck and on the right hand wall, a massive map of the galaxy hung. It was very detailed and it was apparent that all the star systems glowed. He vaguely wondered what had been used to create that effect.

Below the painting stood a low cabinet without any decoration upon it. There were no floor lamps or hover lamps—-merely the overhead lighting. 

And standing beside the desk, datapad in hand…

“My Lord,” Piett said, straightening as far as his spine would allow. “You required my presence.”

The kish kosh of Vader’s vocoder kept even time, but he did not immediately reply, deliberately setting down his datapad on his desk before he moved to stand before Piett.

Piett had faced many species in his career—-and it was safe to say that the bulk of them had been larger than he was. Most humans were larger than he was after all. 

But he had never felt as small and powerless as he did in this moment.

“Tell me about Axxila,” Vader said without any preamble and Piett did his best not to blink in surprise.

“Ah…yes, sir. What do you wish to know?”

“Whatever you wish to tell me,” Vader intoned unhelpfully.

All right then.

“It is a hard planet, my Lord,” he began. He doubted that Vader wanted the story of his life. And if he wished to know Axxila’s history and geography, he could easily look that up himself. “It has many of the typical issues of the Rim. But there are also many good people—-people worth defending.”

“So you joined the Anti-Pirate Fleet,” Vader stated. Unsurprising that he knew Firmus’s record. 

“Yes, my Lord. I wished to make Axxila a safer place for the law abiding citizens. Axxila, like many planets, is plagued by spicers and cartels.”

He had no idea why Vader had ordered him to come here to discuss his past, but he certainly wasn’t going to ask that question.

“Yet you joined the Imperial Navy of your own accord,” Vader prompted, folding his arms on his chest.

“I… felt that I could have a broader impact against such filth by serving with the Empire,” Piett agreed.

“And has that been the case?” Vader asked him. “Have you had the impact you intended?”

Piett swallowed.

He wanted to give a politic answer to this. But he was speaking with a Force user. He was rather certain that Lord Vader would know it was a politic answer. 

Nothing for it. 

He’d always hated it when others dodged an issue—-being honest was really the best way. 

“I have not, my Lord,” he said. “There have been other aspects I have found satisfying, but I would desire to see the Empire spend more time dealing with criminals who have caused so much harm to billions.”

There was a more extended pause.

“The Rebels have caused such harm,” Vader said at last. “Do you not find that a more worthy pursuit?”

Piett’s jaw tightened. 

He knew that Rebel attacks were being taken more seriously by the Empire. They were classified as one of the more dangerous criminal elements. Many of his colleagues felt that the Empire should call it an outright war—that Rebel forces merited such a title with the current size of their forces.

Piett agreed it was serious. But then again—some of the Rebel’s points aligned with his own concerns, and they were concerns that Lord Vader had just touched upon.

“The Rebels have caused harm in similar ways, my Lord,” he answered cautiously. 

“You do not agree,” Vader interrupted silkily. 

Kark, kark, kark…

These were dangerous waters.

“I think that cartels like the Hutts, and the Black Sun and the Crymorah Syndicate have destabilized large parts of the galaxy,” he said. “And that has had considerable impact on Rebel action as well.”

“You would say they are more of a concern than known terrorists?” Lord Vader pressed.

“Given the insidious nature of their operations and the death tolls they have caused, sir, yes I do,” Piett replied, heart thundering madly. “I am not saying we should not pursue the Rebels of course. Merely that there are older and more deeply rooted issues in the galaxy.”

“And solving those might solve the Rebel issue?” Vader asked.

Piett clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Perhaps, my Lord.”

“Mmm.”

Vader paced away from him toward the huge map on his wall. 

“Your recent actions were commendable, Captain. You did not hesitate, even though it meant you lost personnel.”

These abrupt switches in topic were a little difficult to keep up with.

“Thank you, my Lord. I have good people.”

“That’s as may be. You, however, are the captain.”

“Ah…yes, my Lord,” Piett replied.

“Are you afraid of me, Piett?” Vader asked, his back to the painting. He created a strange and massive shadow over the depiction of the galaxy, blocking out numerous star systems with his silhouette.

This was the strangest conversation he’d ever had in his life.

“I…have been, sir,” he replied. He’d been terrified with that summons. But oddly, right now in this office, he found that he wasn’t afraid. Curious, yes. Uncertain. But he realized that he wasn’t actually afraid.

“You are not right now?”

“No, my Lord. Perhaps I ought to be, but…I cannot explain it.”

“I value competence, Piett. I do not tend to…dispose of those who carry out their duties well.”

He really wasn’t certain how to respond to that. 

“Yes, sir,” he managed lamely.

Vader’s measured breathing filled the office for long moments. 

Then he abruptly turned, cape swirling behind him as he moved to his desk and lifted the datapad again.

“You will transfer to the Executor tomorrow,” he said, lifting the pad and tapping at it. “I am installing you as head of comms on the Senior bridge. Make the necessary arrangements for your ship.”

It was as though white static filled Piett’s brain. 

He was being demoted?

“The necessary—-” he stammered.

Vader waved a hand.

“Who do you wish to see as captain in your place on Avenger?”

“Ah…well Commander Needa would be—”

“Then make it so,” Vader cut across him. “Quarters will be assigned to you here. But you are responsible to have your things brought over. You will report for your first shift in 24 hours, are we clear?”

His command, the command he’d worked so hard for, was being stripped away from him. His life upended. 

And the only response he could give was—-

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.”

“Dismissed.”

Piett bowed and left the office, his whole body numb. 

It took him a good twenty seconds to register the fact that someone was saying his name. That someone was walking beside him.

“Firmus. Are you all right?”

A strong grip on his shoulders forced him to stop and look up into the concerned grey eyes of Max Veers.

“I’m…I—-”

Veers narrowed his eyes and Piett took a deep breath.

“I’m alright, Max. Sorry. Just…some shocks.”

“Come for a drink in the lounge.”

“I can’t,” Firmus told him, harsh reality starting to set in. “I have to get back to Avenger to transfer command to Needa.”

“What the HELL happened?” Veers asked, concern radiating from every pore.

He walked beside Piett to the lift he’d arrived on and they entered. 

Piett leaned back against the wall once it began its descent, grateful for the metal support.

“I’ve been transferred to Executor,” he said tiredly. “Effective tomorrow I’m the comms man.”

Veers blinked, then a slow smile grew on his face.

“Firmus.”

“What.”

“Why aren’t you more happy about this? Finally we get to serve side by side! Literally! This is an honor!”

“Is it?” he snapped, the strain he’d been under finally getting to him. “I just had my command taken from me, Veers. The command I’ve worked my entire life for and just like that…!”

He stopped, not trusting his voice.

The Colonel’s expression softened and he reached to place a hand on Piett’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, my friend. It does seem like that, and—”

“It IS that, Max.”

He felt a bit nauseous now and regretted not having something in his stomach.

“Piett. I do see that from your perspective this seems like a step back. But hear me out. You were personally interviewed by Lord Vader. Do you know how rare that is? Further, most people see it as an extreme honor to be required to serve on the flagship. And you didn’t get just any position. He put you on the senior bridge. Firmus—-”

Piett’s overtaxed mind took awhile to catch up to what Veers was saying. 

“You’re saying this is somehow a promotion, Veers?”

“Yes, I am actually,” his friend replied, folding his arms. “And I truly am sorry it doesn’t feel like it to you, but I think this is a good thing.”

Piett bit his lip and nodded a little. It didn’t feel at all good. It felt wretched actually. But he appreciated Veers’ encouragement.

“Also, you are really not showing the enthusiasm you should for the best part in all of this,” Max informed him, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Piett managed a slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

“Because I’m serving with you?”

“Because you’re serving with me,” Veers agreed confidently. “Exactly.”

“Ground pounders,” Firmus sighed, but Max didn’t look at all repentant.