TheBridge

“Sir, the Imperial ship is hailing us!” Comms reported.

“On screen,” Piett ordered, facing forward and clenching his hands behind his back.

An image flickered into focus and a woman of perhaps sixty with snow white hair and granite features appeared.

“Captain,” she said without preamble, her lip curling a little at the sight of their battered bridge, “ I am Captain Lyprax of the SSD Executor. You and I both know you cannot sustain another barrage. You are hereby ordered to hand over the Jedi children and I will spare your crew and ship.”

They were here for the Skywalker twins. Palpatine knew.

“And I think you’ll destroy us anyway the moment we give them to you,” Piett told her, frantically pondering his options.

Her lips curved in a thin, bloodless smile.

“You’ll just have to trust us then, Captain.”

He didn’t. He sensed her duplicity. He reached further into the Force, seeking for a presence…

She surged into his mind and he staggered a little at the intensity of it. So she hadn’t forgotten him.

<MY JEDI,> she rejoiced. <The Emperor’s enemy! You are here!>

Something curled and awoke in his chest at her possessive term—this incredible, marvelous ship. Though she was more in a way he doubted anyone could explain.

Captain Firmus Piett is rescued by high ranking Rebels from the hands of the notorious Son-tuul Pride. His life is saved by none other than Sola Naberrie who is working as a secret operative for the Rebellion. But when things go sideways, and they are forced to evacuate the small Rebel outpost, the Imperial Captain and the Rebel must work together to survive.

“Now,” Palpatine said, seating himself regally and regarding both of them from the shadow of his hood, “we have much to discuss in a rather—-short space of time. After all, your Rebel Fleet will be arriving soon, and I wish to demonstrate the power of this fully armed, and operational battle station.”

All right. Anakin had been reasonably certain that Palpatine knew of the planned Rebel attack. The news of the Death Star’s capability was unwelcome, but could be dealt with provided the team on Endor completed their mission in time.

Luke scowled, clenching his jaw, but turned away without comment to stare out at the stars.

“Yessssss,” Palpatine purred, tapping his fingers lightly on the smooth metal of his throne. “Your pitiful efforts to hide your purpose are not enough, young Skywalker.”

There was a beat and then he turned his face toward Anakin.

“But then—-neither are yours…My. Old. Friend. So much faith does he have in you. That you will save him.”

Anakin did not allow himself to react in any way. This was Palpatine’s method. He often acted as though he knew things for certain that he did not, thus urging information from those unfortunate enough to oppose him.

“He is young, my master,” he replied evenly, mental shields locked. “And therefore naive. It is ever the way with the Jedi.”

“Indeed,” Palpatine agreed thoughtfully, “so it could almost be forgiven. Your folly however, has another name. Treason.”

The word hung in the air between the three of them with terrible import.