The Empire is filled with notable commanders and personages-names like Emperor Palpatine, Darth Vader, Grand Admiral Thrawn, and Grand Moff Tarkin are well-known throughout the Star Wars universe. But what of lesser-known Imperials who served the Empire with just as much loyalty? This is a story of General Veers, the commander of the Imperial Army aboard the Executor, who may be less prominent but no less memorable.

Author's note: General Veers' first name officially is "Maximillian." However, since "Maximillian" is a pretty long and awkward sounding name, I gave General Veers the name "Caleb" in this story. Who knows? It might have been his middle name. Also, "stunblade" as used here refers to a handheld torture device, much like a smaller version of the sonic torture droid used on Princess Leia in ANH. It is NOT a killing weapon of any sort.

Characters and names property of LucasArts. Non-profit story.

"General!"

The shout came from the hallway leading to the bridge, beyond the crew pit where General Caleb Veers was standing, one hand on the console. The console operator looked up at him, questioning. Veers motioned impatiently.

"Go on."

The operator turned back to the blue screen. Veers' fingers drummed on the metal. The shout came again. A clatter of boots on the command walkway.

"General Veers?" The console operator keyed in the final code of the report and sent it with a simple tap of the key. Veers straightened slowly, turning to face the young officer up on the crew pit walkway. The officer stood stiffly, nervousness etched on his young face.

Veers looked up at him for a long moment, cold eyes taking in the officer's smooth cheeks, immaculate olive uniform, the painful straightness with which he stood. The officer's face twitched, he swallowed. Veers blinked.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" he said softly.

The officer swallowed again, rubbed his palms surreptitiously down the sides of his pants legs. Veers noticed. Sweaty palms. He would never have thought he was such a feared man. The only man his palms had ever sweated for was Lord Vader himself.

"All patrols are in, sir."

Veers raised his eyebrows slightly, felt a faint surprise. "You've found them." It was not a question.

The officers jerked his head up and down sharply, once. "There was only one, sir."

Veers' eyebrows went up another notch. "Only one?"

"Yes, sir. Small patrol ship. Incredibly fast. The patrol group that caught him was amazed that they could follow him at all. State-of-the-art equipment, sir, if you catch my drift."

"Indeed." Veers almost smiled. The young officer stood more easily now, obviously finding some hidden store of courage deep within himself. "You've taken the ship to security storage?"

"Yes, sir. The man himself is in high custody security detention. I take it you would want to see him?"

This time Veers did smile. The officer shifted slightly, the worried nervous look back on his boyish face, like a child who has snitched the candy and worried that he is about to be discovered. Veers thought, They get younger every year.

"Yes, of course, Lieutenant," he said aloud. "This is my project, after all. See to it he's kept under maximum security. Double the guard."

The lieutenant blinked, surprised. "Is the information that valuable, sir?"

"Never mind that, Lieutenant," Veers snapped. "I'll be down to see him shortly. Keep him under surveillance."

"Yes, sir."

The officer departed. Veers remained where he was, hand on the side of the console. Only one. The Rebels were getting reckless.

"General? Should you be needing anything more?"

He looked down. The console operator sat ready, hands poised over the controls of the keypad. Veers opened his mouth, closed it.

"Nothing more. I will be back down in a while. You are free until then."

"Yes, sir."

He exited the crew pit and followed the command walkway to the turbolift, crossing momentarily to the comm consoles to send a short message to Admiral Jellers on Imperial Center about some money he owed. Imperial equipment was free; why not pull some rank and use it?

Entering the turbolift he punched the code for officers' quarters. The deck to which the lift took him was silent and echoing, glaring wall lamps spaced at regular intervals to throw their bright shadows across the corridor. Veers stopped in his room, straightened his uniform and glanced at his reflection in the mirror before leaving, making sure he looked presentable.

The face that gazed back at him out of the mirror's depths was a young one, though not as young as it used to be. It was shadowed in the soft, dim light of the cabin, blue eyes set deep under light brows, fair skin marred faintly by a bruise from yesterday's boxing match. The cheekbones were not high, yet the nose and mouth were firmly set, commanding. He turned his face to the left, squinting at the reflection out the corner of his eye. Was that a wrinkle? No, it couldn't be.

He combed his hair lightly with his fingers, set the freshly ironed olive cap neatly on his head. The door slid shut behind him as he crossed to the turbolift through the too brightly lit hall, pressed for the maximum security detention level. The guards seated at the security consoles looked relieved to see him as he stepped out of the lift. One of them crossed the console, stepped outside. "Thank goodness you're here, sir."

"Is he that hard to handle?"

The officer managed to look faintly confused and bemused at the same time. "Oh, no, general, quite the contrary. Quiet as the dead, sir." He gulped, looked faintly ashamed at his unintentional bad pun. "That is-quiet as anything back there. But...the guards have been having a bit of a problem. They say they don't like to look at him. They say he-" the officer paused, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"They say what?" Veers prodded.

"Well sir," the officer said, "they say he gives them the 'creeps'."

Veers laughed out loud at that one, while the officer stood nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his uniform tunic. The other guards inside the console area glanced at him covertly before turning back to their work.

"Why," said Veers when he had stopped laughing, "do I find that incredibly funny, Captain?"

"It is a bit unmilitary, sir, but I wouldn't call it 'funny.' These are trained Imperial troopers, and I've never heard of anything that could faze a trooper before."

"All right," Veers said. He flicked his fingers into the shadows, motioning. Two Imperial stormtroopers came forward, masked in black and white anonymity, stood silently at attention beside him. "Let's go have a look at this so-called 'creepy' prisoner, shall we, Captain?"

They crossed the security area into one of the corridors spidering off from the hub boots clanking on the grilled metal floor. The maze-like system of hallways twisted in inconceivable directions through the detention area. By the third turn, Veers was utterly disoriented, but the security officer led them on with a confident air. Troopers guarded some cell doors, nodding to Veers as he passed. He did not bother to nod back.

The cell at which the officer finally halted was just another high-security cell, heavy gray metal blaster-proof door, security light blinking green. But four trooper guarded this cell instead of the usual two, and there was an uneasy atmosphere permeating the air Veers frowned slightly. Something was...not right.

One of the troopers stepped forward. "General Veers," he said, voice tinny through the helmet speaker. "The prisoner is at your disposal."

"Thank you." He noticed the shoulder pauldron. "Commander. I will deal with him." He started to lift his hand to motion the two troopers forward, then paused, lowered it. "Open the door."

"Wouldn't it be better if-"

Veers shook his head. "I will not need guards. He won't try anything." The security officer started to protest. Veers held up a hand. "I will be out shortly. You, Captain, wait here until I come out. I doubt I can find my way back to the lift on my own."

"Yes, sir."

The trooper commander turned to the blinking code-pad behind him, punched in a rapid series of numbers. The doors slid open and Veers stepped in.

It was dark and still, the blackness lit only by a soft, smoky, red glow. Veers blinked, then focused on a lump of still fabric in one black corner. He moved closer, stopped.

"Get up, you," he said harshly.

The lump stirred, resolved itself into a blanket that slid away to expose the tousled head of a man. The man blinked, his face not young, not old, dark hair shaggy and unkempt, the eyes black and hard. Veers felt a slight shiver. He pushed it away.

"On your feet," he snapped.

The man got to his feet slowly, stood swaying on the metal floor in torn shirt and pants and bare feet, blanket clutched around himself protectively.

"How long have you been selling classified Imperial information to the Rebels?" Veers demanded.

The man shook his head, eyes dark and gleaming in the red light, watchful as a cornered animal is watchful.

"How long?" Veers did not raise his voice but his gaze hardened on the man. Finally the man spoke.

"Two years." The answer sounded dragged out of him, his voice soft and defiant. Veers frowned. Something about that...He opened his mouth, then changed his mind.

"So that's how they found us," he said. "At Korfu and Regala and Corellia. It was you."

The man blinked peacefully, looking at Veers with those eyes.

"Do you know what the penalty is for what you have done?"

"Death." The word sounded almost welcome, coming out of the man's mouth in that soft voice. Again, Veers felt the flicker, the chill. He pushed it away.

"Yes," said Veers. "Death. And since you have nothing to lose that you have not already lost, give me the names of your accomplices."

The man said nothing.

"You are going to die," Veers aid patiently, as if to a small child. "You have no reputation to suffer from, no friends to alienate. Tell me."

Still the man said nothing, eyes looking at Veers, now almost accusing. Without removing his own eyes from the man's face, Veers reached down quietly, then in one swift motion pressed the stunblade against the man's throat.

"Tell me," he said.

"No."

They stood like that for a long while, sweat beading on both their faces though the air in the cell was chill. The man silently defiant, Veers cold and unmoving. Finally, with a motion almost violent, Veers jerked the stunblade away, back into his hip holster.

"Damn you," he said quietly. He stood, looking at the man. That sense of creeping familiarity in his mind grew stronger.

"Do I...know you?" he said at last.

"No," the man said, his tone faintly amused, the eyes harder than ever contrasting sharply with his voice. "I do not believe we have ever had the pleasure of meeting, General."

Veers did not reply, turned swiftly away and exited the cell. The troopers outside snapped to attention as he emerged, but he paid them no heed, brooding.

"General?" said the security officer.

"Let's get out of this place," Veers said. The words came out harsher than he had intended and the officer looked sharply at him, mouth open as if to speak, then shut it without comment.

"General," said one of the troopers behind him.

"What."

"I almost forgot, sir." Veers turned to see the trooper holding out something to him. "We searched the prisoner and found these. Here."

The objects spilled over into his cupped hands. He palmed them through, tucking the small blaster into his own weapons belt. A cigarra lighter. Some worthless Imperial coinage. A small black book.

He frowned, fingering the book. That creeping familiar sensation washed over him again. He put a finger to the clasp, paused. His hand trembled slightly, and with an effort he unsnicked the clasp, opened the book.

As he had known, it was filled with holo photographs. He flipped through to the end, glancing at each one as if almost afraid to look. There were not very many. He felt nothing, only a vast blank emptiness as he flipped through it again, though he knew not why he did so. He felt a rush of rage and helplessness and he suddenly raised one fist, slammed it into the metal bulkhead, turning his face away.

"General!" There was alarm in the trooper's voice. Veers waved him away, motioned the security officer forward.

It seemed an eternity before they emerged back into the fresher air of the security console area. Veers entered the lift, took it directly to the officers quarters, to the dimness of his own cabin. The door slid shut quietly behind him as he crossed to his bunk, took the book out again but did not open it. His head still felt light, empty from that first shock.

He slid his finger over the clasp, opened it gently. He sat looking at the first holo again, running one finger along the black leather of the book.

It was a holo of a young man, fair hair neatly styled, grinning out from a place and time so long ago. Clad in a simple white shirt open at the collar and Corellian-style formal khaki-colored pants, he seemed even from the holo to radiate charm, grace, roguish flair. Veers sat there, staring at it vacantly, mind not empty now but too full of memories. He did not have that picture anymore, had thrown it away along with all his other high school memories when he entered the Caridan Academy. He focused on the holo again. So young, he mused. He had looked so young at eighteen.

He flipped through the next two holos, one of himself again in an Academy uniform, the other of a boy he did not know. At the next, however, he paused again, looking at the picture, feeling a rush of memories too bittersweet. A woman, a girl, really, smiling faintly, posed against a background of dark leaves and wearing a red dress of some soft, velvet material. Her face was not beautiful, but so life-like that he almost reached out to touch her, as vibrant as he remembered her from almost fifteen years ago. She should have been his, he thought, stroking the air above her face with his fingers. He had courted her for three years, before she had ever met Kal. Then she had told him she had to choose between them. And when he decided to enter the Academy, she had chosen Kal.

The memories loomed before him like shadows out of the past. He shook his head, closed the book and dropped it on the bed, then rose, went over to the small table in the corner. He picked up a glass from the cluttered mess of reports and datacards and personal items, but did not reach for a bottle, head bowed, thinking, What have I done?

He set the glass back down and left his quarters and spent the rest of the afternoon on the bridge taking orders from Admiral Piett. Not Lord Vader, thankfully, he had departed yesterday for Imperial Center. Piett looked at him oddly enough, stopping by once to ask what was wrong. Veers shook his head, motioned him away, said it was nothing, a headache. After duty he went back down and took a quick shower, lay down in his uniform still and stared at the ceiling for an hour, trying to sleep. Finally he got up, left his quarters and entered the lift once more, rode up to the detention level. The security night watchman on duty looked up, startled.

"General Veers!"

Veers started forward into the hallway. "Bring me to the prisoner you captured today."

The officer frowned. "But sir, it's late, and past standard time for prisoner interrogation. Shouldn't you better-"

"I said, take me there!" Veers barked.

The officer blanched. "Yes, sir."

The route there was as winding as ever, but the cell only had two troopers guarding it now.

"Let the general in," said the officer hastily, without preamble. The trooper, looking at Veers' face, punched in the code hurriedly.

"Thank you," said Veers, and stepped inside.

It was as dark and cold as he remembered. "Kal," he said softly. "Wake up."

"I have been awake," said that voice which he now recognized. "I've been waiting for you to come back."

The blanket slid away again and the man sat up, watching Veers, his features still different from the boy Veers remembered but familiar enough, now. "For a moment this afternoon, I thought you might actually do it."

"So did I," Veers said. His palms were sweaty. He wiped them on the sides of his pants. "I didn't recognize you. You lied to me. What for? You could have told me and saved me the trouble."

"Told you what? My identity, or the names of my 'accomplices'?"

"Both."

The man smiled faintly. "I wanted no sympathy from you. And for accomplices, there are none. I work alone now. The last one was killed three days ago by one of your patrols on the Outer Rim."

Veers said nothing, knowing what he wanted to ask would not be what he wanted to know. But it slipped out. "How is Dara?"

A shadow passed across the other's face. "She...died, Caleb."

Veers felt the numbness again. "Good skies," he breathed. "When?"

"Four years ago. Our freighter crashed." The man was silent for a while. "I'm surprised you even remembered to ask about her."

"What-" Veers laughed incredulously, a strained sound. "What do you mean?"

"Dara always knew. About you. That you cared about no one but yourself. You and your world that no one could penetrate, not even her, no matter how hard she tried. That's why she left you, don't you know?"

Veers stared at him, his blood cold. "You're wrong," he said, words sticking in his throat. "She left because I chose the Academy. She told me herself."

The other shook his head. "No, Caleb. It was more than that. She said she had seen the other side of you now. She said you had always wanted only for yourself, more attention and glory than you could handle. That you were so blind that you could never believe you had chosen the wrong side in the war. I didn't listen to her at first. But I've seen my share of Imperials now and I'm afraid I have to agree with her. And this afternoon I saw you had become one of them too."

"You shut up!" Veers hissed vehemently, taking a threatening step forward. His face and neck felt hot in the coolness and his hands were shaking. "You're lying! Don't you think I know you wanted her too? I know my loyalties. The only right side of this war is the Empire, and that's the side I've chosen. Look at yourself!" He gestured violently to the other's torn clothes, disheveled hair and two-days' growth of beard. "You should not be talking about blindness."

"Believe what you will," the other shrugged slightly. "I know I can't change you. Just as Dara knew. But she's gone now, and I haven't seen you in eleven years. Nothing can change what has happened. You can only change the future."

Veers drew a long shuddering breath. "Kal."

The man held up a hand. "No. Don't make me any offers. I won't have them."

"I am a general. I can free you legally. You can go free by my word. No jailbreaks-I'll go through the legal pathways and you can be a free man."

The other smiled faintly. "It's been a long road, and I'm tired. Nothing you do can free me, not in the way I want to be free. Let me go, Caleb." Suddenly his face sagged as if from a great weariness. "For god's sake, let me go."

"I-" said Veers. He reached out a hand, hesitantly, touched the other's sleeve for a brief moment, meeting the dark eyes. Then he turned on his heel and left the cell.

He found the officer had left but somehow made it back to the lift without mishap. The security area seemed too brightly lit, too mockingly cheerful. The night officer looked up from his glowing screen, frowning.

"Did you do all you came to do, General?"

"Yes," said Veers, looking at him with an expression of faint amusement and contempt. "I did, Lieutenant, thank you."

The officer saluted, and Veers returned the salute, then pressed the door open control for the turbolift and entered. He did not look back.