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.

(note: General Veers' first name is NOT Caleb,
officially. I'm not even sure he was given a 
first name. "Caleb" just sounded good.)

Characters and names property of Lucasarts.
Non-profit story.
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Traitor and Rebellion
by Quentin Stuart
----------------------

"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 officers 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 was only 
thirty-four.

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 troopers 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 the 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 voic e 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 sen 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.