Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay. I've got a ton of stuff on my plate right now, and I got distracted. Anyways, enough with the excuses. Here's the next chapter. And again, I'm sorry if the plot totally sucks, but this is my first attempt at a Star Wars fanfic. Hopefully you guys will like it! So please read and review!

Chapter 6: Traitors

Veers reeled back blindly as a dark curtain dropped over his eyes. Baine was in control of him now, and the general could feel the Bak'el's icy telepathic claws raking the inside of his skull, forcing him to release his death grip on the other's throat. But Baine didn't stop there. Veers felt his consciousness pierced by a tendril from Baine's mind, then ruthlessly torn apart. With a rush like a rising river all of his thoughts came spilling up; his memories, his hopes, his darkest fears, all were laid bare before his enemy's mental gaze. Images from his past, his most private memories, were wrenched from his subconscious with frightening ease. Every paralyzing fear, every horrific nightmare both real and imagined were pulled to the forefront of his mind. Baine was forcing him to relive every dark moment in his life. Veers was rocked to his soul. Never, not even from Darth Vader, had his mind been so thoroughly ravaged the way Baine was now.

But Baine didn't stop there. With a sadistic smile, he lashed out again, attacking his body. Suddenly excruciating pain exploded in his head. Veers screamed. He couldn't help it; he had never felt this kind of agony ever before in his life. He collapsed to the deck, desperately fighting against Baine's hold on him, fighting against the pain, against the fear being forced on him. But it was no use; Baine was much stronger, and every feeble attempt at defense was deftly swatted away.

"Scream all you want, human," Veers heard the voice in his mind ringing with sadistic pleasure. "No one will hear you." Veers, half-mad with pain and humiliation, writhed on the deck helplessly. This time, he actually heard himself beg for mercy, swearing he would do whatever the other wanted if he would only make the pain stop. Baine laughed cruelly, tightening his grip. "There will be no mercy for you this time. This time, you will know what it means to challenge us." As if it were possible, the pain increased ten-fold. Every nerve ending was on fire. His limbs felt as if they were being ripped from his body. Baine was tearing his flesh apart, piece by piece. Pain filled Veers' world. He had never known anything else but pain. Pain . . . and the horrible idea that this time, he was alone. There would be no one to come to his rescue this time.

Baine laughed manically, watching the other's suffering. This was just a game to him, a game he had to win; Veers was nothing more than a pawn to him, to his master. There was a darker purpose behind his actions, something else that he meant to accomplish.

Veers was puzzled. This part was different. This hadn't happened. Why was it happening now?

Suddenly, Veers was distracted by an uncomfortable tightness building in his chest that had nothing to do with Baine's previous attacks. It grew tighter and tighter, as if someone had reached inside his chest and was trying to crush his heart. Every breath became more difficult, and he struggled against whoever was launching this concealed assault. But with each passing second it grew worse, and nothing he did could stop it. Suddenly he felt as if a red-hot iron was being pressed to his skin, and he cried out in a very different kind of pain. His mind was being attacked again, but this time by someone outside of his immediate world. Someone else's consciousness was warping his own, twisting it to suit its own purposes.

Veers looked passed Baine to something just on the edge of his perception. Shakir was standing, still as a statue, watching the events unfolding. She didn't move, she didn't speak; she just watched, like a silent spectator. Her medallion blazed like living fire around her neck, boring into his mind, into his soul. Finally, he heard her voice echoing inside his head.

"It is pointless to struggle, Maximilian," she told him gently. "You belong to me now."

With a jolt General Veers abruptly snapped awake. For a single, horrifying moment, he really thought the dream was real. It lingered in front of his eyes, hideously close. But slowly it eased, wavered, and then released its hold on him. He glanced around him, reorienting himself to reality. He was alone in his quarters; alone, he assured himself. Baine wasn't here, and neither was Shakir. He glanced at the time piece beside his bed; the digital readout blinked 0238.

"Shavit," he breathed weakly. The same kriffing nightmare.

Veers rolled over on his back and forced himself to calm down. He took several deep, even breaths, trying to slow his racing pulse. A line of cold sweat ran down his back, making him shiver. Frag, he thought to himself, the M.E. told me that sedative would work. It had been three days since Baine's attack, and while the medics assured him that nothing was wrong with him, every night he had been plagued by the same nightmare. After 48 hours of little or no sleep, he'd gone back to Sickbay again; the M.E. gave him something that he assured the General would allow him to rest through the night. But apparently, it had only worked for three hours.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now, Veers shakily pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to the refresher. After splashing cold water on his face, his mind felt a little clearer. For a long time he just stood there, looking at his face in the mirror, thinking. Yes, that had been the same dream as the others. Every detail was exact every single time. But this time . . . was it his imagination, or was there something different about this dream. He distinctly remembered understanding something, something he hadn't noticed before. He closed his eyes and cast his mind back, forcing himself to focus. What was it? Something about a pawn and a darker purpose and . . . but it was all a blur.

Veers shook his head in exasperation. No. No, he must have imagined that part, a projection of his own assumptions.

A soft signal from the other room broke into his thoughts: a caller outside his quarters. Veers groaned; there wouldn't be any chance of him getting back to sleep now. Straightening himself, he turned and walked out.

"Come," he called gruffly. The door quietly slid open . . . and Veers pulled up short. He had expected perhaps one of his staff; he did not expect it to be Lady Shakir.

She stood in the doorway as still as if she'd been carved in stone. She had no entourage, no body guards; she was alone. Veers couldn't recall ever seeing her walking around the ship without some kind of protection. Her robes of state were gone as well, replaced instead by a simple pale-blue gown. She looked, to tell the truth, quite ordinary in that moment – still beautiful, but an ordinary sort of beauty. The only thing that had remained the same was her medallion.

"General," she said quietly. "May I enter?" Veers winced. He stood corrected: her confidence and power were back as well. Her voice held the same calm and strength he had heard when the Bak'el had first come aboard. He nodded stiffly but didn't speak.

Shakir made no noise as she stepped into the darkened room, but her eyes were unnervingly bright.

"You are surprised to see me here," she said after an uncomfortable silence. It wasn't a question.

"I thought the Ambassador had forbidden you to leave your quarters, pending your . . . your punishment," he answered cautiously.

"My father has granted me a reprieve," she answered, and Veers thought he saw a flash of relief in her eyes, "providing that I do not wander through this ship alone."

"And yet here you are," he pointed out. He noticed her jaw tighten at this.

"My father thinks I am still in my meditation chamber. I have very little time to spare."

"What do you want, Shakir?" Veers said forcefully. He was already exhausted, and he had no time for riddles.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it again slowly.

"May I speak with you?" she whispered. For some reason, the sound of her voice sent a cold chill down his spine; whatever she wanted to tell him, it was big.

"Of course," he acquiesced, feeling a frown cross his face. "But what –" Shakir suddenly pressed a finger to his lips, silencing his question.

"Wait!" she hissed. Her eyes unfocused for a few moments, and Veers felt something in the air shift slightly. Shakir slowly removed her hand. "There. Now we can talk without fear of discovery."

"What's this all about, Shakir?" Veers demanded. She looked hard at him, and the General felt a tendril of thought slip into his mind.

"You're angry at me." Again, it was stated as a fact, and he didn't feel obligated to answer her. She sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't blame you; I only wanted to protect you. The method was not of my choosing." Veers kept to his stony silence. After a pause, Shakir continued. "General . . . I apologize for calling on you this late, but I needed to confide in someone I know I can trust."

Veers narrowed his eyes at her.

"And so you came to me?"

Shakir's eyes glanced at her seal on his bare chest.

"Can you think of anyone I would trust more?" she murmured knowingly. Her gaze shot back up to his. "General, I don't know how to tell you this . . ." She took a deep breath. "It's Baine. He didn't kill Ensign Tiylers."

Veers felt like he'd been electrocuted. Surely he hadn't heard her correctly.

"What?"

"Baine didn't kill Ensign Tiylers," she repeated firmly. "After you were released from Sickbay I spent nearly three hours questioning him. While he confessed outright to the murder, when I pressed him for details, I found his statements to be . . . inconsistent. He told me he had left his quarters at exactly 2314. He was seen coming back at 2349. And yet the Ensign's death occurred at 2347." She watched looked at the general expectantly.

Veers had to think back; Ensign Tiylers' body was found on Deck 56, while the Bak'el delegation had been given quarters on Deck 12. He frowned. How could Baine possibly have killed Tiylers, hid his body, and then traveled the 44 decks back up to his quarters in only 2 minutes?

"General," Shakir continued significantly, "Baine couldn't even give me details on how exactly he had killed the Ensign. I have known Baine for nearly thirty years; he has an excellent memory, especially when it comes to his conquests. Why should that memory fail him now?"

Veers felt his breath freeze in his lungs as understanding hit him like a thunderclap.

"Someone set him up," he whispered. Shakir nodded.

"That is my fear as well. And there is only one way Baine could have been tricked into believing he was the murderer." Veers stiffened.

"Mind control."

Shakir took a shaky breath, but both already knew what she was about to say.

"General, I fear there is a traitor amongst my father's delegation."

Veers looked away, thinking furiously. She was right, of course; only a fool would outright confess to a crime as horrendous as murder. And Baine was no fool; hot-tempered and arrogant, but not a fool.

"Who could it be?" he wondered, talking mostly to himself. Shakir was also thinking hard.

"It has to be someone with a high rank," she mused after a heavy silence. "For the Bak'el, political power is a reflection of personal power, and convincing someone they did something without a Seal is extremely difficult."

"Your father?" Shakir seemed appalled at the very idea.

"Never! He was the one who approached the Council with the proposal to negotiate with your Galactic Empire. He would never risk open war with Humans; he has said this many times. Besides, he was with me in our quarters when your officer was killed."

"Then there is only one other prominent member of the delegation that could be the culprit." His gaze turned to ice. "Prefect Gayrn."

Shakir's jaw dropped in shock.

"Gayrn?" she whispered incredulously. "But . . . he is my father's closest friend! He has been serving as his advisor since before I was born! He wouldn't do such a thing!"

"Shakir, consider the facts. Who was the first Bak'el to arrive at the storage locker where Ensign Tiylers' body was found? Who was the one who agreed with me that Baine's behavior had become erratic and suspicious since your arrival? Who volunteered to join our investigation team?"

"He wouldn't . . ." Shakir moaned in a pained voice.

"And there was one other thing," Veers pressed. "When your father was chastising you for Sealing me, Gayrn didn't react at all; I watched him study the door with careful neutrality." He lowered his voice. "It was almost as if . . . as if he expected it to happen."

Shakir looked almost as shaken as she had been when her father had turned on her in Sickbay. Discovering there was a traitor among her own people was horrifying enough for her, but to be faced with the possibility of that traitor being someone she trusted and admired all her life was devastating. She swayed unsteadily on her feet until Veers was afraid she would faint. At last she rallied and pulled herself together.

"We can't go to my father with this," she said in a trembling voice. "We have no proof, and my father would never believe that his closest advisor is a traitor." She started moving away. "We will have to begin our own quiet investigation into this matter."

"Shakir, wait." Veers gripped her arms and held her still. "There is still one thing that doesn't make sense: assuming for the moment that Gayrn is a traitor, what would he stand to gain by stirring up trouble on the Executor and blaming Baine for it? He can't be doing it for sport; he would be risking war with the Empire. And he can't be doing it to simply overthrow your father. So what's left?"

Shakir considered, then slowly shook her head.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It is just one more mystery we must solve." Her head jerked to the side, her eyes gazing at something Veers couldn't see. "My father is wondering where I am. I should go." She gracefully disengaged from Veers' arms and rushed to the door. But before she opened it, she turned back to the general with a curious look on her face.

"General, did I come here unescorted to speak with you tonight?"

Veers shook his head gravely.

"I don't see how that's possible, Lady Shakir. You were in your quarters meditating while I was in mine asleep." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "We couldn't have met secretly, and we certainly were not discussing traitors."

Shakir's expression relaxed, and she gave him a small smile.

"Thank you, General," she whispered. "Good night." And with a breath of movement, she was gone.

Veers stood there, staring at the empty doorway for a long time, deeply disturbed by what had just taken place. So, the Bak'el's sue for peace was just a ploy after all. But if that was the case, what was Gayrn's true intent? What could he possibly want out of all of this? He wouldn't be so foolish as to attempt to wrest the throne away from Ambassador Selto; the general had seen first-hand the power that Selto wielded – almost on a level with Lord Vader himself. But if it wasn't for power, what was left? He would have to think about that.

But the dead of night was no time to worry about plots and murders. Veers suddenly felt incredibly tired, and he managed to stumble back to his bunk before – for the first time in days – he fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.