Third in the Forgotten Time' trilogy.
Thanks to Indeh for making this possible.
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Pain suffused through his body, every inch alight with pain that was rapidly turning to agony. Every cell burned, every nerve seared, coherence left and returned and consciousness faded in and out. His throat ached, red raw in protest to his cries, but the suffering was too great to be contained and he screamed, as he had screamed for so long.
And still they tortured him.
Until he heard a voice, dimly aware of it, as he felt his life slip away, and it was a voice he knew: Deep, impatient, a rasping breath drawn between each word, released in a chilling hiss as the voice continued. But he couldn't remember who it was any longer.
His blood thundered in his ears, but he heard the words, managed to keep his eyes opened a little, though barely enough to allow light to enter them. Forceful fingers probed his wrists and neck, cold instruments invaded the warmth of his shirt, wires pierced his already hypersensitive skin.
"His life signs are failing, My Lord," said a second voice. "There's internal bleeding I think and his body is in shock. I'm amazed he's not paralysed. I'll be back in a few minutes. The best thing to do now is to kill him and not to waste our time. "
He tried to lift his head but failed, and instead he hung there from his bonds, head lolling forwards. He couldn't swallow anymore and strings of bloody saliva were slowly creeping from his mouth. He was beyond embarrassment now, beyond wanting to try and prevent them from leaving his cracked lips and splattering onto the floor, or running down his chin. He just hung there, wheezing softly.
"I made my orders clear. You were not to exceed 10,000," said the voice he knew.
"But My Lord-" a new voice protested, but was quickly cut off.
"Did you give him respite as I told you?"
"When he lost consciousness-"
"Other than that?"
"N-No, My Lord."
"You know the power of this machine. You know the damage it can do at the wrong levels. The days here are nearly triple that of a standard cycle. He has been interrogated continuously since the morning. And it is now afternoon. How many times has he lost consciousness?"
"Twice, My Lord."
"You did not allow him other rest. Correct?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"Can he be saved?"
The second voice answered him.
"I regret not, My Lord. His body is beyond repair."
The instruments and wires were wrenched away and footsteps, harsh and too loud, echoed off the walls.
Then the voice he knew spoke again.
"You have failed me, Commander."
There was a short, stifled protest, then soft choking and a thud.
Then there were more footsteps, footsteps that grew louder, and then a hand slid under his chin and lifted his head because he could not, wiped the blood and spittle from his jaw.
Immediately, he tried to pull away, but, even if he'd had the strength, the hard metal at the back of his head prevented it, as it had prevented his escape from the blinding pain of his torture.
"You remain defiant?" the deep, rasping voice asked.
He attempted to spit but he couldn't muster the energy. Instead he let his mouth twist up into a half-grin-half-sneer.
"I admire you, Captain," the voice said.
This time, he managed a soft snort.
"You are dying."
Finally, his abused throat gave him voice.
"Yeah."
The hand under his chin lifted still higher to turn his head up to the lights. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.
"You would do well to stay silent, Captain."
Again, he tried to turn his head, but the hand grasped his chin and forced his face forward.
"Look at me."
The other hand lifted and two fingers pressed into the middle of his forehead. The almost gentle pressure that was then applied seemed to penetrate his skull and push right into his mind.
"Why did you accept the torture, Captain?"
Some voice inside his mind told him to fight the pressure, not to let it in for this was an evil greater than any, and any other time he might have been able to. But now, now he was weak and in pain and dying, now he could not fight it.
When he thought of the answer, the pressure lifted a little and he knew that if he just answered, if he just spoke, gave in to that pressure, then it would go away.
"Because…I care…about…them…"
"And why do you care about them?"
The pressure pushed deeper into his mind and he could feel his heartbeat slowing even as he answered.
"They're…my friends…"
"Your friends? And what of her? What is it that you feel for her?"
The pressure increased again and he could feel his lungs tiring, realised he was slurring his words, and wanted suddenly to say it.
"I love her…" he whispered, "…I love her…"
Blackness descended on him and his heart refused to keep its steady rhythm.
Vader watched the man he had ordered tortured with interest and something else, almost as though he pitied the man.
Vader had watched as the Captain had been led from his friends and he had felt the fear radiating from him. But the Captain had not shown it. He had walked at his own pace, hands clapped in binders in front of him, head held high, and he had stared ahead of him, waiting for his interrogation.
He had not struggled when they took him away, nor had he protested when they bound him to the platform, and he had stared expectantly as Vader had paced the room, eyes staring defiant, contemptuous and abhorrent, waiting for the questions.
Vader had felt the man's resolute acceptance as he watched the proceedings – the checking of the energy levels, the orders not to exceed levels, the order to begin – and had seen his face when he knew that there were to be no questions. Vader had felt the pride and the courage the Captain had mustered. Vader had heard the first grunts of pain, the first cries, the screams, and for what reason?
Because the courage and strength that surrounded this man, the power of the friendships he held, of the bonds he had made, would draw another. This man's pain would serve Vader's purpose.
He had felt the black torrent of agony wash over him even when he distanced himself from the chamber, the desperate helplessness and the anger. He had felt the exhausted lulls in that pain when his captive had lost consciousness.
And now this man was dying, his spirit preparing to leave his body even as Vader supported his head. The man's skin was snow white and drawn against stark cheekbones.
And his words stirred something long forgotten in Vader, something old and weak.
He stretched forth with the force and found the Captain's light in the force, strengthened it with his own. He felt the first wave of the pain as he healed this man and almost had to draw away.
The man was even braver then he had first thought. And to have sustained two, getting on for three, days of this pain – no; more than this pain – was incredible. It was admirable to say the least.
Again he pushed life into the dying light. And this time the Captain grunted.
No!
The Captain's voice, unspoken but projected, echoed in his mind.
He pushed harder.
No! No!
The Captain was trying extremely well to fend of the attack, to shield his mind from Vader's probing, but the weakness of his body was depleting his ability to defend himself.
And, as Vader pushed further, he found the memories behind an almost impenetrable wall, erected in pain and anguish. There were many; the first time he had flown his ship and the love he had for her and her flight, the first time he took a woman, the first time a woman took him. The Captain squirmed, regaining consciousness as awareness returned.
The first time he'd fought, fired a blaster, met the boy, defied a senior officer.
And then he saw it. A woman and a man with similar features to him but not to each other. A memory he apparently did not even know he had.
But the man in that memory, the uniform he wore and the child his wife held in his arms…
The aura of the Captain was strong again, although streaked with the blackness of pain and hatred. Vader withdrew his hold on the man's mind as he released his head and took a step back.
The man's eyes were open now and his head was held straight once more though his body shivered, hazel eyes bright with audacity Vader had not seen before. The gaze was so intense, in fact, that Vader turned away to avoid it.
The medic walked back in, with a new officer, and over to the Captain, then stopped short as he saw that the man was wide awake.
"Give him something to relieve the shock," Vader ordered. "And take his blood for testing."
"Yes, My Lord."
The Medic watched open mouthed as Vader began to stalk out.
"Then resume the interrogation. And do not exceed 5000."
"Yes, My Lord."
He was about to leave when a harsh voice stopped him.
"Vader!"
Vader turned before he left and faced the Captain who addressed him boldly in a barely audible voice even as the surgeon took blood and prepared the scan grid to begin again.
The bright eyes, open wide and unafraid, and the gaunt face, pale and drawn, stared at him.
"Why are you doing this?"
Vader drew a rasping breath.
"That is not your concern, Captain Solo. Proceed."
The scan grid platform began to tilt forward again and Vader turned to leave.
He was only halfway down the corridor before Solo screamed again.