Part 9

Brin lifted his head, looking up as the cell door opened and the Imperial officer stepped inside. Hands clasped behind his back, the man stopped, looking from Brin to the other Rebel terrorist lying on the floor of the cell.

"Which one of you is the senior officer?"

"Me!" Brin told him, pushing himself to his feet.

"Brin!" Wedge derided, softly. Fighting down the fear and panic that threatened to overwhelm him, he heaved his eyes open, looking at the other pilot. Then he turned his head to look at the Imperial, "I'm the ranking officer. Lieutenant Commander Antilles…"

The Imperial smiled, "Ah, yes. Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles. We have quite a dossier on you. Which makes you," he continued, looking at Brin, "Lieutenant Haniff-Brin Aksha. Up until today we had no definite information on you at all."

He smiled, coldly, "That, of course, is about to change."

He stepped back, ordering, "Take this one to another cell."

Two stormtroopers moved in, grasping Brin's arms, hustling him out into the corridor. As they moved out, two other stormtroopers stepped in. "String that one up," the officer ordered, then clarified, "By his wrists, not his neck…" before heading out after Aksha.

The agony that ripped through his spine into his legs as they dragged him off the floor was the only thing that stopped Wedge screaming in terror. He concentrated on trying to breath through it, clenching his jaw against it as the troopers tied his wrists then hoisted him, arms above his head. His toes barely touched the ground… not that it made any difference. With so little feeling in his legs he wouldn't have been able to stand up anyway.

The stormtroopers moved out, leaving him alone. He breathed through the pain, eyes closed, running the story through in his head yet again.

"Lieutenant Commander Wedge Antilles…"

The voice was soft and smugly satisfied. Wedge concentrated on taking one breath then another, on keeping his story straight in his head.

"I have very much been looking forward to this," the voice continued. "Almost as much as I would have liked to have had a little chat with Commander Skywalker…"

Wedge's heart lurched. Panic flared again and he clenched his jaw against it, forcing himself to breath evenly. Six X-wings, four pilots

"Such a shame that he's dead…" A soft hand reached out, tilting his chin up. He opened his eyes, looking at the white-uniformed, Imperial officer. She looked back at him, searching his face. Voice filled with apparent concern, she asked, "They did tell you that he was dead, didn't they?"

When he didn't answer, Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell gave him a look filled with sympathy, assuring him, "I can't give you many guarantees about our time together, Lieutenant Commander, but one thing I can promise you," she went on, "is that I won't lie to you… And Commander Skywalker is dead…"

She searched his face again then supplied, "He was killed by the same weapon that has so badly injured you. The shockstick discharged straight into his heart. He was, I believe, dead before he hit the floor…"

She paused, as if giving him time for the information to sink in. Then she allowed his head to fall, turning and walking away. "Let's start with the basics, shall we?" she suggested. "Why did the Rebel Alliance send you to Gehndaaria?"

Wedge took one breath, then another.

"I imagine it must be incredibly uncomfortable… your injury," Castell commented when he didn't answer. "I'm told that when they brought you here you had no feeling in your legs… that you've suffered nerve damage which is causing you quite a bit of pain."

She walked slowly back towards him, supplying lightly, "Of course that makes my job easier. I don't have to resort to any initial nastiness; I can just let your body do the job for me…"

When he didn't respond, Castell tilted his chin up again. Running her thumb gently across his lips, she speculated, softly, "How long before the pain becomes too much to bear? How long before the damage is irreversible?"

She moved deliberately closer, so close that the cloth of her uniform brushed against his chest. "You're never going to fly again, Lieutenant Commander," she murmured. "You're certainly never going to sit in an X-wing again…"

He tried not to listen to what she was saying, tried to concentrate on the version of events that he and Brin had agreed on… but her words stuck in his mind, sending a small wave of panic through him. For the first time since he had regained consciousness on the bounty hunters' ship he seriously considered the prospect that he might never walk again...

Then another small voice in the back of his head cautioned, morbidly, that he was going to be dead anyway, so it didn't matter… Grotesquely, a soft chuckle bubbled up in his chest, escaping in a sound that was cut off by a moan of pain...

As the agony in his legs receded, it occurred to him that he might, just, be losing his mind… and that thought terrified him, because if he wasn't thinking coherently then he was dangerously close to betraying Hobbie and Lainey… and Luke…

He bit back a moan.

"Why did the Rebel Alliance send you to Gehndaaria, Lieutenant Commander?"

Wedge said nothing, concentrating on the story he knew he had to keep straight in his mind: because if he didn't, everything could be lost.

Sighing at his silence, shaking her head, Castell told him, "There's going to be no spectacular escape, Lieutenant Commander: no heroic rescue. Downhigher has been sold into slavery. Aksha is in the next cell being questioned by my colleague. Skywalker is dead. No-one knows you're here, Lieutenant Commander. Your apparent saviours are, in reality, far from that. You're all alone… and the closest thing you have to a friend, is me…"

She gave him time to consider that then pointed out, "The longer it takes for you to answer, the longer it takes for me to get medical attention for you and the more likely you are to be crippled for life…"

Stepping close to him again, reaching up to glide the palm of her hand down his arm, she asked, "Why won't you let me help you? It's not difficult, not really… Just tell me why the Rebel Alliance sent you and your companions here, to Gehndaaria?"

A slow smile spread across her face, as if she had just realised something and she stepped back. "Ships! Of course! That's the only reason the Rebel Alliance would send pilots! Ships!"

Wedge swallowed, telling himself that it was an obvious conclusion for her to have jumped to. Six fighters: four pilots….

"How many ships are you here to collect?" she asked. "Four? Six? Maybe ten? What are they? X-wings?"

When he failed to answer, she smiled, "So, the Rebel Alliance sent you the Gehndaaria to collect X-wings… Do you see how easy that was?"

Wedge didn't react, because he knew he hadn't told her anything. She was drawing him out, trying to bait him, trying to confuse him.

"Doesn't take much to confuse Antilles… Using a fresher alone confuses Antilles. He never knows how to wash his own back!" Alissha's voice echoed in his mind.

Castell watched him for a moment then walked back to him, lifting his head again. "Look at me, Lieutenant Commander."

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't react and she slapped him, barking, "Look at me!"

Gasping, he instinctively jerked away from the blow, but the movement stabbed agony through him. He cried out, his breath catching in his chest. She grabbed his jaw, forcing his head round, screaming at him, "LOOK AT ME!"

He dragged his eyes open.

"How many, X-wings?" she yelled, pushing home the advantage while he was off-balance. "How many? Tell me! How many X-wings?"

She slapped him again, the movement driving agony though him. "HOW MANY?"

"Ten," he blurted…

Castell smiled, letting him go, stepping back.

She knew he was lying. It was too soon for him to have broken, even with the injuries he had sustained and the pain he was in. Still, she had learned something. It was a small victory, but it was a beginning. She ran the back of her fingers down his cheek, murmuring, "Good, Lieutenant Commander. Good… So now we can rule out ten…"

oo0oo

With the help of Ingar, his Diazez escort, Hobbie settled the astromech droid into its niche behind the cockpit of the final fighter and set it working its way through a systems check. The daylight had faded completely and, not wanting to draw attention by lighting up the inside of the hangar, he and Ingar were using torches. Sliding off the edge of the X-wing and climbing down the ladder, he made his way back across the hangar to the fourth X-wing, scaling the ladder to the cockpit.

"Okay, little buddy," he told the Artoo unit, swinging his legs over the side and settling himself in the cockpit. "What have you got for me?"

The droid trilled at him, starting to scroll a list of data onto the screen in front of him. He went through it all slowly, checking everything methodically, knowing that if he made a mistake now, it could have devastating effects later when he, and the other pilots, tried to fly the fighters. As with the other three X-wings, the systems appeared to be in perfect, working order… until the check reached the weapons…

Swearing softly, Hobbie shook his head. No matter what the droids tried, the weapons systems simply failed to come online. No guns, no torpedoes, no targeting computer…

The T-65s would fly, but if they came up against the Empire, they wouldn't be able to fight back. Not a problem in itself… but Hobbie hated the thought of not being able to defend himself if they happened to drop out of hyperspace on top of a wing of TIEs or a Star Destroyer: and the way their luck was running lately, that was a definite possibility.

"Is there anything you haven't tried?" he asked the droid. "Anything at all?"

The low, mournful mewl gave him his answer.

"And there's no way you can isolate the problem?"

The droid mewled at him again.

"Damn!"

"Can I assume you have encountered problems with this one also?" Ingar's disembodied voice asked from below.

Hobbie peered over the side of the fighter, telling Ingar's shadow, "Same as the others. Weapons are fragged…" He looked across at the cockpit-glow from the fifth X-wing, "I'm betting the last one will be the same."

"Unfortunately, I concur," Ingar told him. He thought for a moment, then asked, "How long until the checks are completed?"

"I'm almost done in this one," Hobbie supplied. "I don't want to rush it, though."

"I will keep watch," Ingar decided after a moment. "Call me when you are finished…"

"Will do," Hobbie assured him, turning his attention back to the X-wing and the rest of the data.

oo0oo

"So," Oston began again, dabbing delicately at his mouth with a napkin, "when did you suspect the Rebels?"

Jenniiya gave him a gracious smile, "Almost from the moment they arrived."

"A ship matching the description of a known Rebel sympathiser landed in the city two days ago," Lyn supplied, replenishing the Governor's wine glass. "He picked up a legitimate consignment of machine parts," she went on, moving round to fill Jenniiya's glass, "but when the ship left, four of the crew stayed behind: three men and a woman."

"The port officials had already alerted my people…" Jenniiya started to go on.

"Why did you not simply have the ship impounded?" Oston interrupted smoothly.

"He was here on legitimate business," Jenniiya offered, quirking an eyebrow. "If we were to impound every ship that matched the description of Rebel sympathisers, nothing would move in the ports. It is a regrettable fact, but a fact none-the-less…"

When Oston gave her a flat look, she smiled and leant forward, schooling her face into concerned understanding. "Governor, let us be candid with one another… It is unfortunate, but since the Alderaan incident, the Rebel Alliance has been gathering support amongst the ill-informed and malcontented. If we were to impound every suspect ship, it would only lend credence to the absurd rumour that the Rebels present a valid threat to the Empire…"

"And by allowing the unhindered movement of suspect ships," Lyn concluded, "we allow the more unscrupulous to believe that Gehndaaria may be a safe haven: thus giving them enough rope to hang themselves… We saw no point in collecting and delivering the Rebel pilots until we had firm evidence about why they were here…"

"At which point," Jenniiya told him, "we would, of course, have supplied you with information on both the Rebels and the contact they were here to meet, or the consignment they were here to collect…"

Jenniiya risked a quick look at Lyn as Oston picked up his glass and sipped the wine.

This was not how she had planned the meeting to go, but after Oston had announced that he knew the Rebels were under her roof, she had been forced to change her tactics. This line of apparent subservience appeared to be allowing them to manipulate the situation just as well.

If the new Governor believed that the Cartel was working quietly behind the scenes on the Empire's behalf, they would hopefully be left to their own devices. And after the initial coup of the Cartel handing over two Rebels, all it would hopefully cost was a few bits of carefully chosen information, occasionally thrown in the Governor's direction.

"We realise that arresting the Rebels may not have been the best course of action," Lyn commented lightly. "You may have decided that following them would have given far better results…"

"Regrettably, that option has now been lost." Jenniiya sighed, leaning back in the chair. "This is exactly the reason the Diazez Clans insist that all operations here are sanctioned by them…"

Oston placed his glass on the table, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his uniform sleeve. "Manwah," he told her, "you have deceived me and I have very much misjudged you…"

A flutter of dread trembled in Jenniiya's stomach. Wondering if she had allowed the Rebels to distract her and had completely misread the man, she lifted her glass, asking, "How so, Governor?"

"You would have me believe," he told her, "that the power of the Diazez Cartel lies with the Clans and, until now, I was content to believe that. I can see now, however, that you are as bright as you are beautiful, ably aided by your personal assistant."

Looking from Lyn, to Jenniiya, he went on, "The power of the Diazez Cartel lies firmly with you: the Manwah. Nothing is done within the Cartel without your sanction and I have no doubt that you know every single detail of every single transaction and agreement that the Cartel are currently undertaking, and what you don't immediately remember is provided by your assistant..."

Jenniiya smiled, looking at Lyn then Oston. "You are correct," she admitted.

"Then let us dispense with pretence and start discussing business," Oston told her.

oo0oo

Commander Jarod Lekk watched and waited as the Mind Probe drug, thiohexium phenate, coursed through the veins of the Rebel terrorist hanging in front of him. The bruising from the working-over the stormtroopers had given him was already beginning to show, turning his tanned skin an ugly red/black.

The Rebel was having trouble breathing and Lekk suspected that his ribs were cracked, if not broken: all of which was good. The higher the levels of epinephrine in his body, the quicker the mind probe would take effect.

Aksha moaned softly and the Commander stepped forward. "Lieutenant, can you hear me?"

There was a short pause then the Rebel answered, "Yes…"

Lekk smiled, asking, "What is your name?"

Again, a pause, then, "Brin… Lieutenant… Hanniff-Brin Aksha…"

Hands clasped behind his back, Lekk stood directly in front of the Rebel. "What are you doing on Gehndaaria?"

Brin frowned. A little voice in the back of his head was telling him not to say anything; that it was dangerous; that he should stay quiet… but it was difficult to think through the pain and he couldn't remember why it was so important...

"What are you doing on Gehndaaria, Lieutenant?" Lekk pushed.

"…X-wings…"

"How many were you here to collect?"

"Six…"

Instinct screamed at him, pushing panic through him. There was something wrong. There was something dreadfully wrong. Something about six fighters… There was something terribly important that he had to remember about the six fighters…

"How many Rebels were with you?"

Six… Six fighters… Six

"How many Rebels were with you?" the voice asked again, more insistently this time.

Six

Lekk frowned, not immediately pushing the point. Instead he waited, allowing time for the drug to take effect more fully. Finally, he asked again, "Lieutenant Aksha, how many pilots are with you?"

Pilots… Six… Brin took his time forming the word, then told the Imperial, "Four…"

"There are four other pilots with you?" Lekk asked again.

"Me," Brin answered, "Luke… Lissha… Wedge…"

Four pilots in total then, Lekk concluded.

"Who was your contact on Gehndaaria?"

"Don't… don't know…"

"Where were you to meet your contact?"

"Don't… know…"

"How long were you to remain on Gehndaaria?"

"Don't… know…"

Lekk accepted that. Aksha had not been one of the senior officers. It was probable that only Skywalker and Antilles knew that information.

"What was the ship that brought you here, Lieutenant?"

oo0oo

Luke breathed deeply, opening his eyes.

"Good evening, Commander," Vezlentz greeted.

"Doc," Luke smiled. Turning his head, he looked round the room, frowning. "Where are…"

Then he remembered.

"Wedge?" he asked. "Brin?"

The doctor kept his expression neutral, but he couldn't mask the disgust and loathing in his eyes. Luke saw the emotion and swallowed, pushing, "Doc, please? I'm their CO…"

Lips tightening into a thin line, Vezlentz supplied. "Your men are… being questioned. By Imperial Officers… I'm sorry…"

Luke sighed, closing his eyes, fighting down the fear and revulsion that tightened in his chest. "Not your fault, Doc…"

Vezlentz knew that it wasn't, but it didn't mean he liked it any less. "I have requested access to them," he assured the young Rebel Commander.

Luke nodded, saying nothing, not trusting his voice.

"One young lady is asleep in the chair by the fire," Vezlentz told him.

The door opened and Alissha walked in.

Vezlents turned, smiling at her, telling Luke, "The other is here."

"And Hobbie's gone to check the X-wings with the droids they managed to find," Alissha supplied, walking across to Luke and the Doctor.

Luke opened his eyes, looking at her, "Are you guys still leaving tomorrow? Has there been any contact from Command?"

"I don't know," Alissha admitted. "They're not telling us much…"

"There are more important considerations at the moment," Vezlentz interrupted, "such as getting you out of that bed, young man!" He turned to Alissha, "If you would be my able assistant?"

She nodded, "Of course…"

He reached out, tilting her face to better inspect the bruising and swelling. "You're healing well," he told her. "The inflammation should have gone completely in the next few hours."

"Will she be fit enough to fly?" Luke asked.

"Of course!" Vezlentz assured him. "She's fit to fly right now, as long as she doesn't overdo things… Now," he went on, turning back to Luke, "Let me get these monitors and tubes out of the way so that we can get you up and over to a chair. I have a small heart monitor that I want you to wear for a while," he continued, starting to remove the sensors and tubes, "just to be sure, but I've seen no contra-indications from the surgery."

He paused, looking at Luke, "Do not forget, young man, that you must walk before you can run. You will be feeling much stronger, but you will tire quickly. The damage has been repaired, but it will take time for you to return to full strength."

Luke nodded, "I understand, doc. No running."

Vezlentz smiled, "No malingering either! Simply build your strength slowly!"

Content that he had made his point, he went back to removing the medical equipment. "Let's get you on your feet, then."

oo0oo

The Rebel was in trouble. Castell could tell by looking at him, and by the laboured sound of his breathing. He'd said nothing more, not since he'd blurted out the lie about the number of fighters.

In normal circumstances she would know exactly where she stood, exactly how far to push, but she'd had no control over what he had gone through, physically and mentally, in the last thirty-or-so hours. With little to no medical information for him, she knew she was walking a fine line between weakening his defences and killing him.

She was working blind, trusting her instincts and she wasn't willing to continue this for much longer, knowing that she risked his heart failing, or him suffering a stroke. She had ruled out the use of truth drugs for exactly the same reasons, at least until she received a more complete medical background on which to base her decisions.

Sighing softly, she walked back across to him, entreating, "Let me help you, Lieutenant Commander."

She moved in close, almost intimately so, resting a hand gently on his hip. He moaned softly, his breath hitching in his chest.

"Give me something," she implored, keeping her voice low, filling it with concern. "Anything. Just one piece of information… The number of X-wings," she suggested, "the name of your contact or how long you were to remain here; where you were to go if your associate failed to make contact…"

She stepped back a little, lifting his head. She didn't have to give the order this time: he dragged his eyes open to look at her.

"Just give me one thing then I can call for a medic," she promised. "One, simple piece of information… Let me help you…" she pleaded.

He looked at her for a moment, and then he closed his eyes, turning his head out of her grasp.

Fighting down irritation and frustration at his defiance, aware that he had won this round simply because she could no longer take the risk of refusing him medical attention, Castell turned away.

"Tomorrow…"

His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with anguish and pain, as if the word itself was ripping him apart.

Slowly, concerned that he'd say nothing more than just that one word, she turned back, looking at him.

"We were to stay… until… tomorrow…"

Closing her eyes in elation, she allowed herself a small, tight smile. Then she looked at him again, reaching out to run the back of her fingers down his cheek. "Good, Lieutenant Commander," she told him. "Very good."

Pulling a small transmitter from her pocket, she keyed the transmit switch, ordering, "I need a medic in here. Now!"

She walked across to the door, keying it open. The two stormtroopers outside turned. "Take him down," she instructed, indicating Antilles with a nod of her head, stepping back to let them in. "Gently!"

The stormtroopers did as they were told, marching over to Antilles, untying the rope from the wall, carefully lowering the Rebel to the floor. The movement was too much for him. His cry of agony dissolved into a hushed moan as he collapsed completely, unconsciousness dragging him down, releasing him from the pain.

"Stay with him until the medic arrives," Castell ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am," one of them troopers confirmed.

Walking out of the cell, Lieutenant Colonel Ljana Castell went in search of Lekk to find out what information he had been able to elicit from Aksha. Armed with that information and with some carefully measured drugs, she would easily be able to convince Antilles that he had divulged far more than he actually had. And then she could get down to the real business of finding out who his contact was and where the Rebels were supposed to go once they had taken possession of the X-wings…

She doubted that the Rebel Alliance would be so naïve as to allow their pilots to fly straight back to Rebel lines, but there was always that chance that desperation had made them foolhardy. The sooner she got the information from Antilles, the less time the Rebel Alliance would potentially have to move their base… and in just a few hours, Imperial forces might be afforded the opportunity of informing Mothma or Organa, in person, that their beloved hero of Yavin was dead…

As was their Alliance to Restore the Republic…