Prince: Episode 2

by Sapadu

Even as a person might end, history goes on. The clock will always turn, and a new generation will, without fail, come to the surface. Sequel to Princess- the story about her son: Ken, the Jedi Prince.

25. Part III: Chapter 5

PRINCE

By Sapadu

A/N: I'm putting in a big warning right now – all of the mostly family safe stuff, just short a 'Gee Wilakers, Luke!' to be truly campy and stupid, is now going out the window. Oh, there might be some things that SEEM silly... until you see someone lose a hand. From here on out, you'll be seeing such disturbing things as mass murder, suicide, rape, torture, mutilation, psychological warfare, war crimes, insanity, and some flashbacks that might offend any readers who happen to be Jewish. You have been warned.

(Now with 20% more Chewbacca and the droids!)

Chapter 5:

Luke had started letting Ken follow him around his tasks on Alliance base. From the trivial things like changing engine oil for the star fighters, to strategy meetings and reports on other missions, Luke kept Ken firmly at his side. If anyone had any qualms with it, Ken hadn't heard any of them, at least not to his face.

This was something that Ken wasn't sure if he was pleased or even more nervous. To compensate, he started asking even more questions than usual. It got to the point that Captain Solo had shoved a log book in Ken's direction one day and told him to just write down everything he had to say so at least everyone else could still hear themselves think. Ken had done so, but Luke's response was to read through the questions Ken had written down and make a lesson out of them, which always ended with Ken having at least a dozen questions more, a piece.

Luke had started doing this after Ken had shared his theory about Triclops' son. Luke had a theory of his own: That Ken wasn't nearly as brain dead as he'd let on – he simply suffered from a lack of information, experience, and concentration. To fix this, Luke had opened opportunities for Ken to learn more about the galaxy he was living in and garner more firsthand experience.

Ken was still unsure if it was working. He didn't feel like he was learning more or getting smarter. But Luke continued to insist that Ken come with him with anything he did, even up to minor missions and assignments.

"He still doesn't trust you."

The ape creature hadn't appeared in any of his nightmares again, but that might have been because Ken wasn't really sleeping well enough to have many dreams, in the first place. Instead, the creature had taken to appearing at the foot of the mattress Ken attempted to sleep on.

Ken stayed curled up and kept his hands over his ears, but the creature was never deterred and continued to sneer at him through the darkness.

"All of them know you're too weak. Too soft. Nobody wants to put any faith in a miserable little runt – put a heavy weight on a bridge of sticks, and see how quickly it crumbles." The creature was still gleefully hissing.

"Be quiet." Ken snapped. The creature just kept sneering – Ken was quite sure that even if he looked, he'd see the creature baring it's fangs at him.

"Oh, so sure you're alright on your own then? You know that he's started acting strange since the Three-Eyes showed up. Maybe he knows something you don't. Something he's keeping a secret from you."

This, Ken would not deny – even his own theory about Triclops having a child, somewhere, had been a mask for some things he'd noticed about the man, himself. The way Triclops acted around the other adults was far different from how he acted around Ken, and there was never any consistency to it, either – the first time he'd met Triclops, he'd been monotone and tactless, then during his second real interaction, Ken had seen a side that was vulnerable, lonely, and melancholy, and during subsequent talks for the benefit of the interrogation squad, Triclops would range from polite but distant, to asking so many personal questions that he almost seemed like a psychopath trying to break down a victim. Ken wanted to pass it off as Triclops simply being a moody person, except he was always short, polite, curt, and expressionless when it came to anyone else attempting to question him.

That, and the fact that Triclops had mentioned this Miss Kendalina being killed at least twelve years ago, because he'd also been in a coma for twelve years, and Ken was twelve years old, himself... It could have been a coincidence, but...

"So sure that you've got all the angles checked out? What if that child you think he has is-" Ken stuffed his fingers in his ears as hard as he could. It wasn't possible. After all, he was named 'Ken', right? After 'Kenobi' – it made SENSE that way. He COULDN'T be...

"He treats me differently because I am a kid. That is all – and he just spent his whole life in prison. He probably just does not know how to interact with other people."

The creature was silent for a moment.

"Then, why would Skywalker be so suspicious? Maybe he thinks you know something that he wants to know." Well, Ken did have a few things that he couldn't tell Luke, but beyond that, his honesty with Luke was more open than any other pair of people Ken had seen interact, so far. Which... admittedly, wasn't saying much, "And all these missions and how much he BELIEVES you – suspicious, that. Maybe he's just toying with you until he can shake you off."

"Then he would have done it already. He would have left me behind on a planet somewhere, or somehow sent me into battle so I could get blown up." Ken muttered this more into the mattress than to the creature.

"Maybe he's planning something himself and just needs a decoy. Maybe you're just being set up to be his scapegoat. His getaway."

"Luke would never do that – he is a better person than that."

"Then, why's he being so serious with you, now? Every time you talk to him about something, he's always staring at you, thinking, waiting for the next words to come out of your mouth. He's a calculating one, you know. Maybe he's thinking what the best way to bend you to his will would be."

"Shut up."

Ken wasn't going to think like this – Luke had said they would be going on a mission tomorrow, a routine sweep of nearby systems to see if there were any incoming Empire ships that. It wasn't terribly dangerous, but it was necessary, and both of them would need to be alert, and Luke had also said he wanted Ken to work on honing his Force sense while they were performing the sweep. Ken needed to be able to trust him.

And he would, no matter what the creature said.

---

Han was not in a terribly good mood – not for any reason in particular, but more because he was tired and, damn it, he wanted to sleep. Having Her Worship and Luke both on board in the Falcon's galley with particularly nasty bouts of insomnia was not conducive to getting sleep.

":Why not just tell them to go back to their own ships, cub?:" Han never thought he'd be listening to Chewbacca as the voice of reason, but here he was. At the very least, he wasn't as nearly annoying as Goldenrod.

At any rate, Han just shrugged it off.

"Luke, don't you got a mission tomorrow? It can't be good for you staying up all night with that, right?" Han managed to make it sound like a demand as he plunked down next to Luke, who was on his third mug of caf. Out of the corner of his eye, Han could see Leia shoot him a glance that clearly meant 'When did YOU become our mother?'

"It's just routine." Luke mumbled, running a hand over his face. Han pretended to not see it. Luke would get worried if he knew he was worrying his friend, and Leia would become concerned if Han started acting like he cared too much. Not that Han would admit he was worried about either of them – because he WASN'T.

"Routine sweeps are the best way to get yourself killed if you aren't careful." Han countered. Chewbacca made a snorting noise behind him, which Han ignored. If the fuzzball had something to say, he could say it and get it over with.

"Maybe, if you're piloting a hunk of scrap metal like this." Leia responded, rapping her knuckles on the wall of the galley. Han snorted, pretending to be offended.

"Hey, you're the one who decided to park it in my galley and help yourself to my time – if the Falcon ain't good enough for you, I ain't makin' you stay." He barked.

He didn't expect Leia to jolt up from the table and storm out, not even looking at him. Actually, he'd kind of expected her to stay and come up with some witty retort, just to spite him. As soon as she'd rounded the corner, he almost wanted to go after her and apologize, but was still too proud to admit he was worried.

Oh well – he wasn't in charge of her Royal High and Mightiness. It was her problem if she didn't want to stick around.

Which was exactly why, when Luke sighed, Han shot his friend a glare and rounded on him. Why not? Luke was still a kid, so... well, it was a real man's job to make a kid into a man, and damn it, he was gonna do his job well.

"What's going on with you two?" Han also wasn't an idiot. He might not have had no fancy weapons or diplomacy or sorcerer's powers, but he had noticed that Leia had been shooting Luke – and the kiddo, for that matter – a lot of dirty looks, lately. Han also got the distinct impression that both Luke and Leia were keeping something a secret from him.

Luke looked honestly surprised.

"Nothing." And if Han didn't know Luke so well, he might have bought that lie. As it was, Han knew when Luke was hiding something – either because he was bothered by it, or because he wanted to 'protect' everyone else – he ALWAYS said it was nothing.

"You're both not speaking to each other a hell of a lot for 'nothing.'" Luke also wasn't looking at Han. Any other member of the Alliance, Han would have understood, but he also knew that Luke was a person to make eye contact more than any other man Han had ever met. Maybe it was because he'd been a farm boy, or maybe it was leftover from his kid tendencies to want more eye contact to prove he was a real, grown, adult, but Han always knew that when Luke wouldn't look someone in the face and talk to them, it meant he was either hiding something, or bothered.

For that matter, Han couldn't remember seeing Luke and Leia make eye contact once in the last two weeks.

Luke shrugged.

"Guess we're just catching up on all the fights we missed when we were kids." The words were offered with a half-grin, which Han didn't buy for a minute. Luke and Leia didn't act like any siblings Han had ever met, and that included fights. Hell, Luke didn't even really fight with anyone – he just 'respectfully disagreed' with them, or some bull like that.

"Whatcha fight about?"

Again, Luke shrugged.

"Nothing."

And that was more bull – HAN fought with Leia about nothing. That's why he kinda (maybe, sorta, but he'd never admit it) liked fighting with her Royalness. And Leia never argued about nothing with anyone else... he hoped.

":The little princess seemed worried about something.:" Chewbacca observed, ":Maybe that has something to do with it, cub.:"

"Butt out, Chewie."

Luke remained quiet. Absently, Han wondered if it had anything to do with the kiddo, or if the reason Leia was so nervous was something to do with those hokey Jedi powers and it gave her a bad feeling about the mission they'd be on the next day. Come to think of it, Han had this feeling in his gut that something would go wrong tomorrow.

"Y'know, Luke." Han started, "I could take the sweep mission, tomorrow, if you're not feeling up to it."

Luke stared at him. Han was sure that Luke was trying to ponder what was going through Han's mind.

"I was going to use it to teach Ken how to hone his ability to sense things in the Force." Luke's protest sounded feeble. Maybe that was because he was obviously sleepy.

"I could do that." Or maybe he couldn't, but Han wasn't about to admit there was something he couldn't do, "Stang, I could pilot and he do the Jedi stuff. Hell, CHEWIE could pilot and the runt could still do his stuff."

Chewie barked, clearly liking the sound of that.

Luke yawned. Apparently the caf wasn't doing it's job.

"I'll be fine. Besides..." Luke trailed off, and Han once again got the idea that Luke was trying to keep something to himself. With another sigh, Luke picked himself up and staggered out of the Falcon's galley. Han let him, turning the ideas over in his head and trying to think of a real answer.

Oh well – he'd find out, eventually.

"Chewie." Han finally said. When Chewbacca growled in response, Han got out of his chair and started to haul towards the engine rooms, "I gotta bad feeling about this."

---

"Ya know, since we're sleeping on a prison bed, you'd think you'd have a hard time sleeping." Viro mentioned, kicking the wall. Why Triclops bothered to create settings in his dreams was beyond him. Maybe it was a matter of comfort, to at least have some form or idea of something tangible in an intangible state.

"I can sleep anywhere. You know that." Triclops responded, walking through the hall. He'd decided to make this dream into something as though out of an art gallery. It was easier to handle than his previous dreams that saw into the future – giving his dreams structure enabled him to, at the least, stop and watch what he was seeing and try to deduce something out of it.

"What Prophecy of Doom is THIS?" Viro asked, pausing by one of the images. All that consisted of it was the rear view of an X-Wing, one of it's jets not lit up, as though broken or underfueled.

"That's what we're going to find out." Triclops kept walking. As though obligating, the images moved as he did. The X-Wing was sweeping across the sky of a planet – somewhere in the atmosphere, but far too high to be reached by anything less than a real spaceship, but if it was stratosphere or mesosphere, Triclops wasn't sure. Below, the terrain was calm and green, but visible through layers of fog and cloud.

Triclops walked closer towards the image he'd stopped before. The image drew in closer to the ship's cockpit. Inside, Triclops could see someone... a young man, but the features were difficult to discern with the pilot helmet and visor. He had to take a few more steps before he could see, just behind the pilot's seat, there was a second person inside the X-Wing, also in a flight suit and with a helmet over his head.

"Do we have to do it like this?" Viro complained as Triclops stepped closer and closer, trying to make out some features of the X-Wing's passengers.

"It's either this, or we go back to seeing these visions as symbols and metaphors with no control of how quickly they pass and we see them."

"Try looking from this angle – I think that's the Skywalker brat under the helmet." Viro advised, tone changing with comedic speed.

Triclops took a step to the right, and saw the image change in angle just enough to see that, sure enough, it was Skywalker in the pilot's seat. So, logically, that meant it was Kendal in the spot behind the pilot chair.

"Wait, so you're just not gonna move on after that?" Viro demanded, as Triclops remained rooted to his spot. Triclops shot him a dirty look, "What? What's gonna happen is gonna happen – might as well know about it, right?"

Triclops sighed, hung his head, and started to walk on to the next image. They moved along with him, progressing as time inevitably would. The X-Wing continued to fly, as though steered by something larger than a mere human in the controlling seat. The movement wasn't smooth – actually, it seemed a little off. Triclops paused again, examining the clouds. They weren't pure white, but some a smoky gray, and others with patches of black.

"So... Skywalker and the kid are gonna be flying around in an X-Wing, doing SOMEthing, and the weather is going to be making the flying conditions a little tough for them..."

"And there's something wrong with one of the engines – either it's damaged somehow or they're flying on low fuel or some kind of interference between the engine and the rest of the ship..."

"They are an army – maybe they've got a ration on fuel for now, for some reason." For all his complaining and smart ass remarks, Viro was helping with some remarkable insight, "Either way, things are already a little shaky..."

So, whatever was about to happen, there would be that many factors already working against them.

Triclops kept walking. The image continued to move. From over the ship, there was something in the atmosphere. It would probably be obscured from normal vision by the cloud cover, but any decent X-Wing would have equipment to pick up another ship. But, as Triclops kept the scene progressing, whatever it was continued to drop towards the X-Wing, like a tiny bird of prey diving at some incredible speed to snatch another bird out of the sky.

"Wait, Boy – stop!" Viro grabbed Triclops' elbow and started closer towards the image. Triclops saw the scope on the attacking vessel zoom in.

It wasn't a ship. It wasn't even a droid. It was a person – round and in an enviro suit, enough to enable him to withstand temperature and pressure changes from the atmosphere, and provide sufficient oxygen. It wouldn't send out a signal, but also wouldn't have a back up if the person as a projectile missed it's target.

"Fucker. Is he CRAZY?" Viro muttered. Triclops continued to walk. From a physics perspective, with the speed an X-Wing traveled at, it would be a slim, at best chance the person would land on the ship. And, even if he did, it would be the same as being hit by a ship in a crash. How this would lead to some kind of disaster, Triclops didn't logically see.

After a few more moments, Triclops saw – the person/projectile landed directly on the front of the X-Wing, knocking the ship down so quickly that Triclops had to walk backwards to see the exact point of connection. And then, upon looking closer up at the image, Triclops could see the person hadn't landed like a normal Human, but had rippled like made of a semi-solid.

Triclops continued forward, watching as the person who had landed on the X-Wing – a man – proceeded to punch through the circuitry and paneling and send the ship in a downward spiral towards the planet's surface. The artoo unit behind the cockpit attempted to jab the assailant, only to have it's mechanical arm smashed off and the droid started to smoke and spark. The X-Wing's blasters and defensive weaponry couldn't do it any good when the man climbed back on top of the ship and beat on the cockpit windshield with both fists, leaving pressurized cracks in the glass.

"What kind of freak IS he?" Viro asked, apparently just as baffled by what they were seeing as Triclops was. Triclops continued walking. The scene went on, the attacker on the X-Wing easily crippling the ship and knocking it down.

As the ship started to near the ground, Triclops saw the windshield pop open and Skywalker unfasten himself from the pilot's chair. It would have seemed like a stupid move, except Triclops was quite sure that there wasn't anything that he could have done to continue controlling the ship. Instead, Skywalker had pulled a blaster from the cockpit and leveled it at the attacker, firing a sharp blast at the attacker's head.

"Boy..." Viro commented, watching along with Triclops as the attacker on the X-Wing continued with what he was doing, "...Is it just me, or did that THING just SWALLOW that blaster bolt?" Triclops stopped, went backwards a little, enough for them to catch the exact moment: Indeed, just as the bolt had nearly reached it's target, the man had simply opened his mouth and gulped it down.

(A/N: This is yet another sequence that would be so much cooler if it was on film or in a comic book format.)

Triclops had to stop. He didn't know how this was even possible, or what was going on, but he did know that it would end badly. He didn't even want to know how that bad ending came – it was just enough to know that it would come. Maybe it was because it was so ridiculous, Triclops just didn't want to see the ending. It didn't even make sense how any of it could have happened or how it worked.

"You know, any other war general or commander wouldn't have put together an operative like that." Viro mentioned, "Yeah, it was goofy and if someone just said 'Someone's going to jump onto a moving X-Wing and start tearing it apart and when the pilot tries to shoot you, you'll just swallow the blaster bolts' pretty much anyone would just laugh it off... But, on the other hand, it worked. And whoever's doing it is actually able to do it and survive. That means someone else would be behind this, and they would have a purpose for it, one which they don't care if it means they have to be brutal and ruthless, or if they have to abandon all pretenses of dignity."

Triclops sat down. Viro didn't need to say it – he knew who was behind this.

"...So..." Viro continued to prompt. Triclops turned and looked at him, "We aren't gonna wake up and DO something? Like, try and stop this?"

Triclops looked away, again.

"There can only be one future."

---

Chewbacca had been helping Han with repairs on the ship when he heard the buzzing from the comm system. Since he knew the ship wasn't really in need of real repairs – apart from the usual maintenance, Chewbacca had understood long ago that Han, being the cub he was, usually just used working on the ship as an excuse to not interact with other Humans – Chewbacca took it on himself to answer the comm.

It was a message in the Alliance code. To be specific, it was the Alliance code for an SoS from the Jedi cub's ship. And, if they were receiving the code instead of an actual holo comm, it meant the cub couldn't do the contact, himself, and if the droid had had to send the message...

":Cub.:" Chewbacca called.

"Whatever it is, it can wait, Chewie." Han called. Chewbacca growled something under his breath, then proceeded to the cockpit to start up the engines. Han would thank him later, anyway.

---

Ken's head was spinning. He wasn't sure where he was, nor, for that matter, how he'd gotten there.

He remembered being behind the pilot seat of Luke's X-Wing and they were on a routine mission to check scanners and sensors and be sure that the deflector shield generators were still functioning, and it was supposed to double as training. He remembered not being able to sense anything, save from feeling Luke's presence in front of him and Artoo in the plug behind him, and the ship as a whole... but that was it. He didn't remember them crashing or the ship starting to malfunction, or anything...

Well, no, now that he thought about it... Ken did recall that something had crashed into them – like a meteor or a very large bird or something... But what and how it had crashed and what it had done, he didn't remember. Maybe he'd passed out or hit his head or something...

Secretly, Ken hoped that he'd hit his head. A concussion would be a lot less embarrassing than this being the fourth time he'd passed out when something bad had happened.

He opened his eyes and blinked for a few times before he realized he COULD still see – it was just so dark in his location that his eyes took several minutes to adjust. A small room, at least two meters wide by two meters deep. No idea how high. Nothing but blank walls, and a door that let a little light leak in for him to see. Nothing to tell him where he was, nor how he got there.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Ken turned over and slowly pushed himself to his feet. When he stood completely upright, the floor felt like it was being turned squarely on it's side. Ken stumbled to either his left or his right and eventually had to press his hands and back against the wall to steady himself. Even then, the room felt like it was swaying like a pendulum. Ken slid back to the floor. The swinging stopped.

Right. So, he felt very, very, VERY dizzy when he stood up. Ken had to hold his breath before he felt sure he would breathe properly and not throw up or faint. This was still a question. He could figure this out – he just had to be calm.

Calm. Yes. He could be calm. He could think. He just needed to think...

Why was he dizzy? That was a medical question. Ken took a few more deep breaths before he went through all the possibilities. There was a concussion. If he had hit his head before, that would account for dizziness and his loss of perceptions. Ken cautiously felt around his forehead and over his ears with one hand. He didn't feel any bumps or breaks, but he'd read in a medical journal once that concussions could happen when the brain collided with the inside of the skull. It was no guarantee.

But what if that wasn't it? He had no idea how long he'd been out. What if his body had dehydrated and run down on nutrients? It could be a side effect of that. Well, it would be easy enough to figure that one – if he could just find out what time it was... Ken cautiously slipped onto his knees and crawled across the floor. Even that made the room feel like it was spinning and dropping out of place, but it was manageable. He reached the door and found that it wouldn't move. No controls on the inside, and when he knocked on it, pushed, or applied any kind of force, he didn't even feel it give or bend.

So, this wasn't just a room – it was meant for containment of some kind. Logically, that would mean he was someone's prisoner.

Right. Still breathing. Still calm.

If he was someone's prisoner, that could mean they'd drugged him. Or stunned him. Both would account for the dizziness and the fact that he had no recollection of how it had happened.

A stun would wear off soon enough. If Ken could stay calm, relax, and just ride it out, he'd be fine. But what if it was a drug of some kind? The best idea, then, would be to try to stay active, to engage his muscles and keep his blood flowing would speed up the rate of metabolism. Unless it was some other kind of chemical. Unless speeding up the process would only cause more damage...

Actually, Ken wasn't doing very good at thinking, and staying calm didn't seem to be helping either – his knowledge of poisons was limited, at best, and even if he could figure out which one it might be, he had virtually no input of how to treat it. Actually, panicking was starting to look like a good idea. Ken would admit it – he was nervous, and alone, and scared, and had no clue what to do. He had no data. He needed data. Data, data, data... what was there...

Luke! He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed. Luke was nowhere. Ken took a few more deep breaths. Had to stay calm, just a little longer. Luke would be calm. If Luke could be calm, Ken could be calm. He could. If he could find Luke; feel him out, or contact him with the Force, maybe he could have a chance...

Ken felt nothing. He couldn't even feel himself in the Force, let alone anyone else. It was like being completely numb, blindfolded, and immersed in a vat of ice water and trying to move your fingers and toes – he had no idea if he was even attached to them, anymore, let alone able to feel or use the Force.

Right. Brain, off. Now was definitely the time to panic.

---

"They should both be awake by now." Tilus muttered as Gornash followed him to the containment cells. When Tilus had forced the X-Wing to crash, Gornash knew that he'd also used a combination of a sleeping gas and a heavy stun to knock the two out. Gornash knew about the sleeping gas mostly because he'd helped mix the compound. One part would be fast acting, the other part would take longer to metabolize and cause disorientation in the meantime.

This being combined with a blast from a stun ray would keep even a Jedi appropriately subdued. Kadann had specified that both Skywalker and the boy be unable to resist, but conscious. Or, at the least, the boy be conscious. Skywalker could be out cold, for all Kadann cared. Certainly, Gornash and Tilus both knew it would be a smarter option to keep Skywalker completely out. They weren't stupid – they knew he was more powerful than any of them.

On the other hand, Jedgar was in charge of keeping Skywalker restrained for the upcoming session. What did they care if his prisoner gave him a little trouble?

"You're sure you didn't accidentally kill this kid? He couldn't have weighed more than thirty kilograms, from what I could tell." And Gornash would know – he'd carried the little bag of skin and bones into the holding cell.

"I'm sure. Trust me – I got rid of the excess gas before they smothered in it." Theoretically, Gornash supposed he should have known how Tilus had done that, but in reality, he really didn't. And, to be honest, he didn't really want to know.

Gornash was the one to punch the code in and open the cell. To both their surprise, the boy tumbled out, fully awake and shivering. It wasn't even the kind of awake as though he'd just come out of his stupor, but as though he'd been conscious for some time, now. Gornash wanted to curse at Tilus, except it was equally as likely that the drug had simply not been as potent as they'd thought.

What did that mean for Skywalker? Had he recovered completely?

If so, what kind of trouble must he be giving Jedgar, right now?

Tilus recovered first and snapped a pair of stun cuffs onto the boy's wrists, behind his back. He didn't resist. It did make Gornash wonder if it was the drugs or if it was simply because the boy was too scared to try to fight back.

Though, really, it was quite surreal. At first, Gornash was willing to try and subvert the task of capturing this boy and had willingly given Skywalker information. Now, he didn't care. Maybe it had just seemed like a good idea at the time, before Gornash had gotten bored. Or maybe the little bit of rebellion was all that he'd needed. Either way, he had no desire to help either of their captives now.

Gornash seized the back of the boy's collar and pulled him to his feet. The boy's legs kept buckling under his own weight, and it took several minutes before Gornash and Tilus were able to effectively steer – or drag – him to the main chamber. Kadann had instructed the setup, so. Who knew what the greasy little gnome was planning, anyway.

From the other corridor, Gornash saw Jedgar leading a half-limp Skywalker. Conscious, but very placid. If anything, Skywalker was swaying more on his feet than the boy. At least the boy was aware of the additional presences in the room – Skywalker looked like he could have been sleepwalking, he was so dazed.

'Jesus, what did that sleeping gas DO to them, anyway?'

"Luke!" The boy's voice came out as a shrill, almost panicked. Gornash gave him a kick to the shin. It made him stumble and fall over.

"Now, now, Mister Gornash... we needn't be harsh with our guests." Kadann chided, lightly. It was almost funny, because all of them could fill in the 'For now' that Kadann had left unspoken. Gornash was quite confident their 'guests' had even been able to figure that out.

Without saying anything more to Gornash, Kadann glided over and reached out as though to help their prisoner to his feet. The boy cringed away, pushing himself off the floor as though to stubbornly spite Kadann out of helping him.

This was apparently appreciated by Kadann.

"Well, since you're feeling well enough, let's get down to business, shall we?" Gornash remained in place, watching Kadann pace around in front of the boy, "You, my boy, are here because we would like two things from you, and one of them will come much easier if you're willing to cooperate. If you refuse, we will resort to more aggressive negotiations." And this argument could not possibly work. How Kadann thought it would actually achieve anything was beyond Gornash. Why not just say 'We're going to twist your arm and torture it out of you'?

"Why should I help you?" Gornash saw Kadann jump when they heard the boy speak. They'd mostly assumed he was still too stunned to be capable of it.

Of all of them, Kadann was the one to recover the quickest.

"For starters, the Alliance base sitting directly beneath our hull. If we so chose, we could, in theory, destroy it in a single blow – you saw what our Mister Tilus did to the craft carrying you two. It would be simple to decimate an entire fortress and kill all of your most valuable leaders." Kadann was smiling. For some reason, Gornash felt incredibly like he was on the receiving end of some threat, even though he was one of the partners in this crime, "But... that's only if we chose. We can be persuaded very easily to do otherwise."

It was true enough – Gornash remembered how they'd destroyed part of a Massai Temple just landing, only a few years ago. And, if they took the base by surprise, it would be easy enough to destroy their most vital equipment and kill soldiers. Oh, and there was the fact that once, Isard had tried to off them all with a legion of stormtroopers, and not one of those soldiers had come out of that fight, alive, even with weaponry that was much more advanced than any bargain-bin trash the Alliance was surely using.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gornash could see Eris just squirming and wishing they could just start blowing things up, anyway.

"...That does not make sense." The boy mumbled. Kadann stopped his pacing and stared at the boy for a moment, "...If you could do that, anyway, why would you not just do it by now?"

And this actually did make sense. Gornash still had no idea why they hadn't already just destroyed the Alliance headquarters and been done with it – he'd been more than content to sit back and wait for Kadann to make the decision.

Kadann was smirking again. That made Gornash exceedingly nervous. For all he knew, that was just a bluff, a stall, a way of hiding the fact that he knew his idea was stupid and was trying to appear smarter and cleverer than he really was. So... what was it that gave Gornash the idea that Kadann really did have a hidden motive under that insufferable grin?

Gornash didn't think any of them saw it coming when Kadann's hand shot out and his stubby little fingers dug into the boy's throat, just under his chin.

"Why don't we start with an agreement on manners? You mind your own business, and we'll spare the unpleasantries in this discussion." He hissed. The smirk was now thin and his teeth were clenched perfectly together.

"As far as I can see, is it not my business what you plan to do to the Alliance?"

Gornash did wonder – was this always what the boy was like? From what Barnaby and Tilus had described about their tussle on Tatooine, the boy was timid, easily spooked, and barely able to defend himself by running away, let alone withstand interrogation or reason like this. Where was this cool, clever logic coming from?

"I don't see how. None of them would think twice before selling you out, given that you're not any ally of theirs."

Only the two of them could have noticed the briefest widening of the boy's eyes before they narrowed into a scowl. It was wasted – it looked so out of place on his face.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" Inwardly, Gornash felt a little uncomfortable to simply stand by as this was happening. Kadann was enjoying himself too much with this, and it had a very familiar feel, though damned if Gornash could guess where it was from.

"They're Commander Skywalker's allies, and Commander Skywalker is my friend." The boy was now clenching his teeth. Something that Gornash could have assumed, since Kadann was definitely baiting him, now.

"How can you be so sure?" Was Kadann's not-so-clever retort. For some reason, though, it did seem to be getting to their prisoner. Was it because he was still a child? Or was it something else? The boy mumbled something between his clenched teeth, "What was that?"

"I said 'It is none of your business.'" The boy growled, his volume rising.

Kadann seemed to find this amusing.

"So, now we understand each other, do we?"

The boy jerked forward. Gornash had to step over and grab him by the elbows before he could lunge fully at Kadann.

"What does it matter to you? I do not care if it is foolish or if you mock me for it – I can at least make up my own mind about it! Look at you – I will bet you do not even remember what you were CHASING me for! What good does it do you now? And why even bother? Did you just want to have a good look at me? Are you just doing this because you have nothing better to do? Did the other kids bully you when you were little?" For someone as small as this boy, his voice could echo when he put his mind to it. Gornash could feel the sound reverberating in the loose panels of the walls. It either said something about their prisoner's voice, the ship's integral structure, or both.

Kadann started laughing, almost as loud as the boy had been shouting. It was deranged enough that Gornash almost cringed away.

"This is wonderful. I think we have the makings of a perfect villain on our hands, here."

The boy's only response was to scowl.

"But, since we do have business to attend to... why don't you give us the information we're looking for?"

"You have not asked me for any information, yet."

Gornash wanted to hit the little brat, except he couldn't wonder what was going on inside his empty head to prompt any behavior like this. It seemed unnatural, especially for a boy of his age.

"Very well." And, again, Kadann seemed to be enjoying this far too much, "All we need from you is the location of the Lost City."

"Go to hell." The boy snarled. Yet again, a response that seemed like it couldn't possibly come from a mere boy like this, and the unnerving strangeness of the moment was made even worse when Kadann snickered in response.

"What a vocabulary you have, for your age."

Gornash was actually starting to get a headache from this. Why would Kadann care about some Jedi relics – all they'd needed was the boy, and they had the means to destroy the rebellion, if they wanted. Aggravated and bored, Gornash felt his eyes wandering, waiting for this scene to be over with so they could get back to business.

'Why is this boy even bothering to answer? It's just a waste of...' Gornash's eyes landed on Skywalker. Oddly enough, his arms were limp behind his back, almost an angle like the stun cuffs were no longer on his wrists... '...time.'

Gornash didn't try to alert them, but it didn't really matter – Skywalker sprung off the ground and kicked Jedgar to the side quicker than anyone could have found the time to alert it. With just a gesture, his lightsaber sprang from – well, seemingly out of nowhere, even if Gornash knew they'd put it in a depository just in the same room for convenience sake – and was ignited in time to parry and press a blow from a recovering Jedgar.

All Kadann did was stand by the side and watch. Even when the other prophets nearby stepped in to subdue him, Skywalker batted them away as easily as insects.

"Mister Tilus – perhaps you would be the best."

Gornash expected Tilus to mumble something along the lines of 'Why me?' or 'I don't wanna', but he did surprisingly put himself into the line of fire. Maybe he thought that Skywalker would eventually come around to attack him if he didn't intervene, first. Whatever the reason, Tilus rolled right up next to Skywalker, one arm reaching up and grabbing the lightsaber blade without the slightest indication he felt it, and the other gripping Skywalker's hands and holding them still for a moment.

The next moment, Jedgar had recovered enough to come around and seize one of Skywalker's ankles. Tilus released his grip on Skywalker's arms, quick enough for Jedgar to spin Skywalker off the ground and throw him into the wall.

"Luke!" Gornash had to grab the boy by his elbows, again. Thankfully, whatever unexpected strength he'd had under interrogation didn't cross over into physical strength. The boy kicked and pulled, but didn't even loosen Gornash's grip, "Let go of me! Luke!"

Irritated, Gornash managed to hook a foot around the boy's ankle, and then release him. The boy made a satisfying thud as his face connected with the floor and he stopped flailing.

Kadann huffed. Gornash could see the corners of his mustache ripple, and there was, once again, a peculiar sense of deja vu. It passed quickly enough that Gornash turned his attention back to the matter at hand and pulled the boy back up and out of the way.

"Well, if this is all we're going to get done, today, I suppose there's nothing else we can do." Kadann shrugged, indifferently. And then, he glanced back over and Skywalker, now completely knocked senseless, and smirked, "Unless..."

Kadann gestured at the Jedi's fallen lightsaber. As though a magnetic connection existed between Kadann's fingertips and the metal, it jumped to him and the blade was activated as Kadann took a few cautious steps towards Skywalker.

Enemy or not, Gornash didn't like where this was going, especially not how Kadann was enjoying himself so much. Evidently, the boy agreed.

"No!" If his responses had been anxious before, this was definitely panic Gornash heard – the boy's voice seemed to climb a whole octave, "Don't! Luke!" And he probably would have run to put himself between Kadann and Skywalker if Gornash didn't have such a tight grip on him.

Kadann raised the saber blade and sliced his own palm open.

Gornash was more than willing to let go when the boy lurched forward and collapsed onto the floor, vomiting. Worse, it was mostly red, and Gornash caught the smell of iron and copper from where he stood.

"That will do for now." Kadann finally said, deactivating the weapon and returning it to the depository box, "Gornash, Jedgar – return our prisoners to their cells. We all have preparations to make for the main event."

Gornash didn't object as he obeyed. The boy was light enough to drag – almost as though he were insubstantial – and Jedgar was silent and completely detached, so much that Gornash could also ignore him. But still... Gornash couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside Kadann's tiny head. From all he could see, none of it had any point. In fact, none of it had any real substance – it felt like something out of a story, just meant to be frightening, but with so little point that Gornash couldn't become invested in any real fear or care about it.

He deposited the boy back in the cell. Jedgar had disappeared. It just left Gornash wondering what they were doing, and why Kadann was going to all this trouble just to terrorize a young boy. Granted, they all knew who the boy WAS, but... why not just get it over and done with?

These questions bothered Gornash. Was it conscience? Or was he just curious? He didn't know, and not knowing made him irritable. He'd find out, if only to have his own life back in control.

---

There were advantages to pretending to be unconscious, Luke had learned. Pretending to be subdued by the poison had made it easier for him to strike back out, just now, and that had earned him a little extra insight to the abilities of the Prophets holding them captive.

It was this that Luke meditated on, still pretending that he'd been completely stunned. Well... alright, he was a little woozy. He certainly wouldn't be able to fight back or get himself and Ken free anytime soon. But he also knew he had to be patient. Being rash would result in another problem like this had. If he was patient and meditated on this, he would be able to get them both out, maybe even without having to do their captors any harm.

There was the green-eyed prophet... Gornash, Luke thought his name was. He'd been the one to pass the information on to Luke. Maybe Luke could appeal to him for help. On the other hand, he hadn't been terribly forgiving in assisting with their capture, and Luke could sense something had distinctly changed in him. What? There had to be some reason...

Luke would come back to that later. After all, there had to be some hope for all of these men. Maybe if he could understand why they were doing why they were doing this... Was it simple prejudice? No, supposedly, they wanted to resurrect the Emperor, and could only do that using Ken as... a conduit? A vessel? Something along those lines. It made no sense for them to treat him so harshly if that was what they planned. And why would they want the location of the Lost City from Ken, anyway? Or was that just a stall for time, or a tool to keep them both distracted and Ken under pressure?

And, for that matter, what was the 'Main Event' the short prophet had spoken of? How much time did Luke have? What if he didn't have time to be patient?

No – he wasn't panicking. He could be patient, but he would be efficiently patient. Up until the last moment they had, he could think and plan.

"I still see no point in trying to pry the location of the City from that boy." Luke's eyes opened, then he forced them closed and made himself relax. He recognized the voice of the tall prophet – Jedgar – and their leader. If either of them realized he was fully conscious, he'd miss this chance for some information, and he needed every bit he could get.

"Jedgar, everything is useful in this galaxy. You just have to know whom it's valuable to." The leader replied, smugly.

"But none of us are Jedi. The only powers we have are from those damned experiments – nothing down there will make any of us stronger in the least." That was a surprise. Luke had assumed these prophets were strong in the Dark Side of the Force. He hadn't realized that none of them could even use it.

"But there ARE Sith who would have great use for the information in the Jedi Library. After all, where do you think I got the instructions for the ritual we need?"

Luke heard some indistinct noise. He was tempted to try and press his ear to the door, maybe he'd be able to discern it, but it was over before he heard Jedgar speak again.

"Cronal?" He even sounded alarmed, and Luke had no doubt that this was a real Sith they were speaking of, "But... he has to be dead by now. And if we just give him the information, what if he turned on us? We must be just as interesting – we're surviving experiment numbers!"

"We'll give him bits and pieces – and, in any case, we'll have the Emperor to keep him at bay for us."

"What if the Emperor decides to destroy us, once we've resurrected him? He tried once, remember?"

"This time, we'll have a tool to keep him restrained. You saw how the boy reacted in the chamber, just now."

Luke tried to calm himself. They were talking about Ken. What did they know that he didn't? And how did they plan to use it to their advantage?

"I don't like depending on other factors to ensure victory." Jedgar finally replied. Luke could just hear Kadann smirking.

"You needn't worry." He said, "I've gotten everything in order – we'll have sufficient allies on all sides that nobody will dare oppose us, and the Emperor will be kept in check. We'll have nothing to fear."

Jedgar made a noise that sounded like he sincerely doubted that.

"Trust me. I always get what I want."

---

"The Emperor has decided to release select prisoners early. If the rest of you continue in the same fashion as these prisoners, you two might be granted the option of release. For those of you being selected, you shall be given a special assignment, serving the Emperor, himself."

Some of the instruments he was gathering reminded Gornash a little too much of the Mines. Which was stupid, and Gornash knew it, because the Mines had been focused on either the prisoners doing menial labor or serving as tests in experiments.

"Cooperate, and the posts you will be assigned will be made the best that any officer or agent in the Empire is granted. But be warned; to select you, each prisoner will be expected to answer a series of questions. Questions require answers. And don't think you can deceive us."

Scalpel, razor, probe, needle, clamps... Some tools were crude, some more sophisticated, but it was mostly straightforward what their purpose was. And how they would be used went without saying.

"That will do. You'll be on the ship off the planet."

They were different. What they were doing wasn't just senseless slaughter – and, besides, the boy would probably live, anyway – and it wasn't an innocent.

"You're certainly demanding. You want us to grant you a favor before being put on your assignment? You're just a prisoner."

"Then, you have no reason not to just shoot me for having the nerve to ask."

Not like they had all been.

"...Ask, then. And I'll see if I feel like it."

The prophet had been so tall. He hadn't even been able to see his face, not as it was hidden under the hood.

"Hey, Copy-Cat." Gornash wanted to say he hadn't jumped, but that would be unfair. To tell the truth, he'd been growing steadily jumpier and jumpier since they'd brought the prisoners aboard. Tilus didn't mention it, just reaching his meaty hands up to help prepare the tools.

"Is something going wrong?" Gornash was proud that he kept his voice composed. And, if their prisoners were acting up or something else had gone awry – not too unlikely, given that Eris was getting more and more anxious to start blowing things up – that would just make Gornash more liable to... to... oh, he didn't know, anyway, what he wanted to do.

"...Sure is a skinny little drip, isn't he?" And Tilus would know this, too – he'd had to handle both the boy and Skywalker to clear them of the X-Wing wreckage before they'd been brought aboard, "Almost like they aren't feeding him nothing."

Gornash made a non-committal noise. Tilus' voice had strained, as though trying to keep his casual, mocking, insulting tone, but that tone was almost the same as one that sounded... invested, somehow.

It could have been anything. He could have made a small request, to try and show how subservient he was, how easy he'd be to control. That would have been smarter, and easier. Instead, he stood there with his skeletal knees knocking together and a shiver running up each exposed vertebrae on his back.

"I want to see my brother."

"Really?"

"The doctor wanted us as sets. He would have been brought in for the experiments, too. I haven't seen him. I just want to see him, again."

"He deserves it." Tilus grumbled, loudly. He was filling a syringe with an acid of some sort, "He's Sithspawn. Scum. Bound to turn out bad in the end. Anyone born from a Sith bloodline deserves it."

Tilus slammed the full syringe down on the tray. Next to it, Gornash unfolded a sterilized power shear.

A laugh echoed from inside the hood.

"Very well."

"Right." Was all Gornash could muster.

"Right." Tilus aggressively agreed.

Right.

---

This time, Ken forced himself to calm down. As best he could with his hands bound, he folded himself into a meditative position and tried to breathe like Luke had taught him when meditating. He could be calm. He could be at peace.

He had to be.

On one hand, Ken wanted to think about why these Prophets were doing what they were doing. On the other, Ken knew he had little to no data about that, so it would be a wasted effort. Well, maybe he could try gleaning from what he knew about their personalities and abilities... which would also be wasted, because he knew very little about those, as well.

There was a part of him that snidely remarked that Mister Triclops had been able to work out that it had been Luke who asked Ken a favor from absolutely nothing. It stung that Ken was still so helpless that he couldn't be as deductive.

Well, starting from a few guesses: Their leader had asked for the location of the Lost City. So, supposedly, they wanted to find it and take something from it. The problem with that theory was that they could have easily found those coordinates in the log of Luke's X-Wing, or even from Artoo's databanks. Ken didn't care how much damage was done to the ship, at least one of the two would have survived, and it would have been much simpler.

So, they wanted to SEEM like they were trying to find the Lost City as a pretense to keep him distracted and to do whatever they were going to – Ken had mostly figured that torture would be in the works, the lead Prophet hadn't exactly been subtle on that point.

Funny – a few months ago, Ken would have thought it was exciting and cool to be a hero and to be captured by the enemy and tortured for information, but never yield it for the sake of the Rebellion.

What had he been THINKING?

Right, not getting distracted. Why bother with him? Well, perhaps because he was younger and wouldn't be trained to withstand torture. That did make sense... except why bother bringing Luke aboard? Why not kill him? Or why not kill Ken and torture it out of Luke – he might be trained, but it would spare them the trouble of keeping two prisoners contained and subdued.

Not that Ken was unhappy they'd decided to keep Luke alive, for whatever reason. If there was one good thing, it was that, at least, they were both alive and both had a chance of getting out of this. Ken had tried to buy Luke some time to get out earlier. He had to keep doing that. It was all he could do, but it was their only shot. He had to believe Luke would be able to recover and get them both out of this.

The door to the cell opened. The tall prophet with green eyes came into view and wordlessly pulled Ken to his feet.

'He's bigger and stronger than me, so resisting won't really give me much of a delay. Cooperating and trying to make him stall would be a better option.' Ken wasn't even sure where he was getting this from – it felt like a distant portion of his brain was operating to connect little pieces and send the message to the rest of him. Like his brain was split into two different machines, and in one portion, the gears were turning and connecting, and it was traveling over kilometers of wire just for one byte of the data to reach the other machine.

Ken let the Prophet pull him along the corridor.

"Just torturing me will not get you the information you want." He mentioned, trying with all his might to sound casual. The Prophet slowed and cast him a scowl over his shoulder. Ken assumed that meant he'd gotten it right, "I will probably just faint before I say anything."

"It's generally not considered smart to tell the interrogator this before he starts with you." The Prophet replied, sounding thoroughly disinterested.

Ken shrugged as bravely as he could manage.

"Might as well tell you the truth."

The Prophet stopped and turned, fully. Ken wanted to cringe, but the Prophet didn't make any move beyond that – he simply stood and stared down his nose at Ken. All Ken could see were those eyes that seemed to gleam on their own, and the long, vertical scars extending from the corners of his eyelids.

"I'd worry about myself if I were you." If Ken hadn't known any better, that sounded less like a threat and more like a warning. As it was, though, he did know he was a prisoner. And what would one of his captors care about warning him?

"Why?" Ken managed to reply. Oh, how proud of him any of the Rogue Squadron or Captain Solo would have been, just to see him now, "What do I have to be scared of?" And this was a complete bluff, but Ken just held on to the imaginary reactions of the pilots, if they could see him acting like a real man instead of a crybaby wimp.

The Prophet was apparently not as impressed. His response was to turn away and continue dragging Ken after him.

The room that Ken was finally pulled into was a low-ceilinged chamber, too dark for him to see anything clearly. He tripped over protrusions in the floor, as though they'd been placed there just for that purpose, before he felt himself being lifted clear off the floor and set down on what he could only guess was a table.

So, logically, this probably meant he was going to be strapped down. Ken forced himself to breathe slowly – he could expect what they were going to do. It was going to be painful, but if he could think about it logically, he could anticipate it. It would – he hoped – hurt less if he could just think about the logical process of inducing what would come. If he could just keep thinking about the logic, about the predictability...

Ken heard something else in the room. He knew the other Prophets had to be here, but it was definitely not one of them. It sounded... it sounded like crying.

Both of his legs were strapped down. Instinctively, Ken tried to pull against them and wasn't surprised – and, consequently, he tried not to be alarmed, but found he was, somewhat – that the restraints were solid and didn't allow for even the slightest bit of movement. Next, he felt something sealing around his wrists and elbows. He tested and, just as he expected, they were just as unyielding as the restraints around his legs.

"Come on, can't we just get to it, already?" Ken could hear the voice of another one of the Prophets in the room. He recognized it – the little short one who'd thrown fire on Tatooine. He'd been volatile and rude and aggressive, but, if Ken recalled correctly, he was also easily distracted and not the brightest of the lot. Beyond brute intimidation, there wasn't much Ken was expecting from him.

Of course, since he was mostly at their mercy, those conditions weren't really applicable. Still, he could gauge which of the Prophets would be the worst, how badly he'd need to brace himself...

Ken could still hear someone whimpering. It sounded like a different person, too – the first had undoubtedly been male, and this person had to be female. What was going on?

"In a moment, Prophet Eris." And that was their leader speaking up, again. Five minutes in the same room had been enough to cement Ken's opinion that he was the worst of them, "We need to go through the steps in order."

Ken forced himself to think. Steps... meaning there was a process involved... other words for process... operation... method... procedure? Procedure also meaning ritual, which would involve a series of steps to be performed in a certain order in order to accomplish a goal... that probably meant some kind of Dark Side technique.

Thinking that way wasn't helping Ken stay calm – he'd only learned a little about the Sith, and more in historical facts of crimes they committed and wars fought against them by the Jedi.

"Prophet Mammar? The lights, if you please."

The chamber was illuminated from an orange glow on the floor. It wasn't quite adequate light for Ken to see the room in its entirety, but it did allow him to see the row surrounding his position in the center, and exactly where the whimpering and crying had been coming from moments ago.

There were at least twenty other people in the room, save himself and the Prophets. Some of them seemed older, some younger, and Ken found himself horrified to turn his head and end up staring straight into the eyes of a child, barely older than five. Each of them were rooted to the floor with restraints and binders, as though someone had put their foot on each of the prisoner's backs and pushed them down to the floor.

"I think he can see well enough. Prophet Eris, you may begin if you wish." And any thought of trying to stay calm or brace himself went out the window. Ken knew he couldn't prepare himself for this.

"NO..."

---

"You're sure these are the right coordinates?" Leia insisted as the Falcon swooped lower over a good ten kilometers stretch of ruined trees. So far, they had yet to see any X-Wing wreckage, let alone find Luke.

"S'what the S.O.S reported. And Chewie said was transmitted by Artoo – it wouldn't be off." Han had taken Leia's forced entry onto the ship quite well, especially given that she'd only come aboard on a vague notion that something was wrong with Luke. For whatever reason, it was just the three of them hunting for the lost X-Wing and it's crew, "Still, this much interference'll screw up any radar readings we can pick up..."

Leia didn't respond except to get out of the passenger seat and head back into the ship. If the Falcon's instruments couldn't pick up any readings from a crash, then she'd just have to go out and find it by hand.

"Leia!" What she hadn't expected was Han to come after her. He wasn't even using any of his usual pet names for her.

So, he was just as worried as she was, then...

"I'm going down to ground level and look for any wreckage. I'll contact you if I can find anything to point us in the right direction." Leia said, simply. Without looking, she knew that Han was reaching out to try and grab her.

"The hell you are." He shouted. It was almost the sort of shout that always aggravated Leia, as though he thought shouting at her would make her listen to him. She turned around to shout back...

And that's when it hit. Everything inside Leia clenched, as though her insides had grown legs and were starting to wriggle out of place. Her face felt cold. Her stomach felt hot. She shook, unevenly, on her feet.

"Leia?" She could feel Han brace her, but the unsettling feeling didn't go away. It was like she wanted to throw up, except the nausea came from some other organ in her body. She couldn't think clearly. She couldn't even see straight.

"Leia, what's wrong?" And, for some reason, she knew. She didn't know what she knew, but it was the same way she knew that Luke had been in trouble and had come with Han to respond to the S.O.S, the same way she'd known when he'd survived the explosion of the second Death Star, the same way she'd heard him calling on Bespin... all those little things.

Leia had to sit down. Whoever was responsible for this crash – and Leia was absolutely certain that someone had done it, deliberately – they were doing something far worse, now.

---

At the same time, Luke felt just as disturbing a sensation through the Force. It was like the pain of a migraine, except concentrated in his chest. All of the electricity and throbbing pain was there, but it simultaneously seemed like every cell in his body was retreating into a giant knot inside him, clenching as though trying to escape from every other cell around it.

Luke forced himself to breathe, to remain calm. He would only be confused and that wouldn't give him any insight to what was happening. He had to relax, stay in tune with the Force...

Think.

What was the 'Main Event' that the leader had been talking about? It was undoubtedly not a kind event that they had planned, and Luke had mostly guessed either he, or Ken, or both of them would be facing some torture. Coupled with what Luke was feeling right now...

It didn't feel like what torture felt like, not when he felt it through the Force. That was a brief, sharp pain, but it was less a pain and more a discomfort, like his body being aware of something wrong and the need to correct it, except it was relating to someone else. The sensation he'd felt when Han and Leia had been tortured hadn't hurt like this – it had just been a message, and all torture felt that way.

So this...

Luke concentrated. Where was Ken? Something told him that Ken was part of why he was feeling this. If he could reach him...

Luke could feel it – Ken's mind, whirling in confusion. There was something else about his confusion, though. Luke remembered how Ken felt, empathy wise, in other situations. It would be anything from curiosity with a sense of cautionary awe, or a strict sense of cold and clinical seriousness. Compared to this – the coolness, the almost shallow human emotions Ken had displayed up until now seemed to burn and go bone deep, like a drop of stomach acid dripped onto a bare arm.

What were they doing to Ken? It wasn't torture... Luke could tell that – Ken wasn't feeling any physical pain... but touching his mind made Luke's vision split, made his head ache, made his stomach writhe like he was being cleaved in half by a blade a thousand times hotter than a lightsaber.

Luke opened his eyes to find his vision clear, again, but also singularly unreal. It was like coming out of a fever and being able to see clearly and not feel any sense of pain, but only because he'd opened his eyes inside a virtual reality simulator...

Virtual...

He was dreaming.

"Very good, Commander Skywalker." Luke didn't need to turn around. As though at his command, the world bent so he found himself facing Triclops. He sat, legs folded underneath him, staring calmly into Luke's eyes like a possessed puppet. A second bodily embodiment of Triclops was laying on his side, propped up by an arm, and glaring at Luke with no malice and yet, all the malice in the world.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked, not sure if he should remain calm and patient, or if he should be especially worried about being pulled into a dreamscape against his will. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

"The same damn thing he's trying to do to the kiddo." The other Triclops said, waving a hand and conjuring up an image in the floor. Luke let his line of sight fall, and watched as the scene unfolded. It was a room, and the floor was covered in decorative piping that, as far as Luke could tell, was symbols and lettering from some tradition he didn't know of. Ken was strapped to a table in the middle. The prophets were going around the room in circles, and at each point they stopped, he saw them level blasters or their sabers or some other tool of weaponry, and from each, he heard a human scream before they fired.

It was a ritualistic murder unlike any that Luke could recall seeing with his own, two eyes, and each scream matched with a stabbing pain that echoed through the Force and into his body as though he were being shot or stabbed, himself.

Either because he'd made his point, or because he recognized signals that Luke was simply too overwhelmed by the scene, the original Triclops put his hand down to the floor and the image faded. Luke had to pause to regain his composure – for whatever reason, given that he was dreaming and didn't need to breathe, he didn't understand, but also didn't question given the gravity of the situation – before he looked up and recognized the look in Triclops' eyes.

The resignation. The tiredness. The surrender.

The conflict.

The same feelings Luke had felt from Vader. From his father.

And there was a look of disgust, anger, disdain in the other Triclops' face. Disdain for how resigned the original Triclops was.

"You already knew this would happen." Luke observed. Triclops looked down to the floor, as though he thought he would see something in it, as blank as it was, "This is your son. You could help him. If I'd known... if you'd told me, I would have listened." To his credit, neither Triclops or the other version of himself muttered any 'Woulda, coulda, shoulda' comments, "You know that. I DO believe in you. I DO believe that Ken won't turn to the Dark Side. I don't think our destiny is set for us. You know that. Why couldn't you at least trust me?"

It felt a great deal like the way he felt when talking with Ken. When he knew Ken was hiding something from him. When he knew that Ken didn't trust him, didn't believe Luke when he told Ken anything...

If Luke were to focus on how it felt, he would have to say it stung. But he couldn't. Not when his apprentice was suffering, being used as a pawn in someone's game. He wouldn't let it happen again.

Triclops gave him a Look.

"There can only be..." He murmured, as though repeating a line that he'd practiced and heard and believed so many times that he couldn't think of any other response to a question, "One future."

Luke watched him for a moment. There was such a volume of pain in his voice, as though he'd tried so hard to believe in some other answer, but had been proved wrong on so many fronts, had been too hurt by trying to believe that he just couldn't move anymore.

Maybe, he didn't need someone to prove him wrong... maybe he needed someone to believe him... just not the defeatism.

"You're right." Luke agreed. Triclops looked at him, eyes wide as a child's. Luke gazed evenly back at him. He was calm. He was at peace. He WAS peace, "...There can only be one future... and it is always in motion."

Both incarnations of Triclops blinked at him. One in bewilderment, the other in a grudging, almost appraising admiration.

"What can you do?" Luke asked. Triclops continued to blink, completely baffled at how Luke was behaving, "If you could pull me into a dreamscape, can't you do the same for Ken? For any of the prophets? Whatever you could do, you could help."

Still, Triclops blinked at him. It was as though he'd never considered that any person could be like Luke.

"I'm going to get myself and Ken out of this." Luke stood up. How he'd appeared sitting in this dream, he wasn't sure, but he stood up, all the same, "I'm going to save my apprentice, and my apprentice is your son. Anything that you can do will help. And it will move us into the future."

And with that, Luke found himself unexpectedly awake, staring up at the ceiling at his cell.

Whatever it was about that moment, Luke found himself more determined than ever – he would get out of here, he'd rescue Ken, he'd save his apprentice from a fate worse than death...

And if anyone asked him the reason, and all other reasons he could muster were defeated, it would be just so he could prove to this desperate father that his son had a future. He wouldn't let Ken slip and fall. He would protect him.

He would.

He would.

---

The boy resumed consciousness as Gornash dragged him back to his cell. Kadann had given Gornash orders to watch the boy and ensure his wounds were tended to and he didn't get infected with anything or bleed to death after their ritual.

Kadann had taken one look at the boy after two hours of their session – all of the instruments Gornash had prepared had been put to use, and each of them had had their turn. The only one whom Kadann had forbidden from doing as he pleased was Darth Asmod – or Prophet Mammar, whichever alias he'd been assigned – and of all of them, Gornash was certain he was responsible for more scars on the boy's flesh.

Gornash took a moment to look down at their prisoner. Every mark left on his skin stood out, burning red like the blood he was bleeding, or the heat they'd heated their branding irons to.

Gornash believed this boy was the Emperor's descendant – he looked like a noble, with his body being marble white, from head to toe, as though he'd never seen a centimeter of sunlight. Of course he hadn't – he'd grown up in the Lost City of the Jedi, underground. What was Gornash thinking?

...Yes, what indeed.

Gornash deposited the boy in his cell, the proceeded to treat his wounds. Bacta patches for wherever he was bleeding, just in case, synthflesh for anything that they'd punctured too deeply, aloe for the burns.

Of course, Gornash wasn't as dedicated as Kadann had ordered him to be. He wanted the boy to have scars. It was the least he could do. After everything that he owed them, it was the least the boy could do – carry around some reminder of this.

After all they'd suffered through, after all the scars he and the other prophets had... like the scars under his eyes...

Like his brother...

A few marks that were just marks of torture, torture that didn't disfigure him, that didn't immobilize him or change him or make him into some freakish experiment... What harm could it do? It was only fair.

Gornash treated the wounds as little as he knew he could get away with. The boy would live, and he'd get through without any infections or diseases or anything of the sort. It was just his job, and the boy was getting what he deserved.

The boy's eyes opened. They gleamed like molten silver in the faint light.

For some odd reason, it made Gornash wary. He continued what he'd been doing, as though it didn't matter to him what the boy was doing, but he could feel the boy's eyes on him. It was almost like that doctor...

Doctor Megele... He'd always been there, always known, always been able to penetrate into his deepest secrets, always seen... Gornash had always hidden, tried to keep it from him, tried to save the little bit of him that had been him...

"Why are you doing this?" The boy asked.

The sound of his voice seemed different from before. Gornash didn't want to turn around and look into those eyes. If he did, the boy would know. He'd see everything. He'd know.

Gornash couldn't let him know. He had to stay in control.

"None of your business." He responded.

The boy was silent, and somehow, Gornash felt like that was even worse than his voice. Worse than his gaze. Worse than the Doctor or the Emperor... worse than them all.

"Then, what do you plan to do once you have gotten what you wanted?" The boy's voice was quieter, much quieter than before. It barely touched Gornash's ears. It was like he was doing it on purpose, as though he knew that Gornash didn't want him to be a person. As though he were mocking Gornash with his voice.

No, he was a prisoner. More than that, he was Sithspawn. He was the enemy. He couldn't be a person. He wasn't Human. He as an it. He had to be an it. It was the only way that Gornash could do this and not be cruel, not be the villain.

Had to be.

Had to be.

"I don't know." Gornash kept his voice as neutral as he could. He was proud of himself for this.

"What about the others?" The boy asked.

"I don't know, and I don't care." Gornash replied.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't care."

"What about to Luke?" The boy asked, voice sounding just as blank to Gornash as before. Of course, for all Gornash knew, that was just how he wanted to hear it. Maybe the boy was more anxious than he thought, "What about to the other members of the Alliance? What will you do to them?"

"What does it matter to you?" Gornash muttered, determined to not allow this boy to turn into a person.

"Whatever you plan to do to them... Please, do not." It did make Gornash more than a little uncomfortable. The Alliance and Skywalker... they weren't 'its'. They weren't enemies. They were people. They could also be just as much innocents as...

No. No, Gornash told himself – they were enemies. Or they would be. All he had to do was think of them as 'its', when the time came. He couldn't let his resolve waver.

"Whatever you plan to do... do it to me!" The boy was still talking, "Please... Whatever it is, I shall take it! But not them! I am begging you!" And he was making it increasingly hard to be just an 'it'.

It angered Gornash.

"Shut up."

The boy was quiet for a while. Then, after enough time for him to regain his thoughts, but not enough for Gornash to recover, he spoke again.

"Where will you go after this? Any of you?" Gornash paused in his sorting through his medical equipment, "Don't you have any family? Or friends? Or a place to call home?"

Gornash's hands froze, not of his will. They wouldn't move, no matter how he tried to command them to. But his lips moved, as though controlled by a part of his brain that refused to freeze.

"I don't care what the others do..." He said, "But I'm going home. Back to Alderaan. Back to my family's farm."

The boy didn't speak for several minutes. Then, Gornash heard him speak.

"...But... you mean you do not know?"

That was ominous enough that Gornash turned around and stared at the boy. His eyes were wide open, despite the bandages around his face, holding his eyelids down, keeping him frozen in time.

No matter what Gornash had done, the face of a boy, not an 'it', was staring back at him.

"Don't know what, boy?" Gornash demanded. The boy sat up. It was as though he couldn't even comprehend his bandages or injuries.

"...The Empire destroyed Alderaan... years ago. That is what prompted the Battle of Yavin."

Gornash stared at the boy. His lips moved, as though controlled by something else. The words cut through the air as though it had been replaced with something thick and solid, and his words were bolts from a blaster that pierced through them and implanted themselves in Gornash's brain.

"...With the Death Star. They blew Alderaan up..."

Gornash felt dizzy. It was as though the world had tipped onto its side. He felt everything under his feet going cold, every extremity in his body losing it's feeling. Maybe this was what fainting felt like, or drunkenness, or... or...

Or dying. Gornash felt like he was plunging into unconsciousness that he would never awaken from...

"You're LYING!" He managed. Was that his voice? It didn't feel like it. It didn't sound like it. It sounded and felt like it came from something else, like it came from a monster that Gornash had kept buried, that had been waiting to surface and gobble him up from the inside out.

The boy recoiled. The look in his eyes remained that piercing look, that saw though into Gornash's deepest, most inner most secrets, and now, Gornash saw fear. As though the boy could see the monster, and knew what was waiting inside Gornash and was reacting in terror to that monster.

And Gornash hated him for seeing what he was, underneath it all.

"...I..." The boy stammered. Gornash took a step over him. The boy kept recoiling, trapped though he was by the cell's walls and locked door, "...I..." Gornash kept walking over him. No matter how scared the boy looked, no matter how powerful he was, no matter how the doors and walls kept them sealed in...

The boy wasn't a captive. He never was. He never would be. It was Gornash that was locked up, encased in this role and trapped inside this room. Trapped by this boy.

"I am sorry... I am so sorry."

That was it. Reality seemed to completely fall away. All that was real was the world as it crept up around Gornash, and trapped him inside this cage of reality. Inside the cage that this boy was building around him.

Around who he was.

Around his dreams.

Around his soul.

Gornash dropped and pinned the boy to the floor. No, he wasn't a boy, anymore. This was just an 'it'.

Gornash had to smile. Of all things, it was this 'it' that had given him the power to no longer see a boy, Sithspawn or no, completely at his mercy, able to be controlled and used...

"No, you're not." Gornash hissed. 'It's' eyes gleamed. If 'it' had been a person, Gornash would have called it either fear or tears that he saw in this 'its' eyes. But they weren't. It was just a gleam. Mocking him. Taunting him, "You're not sorry enough."

Not yet.

---

Mehgan Retaw clawed through the foliage of tall grass and flowers. All of them seemed to overpower her. Every stalk was taller than she was. She couldn't even see where she was going.

But she knew where she was going.

She had to save Kendalina. Her apprentice. Her youngling. Her beloved...

She would. She had to.

Then, she saw it. Up ahead, buried in the tall stalks of the plants – what kind of flowers they were, she couldn't say – Mehgan saw a body. All of the plants were growing out of it. Their roots covered the body, sapping it of it's strength, of it's ability to live. The flowers were killing her Kendalina.

Mehgan dove in. Her hands moved to shred the plants, to claw them away from her padawan, to save her...

And then, Mehgan got to the bottom of it. She saw the body's face.

It wasn't Kendalina. It looked like her, but it wasn't...

All around her, it started to rain flowers. Falling in tribute of a lost innocence.

It was Kendal's face.

"Master Retaw." Mehgan sat up, then turned. Behind her, Kendalina stood completely erect, a blaster wound through her head and blood dripping down her face.

"...Kendalina..."

"I'll never forgive you."

---

Mehgan woke up. As she did, she heard the clink of glass clattering to the floor. When she bothered to look, she saw an empty bottle of Corellian Rum next to her. Dream. It had just been a drunken dream.

Well, that's what she got for turning to alcohol to solve her problems.

Still... there was something about that dream that had her more than a little worried.

Mehgan tried to relax. Kendal. What was happening to Kendal? She stretched out into the Force.

...And felt nothing. The warmness she'd felt with the Force had been replaced with... numbness. It wasn't just Kendal she couldn't feel... it was everything.

She'd forgotten how the Force had felt. All she could think of was the cold numbness of the lack, and the artificial warmth of the rum.

It was gone.

"NO!"

A/N: So let's recap this chapter, shall we? Luke and Ken are kidnapped, the Prophets of the Dark Side are evil bastards, innocent people are killed, Ken is tortured and raped, (By the most sympathetic of all the Prophets, no less) and Master Retaw loses her connection with the Force. Can't wait to see how I top that in the next chapter.

...Good God, I might be a horrible person.