A/N: Trigger for torture. Not horribly graphic, but not sugar-coated either. Title inspired by the song Woodstock, by Joni Mitchell.
Ky fought her way to the surface of the black pit the tranquilizer had dumped her in. Her head breached into glaring brightness as she scrambled to become fully aware of where she was. Bright flecks of color swirled at the edge of her vision like reflections off a party ball on Nar Shaddaa.
Two brilliant beams blazed at her, round and large and unrelenting. What was the term from that book she'd read long ago; dead lights. How appropriate. Harbingers of insanity and death.
She wanted to rub the grainy residue from her eyes, her nose itched. Her arms wouldn't move, held in place by metal bands. Murmured voices broke through the fog. She thought she recognized one of them.
"You should have done the tests while she was still out. I want all of it; blood, bone marrow, spinal fluid. All of it, no excuses."
"It will be painful for her."
"Then be quick. I expect results when I return. No general anesthesia, doctor. She and I have much to discuss."
Too weak to move on her own, she was half carried, half dragged to an operating table and held in place while needles were inserted into vein, spine, and hip. She trapped her groans of discomfort between gritted teeth. She'd been in the arena and knew about pain. The doctor's constant grumbling was the most annoying thing about the whole procedure. Kolto patches provided relief, and an injection was given to stave off infection before she was returned to the interrogation chair and restrained. She'd never gotten the chance to scratch her nose.
'Don't waste energy,' her mind instructed. She relaxed as much as she could despite the metal cuffs around her wrists and ankles and across her chest and hips. Her skin peppered with gooseflesh from the cool temperature of the room. She dozed off and on and waited.
"Wake up," a male voice said. Familiar but Ky couldn't recall from where.
Her eyes squeaked open to a dimmed room, the spotlights glaring in her face turned off and replaced by a single light shining down on her from above. The man remained in shadow. A half-assed scare tactic as far as Ky was concerned. She was alone, restrained, and clothed only in her underwear. Those plain truths constituted her situation, and any attempt at additional intimidation was wasted. He likely knew that already but still enjoyed the game.
She squinted into the darkness. "You've got a strange way of making friends."
"I don't need friends. I need compliance."
"Just a suggestion. A cozy dinner and nice bottle of wine can go a long way."
"Seduction? Humph. I prefer the direct approach."
"We're moving." She detected the faint vibration that flowed through the metal from floor to chair.
"Yes, for a time. We'll be home in a few days. In the interim, my flagship provides all the amenities. Don't you agree?"
"Haven't had the tour yet." She jiggled her restraints. "It's not like I'm going anywhere. You might as well let me see who you are." She licked her lips. "You got any water on you? Mouth's a bit dry, hard to talk, and can I have my clothes back? It's a tad chilly in here."
"Clothing provides an artificial sense of security. They're over there on a shelf and will remain so. Water and food are rewards. Answering my questions will make your life easier."
"Or make me dead," said Ky. They hadn't destroyed her clothes. Thank the Maker.
"Dead is not my objective. I have other uses for you. Where is Scourge?"
The moment he said Scourge's name she knew who he was and what kind of trouble she was really in. Cold rivers of dread snaked down her spine. She'd have been better off if the Geno had killed her on Mytus VII.
"Cirris Tajno, I presume?" she said. "I thought you were dead. Pity you're not. And I don't know where Scourge is and wouldn't tell you if I did."
The spotlight extinguished and overhead lights flickered on illuminating the entirety of the med-bay/laboratory. Monitors and machinery whirred and clicked to life. Compact operating theaters lined one wall, kolto and stasis tanks stood sentinel along another. One tank was occupied, but she couldn't tell by whom. Interrogation chairs flanked her on either side, and tables fanned out in all directions.
A man in dark robes advanced, the fabric whispering subtle threats across the floor. The light reflected off sandy colored hair and cybernetics on the left side of his face; implants he hadn't sported on the Emperor's asteroid lab. Deep scarring laced the implants together, a spiderweb of canals etched in his flesh. He absently rolled her medallion back and forth across his knuckles.
"Never figured you for a thief." Her eyes pointedly stared at the medallion.
"To the victor go the spoils." He flipped the medallion into the air and adroitly caught it in his palm.
"You've changed your face. Can't tell yet if it's an improvement or not."
"I paid the price for my carelessness." He halted less than a meter in front of her. "Scourge will be found eventually, but you..." His voice trailed off as he leaned in, the aperture of his cybernetic eye expanded and contracted, his blue human eye narrowed and cruel. "I will have all the secrets of the gifts our father gave you. You will finally have purpose."
She rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. Galactic domination, a greater Sith empire, the destruction of the Republic, the demise of the Jedi. All of the above?"
"You simple child. I will change the stars."
"Yeah. Papa tried that and where is he now? Daddy abandonment issues won't work out well for you."
She sputtered against the invisible fingers that tightened around her throat, squeezing until stars floated before her eyes, and unconsciousness was one denied breath away.
He lowered his clawed hand.
Air gasped into starving lungs followed by a wracking cough, the metal band dug into her ribs. Ky gazed into the blue eye of madness, and it stared back.
"A little respect is due when speaking of the being who spawned us," Tajno said. He tilted his head and studied her the same way a scientist studies a bacteria sample. "You've cost me quite a significant amount of time and credits. That idiot Balen was supposed to deliver you to me nine years ago. You've changed your hair. Red didn't suit you."
Her eyes narrowed, and she studied him in turn. "So that was you?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I'd detected father's touch on you when you were still property of that slug Oguul. You belonged with me, with us; his children. It took great effort and finagling to broker that deal."
"You mean broker the double cross on Oguul. For a Hutt, he wasn't so bad."
"For a Hutt, he was stupid," Tajno scoffed. "He should have sold you to me when the offer was made, and we could hardly make an assault on a Hutt gaming world. Too much at stake. We merely took advantage of infighting. Balen, however, was smart and hid you well, though I imagine his perks were quite pleasant."
His eyes raked from her face, down her body and up again. "Regardless, I recognized father's mark on you on his asteroid lab. While I was recuperating from the explosion I finally put it all together; the arena rat and Scourge's traveling companion. One in the same. I had to have you. I had to bring you home. There are so few of us left now."
He adjusted his sleeve and plucked a piece of lint from the hem. "I'll break you eventually, and you will tell me about the marvelous gifts father gave you. All of them. I will deconstruct and reconstruct you into a suitable member of the family."
Ky's stomach churned. How could she tell him what she didn't know? How could she negotiate with insanity?
The doctor and one assistant joined their master, standing quietly in the background, waiting for orders.
"Shave her head and bring the probes," Tajno barked. "Enough time has been wasted on idle chit-chat."
Hair fine filaments glinted in the light, wriggling as if they were alive. The prick of a needle on her scalp, burrowing through the bone of her skull and into her brain. She lost track at five.
Tajno stood by a monitoring device, scanning readouts that flowed down the screen. An image of her brain rotated slowly on another, bright dots flashing here and there where the tips of the probes sent and received data.
"Tell me about your gifts."
"I don't know how I do what I do. I don't know what he did to me." She tried telling the truth. It didn't work. "You'll never be him. You'll never have his power, and I'm not joining your fucking cult of worshipers."
"We'll see. I understand the foot, ankle, and shin are especially sensitive to pain. Let's start with the primal responses. Whenever you're ready, doctor."
She never knew she could make that sound. A high, keening wail emptied lungs that refilled on gasping whimpers only to start again. The skin split under the scalpel's blade, peeled back exposing tendon and bone. The pain was akin to her foot and ankle being plunged into acid then spitted and hung over a pit of coals. Bones snapped like dry tinder, and the profanity tethered at the back of her throat never made it past the screams.
Time stretched beyond a horizon she could no longer see. The doctor never ceased picking at the wounds, stripping her skin. Tajno never ceased observing the readouts except to adjust the probes.
"She shouldn't be able to endure this," said the Doctor.
"And that's precisely what I need to know," said Tajno.
The end of the session didn't quite register until sutures, and kolto packs were applied to heal the damage. Probes left in place, she was dragged out and thrown into a room hardly bigger than a supply closet. It contained a single mattress with a thin blanket and a toilet in a cubby, a forcefield barred the door. A cup of water she drank, a bowl of gruel left untouched. She scratched a mark on the wall with her nail; day one. Please, Corso. Please find me soon.
Isolation or pain encompassed the totality of her life. Her captors kept her off balance and in a constant state of agitation and apprehension. She never knew when they'd come for her, how long the sessions would last or what they'd do next. Twice they hadn't come at all.
New horrors awaited every day, gel paste that raised her skin in angry blisters, fingers broken one by one, injected chemicals that burned through her veins like lava, or froze her to the core. Drugs that kept her conscious when all she desired was sweet oblivion. And always the same demands, "tell me of your gifts. Tell me what father gave you."
Twice they dumped her into a shower, cold water, no soap. No towel to dry herself, thrown back in the cell, soaked underwear and all, shivering under the blanket.
Each new day came with the certainty she'd break, but she didn't. She wanted to break but couldn't. Her unfailing internal chrono marked the time, offering scant order to her topsy-turvy world.
The numbers she scratched on the wall of her cell were tiny marks of reality she clung to when all else faded into nightmare. She gouged the ninth short line and remembered. Nine isn't prime. Progress.
Day ten. They removed the probes to shave her head again then reinserted them. Vials and syringes lay in neat rows atop a metal table close to where she was restrained.
"It's an experimental form of skirtopanol. There's no guarantee it will work or that she'll survive," the doctor said.
"That's your concern, not mine. I need answers. Don't forget your survival hinges on hers. Administer the drug and monitor her well. I take it you have the antidote on hand?"
"Yes, my lord. Of course."
"Then get on with it."
Tajno leered at her. "This may loosen your tongue."
Euphoria followed the sting of the needle. She was loved and safe, the voice that coiled through her brain trustworthy. She wanted to tell him everything.
"I can..."
"Yes. You can what, my dear? Unburden yourself. I care for you. I want to help you."
"I can...I can see it all."
"Yes. Yes. What can you see?"
Her mouth snapped shut. A door opened in her mind, an escape hatch she hadn't known was there until now. A veil parted, revealing the black sands of Rishi, the ocean shimmering in the distance, the scent of salt water blown to her by gentle breezes.
They waited for her, just beyond the portal. Corso and Tam. The man she loved beyond hope and the man she needed beyond reason. Their hair ruffled by the wind, welcoming arms opened wide. She'd barely stepped through. The taunting voice stopped, the pain stopped. So close...so close, no! No! Something tugged at her, pulled her away. The portal closed, blocking her from where she most wanted to be.
Knuckles slammed into her jaw, she heard bone crack. An electric current rampaged through her body, convulsing her muscles, slamming her head back into metal. Her heart stumbled. It's finally over, she thought.
A strident voice pleaded. "My lord. Please, you're killing her. Her heart can't take any more."
She came to in her cell, hurting in places she didn't know existed. Deep, deep pain, misery to the marrow, unable to move. Marks branded her body, a diary of her defiance written in raised welts on her skin and scar tissue that would never heal.
Her mind cleared ever so slow, crawling back to reality on broken knees. She stared at the wall and scratched the tenth line. What had happened made no sense until she recalled a conversation she'd had with Scourge.
He'd mentioned spies when they'd talked about her two lost childhood years. Spies that never told, never broke, who died without murmuring one word or revealing one secret. Now she knew why; a refuge to hide in. The Emperor's experiments had changed the construct of her mind, and this was an unforeseen consequence. If she ever saw the old fucker again, she'd give him her thanks before putting a blaster bolt through his skull.
Day eleven. Prime. She was hauled from her cell and strapped onto the metal slab. Tajno paced before her, his boot heels striking the floor in an even tempo on his journey back and forth.
He turned to her, so close his breath blasted across her face. "Where did you go? I could read your presence, and then you were gone. How were you able to hide from me?"
Her jaw hurt, and words came out mumbled. "I don't know what you mean."
The tragic part was she couldn't explain even had she wanted to, at least not in ways he'd understand. She was going to die for a madman's fantasy. Nobody was coming for her. If she could find that portal again and make it through, she wouldn't know when her body finally gave up, and she wouldn't care.
"Don't play me for a fool. Another gift from father?" Tajno grabbed her chin, digging his fingers into the bruised and swollen flesh, bone grated against bone. "Tell me. Tell me!"
He wrenched his hand away. "Adjust the dosage, doctor. We'll try again tomorrow. And heal her jaw. I need her to talk."
The reprieve would have been welcome, except for Tajno's voice blaring from hidden speakers in her cell. The same questions, again and again, punctuated by some Maker-be-damned music. "Tell me about your gifts. Where is Scourge? Where did you go?" Sleep deprivation. She'd wondered when he'd get around to that.
#
Two days from Coruscant, Izzix Dumac finally picked up for Skavak's holocall. Little bastard had been avoiding him for four days now.
"Bout damned time," Skavak grumbled. "Did you find him?"
"I did," the Rodian answered. "You want me to make contact?"
"I'll take care of it."
"You got my credits?"
"As soon as I verify your intel. I'll call you again when I land. Your communicator code still good?"
"Yeah. Where will we meet?"
"Codger's place. You know where that is right?"
"I know. See you then."
Skavak pinched the bridge of his nose. Two days. He must be out of his fucking mind. Right now, he could be on some Hutt pleasure world sipping a fruity drink with one of those little umbrellas in it and fondling two women at the same time. Maybe three if he took his boots off.
Him and Corso Riggs that should be a meeting for the ages. He just hoped the kid would listen to reason and leave the shooting for that bitch Beryl and whoever else was involved.
Skavak left the holobooth after clearing the call record and returned to the cabin he'd booked on the first transport from Ithor to Coruscant. He flopped down on the bed and lit the cigarette containing a little spice chaser. Sleep had been hard to come by the past eleven days. A smoke ring rose from his pursed lips, the perfect frame for the image of her face, or a noose around his neck. This could go either way.
He flicked the long ash onto the floor, and took another drag, inhaled deep and waited for the spice to kick in. He stubbed the cigarette out and lowered his suddenly heavy eyelids. Not exactly euphoria, but he'd take what he could get.
Rough days were coming.