The ground was moving.
Or so it seemed to Cal, his head limply hanging downwards while he was being dragged across the floor. Two stormtroopers, one grasping each arm, roughly pulled him along, crudely jostling him as they adjusted their uneven hold.
It had been a while since anyone on duty in the Fortress Inquisitorius had actually seen a Jedi, let alone handled one as prisoner. Consequentially, the two guards didn't consider the limp lump between them as a person, so much as they did a potential threat.
Cal's knee made a rough thud against the small gap between the floors of the hall and the turbolift, the fresh pain forcing a grunt out of him.
At the sudden sound, one of the guards dropped their hold on Cal, swiveling around with his blaster drawn and leaving the other trooper to suddenly buckle under the extra weight. Panicking, he also dropped Cal.
Completely unaware of his surroundings, Cal's face hit the ground. Waking him up the rest of the way, he was only aware of the cold metal and fact that every muscle in his body felt as if it had been snapped in two. Reality slowly dawning on him, Cal found his movements slowed and his senses dulled. Meaning to push himself off the ground and stand, he lamely struggled to move his arm instead.
Having heard countless stories of Jedi committing impossible feats, going as far as to be able to control the minds of their enemies, the lead trooper fidgeted for a control fob that dangled at his belt. In his panicked state, the trooper activated the shock collar around Cal's neck.
"Garhg!" Cal went rigid on the ground, suddenly awake and in an agony that he could do nothing about.
Desperate, he tried to reach up and claw at the metal ring around his neck. Each fiber of his body strained nearly to breaking. Nerves overridden by a biting electric current, nothing worked as it should. Even pulling in a breath became an impossible task against a spasming diaphragm and clenched throat.
The onslaught could have lasted for seconds or hours before it finally faded away, leaving Cal to desperately gasp for breath.
"Is he moving?" A static laden voice asked.
In answer, another electric jolt tore its way through Cal.
He'd barely pulled in a breath to recover when a second voice replied, "Not anymore."
Wheezing on the ground, Cal failed to find a coherent thought. Limp and unable to speak, let alone resist, he was left passive as the two troopers grabbed and dragged him once again.
Sluggish beyond what an injury should cause, Cal didn't notice any changes in his surroundings until the gray halls turned red with the glow of prison cells.
The needle. His thoughts ground back to the tools on the table, they definitely drugged me.
Cal's mind threatened to slip back to the hours of cuttings, burnings, and stabbings that he'd just endured, but he was suddenly jolted into the present by a heavy thud.
Coughing on a feeble breath, Cal found himself on the floor of a cell. A red transparent energy shield locking him in not a moment later.
Not that I was going anywhere.
Groaning, Cal refused to give in to whatever poison was running through his veins. It might have taken hours for all he could tell, but he eventually pried himself off the ground just long enough to fall onto a low metal bench that clung to the cell's walls.
The room was cramped, with the bench being the only thing that could pass for a bed. Besides the bench-bed, there was only a sink and a toilet. Beyond the wall of light was a large hall that Cal had fought through on his way to the interrogation chamber.
How long have I been here? He distantly wondered. Days? Hours? What did they do with BD? … And Cere.
Mustering what little strength he could, Cal tried to shake any worried thoughts away. It didn't work, and he was left to slump against the wall for support.
"Got to get out of here," he muttered this time, trying and failing to make himself feel less alone.
Trying to form a plan, Cal tried to search for the tools he kept clamped to his belt. Lifting an arm to pat around was too much trouble, so he was left to simply look instead.
The most obvious and most troubling missing item was his lightsaber. Taken by Trilla, he had no idea what she might have done with it. Everything else was missing as well, his rebreather and climbing gear nowhere in sight. As much as he hated to admit, his options looked worse by the second.
Still fighting sluggish thoughts, Cal's saw no other options besides biding his time. The only thing he was sure of was the fact that the guards would return, and that they would try to drag him back to the torture chamber.
Got to be ready for that. He dimly thought as he dragged his feet onto the bench. After a moment's struggle and a massive effort, he settled into a meditative position.
An empty mind was the first step to successful mediation. Leaning into what might be the only positive side-effect of the poison, Cal took a steadying breath before slowly exhaling. Through sheer force of will, the aches and pains of what he'd just endured drifted away, blanketed by a fragile numbness that came from drifting into a trance.
For a moment, all was calm.
Then he heard screaming.
Distant at first, little more than an echo. Cal adjusted his posture and tried to breathe deeply, but the noise grew in volume. Sounding closer by the second, he dared not open his eyes for fear of what he might find.
Trapped in the vision, Cal saw nor heard anything from the present.
That was it. This is the end, a distinct voice drifted out of the screams.
Desperate and alone, the voice was wounded, tired. As it went on, the screaming faded into nothing, a memory of a memory.
I can't hold on, they've won. We're all dead. All of us.
Heavy waves of despair leaked from the past and crashed over Cal. For a long and terrible moment, the defeated Jedi's misery was Cal's own, their agony blending into his.
A heavy thud interrupted the voice. Rather than brushing away the dread, it only added terror. No, Nononononono Not again. Not Again!
Fighting to keep a straight back, the pressure of the Force echo proved too much. Racked by the struggle and strain of the past, Cal toppled backwards, his back making flat contact with the bench below him.
I can't. The lost Jedi's last feeble words echoed through Cal's mind,Not anymore.
Desperately trying not to wallow on the past Jedi's despair, Cal pried open his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling.
Cal opened his mouth to try and talk to himself, anything to make the cell seem less like an empty tomb. In spite of his effort, a half-formed groan was all he could manage.
No mediating. Not here. It's worse than Dathomir
Not willing to repeat the troubling failure, Cal stayed down.
I should get some sleep. Got to rest sometime.
With something resembling a plan, Cal let his eyes drift shut. The moment they did, he was troubled by another noise. Not screams from the past, this was a feature of the present. Irregular metallic clanging and grinding echoed down the halls.
Not willing to waste the energy to stand, Cal craned his neck around to search for the source of the noise. He hadn't raised his hopes, but he was still disappointed to find a series of speakers in the hall. The irritating noises warbled and came in irregular bursts, sometimes loudly enough to shake the very air in the cell.
Instantly understanding that he wasn't meant to get any sleep in his prison cell, a pained realization slithered through Cal's head, So much for getting some rest.
.***.***.***.***.
The Second Sister strode into her simple accommodations.
The Fortress Inquisitorius might officially be her home, but Trilla found nothing comforting in these halls. They were dim and cold, a tomb for the living as well as the countless dead that hadn't survived the tables.
Trilla tried not to dwell on the past that brought her here. Instead, she took the few steps needed to cross the small room.
The fact that this place was never meant to be a home was obvious. There was no kitchen, no living room, nor leisure area. Trilla's room was just that, little more than a dorm with a caf maker, a reheater, and refrigerator stacked one on top of the other. The fact that she had a private fresher was a miracle in of itself, the troopers garrisoned in the fortress had to share a communal space.
Stopping at the caf maker, Trilla didn't waste time before setting a pot on to brew. As it set to work with a gurgle, Trilla removed her helmet with a heavy sigh.
Knowing better than to crowed the only small table in the room with pieces of her uniform, Trilla walked to the wardrobe that dominated the other corner of the room. The helmet quickly found its place on a stand. Trilla shed her cape as well, letting the dark fabric get lost among rows of identical black cloths.
She left her lightsaber clipped to her belt.
Beside it dangled Cal's weapon.
Finding that the young Jedi was going to be much more of a problem than she suspected, she unceremoniously tossed his lightsaber onto the small table.
It landed with a thud that Trilla tried not to acknowledge as she poured a cup of caf.
Irritated more than she would admit to herself, Trilla poured the caf too quickly, the dark liquid sloshing over the side of its mug and roiling in a way that mirrored Trilla's thoughts.
That idiot is far more trouble than he's worth. She let herself settle on before reaching for a towel and wiping away the little bit of spilled caf.
After Cal's capture and Cere's narrow escape, Trilla had a short yet painful conversation with Lord Vader.
No, not a conversation with Vader, Trilla admitted with a sip of the too-hot drink, he would have killed me.
It had been a conversation with the Grand Inquisitor, Vader was simply there to watch.
Trilla set down the mug.
Losing the holocron was a black mark on her record. A grave failure that she might never recover from.
How did they put it? Trilla bitterly mused to herself, A sin that I much atone for? The Grand Inquisitor is one for dramatics, isn't he?
Alone in the silence, Trilla looked to the ragged lightsaber on her table.
It was a piecemeal project. One emitter was covered by a long split-sheath, made of some silvery alloy. Further down the sabre, Trilla recognized the leather-bound hilt of her former master's blade.
Hissing in annoyance, Trilla reached for the blade. Just like every other lightsaber, it was deceptively heavy. Inelegant, it was deeply worn in the center. Clearly built for another, much larger, Jedi, the main sheath was twice the standard length. Twisting the blade, Trilla was left with two uneven hilts.
"No wonder his form is so terrible." She mused at the mismatched pieces.
Sliding the two back into one, Trilla set the saber back on the table.
Her former master's lightsaber seemed to look back at her as she did. A reminder that she'd lost her chance at revenge, seeing the saber here was only proof of how much Cere had favored Cal. As if her former master's escape hadn't been insulting enough, Trilla was also left with the knowledge that Cere had risked her life to save Cal.
Guess I just didn't matter enough to her.
As tempting as it was to dwell on the bitter thought, Trilla moved to focus on her new predicament.
Trilla lost the holocron, and with it her opportunity to gain the emperor's favor. Worse still, the Nineth Sister had died on the quest. Though Trilla blamed the other inquisitor's death on her own hubris, Trilla had been the one leading the mission.
So she had to take responsibility for the Ninth Sister's demise.
And Trilla had to replace the fallen inquisitor.