Note: This chapter rated M for graphic physical torture and language. If those things will upset, offend or not interest you, please skip this chapter. This is the most painful and graphic segment, so consider yourself warned.
He screamed, totally unprepared for the shock of pain that ripped open the flesh on his back. Without pausing, Quester moved to the other side and repeated the punishment. Luke cried out again, feeling multiple sharp lances that lingered. Blood dripped on the white floor at his feet, and he realized it was running down his buttocks and legs. It was slippery under his toes, and he lost his precarious balance, groaning as his full weight jerked at his shoulder joints. Struggling back to his toes, he shivered with shock.
Quester was in front of him, dragging the thongs across his bare chest, smearing blood across it. "Good choice," he repeated.
Through tearing eyes, Luke saw that there were a dozen or more leather strips attached to the handle, and on each strip was a sharp detail of jagged metal. The immediate pain was gone from his back, but now it throbbed, and that felt worse than the initial blows.
"Where is the Rebel base, Luke?" Quester asked indifferently, walking to the back of the room.
Luke tried to twist around to watch but was unsuccessful. "Nowhere."
There was a chuckle near his ear, then he felt a small touch against his neck and heard the hiss of an injection. Immediately, the muscles in his legs slacked, and he slumped. A quiet ratcheting sound preceded a hoist outward, and his arms were stretched far apart. He couldn't stifle a groan as his feet were lifted from the floor and his entire weight pulled down on his arms and shoulders. The cuffs bit into his wrists, slicing them cruelly. Within minutes, muscles began to cramp, and though he could heave deep breaths, he couldn't seem to exhale. "I... can't--" he gasped.
"No, you can't breathe well in that position," Quester acknowledged amiably. "Fortunately for you, my education as a physician will allow me to bring you to the edge of unconsciousness and death, and then revive you. Unless my demons get the better of me," he added as an afterthought.
"K-kill me th...then..."
"Be a man, Luke. Surely a Jedi can endure more pain then this. I've barely begun. Where is the Rebel base?"
"F-fuck you!"
The officer stepped in front of him and slapped his face hard enough to propel it sideways, putting more strain on his neck and causing a cramp to knife through it. "Be polite, Luke."
It wasn't the slap that was making it hard to focus. Both his mind and his eyes were blurring. "C...can't..." he forced out. What drug had Quester given him? Suddenly he found logical thought impossible and speaking difficult.
"The inability to exhale will cause carbon monoxide levels to build first in your lungs, then in your bloodstream. You'll feel better for a short while, then..." Quester stepped back and studied him, gaze sliding slowly down his length. "You're a young man, not bad looking... those lacerations will heal... Your sexual organ appears normal... Is it functional?"
Luke squeezed his eyes closed, feeling tears of rage and pain slipping out the corners.
"I'm sure your father is anticipating grandchildren, so we'll need to be careful what we do in that area."
A sudden jolt as his toes hit the floor made him grunt, then he gasped, exhaling heavily and gulping oxygen into his deprived lungs. "Bastard," he managed when he could talk, scrabbling to keep his feet from slipping into the evacuation opening.
Fingers in his hair wrenched his head back. "You are being rude, Luke," Quester said coldly. "I will not tolerate rudeness. Were you raised to be rude?"
"I...no-no," he whispered. Released, his head slumped toward his chest.
"Then address me with courtesy. By rights, I should be the one cursing you, for your kind took my son, and you took the rest of my family."
"'m sorr--" His apology ended in an agonized shriek, for he'd been unprepared for the lashes that whipped across his back. The battering continued, once, twice, again and again, showing no signs of ceasing. He screamed over and over, then attempted to remain stoically silent but succeeding only in biting his lower lip until he tasted blood. He grew dizzy, his moans fading to whimpers, and he watched with glazed eyes as a pool of blood form with frightening rapidity beneath his feet. Soon it forged a trail that flowed into the evac hole like a dark river.
The flogging stopped. "That's enough for the moment. Once the pellets tear into muscles and start ripping vessels, it's time to pause. Or so the manual states. Did I tell you that this is my first experience with interrogation techniques? Please let me know if you feel I'm not being effective, for I am determined to please Lord Vader. Luke, tell me about the Rebels at Sullust."
He wept, both because of the pulsating pain and the realization that at some time he'd told them of the Alliance's plan to attack the new Death Star under construction. What else had he told them?
"What else?" Quester repeated, and Luke realized he must have spoken aloud. "Many things, Luke. Enough to betray your friends." There was a pause. "You know that we captured Princess Leia, don't you?"
"No!" Heedless of the pain, he struggled in the binders. He remembered... seeing her in Cloud City... Leia, Chewie, a stranger... she was arrested... she was tortured. "No, she can't be--"
"Yes, we have her and her companions. They tried to escape from Cloud City but failed. Solo is undergoing torture now, and I'm afraid the princess will be next... unless you reveal the information we seek. Perhaps I will go to Bespin myself and try similar techniques on her."
Luke's stomach heaved, and the little food that had remained in it was vomited to the floor. The action earned him another slap across the face.
"You've made a mess, boy! I'm not your servant to clean up after you!"
His throat felt scraped and raw. "D-don't hurt Leia... please... not Leia..."
"Well..." Quester vanished from his sight again, reappearing with a fat silver rod that he held in one hand and tapped against his thigh in a rhythmic tattoo. "If you are polite and agree to two things, I can arrange for her to be sent to a prison for female political prisoners, there to wait out the end of this hopeless rebellion."
He nodded, willing to sacrifice anything to save Leia.
...destroy all for which they have fought and suffered....
"Give me your word of honor."
"I promise," he said miserably.
"First, where is the Rebel fleet?"
Gods... There had to be a way to escape betraying the Alliance. But even if he somehow killed himself, that would leave Leia at the mercy of Quester... and others who might be more sadistic. At their whim, Leia might receive worse than torture. A vivid scene of a line of stormtroopers waiting impatiently to rape her flashed into his head, and he prayed it wasn't a vision.
"I'm waiting, Luke."
He was so scared, both for himself and for Leia, that he couldn't think. If there was a choice, he couldn't find it and didn't have time to search. Several deep breaths helped clear his mind. If only he could find the Force...but it was lost to him, whether by drugs or by Vader's influence. "After Hoth...they were rendezvousing near Saarn," he murmured slowly. "I didn't go. I don't know if they went there or somewhere else. That's the truth."
"Where did you go?"
"Dagobah," he said heavily. "I went to Dagobah."
"Why there?"
"I had a vision... I thought." He tried to shrug, immediately regretting the gesture when it sent fresh waves of pain cascading down his lacerated back. "I was injured on Hoth and lost in the snow. I almost died before I was rescued. I thought I heard a voice telling me to go to Dagobah."
"Interesting." The tapping stopped, and the cylinder was clenched in both hands and turned round and round. "What did you find on Dagobah?"
He lowered his gaze to the gleaming boots. "Nothing. It was a swamp. There was nothing important there."
The now-familiar remote appeared in Quester's hand. He flicked it, and two compartments opened in the floor, both holding binders. Luke didn't struggle as the physician fastened one around each ankle. Another press of the controls spread Luke's legs farther apart. He pretended it wasn't happening, that he wasn't being humiliated by this exposure.
"You gave me your word, Luke. I'm disappointed in you. I thought the son of Lord Vader would be trustworthy. Whom did you meet on Dagobah?"
How could anyone know? Unless Vader knew that Yoda lived there... "No one."
"Do you know what this is?" The tube was held near his face. Luke shook his head. "It produces a shock. A standard interrogation technique, not very imaginative. Not even particularly effective, since the shock is minor." It was pressed into the hollow of his throat, and Luke felt enough of an electric current to cause him to jump. But Quester was correct; it was only mildly painful.
"Are you lying to me, Luke?"
He shook his head.
"Here's a simple test. Open your mouth. If you're telling the truth, you'll receive a shock. If you're lying, you'll feel no pain, and I'll know it."
His brain might be befuddled, but Luke realized that made no sense. "What--?" he began, but Quester was fast. He grabbed the back of Luke's head, and the tube was pushed inside, scraping his teeth and stretched his mouth. It was a frightening violation, and he felt more vulnerable and naked than at any moment before. It jammed against the back of his throat, and he gagged, trying to retch it out. Then his mouth was burning, jolts running through his frame as if his bones were rattling against each other. Mucous membranes carried the current and burned, and he struggled frantically, trying to dislodge the instrument that Quester was holding so firmly.
It went on forever, yet in reality it was probably only seconds before the shocks stopped. He was left hanging, limp and helpless as a baby, while Quester's dark eyes bored into his own. Trying to free himself, he attempted to turn his head away, but it was trapped firmly. "That hurt, didn't it? Not as much as losing loved ones, of course. Would you like me to remove it?"
Unable to nod or speak, he blinked a few times.
"Ask politely, Luke."
Please, he tried to croak, but it came out as a grunt.
The doctor smiled. "I think I understood that." Very slowly, he pulled out the rod, pausing twice to push it slowly back in before almost drawing it out and letting it rest wetly at the entry to Luke's mouth.
The symbolism was unmistakable, and he silently cursed his weakness in blushing. Better me than Leia, he thought resignedly, but he hoped desperately that this would be the extent of his defilement.
"Don't worry," Quester said, reading his transparent fears, "my sexual interest doesn't extend to men, not even in these special circumstances. However, I cannot say the same about others aboard." He paused before adding, "Of course, your princess will become very familiar with varied acts of rape, should you choose to remain uncooperative." He lowered the tube, resting it on Luke's bare shoulder.
It was slick and wet, and he cringed. "I'll cooperate," he agreed hoarsely, his throat raw.
"Good. What happened on Dagobah?"
"Yoda," he hissed, defeated. "I met Yoda. A Jedi master. He trained me."
"Good. You father will want details about your training. I will leave that part of your interrogation to him."
He'd thought that his limit had been reached; that nothing Quester did or said could hurt him further, but... "Vader?" he whispered. "He's going to...?" The notion that his father could torture him was more than he could bear.
"I'm sure whatever my Lord decides to do will depend upon your level of cooperation. You will be joining him voluntarily, to become whatever he and the Emperor wish. That is the second condition that you have agreed to in order to save the princess."
...it is you and your abilities that the Emperor wants...
...no...oh no... oh no...
...No! There had to be a way...
Perhaps he dozed out of total exhaustion. Perhaps he had simply been insensible, lost in a maze created by drugs and pain. He had no sense of time. Grating noises attracted his notice, rousing him from his stuporous state. Quester was dragging the table that had been behind him to the center of the room, close enough that Luke could see it, far enough that he couldn't clearly see the instruments of torture. Even his imagination was having difficulty visualizing their details and purposes.
His drifting attention focused on Quester. The physician rearranged the implements with care, then stepped back, apparently admiring his organization. He walked to the door that opened immediately for him.
"Where're you goin'?" Luke slurred.
The Imperial paused in the hall and turned, looking at him but saying nothing. Like a ghost. But he wasn't a ghost, he was real...
"Don't go... Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!" he pleaded, terrified of losing his only human contact.
The door slid closed. He was alone.
Alone.
Who would take care of him? Who would talk to him? Who...?
"No!" Luke screamed, as loudly as his chafed vocal cords could manage. It came out as little more than a whimper. "Come back... please... don't leave...don't leave..."
He closed his eyes, sinking into a depressed paralysis.