Note: This part rated M. Torture is over! Just some leftover discomfort and good old angst.
There was a boundary between oblivion and consciousness, but Luke was unaware of crossing it. He had a gradual comprehension of being alive, burdened with so much pain that he no longer felt anything, being in the room that had become his universe, with the man who had become his god.
That knowledge was enough; he was no longer curious and had no need to raise his head. He'd forgotten how to raise it; he'd forgotten all his muscles. He simply hung, indifferently hearing his own rasping breathing, uncaring that it caught in his throat every few seconds.
He was dying and he didn't care.
Familiar black boots appeared in his line of vision. They were blurred. "Would you like water?"
A cup was tipped to his lips. He had neither the strength nor the desire to drink from it, and the liquid slid down his chin.
"Luke. Look at me. Look at me!"
Quester was angry. Luke tried to lift his head, but he couldn't remember the command to make it rise. Something about his neck...but his neck was limp and motionless. He tried to look, but his eyelids were too tired to stay open.
Quester was saying things he didn't understand. Soon there were sounds, other people. An arm snaked around his waist, fabric catching on the rough, peeled flesh of his back. Two clicking noises jarred his ears, and he crumpled, supported by the arm for a short moment before he collapsed totally.
He felt nothing. His arms and legs were amputated, or turned to jelly, the bones extricated. Or maybe his skeleton still hung, and his skin had simply slid off into a useless pile on the floor.
He was jostled, covered, moved... traveling, he was traveling somewhere... maybe he was flying, maybe they would put him in his x-wing and let him fly away, back to the farm, before any of this had happened, where he was safe, everyone he cared about was safe, none of this had happened, no dreams of glory and adventure had come true, and he was safe...
The ceiling was pale blue. Luke stared at it, then gingerly moved his head to the side. There was a pillow beneath his cheek, clean-smelling and soft. His gaze slid downward. A white sheet covered him, and he was wearing a gown. He tried to reach up and found he was tethered. A tube connected to his arm was pumping something into him. He followed the route of the tube to a machine and saw it was a standard nutrient dispenser.
His head rolled back to center, and he stared at the ceiling. He was safe for the moment but, more importantly, he could think. For the first time in what was probably a very long time, his mind was... well, not completeclear, but better than it had been. Was this, he wondered with sudden foreboding, another form of torture? Was he being lured into a safe harbor, only to face another wave of terror? His happiness at being finished with the torments faded. His fear would never be over; this was his life now.
Because even if the pain ended... the pain would never end.
"You're awake."
He started. Perhaps his mind was not as clear he he'd hoped. Quester was standing at the side of his bed. The doctor pulled up a chair and sat, smiling at him. "Feeling better?"
"Yes," he replied in a small voice. He folded the top of the sheet, smoothing out the wrinkles. Quester said they were friends, but Quester hurt him. Would he ever be able to trust in friendship again? "Are we going back?"
Quester bent closer as though he could barely hear the question. "Back to where?"
He folded the hem under again and shrugged. Quester was waiting, so finally Luke said: "There."
"Ah." Quester leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. Luke peered through his lashes, watching closely. "I don't know. Lord Vader is returning, so it will be up to him. If he feels you will keep your part of the bargain..."
Bargain. His forehead creased as he struggled to remember.
"You agreed to join him," Quester said, reading his mind. "You will join your father and the Emperor. You're going to be a prince, Luke, and very powerful. Someday you will be a Sith Lord like your father."
And Leia would go free. He remembered that part. Struggling to raise himself partially upright, he shook off Quester's proffered assistance. "What about Leia? Is she free yet?"
"Free?" Quester appeared confused. "The Princess was not a captive. As far as I know, she is still with the Rebels."
It was as though a veil fell over his vision, like a thick fog enveloping his mind. "What?" he asked thickly. "What?"
"Mm-hmm." Quester stood, making some minute adjustments to the flow of fluid through the tube. "I believe we talked about that. She escaped from Cloud City with her companions."
"You lied to me." Words swirled in his brain so fast he couldn't sort them out. "Leia was-- she was a prisoner, that was why I told you... whatever I told you. You lied! All this time-- you tortured me, I let you do it, I told you secrets-- and all this time, you lied!" His voice continued to rise until he was shouting. His arms flailed, yanking the tubing loose, liquid spraying the physician's white coat in sticky yellow.
"Luke, calm down or I'll have to sedate you."
Calm down? His fury threatened to erupt, and he wanted to harness the Force and use it to destroy the room and this lying man, annihilate the entire vessel, the entire--
Calm...
That was Yoda's word. Almost as though the Jedi Master was in his head, his hypnotic whisper slid through Luke's veins like a soothing drug.
...Be calm... Quiet now, be at peace...
Closing his eyes, he reclined again, exhausted from his outburst.
"That's better."
Unbridled hatred of the physician could only create more horrors--for both of them. He remembered Quester's honest, terrible grief... the way festering anger and a gnawing craving for vengeance had turned the healer into a sadist who reveled in the agony of another being. Unexpectedly, pity surged through him, and he gazed compassionately at the man.
Quester looked away, a dark flush rushing into his face as he refastened the tubing to the pump. "I have other patients to tend. If you can remain calm, I won't have to restrain you."
"I'll be fine," he murmured weakly, his frailty a pretense. "I think I need to rest." Luke closed his eyes. "I'm so tired..." Once Vader returned, it would be difficult to escape. If he was going to gain his freedom, he would have to do it soon.
...Be at peace...use what you have learned...
...Use what he has taught you...
When he was certain Quester was gone, he opened his eyes to scan the room, then closed them again. Undoubtedly he was being monitored, and the Imperials did not need to know that he remained awake.
Awake and plotting.
Eventually he gave in to exhaustionand slept off and on, his rest disturbed by worry about Alliance secrets that he may have revealed to Quester. The drugs he'd been given had done more than cloud his mind at the time; they had also impaired his memory. He could remember very little of his betrayals and realized that pondering the possibilities was time-consuming and futile. At any moment Vader might arrive, and Luke was sick with apprehension about the Sith Lord's intentions. He would not, could not become a tool for the Emperor as his father was.
Escape was his only option. Escape or death.
"Is my father here?" he asked, dismayed to hear that his words were slurred.
Quester didn't look up from the datapad he was studying. "He's been delayed."
Delayed. His heart leaped with excitement at the reprieve, though he was careful not to allow his voice to betray it. "When is he going to get here?"
"I don't know."
The physician was not in a talkative mood, and Luke wondered if he was worried about the possible repercussions of the torture when Vader discovered what had been done to his son. He hesitated over his next words before speaking. "Could I see the image of Raylan again?"
The silver head jerked upright. "Why?" Quester stood and walked to his bedside. "What do you want it for?"
"Oh..." Luke yawned. "I had a strange dream about him, and I thought if I held the image again..."
"What sort of dream?" The man's tone was tense and hoarse, and Luke had to forcibly quell the empathy he felt.
"I dreamed he wasn't killed in that raid, but was captured instead." He let his eyelids close slowly. "I'm sleepy..."
"Don't go to sleep," the doctor urged. "Tell me more. Could my son...be alive?"
Gods. The sudden, desperate hope in Quester's voice stabbed Luke's conscience. He was glad that he wasn't looking at his captor, for his uncertainty would give lie to his performance. "Don't know," he murmured. "Bring image..."
"I'll get it. Don't go to sleep-- Luke, please, stay awake. I'll be right back."
When Quester had gone, the Jedi opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He wanted to thoroughly hate the man who had tortured him, but his emotions were confounded by conflicting memories of Quester's inhumanity and kindness, his talent for healing, his pain, and the nightmares that had marred his life. It was tempting to pity him, but if manipulating Quester was what Luke had to do to escape, then he would do it.
Was this the Dark Side that Yoda had warned him against? Even if it was, he had no choice. At least, no choice that he could see.
He was still staring sightlessly when the officer returned. "Here," Quester said, eagerly thrusting the image into his hand.
Luke stared at the youth, regretting the loss of yet another life, for there was no question that Raylan was dead. He closed his eyes, allowing the scene of the brief battle to fill him again. He saw Raylan fall, felt the oblivion that surrounded him. He sighed. "I think...he was wounded, not killed."
"He's alive? Raylan is alive?" The voice was frantic with hope and guarded joy. "Where is he?"
"He was...captured," Luke continued dreamily. "Held somewhere..."
"Where? Where is he?"
"I think...oh..."
"What is it?" Hands closed on his shoulders, shaking him.
He refused to open his eyes. "I think...he was tortured...yes...tortured by the Alliance."
"What?" Quester's breathing came in strained gasps. "No--that's not possible. They said-- there was a body, it was buried there on Ord Mantell-- he can't have been captured. Gods be damned, he can't have been tortured!"
"Would you be upset if he'd been tortured?" Luke asked carefully, opening his eyes and studying the doctor.
The man's face was sickly pale, horror and rage glistening in his eyes. "Upset? I would kill them with my bare hands!"
"Really...? Then you'd better hope my father doesn't feel the same way," he murmured ingenuously.
Quester's face turned into a hard mask, and he released his grasp, pushing Luke back against the pillow. "You bastard-- are you lying to me about my son? You didn't have any vision, did you? You can't see anything!"
"I can see. I had a vision about Raylan," he replied quietly. "But I'm inexperienced in the ways of the Force and don't know how accurate are my interpretations of my visions."
The physician rose, running his fingers through his gray hair, and began to pace the room. "So Raylan could be a captive. Can you see if he's still alive?"
"I'm not certain. He could be." He hardened his heart against the other's agony. "If he is, he'd be on the Rebel base."
"Saarn?" Quester stopped pacing and folded his arms, obviously thinking.
Saarn. He had told them. Luke squeezed his eyes closed, cursing himself. The Imperial fleet was probably on its way-- or already there. Leia, I'm sorry, he shouted in his mind. Get out of there-- if you can hear me, leave now!
"Yes." Nervously, he looked at the officer. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to think. Shut up," the physician snapped. With a furious curse under his breath, the older man strode out of the medcenter.
Luke inhaled deeply, calming the exhausted tremble that shivered through his body. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope that Quester came to the obvious decision before Vader arrived.