Frozen - Chapter 3

Skywalker was eating his desert as the Imperial officers glared at him. Luke felt like grinning, but held it in. The Admiral in particular looked like he wanted to strangle him, he shouldn't push the man too far. Well, maybe he should. Darth Vader would be furious if his officers lost control and tried to jump him. Luke was just about to open his mouth and deliver another scathing reply when the Dark Lord returned, his black cape unfurled behind him.

"Bring the prisoner." The dark lord grated, as his eyes swept the scene of one perversely happy Rebel and a roomful of furious officers.

A Stormtrooper grabbed the prisoner by one arm, the other trooper did the same. They frog marched the prisoner behind Lord Vader, dragging the man to keep up. They went through the maze of turbolifts and corridors following the Dark Lord from the officer's dinning room. They finally entered the interrogation wing, then one of the rooms, following the billowing cape.

They stopped, the room was mostly empty. An interrogation chair, straps and probes attached to it, and a control console. Two technicians stood behind the console, waiting for orders. Their gray uniforms matching the walls and floor. Their cold eyes betraying nothing.

Lord Vader snapped. "Bring the first one in."

One technician touched a button on the console, and a set of doors swished open. Four Stormtroopers came in, dragging a man in a dirty orange flightsuit between them. He was cursing, and trying to break free of his binders. The troopers hauled him up, revealing a bruised face.

It was Trigg. Luke recognized the man from his squad. He was brown- haired, well-built, and his large nose was bleeding profusely.

Trigg looked around, caught sight of Skywalker. It took a second for him to recognize Luke, but he did.

"Commander," he rasped, "At least we got the brass out."

Skywalker nodded, trying to be strong. "Yes, we did."

The Stormtroopers were undoing his binders, preparing him for the grid. The man smiled, and spit a mouthful of blood on the nearest trooper. The red liquid was bright on the white armor. "You're the best, Skywalker. Proud to be a Rouge."

They threw him on the chair, strapping him down. The troopers stepped back, signaling the technicians. They glanced at Vader, who growled, "Level 3." One touched a button, and Trigg's back arched. He screamed, like someone was ripping out his heart. The scream stopped, Trigg gasping. The bound man turned to Darth Vader.

"Bastard." He croaked.

"Again." Vader said, and the man howled again in response. The stormtrooper noticed that the prisoner Skywalker was starting to shake, furry in his eyes. "Again." The dirty pilot screamed again, starting to get hoarse. The trooper was expecting it, so the prisoner's lunge forward was easily braced. Skywalker struggled briefly, then stopped, looking away.

Darth Vader growled. "Maintain this level for as long as you can. Ten more minutes will be sufficient." He walked behind the two stormtroopers holding Luke. Stopped, and reached over Luke's shoulder, grabbed his chin, and forced it up. "You will watch. Or I will make it last longer. And I will have my doctors sew your eyes open."

T5-168, the stormtrooper guarding the prisoner, wondered if this Rebel pilot was Skywalker's friend. The prisoner seemed to be taking his torture hard enough. The prisoner Skywalker continued to faintly shake, mouth forming silent curses as the bound man continued to howl. Lord Vader continued to stand behind the prisoner, just watching him.

The bound Rebel screeched again, and convulsed. On of the technicians spoke up. "Cardiac arrest, my lord."

"Bring out the next one." Vader replied.

Skywalker flinched in T5-168's grip. The four troopers pulled the body off of the chair, dragging it with them. They returned in moments with another dirty Rebel pilot, orange flightsuit torn.

It was Nelson. A boy, really. Blond hair, blue eyes, he had only been in the Rebellion for a month before Hoth. He had been brimming with excitement to be assigned to Skywalker's squad. Convinced that Luke was going to single-handedly defeat any Imperial's in their way. He looked at Luke, gulped hard.

"Commander?" He grunted as the Stormtroopers pulled him upright, ripping off his binders.

"Pilot Nelson." Luke tried to radiate strength. The boy would need it, Nelson reminded him so much of himself. Nelson had been so unsure of himself at first. Luke pleaded with his eyes for Nelson to hold on, to be strong.

Nelson was forced into the chair, roughly strapped down. He looked at Luke. "Thank you sir, for letting me fly under you."

Luke was about to reply when Nelson screamed. Darth Vader had motioned to the technicians, starting the procedure. Nelson stopped screaming, only to howl again. T5-168 held the trembling Skywalker still, trying to stand tall, as a Stormtrooper guard should. T5-168 usually ran guard duty for the officer's wing. He had never been to the detention center- never seen an interrogation outside the training holovids. Eventually, Nelson stopped, his voice in ruined tatters before he died.

The room was quiet, as Lord Vader's respirator faintly hissed. T5-168 noticed that the prisoner, Skywalker, was trying not to cry. He was blinking away tears, and still silently cursing.

There was a small creak of armor from behind them, the Dark One spoke.

"Next."

The next man they brought in was big, burly, and his orange flightsuit was badly bloodied. His face was a mass of bruises under rough black hair. Jackson was an ugly man, but you couldn't tell for the bruises. He was cursing in Huttese, tossing his weight back and forth. They pulled him up.

"Luke? Aw hell. Buck up commander, make 'em pay to the end." The man hurled himself at the nearest guard, was thrown to the ground, hard. "Aw, you white sissies, no respect. Gotta look good for my Commander." Jackson rolled over, and kicked the nearest guard in the crotch. The guard dropped. Jackson had grown up in the backstreets of some Rimworld city, he could've written a datacard on fighting dirty. The others guards pounced on him, kicking and punching. Jackson grunted with the blows, collapsing to the deck.

The fallen guard scrambled to his feet and began kicking Jackson in the head. Skywalker strained against his captors, desperately trying to do something, anything. The guards suddenly pulled back, realizing that Darth Vader may not approve of them killing the pilot.

The guards reached for the bloodied pilot, but Darth Vader grated "Leave him." The room froze, while Jackson groaned, tried to rise. Jackson lifted his head towards Luke, eyes swollen shut. "C.C.C.commmaaa." He slumped back down, his breath leaving his body.

Skywalker's eyes were wide, and wild. He was breathing hard, his gaze riveted to the dead body on the floor. He swung his gaze to the four guards who had just killed his man, and he snarled through gritted teeth.

"Next."

The next Rebel who was brought in was walking tall, refusing to bow. It was Blackie. From a world with harsh radiation, his people had developed a coal black skin. His white eyes almost glowed from his space-black face. He was a cold man, and he methodically looked the room over as he was shoved inside. Blood smears on the chair, the floor, on the troopers who held him, his commander furious with grief, held bound but unharmed in one corner. The Dark Lord behind him, watching.

"They play games commander." His voice was knife sharp and hard. "Hai. But I will not shame you." He locked eyes with Skywalker, made a little bow as they removed his binders. With a swift smooth motion, he turned the bow into a powerful kick, felling a Stormtrooper. He lashed out with his hands, chopping into the joints of another's armor. The crack of his hands breaking against the armor could be heard, but the trooper fell to the deck. He kicked with his legs again, knocking the scrambling troopers over. One grabbed his leg and twisted hard. The leg broke, and Blackie let out a strangled scream. The other trooper grabbed his head and twisted.

An audible snap, and Blackie went limp. The trooper froze. His training had taken over- but the Dark Lord might be displeased.

"Next." The trooper almost collapsed in relief, the Dark Lord might order punishment for later, but he would live.

The four Stormtroopers pulled themselves up, dragging the body behind them. They were gone for awhile, then they hauled out a blood soaked excuse for a living man.

"There were six." The Dark Lord rumbled.

"Yes, my lord. But one had a dose of poison in his suit, in a hidden compartment." The trooper apologized. He hadn't been in charge of searching the prisoners, so his head wasn't on the chopping block.

"Bring out the body. He must see it."

The put the injured man in the chair, strapping him down before they went for the body. The rattling gasp of the injured pilot cutting the still air, playing a strange symphony with Darth Vader's hiss.

The dead man was T'loupe, his face frozen in peace.

The troopers dragged the body out again, as Lord Vader turned to the technicians. "Level 1, he won't last long."

"Yes my lord."

Skywalker looked at Dellar, the last surviving member of his squad that had had his X-wing hidden in that particular valley. 'They got us all. One by one, they got us all. Maybe the other half made it, maybe they didn't. But they got us all, there in that frozen valley. I can still feel the cold.'

The body in the chair twitched, groaned, refused to die.

'And now they are nothing but a show, to make me feel pain, to make me loose hope. But I can't, because of them'. Luke took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders while he watched Dellar twitch again. Dellar sat there, twitching, occasionally moaning, for several more minutes. Dellar slid under, without fanfare, never regaining concousness.

Darth Vader turned from the scene "Let us return to my quarters." The Dark Lord walked out, The stormtroopers pulling the prisoner Skywalker along.

They came to Lord Vader's quarters. Lord Vader walked in, motioned at a door that popped open. "Put him in the room back there. Remove his binders."

T5-168 pulled Skywalker along. They entered the doorway Vader had indicated. T5-168 had nearly stopped, it opened up to a long corridor. 'Lord Vader's personal quarters are huge. I had no idea. He must mean this room, this side door is open'. They walked in. It was a living space, couches and chairs in dark red on thick white carpet, with a huge viewport to the open space behind it. You could see the stars winking, out in the darkness.

The other Stormtrooper undid the prisoner's binders, while T5-168 kept an eye on him. They backed away from the prisoner together, both eyes on the potentially dangerous man. T5-168 noticed little things- the wave of the prisoner's hair as he looked out the viewport, the softly lighted cabinet that held various drinks behind him.

They left the room, walked out to the exit.

Darth Vader was standing there, seeming to stare through the walls at where his prisoner waited.

"Leave now. I want no disruptions."

/

T5-168 was cleaning his armor after the day's work. He always polished it every night. The bridge officers were pickier than most about appearances. T5-168 noticed a stray blond hair that had gotten on the armor. He picked it up with one finger, held it to the light. 'Skywalker's. It must be, it's on the right side.' Not knowing why, T5-168 let himself find a small plass bag in his kit. Dropped the hair inside. He put the bag away. 'Well, it is a trophy. No one else but the Dark Lord will probably get that close to him for as long as that Rebel continues to live.' T5-168 turned to his best friend and bunkmate T5-169.

"Hey, nine." They used nicknames when off duty. They had graduated from training together, each forced into service from different worlds. Somehow, mere chance really, they had been stationed together for three years now.

"Yeah eight." Nine was putting the finishing touches on his helmet.

"Today was weird." They often had shift together. Today was no different. They had walked side by side, Skywalker between them.

"No kidding."

"Thought that kid was nothing, that it had to be some fluke."

"Yeah. Turned into a man. Never knew the Rebel Scum could have such pride."

"Yeah."

They were silent for awhile. T5-168 wanted to ask his friend a question, but was weighing the risks. He decided to go ahead. Nine wouldn't say anything to anyone, and they were alone.

"Nine."

"Yeah."

"What do you think it would be like- to have a commander like that?"

Nine just looked at him.

"I mean, I'd never say those things to our commander if I was where those Rebel pilots were at." Actually, that was more than painfully true. Eight and nine had spent a large part of their last leave competing against each other for the most colorful name for their commanding officer. They each hated him with a passion. He was truly incompetent, and had bribed his way to his current position.

"I dunno, Eight. Never thought about it."

They were silent again.

"Hey, eight."

"Yeah."

"Do you think he was speaking the truth at dinner? About the Imperial Retributions?"

"Probably not." Nine tapped his foot in the signal they had worked out on leave, indicating agreement. You couldn't be too careful on this ship.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Eight scraped his foot back.

/

Luke stood behind the couch, hands on the backrest, looking at the stars. At least he could see the stars.

"Leave now. I want no disruptions." The mechanical voice grated behind him. The Stormtroopers left, the door sealed behind them.

Luke wondered if the troopers felt pity. He wondered if he was feeling pity for himself. He felt numb, like it was all unreal. Maybe he would wake up soon. He had nightmares about being caught by Imperials often enough. Just about every combat personnel in the Alliance did. And he had an amazing price on his head. His squad had been proud of that- carried it around like a badge. 'Our commander is the most wanted man in the Galaxy.' He had overheard the boast more than once, when they didn't know he was listening. His squad- his squad was dead. Luke wanted to scream in rage, but he didn't want to give the black form behind him the satisfaction.

"You are not dreaming, I can assure you." The voice grated. The measured tread stalked into the room.

Luke swallowed, steeling himself as best he could for the coming ordeal. He could not physically attack the Dark Lord, the man was armed, and a much better fighter. Luke could only fight back with words.

The respirator hissed. "I have been waiting for this day for a long time."

Luke let an ironic smile cross his lips. "At least one of us is having a good day."

Darth Vader was very pleased. 'He can keep his head in a bad situation. And his men had been extremely loyal. He will be a good leader, once given the proper direction.' He said, "I was most disappointed in your men, they should have lasted longer."

Skywalker turned, snarling. "They didn't want to give you the pleasure."

The dark shadow stood by the closed door to the room, a black monolith of stone, with a few blinking lights on its chest. "Rebel Scum are weak, undisciplined. They could not have lasted longer if they tried."

"They are loyal! Are your own men so dedicated to you? Or do they just fear the monster that rules them?"

Vader felt the first prickling of anger. He was well aware that the crew of this ship hated him, and only followed him for fear of their lives. He growled back. "At least their loyalties are based on truth, your entire loyalty to the Rebel's cause is based on lies."

"Truth? Lies? The Empire does nothing but lie!" Skywalker took a step towards the Dark Lord, fists balling in rage.

"And I did not kill your father." The mechanical voice hissed, venom in its soft grating rumble. "But Kenobi told you that. And he sent you to the Rebels, that you might fight the Empire, and me."

Skywalker stepped back, confused. He had not expected this turn in the conversation.

"You were right at dinner, you know." Vader continued, reasonably, "You should have been an Imperial. Your father would have wanted it."

"You knew my father." It was a statement, not a question. "But you said that he might not be dead." Luke's eyes narrowed, this could all be a game. "So what is your version of what happened to him?"

The helmet cocked sideways, "Yes, I knew your father." Vader paused, he would have to be careful, it was too soon to tell the boy. "Someday, you may find him. Then you can ask him yourself."

"I suppose you would tell me that you two were best of friends." Skywalker snarled, refusing to completely believe the Dark Lord. He turned around, walking off. Threw himself in an overstuffed chair, glaring at the dark form near the doorway. It was probably rude to sit down while the Imperial Lord stood, so Skywalker was going prick him anyway he could.

Darth Vader looked at his son. 'He needs to feel more rage. He smothers his emotions too well'. "No. I would not say that." The Dark Lord turned, starting to walk around the couch, towards Luke. "But I am curious." The Dark Lord reached behind his cloak, taking out the lightsaber hidden there. Luke's eyes fell on the metallic handle, instantly recognizing it. "How well do you know how to use this blade?"

The Dark Lord tossed the blade at the table in front of Luke. Surprisingly, it bounced once and came to rest directly in front of the Rebel. Skywalker snatched it up, hastily looking it over, feeling the minute scratches that he knew so well on his father's blade. Darth Vader smiled behind his mask, his son felt the same intense pull towards him that he felt. Luke just didn't know the whole story yet. The boy would come around, soon enough.

Skywalker was judging if he should attack. He might get lucky and kill the Dark Lord, he probably wouldn't. But it could easily be his best and only chance. Even if Darth Vader seemed to be playing with him, only wishing to toy with him by giving him this chance.

The black form rumbled. "The young one- Nelson, wasn't it? I think that if I would have taken the time, he would have broken and died cursing you."

Luke forgot caution, and lunged at the Dark Lord. Vader easily brought his blade up to block. He would have to be careful. If Luke got lucky, he would be injured, perhaps fatally. Jedi normally used practice blades against each other for training. Specially designed lightsabers that did not cut through flesh. Using a regular lightsaber was foolish and stupid. You could injure yourself or your partner, and you knew it. This restriction caused a Jedi to pull his blows in training, to restrict his strength. And what you did in training, you did in battle.

Luke swung again, wide and uncontrolled. Vader's suspicions were confirmed- Luke didn't have hardly any Jedi training at all. He rumbled at the boy "Control your swings more, you'll never get to me that way." Luke narrowed his arc, trying to get past Darth Vader's guard, failing miserably.

"Now, you should always be prepared to block, your opponent can fight back you know." Darth Vader suddenly shifted, and bashed down with an overhand swipe. Luke barely got his blade up in time, but was smashed to the floor, sprawling.

Skywalker warily picked himself up, eyes on the Dark Lord. It was a game, and he was painfully outmatched. Luke wondered if he should fall on his own blade while he had the chance- avoid the torture that the Imperial Lord would eventually dish out to him.

The Dark Lord could feel the string of Luke's thoughts. "Are you a coward Rebel? Have you not wanted a chance to strike me down? I am giving it to you. Or are you too afraid of what might happen to you tomorrow? Your Rebellion's princess learned to fear me, only too well."

Luke suddenly snarled in rage and threw himself at the Darth Vader. Growling he lashed out with the bright blade, throwing caution to the wind. Lord Vader continued to parry, only occasionally striking out.

"You are better when you are angry. Now, try to add a few underhand cuts as well." The Dark Lord demonstrated, having to pull his swing short or he would have buried his blade in Luke's side.

Luke staggered back, acutely aware of how close he had come to death. 'He's playing with me!'

Darth Vader merely hissed at Luke, "Next" in the same voice he had used in the interrogation room.

Luke brought his blade up, remembering his squad. His eyes found the rage he had been unable to unleash before, while he had been bound and helpless. He struck again and again, twisting the blade over and under, probing inexpertly for a hole in Vader's undefeatable defenses. Lord Vader would strike back, finding the times Luke least expected it. Sending him sprawling more than once. They began to circle the room. Occasionally the Dark Lord would make a suggestion for Luke's technique.

Vader watched his son as they fought, his mind firmly on the here and now, trying to judge the strength of every blow and counterstrike. Carefully shepherding the deadly game, using the Force to predict every move. Luke stumbled, pulling himself up by throwing himself back. The boy was clearly exhausted, his eyes blurry and limbs stiff. 'It has been a long day for him'. The Dark Lord reasoned. 'And he seems unable to draw on the Force to support his strength. His control and connection with the Force is weak as well'. Vader lunged forward, hitting Luke with a blinding barrage of thrusts that resulted in Luke's lightsaber flying across the room.

Luke sagged to his knees as Darth Vader reached out into the air, lightsaber flying into his hand. Luke kneeled there, panting before the Dark Lord, while Vader returned the blades to his belt.

The door swished open. Luke looked up to see the protocol droid from the medical bay was waiting in the doorway. It came into the room, mincing steps reminding Luke of C3PO.

"Cee-five. Show him his room." The Lord Vader walked out.

The droid waited until Luke staggered to his feet, then his prissy voice said "This way sir, I will show you to your room."

Luke was lead back into the long corridor, the Dark Lord nowhere in sight. They walked down the hall, turned into another hall, walked further. Luke was nearly falling from exhaustion, wishing the walk would come to an end. They turned into a bedroom. It was large, a huge bed with black and blood red linens in one corner. A desk, some chairs, a couch sat on the other side. All in the same blood red and black color scheme.

Luke walked over to the bed. The black sheets had a faint red pattern on them, swirls looking like flying birds. Luke ran his hand over the sheets, they were smooth silk.

"Sir? Would you like help with your boots?"

"Huh?" Luke turned to the droid. "Oh, sure." Luke normally wouldn't bother to ask a droid for help in such a little task, but he was exhausted. The droid walked over to Luke, who sat on the bed. The droid bent down and removed each boot, unzipping the sides and then pulling with both hands.

"Sir, the fresher is through that door. I will be here if you need me." The droid walked to the corner of the room, turning to face Luke, and powered down.

Luke staggered to the fresher, washing his face. He stumbled back to his bed and fell into the silken softness. 'I should make a plan to get out of here. I should escape. I should-' Luke fell asleep, exhaustion claiming him.

/

While the room was darkened in the deepest night, its slumbering occupant fought nightmares. Skywalker was tossing in a dream, dark phantoms chasing him through the stary fields of space. The door faintly swished open, and a shadow entered. The faint hiss of its respirator whispered in the air, as it walked to the bed.

"Shhh.." A black gloved hand caressed Luke's forehead. "I won't ever hurt you." The tossing stopped. "You are mine again, my son. You have nothing to fear." The black glove reached out, cupping one cheek, before the shadow pulled back, leaving the room.

/