Chapter 3
Little sparks of pain assailed him from all sides, lighting nerves on fire as they splashed agony through his body. Synapses recoiled from the massive intrusion of scrambled signals, and involuntary convulsions transformed him into a sweating, half-paralyzed wreck lying on the cold stone floor.
With a gasp, Corran felt the assault cease abruptly, and sank even lower on the chill duracrete, reveling in the cooling sensation of the grating material pressing against his face and side. He tasted the hot tin of blood from a bitten cheek, and salty beads of dirty sweat stung his eyes, but he could not summon the energy to blink. Fury built in him, pushing desperately against the calm he was attempting to forge through the fire of pain.
"Come now, Corran Horn," the voice of whichever Dark Jedi's turn it was to torture him into unleashing new depths of power today. It didn't matter to Corran; he hated them all with a passion. "Surely you can do better than that."
Corran snarled wordlessly in response, but choked down an eruption of ferocity, thinking of the always-calm Luke Skywalker. However, the specter of a dead Wedge Antilles weighed heavily on his mind also.
"Again, then, I think," the voice said.
The torture had been continuing for at least a week now, constant exercises designed to release his anger. Corran realized what they were trying to do, but in the wake of his promise not to let them kill Wedge, he was powerless to stop them, or else absent of all will that would allow him to. What did it matter if he were forced along a path of pain and darkness if he could spare others that agony?
The latest method of conversion was pain. One or more of the Dark Jedi would pelt him with little bolts of pain until he either passed out from overloaded nerves or finally resorted to striking back at the menace.
More attacks poured in, a hailstorm of them. Corran ground his teeth and tasted more blood, but refused to release all of his rage. Instead, he contented himself with a grunt of exertion and a telekinetic shove that, momentarily at least, halted the flow of pinpricks.
A new voice seeped into the chamber as he detected the shuffling noises of whomever it was that was launching the attacks lumbered back to their feet, a voice of evil and tyranny.
"Very good, Corran Horn," K'talla M'niisonn spoke, and then she spattered a burst of In'ca Din'ca into the blackness surrounding him. Lights began to glow softly from ceiling panels high up, giving him a proper view of the room he was imprisoned in.
The duracrete walls and floor were, as he suspected, quite ordinary, unadorned except by a scattered few burn marks which he decided it was better not to know the origins of. About halfway up the far wall, a metal door stood open, and the black shape of the Dark Jedi Master was framed in its brilliant outline. The Dark Jedi that had been torturing Corran stood less than two meters in front of him, glaring arrogantly down its massive face at him.
"Now, how is it, do you suppose, that you cannot fend off these attacks with your natural talent, Corran Horn?" K'talla said whimsically as she began a descent down a narrow set of stairs to the floor, the door whisking shut behind her with a clang. Her expression and manner seemed entirely innocent, but to Corran, the words were as a hunting cry.
He sat stoically in silence, allowing his mind to play out scene after scene where he cut off K'talla M'niisonn's head with a lightsaber, or let her feel the agony as his Force powers crushed all air from her body.
"You simply did not learn the proper lessons, Corran Horn," she said sadly. "Lessons that any apprentice of mine would have been taught long since." Her tone oozed fake compassion.
Another laugh issued from his mouth, followed by a hacking cough. "Lessons?" Corran wheezed viciously. "Lessons in hate? Pain? Mutilation? Torture?" He spat again, wincing as the effort drove daggers into his parched and scratched throat. "I don't need those."
"Ah, but what is it you do need, then?" the Dark Jedi said slowly. "Coddling? Babysitting? Compassion?" She flicked a hand. "That is not the way of the natural world. Those with the will and courage to do what is necessary survive."
"I don't need your lessons," Corran said.
"As you wish," K'talla said. "I presume you need no company, then? I understand it gets lonely being in isolation as you are."
Corran growled angrily at her. "You cannot possibly provide me with companionship that I require."
"Very well," K'talla said carelessly. "Then I do not mind showing you this." Her hand gestured, and a hidden holoprojector came to life, casting a terrifying vista into blank space above her head.
Corran immediately recognized the Pulsar Skate, his wife Mirax's personal star freighter, one that she had inherited from her father upon his incarceration in the spice mines of Kessel, a voyage he had been sent upon by Corran's father. It was Mirax's pride and joy, and the ship had bailed Corran and Wedge out of trouble numerous times.
Now, though, it lay drifting, cold derelict, only the stars surrounding it in blackness shedding any light. All viewports lay dark, and the engines were obviously cold.
Corran gritted his teeth, though his voice did not show his sudden alarm. "So it's a lost ship. What do I care?"
"Corran, Corran, Corran," K'talla said in a low voice, much in the tone of a schoolteacher addressing a recalcitrant child. "You disappoint me. However, if you care not..." She waved her hand again, and the recording began to play forwards.
A sudden flicker of the interior glowpanels as the power levels jumped high enough to deactivate circuit breakers all over the ship was the only warning Corran had, before a yellow ball of flame blossomed and consumed the entire ship in a hellish explosion, sending massive, warped chunks of durasteel flying far beyond the viewing range of the cameras recording the event.
"NO!" Corran shrieked, surprised that his voice still functioned well enough to emit that sort of volume, though the ghastly noise was in keeping with his feelings. A lump blossomed in his throat. "Damn you, Sith," he moaned. "Damn you."
K'talla's smile blossomed again. "Oh, never fear, Corran Horn," she said soothingly, "your dear Mirax is safe with us on Coruscant." Corran's head snapped up as if jerked on a line. "For now."
The view in the holoprojector changed to show Mirax, bruised and bloodied, lying prone and restrained on some sort of examination table in an unidentifiable room. The construction was very similar to modern Imperial equipment, though Corran did not recognize many of the devices.
The hidden focal cameras zoomed in on a hand that suddenly appeared in the corner, holding an old-fashioned needle with a clear fluid inside of it.
"On our planet, Corran," K'talla began, "there are many poisonous creatures. Many of them use either claws or spines or some trick to inject their deadly burden into other creatures."
"You BASTARDS!" Corran screamed, trying to lunge for K'talla, but his knees failed him and he collapsed, sobbing, to the floor.
K'talla continued as if she had not even noticed his futile attack. "One of them is most curious in that in has no way of introducing the poison to its enemies' bodies. It's blood is highly toxic, and it must be eaten if it wishes to kill another creature. Although the blood is toxic, it contains a pheromone that creates a feeding frenzy within other creatures. Approximately 200 milligrams must be absorbed into the bloodstream for it to be fatal, and the poison can lay dormant for weeks in the body."
The recording continued as the needle descended at an agonizingly slow speed to Mirax's wrist, where a tiny portion of the fluid inside of it disappeared inside her veins. Corran's sobs filled the whole chamber, echoing off the cold, hard walls.
"I am injecting 20 milligrams a day," K'talla said. "If we reach 200, well, she dies, I'm afraid." She raised a finger. "If, however, you perform to my satisfaction, not merely this slow learning you have been attempting, I will halt the next dose."
"How can you even think of something like this?" Corran demanded, barely choking the words out through a mask of pain and rage.
"Anger can save you, and them," K'talla said softly, ignoring the question, her voice hardening to something akin to durasteel, and twice as cold. "If you do not recognize that you have it in your power to save yourself, your friend, and your wife, it will be your own fault when they die."
The thundercloud of red righteous fury that had been building in Corran finally reached critical mass, and unleashed its wrath. Corran saw nothing but a white haze before his eyes, and was dimly aware that he was screaming in pain and anger.
When his eyes cleared as he rode high on the tide of rage, he saw shafts of brilliant blue lightning connecting his clawed, emaciated fingertips to the palms of K'talla's black hands, where there abruptly splintered and shot off to the sides to splash on the walls before they burned themselves out, leaving a stink of ozone in the air.
Then, Corran halted, gasping for breath, and felt a smile creeping onto his face. Now there was no pain, no fear. He felt clean, pure and unbound by the restrictions he'd been holding himself to for the past few days. It felt so good he reached out again and imagined his hands around K'talla's throat.
Her eyes widened as his Force grip clutched itself tight round her neck, choking off any and all air supply. At first, he thought he saw a flash of panic in her eyes, and he reveled in it. Then, those giant orbs hardened, and a flash of lightning sprang forth from her fists.
Corran felt the Force and concentration leave him as the lightning crawled its way over his flesh, igniting pinpoint flares of agony as they dissipated into his bones. He even felt one singeing its way up his spinal column, triggering a paroxysm of vertebrae that left him twitching on the floor, feeling the rough duracrete scrape flesh off his cheek.
As the seizure stopped, a shadow loomed over him.
"Excellent, Corran Horn," K'talla growled at him, her voice a curious mixture of pleasure and fury. "A very good beginning. If you continue in this way, you will become powerful indeed."
Powerful enough to destroy you, Corran thought, and then realized the excellence of that thought. One of the best ways to discover and destroy underground criminal organizations back when he had worked with CorSec was the undercover approach.
If I can do the same here...
Allowing himself to seem to learn the Dark Side from K'talla M'niisonn would both get him closer to destroying her, but also closer to freeing Wedge. If I can bring her down, I can easily free Wedge and Mirax. After all, the focus of a Jedi's life was the protection of life, and by invading and bringing down the Dark Jedi on Coruscant, he would be serving the entire galaxy's interest.
A small voice, however, began to replay itself in his head. Tipped the Balance is already... everything you risk...
He dismissed the memory of the vision with a mental wave. Yes, the balance of power was badly shifted, but by destroying the Dark Jedi by seeming to become one of them, he would be acting for the greater good to restore the power where it should be. Luke himself went aboard the Second Death Star to turn Darth Vader while being tortured by the Emperor. Infiltration was a large part of the Alliance's earliest victories. It made sense to pretend.
Ah, but the anger... Corran angrily smothered those troubling thoughts. If anger became a power source that let him destroy the Dark Jedi and avenge the deaths of all those they had killed, so be it. As long as he accomplished his goal, what did the means matter? He would be acting for the good of the galaxy.
"How powerful?" he asked K'talla M'niisonn.
A smile split her massive, beaked face in two. She leaned closer to him, bringing her large mouth close to his ear. The deep breaths of the alien Dark Jedi fell hot on his shoulder.
"You could challenge Darth Vader himself, were he yet alive," she whispered maliciously.
His eyes drifted back to the now-still hologram of Mirax, beaten and beautiful on her prison bed. How could he let her die? And Wedge, what of him? Tears filled his eyes. Could he do it?
Do it for them, a voice whispered in his mind. Save them.
"Your participation, Corran Horn, or their blood on your hands," K'talla said.
Everything you risk...
Surely Master Yoda would recognize the necessity of aiding friends and family. After all, Luke had rushed off to Bespin to help Han and Leia, and the Rebellion won the Galactic Civil War because of events that transpired there. This was merely another chapter in the great history of the hard choices that needed to be made.
His eyes hardened, and he let the anger he still felt at K'talla M'niisonn to bubble up. Play your games, Sith. I will bring you down in the end.
He looked up at her. "Teach me the Force," he asked in a voice of controlled flame. You will pay for your crimes when I am ready.
When I am powerful.
Little sparks of pain assailed him from all sides, lighting nerves on fire as they splashed agony through his body. Synapses recoiled from the massive intrusion of scrambled signals, and involuntary convulsions transformed him into a sweating, half-paralyzed wreck lying on the cold stone floor.
With a gasp, Corran felt the assault cease abruptly, and sank even lower on the chill duracrete, reveling in the cooling sensation of the grating material pressing against his face and side. He tasted the hot tin of blood from a bitten cheek, and salty beads of dirty sweat stung his eyes, but he could not summon the energy to blink. Fury built in him, pushing desperately against the calm he was attempting to forge through the fire of pain.
"Come now, Corran Horn," the voice of whichever Dark Jedi's turn it was to torture him into unleashing new depths of power today. It didn't matter to Corran; he hated them all with a passion. "Surely you can do better than that."
Corran snarled wordlessly in response, but choked down an eruption of ferocity, thinking of the always-calm Luke Skywalker. However, the specter of a dead Wedge Antilles weighed heavily on his mind also.
"Again, then, I think," the voice said.
The torture had been continuing for at least a week now, constant exercises designed to release his anger. Corran realized what they were trying to do, but in the wake of his promise not to let them kill Wedge, he was powerless to stop them, or else absent of all will that would allow him to. What did it matter if he were forced along a path of pain and darkness if he could spare others that agony?
The latest method of conversion was pain. One or more of the Dark Jedi would pelt him with little bolts of pain until he either passed out from overloaded nerves or finally resorted to striking back at the menace.
More attacks poured in, a hailstorm of them. Corran ground his teeth and tasted more blood, but refused to release all of his rage. Instead, he contented himself with a grunt of exertion and a telekinetic shove that, momentarily at least, halted the flow of pinpricks.
A new voice seeped into the chamber as he detected the shuffling noises of whomever it was that was launching the attacks lumbered back to their feet, a voice of evil and tyranny.
"Very good, Corran Horn," K'talla M'niisonn spoke, and then she spattered a burst of In'ca Din'ca into the blackness surrounding him. Lights began to glow softly from ceiling panels high up, giving him a proper view of the room he was imprisoned in.
The duracrete walls and floor were, as he suspected, quite ordinary, unadorned except by a scattered few burn marks which he decided it was better not to know the origins of. About halfway up the far wall, a metal door stood open, and the black shape of the Dark Jedi Master was framed in its brilliant outline. The Dark Jedi that had been torturing Corran stood less than two meters in front of him, glaring arrogantly down its massive face at him.
"Now, how is it, do you suppose, that you cannot fend off these attacks with your natural talent, Corran Horn?" K'talla said whimsically as she began a descent down a narrow set of stairs to the floor, the door whisking shut behind her with a clang. Her expression and manner seemed entirely innocent, but to Corran, the words were as a hunting cry.
He sat stoically in silence, allowing his mind to play out scene after scene where he cut off K'talla M'niisonn's head with a lightsaber, or let her feel the agony as his Force powers crushed all air from her body.
"You simply did not learn the proper lessons, Corran Horn," she said sadly. "Lessons that any apprentice of mine would have been taught long since." Her tone oozed fake compassion.
Another laugh issued from his mouth, followed by a hacking cough. "Lessons?" Corran wheezed viciously. "Lessons in hate? Pain? Mutilation? Torture?" He spat again, wincing as the effort drove daggers into his parched and scratched throat. "I don't need those."
"Ah, but what is it you do need, then?" the Dark Jedi said slowly. "Coddling? Babysitting? Compassion?" She flicked a hand. "That is not the way of the natural world. Those with the will and courage to do what is necessary survive."
"I don't need your lessons," Corran said.
"As you wish," K'talla said. "I presume you need no company, then? I understand it gets lonely being in isolation as you are."
Corran growled angrily at her. "You cannot possibly provide me with companionship that I require."
"Very well," K'talla said carelessly. "Then I do not mind showing you this." Her hand gestured, and a hidden holoprojector came to life, casting a terrifying vista into blank space above her head.
Corran immediately recognized the Pulsar Skate, his wife Mirax's personal star freighter, one that she had inherited from her father upon his incarceration in the spice mines of Kessel, a voyage he had been sent upon by Corran's father. It was Mirax's pride and joy, and the ship had bailed Corran and Wedge out of trouble numerous times.
Now, though, it lay drifting, cold derelict, only the stars surrounding it in blackness shedding any light. All viewports lay dark, and the engines were obviously cold.
Corran gritted his teeth, though his voice did not show his sudden alarm. "So it's a lost ship. What do I care?"
"Corran, Corran, Corran," K'talla said in a low voice, much in the tone of a schoolteacher addressing a recalcitrant child. "You disappoint me. However, if you care not..." She waved her hand again, and the recording began to play forwards.
A sudden flicker of the interior glowpanels as the power levels jumped high enough to deactivate circuit breakers all over the ship was the only warning Corran had, before a yellow ball of flame blossomed and consumed the entire ship in a hellish explosion, sending massive, warped chunks of durasteel flying far beyond the viewing range of the cameras recording the event.
"NO!" Corran shrieked, surprised that his voice still functioned well enough to emit that sort of volume, though the ghastly noise was in keeping with his feelings. A lump blossomed in his throat. "Damn you, Sith," he moaned. "Damn you."
K'talla's smile blossomed again. "Oh, never fear, Corran Horn," she said soothingly, "your dear Mirax is safe with us on Coruscant." Corran's head snapped up as if jerked on a line. "For now."
The view in the holoprojector changed to show Mirax, bruised and bloodied, lying prone and restrained on some sort of examination table in an unidentifiable room. The construction was very similar to modern Imperial equipment, though Corran did not recognize many of the devices.
The hidden focal cameras zoomed in on a hand that suddenly appeared in the corner, holding an old-fashioned needle with a clear fluid inside of it.
"On our planet, Corran," K'talla began, "there are many poisonous creatures. Many of them use either claws or spines or some trick to inject their deadly burden into other creatures."
"You BASTARDS!" Corran screamed, trying to lunge for K'talla, but his knees failed him and he collapsed, sobbing, to the floor.
K'talla continued as if she had not even noticed his futile attack. "One of them is most curious in that in has no way of introducing the poison to its enemies' bodies. It's blood is highly toxic, and it must be eaten if it wishes to kill another creature. Although the blood is toxic, it contains a pheromone that creates a feeding frenzy within other creatures. Approximately 200 milligrams must be absorbed into the bloodstream for it to be fatal, and the poison can lay dormant for weeks in the body."
The recording continued as the needle descended at an agonizingly slow speed to Mirax's wrist, where a tiny portion of the fluid inside of it disappeared inside her veins. Corran's sobs filled the whole chamber, echoing off the cold, hard walls.
"I am injecting 20 milligrams a day," K'talla said. "If we reach 200, well, she dies, I'm afraid." She raised a finger. "If, however, you perform to my satisfaction, not merely this slow learning you have been attempting, I will halt the next dose."
"How can you even think of something like this?" Corran demanded, barely choking the words out through a mask of pain and rage.
"Anger can save you, and them," K'talla said softly, ignoring the question, her voice hardening to something akin to durasteel, and twice as cold. "If you do not recognize that you have it in your power to save yourself, your friend, and your wife, it will be your own fault when they die."
The thundercloud of red righteous fury that had been building in Corran finally reached critical mass, and unleashed its wrath. Corran saw nothing but a white haze before his eyes, and was dimly aware that he was screaming in pain and anger.
When his eyes cleared as he rode high on the tide of rage, he saw shafts of brilliant blue lightning connecting his clawed, emaciated fingertips to the palms of K'talla's black hands, where there abruptly splintered and shot off to the sides to splash on the walls before they burned themselves out, leaving a stink of ozone in the air.
Then, Corran halted, gasping for breath, and felt a smile creeping onto his face. Now there was no pain, no fear. He felt clean, pure and unbound by the restrictions he'd been holding himself to for the past few days. It felt so good he reached out again and imagined his hands around K'talla's throat.
Her eyes widened as his Force grip clutched itself tight round her neck, choking off any and all air supply. At first, he thought he saw a flash of panic in her eyes, and he reveled in it. Then, those giant orbs hardened, and a flash of lightning sprang forth from her fists.
Corran felt the Force and concentration leave him as the lightning crawled its way over his flesh, igniting pinpoint flares of agony as they dissipated into his bones. He even felt one singeing its way up his spinal column, triggering a paroxysm of vertebrae that left him twitching on the floor, feeling the rough duracrete scrape flesh off his cheek.
As the seizure stopped, a shadow loomed over him.
"Excellent, Corran Horn," K'talla growled at him, her voice a curious mixture of pleasure and fury. "A very good beginning. If you continue in this way, you will become powerful indeed."
Powerful enough to destroy you, Corran thought, and then realized the excellence of that thought. One of the best ways to discover and destroy underground criminal organizations back when he had worked with CorSec was the undercover approach.
If I can do the same here...
Allowing himself to seem to learn the Dark Side from K'talla M'niisonn would both get him closer to destroying her, but also closer to freeing Wedge. If I can bring her down, I can easily free Wedge and Mirax. After all, the focus of a Jedi's life was the protection of life, and by invading and bringing down the Dark Jedi on Coruscant, he would be serving the entire galaxy's interest.
A small voice, however, began to replay itself in his head. Tipped the Balance is already... everything you risk...
He dismissed the memory of the vision with a mental wave. Yes, the balance of power was badly shifted, but by destroying the Dark Jedi by seeming to become one of them, he would be acting for the greater good to restore the power where it should be. Luke himself went aboard the Second Death Star to turn Darth Vader while being tortured by the Emperor. Infiltration was a large part of the Alliance's earliest victories. It made sense to pretend.
Ah, but the anger... Corran angrily smothered those troubling thoughts. If anger became a power source that let him destroy the Dark Jedi and avenge the deaths of all those they had killed, so be it. As long as he accomplished his goal, what did the means matter? He would be acting for the good of the galaxy.
"How powerful?" he asked K'talla M'niisonn.
A smile split her massive, beaked face in two. She leaned closer to him, bringing her large mouth close to his ear. The deep breaths of the alien Dark Jedi fell hot on his shoulder.
"You could challenge Darth Vader himself, were he yet alive," she whispered maliciously.
His eyes drifted back to the now-still hologram of Mirax, beaten and beautiful on her prison bed. How could he let her die? And Wedge, what of him? Tears filled his eyes. Could he do it?
Do it for them, a voice whispered in his mind. Save them.
"Your participation, Corran Horn, or their blood on your hands," K'talla said.
Everything you risk...
Surely Master Yoda would recognize the necessity of aiding friends and family. After all, Luke had rushed off to Bespin to help Han and Leia, and the Rebellion won the Galactic Civil War because of events that transpired there. This was merely another chapter in the great history of the hard choices that needed to be made.
His eyes hardened, and he let the anger he still felt at K'talla M'niisonn to bubble up. Play your games, Sith. I will bring you down in the end.
He looked up at her. "Teach me the Force," he asked in a voice of controlled flame. You will pay for your crimes when I am ready.
When I am powerful.