Special Thanks to Cassia and Siobahn for letting me borrow some from The Hunted for this scene.
Athena Leigh, Thanks so much for your reviews dear! They mean a lot to both of us!
Charmisjess, Thanks for your continued support of this project. Love ya! :D
Repercussions
Chapter Ten
"So this is a human," commented a raspy voice from above where he lay on the floor of his cell.
"I've never seen one this close up before," this comment was accompanied by a foot under his bruised ribs, forcing him to turn over. Qui-Gon turned to look at the speaker and his breath caught in his throat as he looked at him. He was roughly two and half-standard meters tall with orange skin, yellow eyes and sharp claws.
"No big loss, Yomar, " said another alien from across the bunk. "And by the looks of this one we'd be better off without humans." He wandered over to Qui-Gon's corner and jerked him to his feet and looked him up and down. "Nope. Better without." He swiped his leg out from under Qui-Gon, who inhaled sharply at the pain in his ankle as his feet were knocked out from under him.
Yomar laughed, seeing the tiny human on the floor. He reached down dug his sharp claws into the Jedi Knight's shoulder, pulling him back onto his feet. Qui-Gon braced his feet under him and grabbed hold of Yomar's wrist. Pulling on it with his good hand and calling on what Force strength he could, he flipped the large alien. He hit the floor with a satisfying solid thud.
"What's the matter, Yomar? Can't take on a puny little human?" A bulky, green fur covered alien whose shape reminded Qui-Gon of a boulder covered with moss, smirked from across the cell.
Yomar's face turned red with anger. "Shove it up a Gamorrean's butt, Jan'k," he growled threateningly. He scrambled to his feet with surprising quickness and crashed his large fist into Qui-Gon's middle. Qui-Gon gasped as the breath was knocked from his lungs by the force of the other's punch. /By the Force, that hurt./ He gritted his teeth as the fur covered man, Jan'k delivered a punch of his own to Qui-Gon's back.
Qui-Gon twisted and dodged another hit. He hissed in pain as someone's--he didn't know who's-- sharp claws struck his back opening up fresh wounds. Qui-Gon ducked as a blow was aimed at his head. He twisted and leapt over another hand trying to pull his feet out from under him and then winced as his landing was off balance and he crashed heavily to the ground from landing on his twisted ankle. He cursed silently.
Jan'k dived on top of him, pinning him to the ground with his greater weight. Punches and kicks began to rain down on him from all sides, except where the bulk of Jan'k pressed down on his bruised and torn back.
/Oh Force give me strength/ Qui-Gon thought desperately as something hit him hard in the side of the head, then the world went dark.
******
The piercing shriek of a tone tore through the air, rousing the Jedi Knight out of a restless sleep. /Please let it all have been just a nightmare. Just a dream. When I wake up, I'll be back in my bed in the Temple./ The tone blared insistently, but the Jedi ignored it.
"Hey you!" A sharp voice bellowed right before Qui-Gon found himself tossed out of his top bunk and onto the floor. He gasped as he fell hard onto the stone floor, his heart sinking at the realization that it wasn't a dream at all. His whole body was already hurting from the beating he'd received the night before from his bunkmates and impacting the stone floor didn't do much for helping ease the pain. With great reluctance he struggled to force his swollen eyes to focus and managed to gain his feet. He saw that his bunkmates had scrambled to get to the front of the cell, forming a ragged line and he made his way towards the end of the line, being careful to keep most of the weight off his ankle.
The Captain of the Guard approached Qui-Gon and looked him over. The Jedi tried to look him in the eye, but it was rather difficult since one was still pinched and swollen. "You're new here, Duursema, so here's how things go around this place. When we say jump, you jump. Keep your mouth shut and do as you're told. Cause any trouble and we'll make you regret it. For not getting in line when told to do so, fifteen lashes."
The captain shoved Qui-Gon against the bars of the cell. "Arms apart, grip the bars," he ordered. "You will count out the beating as it's given. Any resistance and your punishment is automatically doubled. If I have to get the guards to hold you, it counts as resisting."
With a cruel leer, the guard leaned in close to Qui-Gon's face. "Screaming, however, is acceptable. It helps the others learn that defiance is painful."
Qui-Gon hesitated a moment before he wrapped his hands around the bars, the right gripped firmly, the left's broken wrist allowing the fingers to curl only loosely. He could barely move from his previous beatings, and as much as he wanted to fight back, he couldn't win this battle. He braced himself on his forearms and waited for the first blow. The whip hissed through the air, biting into the bare skin of his back. After a moment, a second blow fell. "You're not counting, Duursema," the guard mocked.
"Three," Qui-Gon said through clenched teeth.
"One. The hits don't count until you start counting."
"One," Qui-Gon quickly repeated. "Two . . . three . . . four," Qui-Gon called out the numbers, determined to make no other sounds.
Qui-Gon rested his head against the bars, gritting his teeth as the strokes fell one after the other.
"Five.. six. seven.. " A particularly hard lash fell and he clenched his teeth, biting off his cry as he counted. Force, and it was only half over.
"Back in line," ordered the captain as Qui-Gon finally counted to fifteen. Slowly, his back throbbing with pain, he made his way to the end of the line. As he neared the end, he caught Yomar smirking at him.
"Forward!" the captain ordered enforcing that command with a crack of his whip. As the line of prisoners shuffled towards the dining hall, the Jedi wondered what punishment he would face for a more active resistance to the guard's orders. Was this a normal part of the enforcement or had he received a 'special lesson' as a new prisoner. Qui-Gon frowned as he trudged toward the mess hall, thinking, wondering if possibly Gaikusan had ordered it.
*****
Qui-Gon sighed deeply as he stood in line with the other prisoners, waiting to get his breakfast. The small mess hall was dirty and poorly lit. The metal, sectioned tray had to be balanced in one hand, his other swollen and immobile from the broken wrist. The slop hit his tray with enough force that Qui-Gon almost lost his grip on it. Qui-Gon thanked the server out of habit, causing the other man to glance up sharply. He spied a chair in an out of the way corner away from everyone else's and he hurried over to it moving as fast as hurting body would let him.
He sat down in the rickety chair and eyed the thin gray substance on his tray. It looked awful and smelled worse than the sewers of Nal Hutta but the Jedi knew he could not afford to skip meals in his injured state. He took a small bite, sampling it. /Force, but the stuff tastes as bad as it looks and smells!/ Qui-Gon nearly questioned his decision about eating the slop, but his loudly protesting stomach made up his mind for him. Trying not to taste his food, Qui-Gon forced himself to swallow several bites, when a large hand fell on his shoulder and an even larger shadow appeared over him.
"Hey you," a disgruntled voice said above him.
/Oh no, now what?/
"That's Inion's table" the source of the large shadow, a very large disgruntled looking C'lasi growled.
"You are Inion?" Qui-Gon politely inquired, using the diplomats tone he'd worked so hard to acquire.
"What are you stupid? THAT'S Inion." Another large C'lasi said. The C'lasi who had first addressed him now grabbed Qui-Gon by the arm, pulling him out of the chair. Qui-Gon managed to keep on his feet, deftly twisting his arm out of the grip. The orange C'lasi, Inion Qui-Gon hazarded a guess, sat down where Qui-Gon had been
"So you're the new one. That grants you one mistake, which you just made. Never touch what is mine without permission." The Pho Ph'eahian set the trays on the table, then sat down himself. Their breakfast, Qui-Gon noticed was far different from his own, with large portions of meat. The C'lasi enforcer continued to stand next to Qui-Gon.
"Want me to teach him a lesson, boss?" the enforcer asked.
"Nah, not just yet." Inion studied Qui-Gon, while shoving a chunk of meat into his
mouth. Chewing, he said, "You're that big time off world assassin they just brought in, aren't you?"
Qui-Gon stared at Inion as he shoved meat in his mouth and his mouth watered slightly. It had been nearly two days since his last proper meal. He realized Inion must be one of power and rank within this nightmare to get such treatment as a proper meal and his own table out of the way from everyone else.
His gaze narrowed thoughtfully as he took in everything. He knew that if he'd broadcast that he was a Jedi in a group prison full of lawbreakers he would
be an even more obvious target than he already was. "That was what they called me when I arrived, yes."
Inion chuckled. "Like the way you put that. Kron, who doesn't have an alias or three. Sit down for a minute, Duursema." With his foot, Inion shoved the chair towards Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon sat back down in the proffered chair and pulled his plate towards him. The slop on his tray was rapidly growing cold even as he tried to force himself to eat it anyway. "Thank you."
"That's the way things work around here, people do each other favors. Most people in here are more than happy to do me favors. I hear that you took out a Jedi on your way here. Not bad, takes skill to snuff one of those robed freaks. Just a bit of sour luck that your target knew him, huh?"
Qui-Gon arched a brow and responded with caution. He wondered if Inion had gotten his information from Gaikusan or if his cronies were just adept at eavesdropping. "I had a bit of trouble, yes."
"Well, as they say, one being's trouble is another's profit." Inion looked at Qui-Gon as if trying to decide how many credits he was carrying and how well he'd be able to hold onto them. "I understand that you are having a bit of trouble with your cell mates. I can help with that."
Qui-Gon stared thoughtfully at Inion, leaving his breakfast untouched. He wondered just what the gangster could do to help him--he would be grateful for the help but he wondered just what price the gangster wanted. "I see." Was all he said.
"Bet you do. Scrawny runts gotta make up in brains what they lack in size, eh?" Inion chortled.
Qui-Gon said nothing in reply, he merely stared waiting for the other man to reveal what he wanted.
"Don't talk much, huh. Even better. Too much chatter can end up in a cut throat. But I know what you're thinking. Nothing in this galaxy is free. We'll talk about what you can do in appreciation of my intervention later, when you're a bit more recovered from the welcome party."
Qui-Gon nodded silently and pulled the rest of his breakfast towards him. It was stone cold by now and he winced as he forced himself to eat it. He was half-finished when the shrill shriek of a tone sounded through the mess hall and inmates began to stand and form lines.
A sharp blow from a guard sent him sprawling onto the floor. The guard began pulling out his whip. "Tables are to be cleaned off before the duty siren. Ten lashes."
Qui-Gon swore inwardly as he found himself in the floor and felt the sharp sting of a whip on his bare back and shoulders. He quickly remembered to call out. "One," before the lash fell again.
Inion looked up from where he was finishing his own breakfast, unconcerned about the movement of guards and prisoners around him. His voice was casual, "Newbie getting some instruction from me. I must have forgot to tell him about the tables."
The guard paused a moment, then struck Qui-Gon twice more, with far less force than he had before. "Get in line."
Qui-Gon got to his feet, wincing slightly at the pain as his muscles, still stiff from the beating the night before, protested. He paused uncertainly wondering which line he was supposed to get in.
"That way, poodoo brains," the guard shoved him roughly towards a line of prisoners that were already leaving the cafeteria.
Qui-Gon grimaced as his back was roughly pushed and he fell into line with the other prisoners wondering where in the Force they were going now.