AN: My second chapter for today... and things are becoming a little difficult for Luke...

All previous disclaimers apply...

Missing

XVI.

Tamara shrank away from the Stormtrooper as he reached in to remove her from the transport. Fear widened her blood-shot grey eyes as the tall soldier blocked out the sunlight. The Imperial cursed her for making his job harder and gripped her arm, ignoring the yelp of tight pain that escaped her lips, and almost lifted her bodily from the vehicle. He planted her feet on the ground and reached for her mother, who moved with less fuss. Brett needed no help; he scampered from the back of the carrier, jumped to the ground, and raced over the farmyard toward the silent house. Alex joined his wife, placing an arm around her shoulder as she surveyed, with tears, the ruins of her home. Her home - their home - but not their property; not any more.

"Confiscated," the Imperial colonel with the sparkling blue eyes had said. They were now tenants of the Empire, turning over any profit the farm made, "Until," the colonel had said, "you have made amends for your crimes. I could have had you executed, but alive you will be much more useful, so count yourselves lucky."

Behind them, the Imperials gunned their engines and departed, leaving the family to pick up the pieces of their lives and come to terms with the path their fates had taken.

"Count yourselves lucky." Those mocking words echoed in the large farmer's mind, and he shook his head despairingly. If this was luck, then he spat on it; he wanted none of it. He felt his wife tremble, and knew it wasn't cold that caused her to shiver; he saw his daughter, his child, walk stiffly and without emotion toward the house; and he heard his son, his baby, shout from his room that all his toys were broken. As for himself, he saw his life in ruins, he saw himself as an Imperial slave, and he viewed life itself without the hope and enthusiasm he once had. With clouded eyes, he scanned his farm, the broken fences, the smashed windows, the dead animals—the lowen had been back to feast on an unguarded farm - and the shattered machinery. The storm troopers had ransacked the entire farm looking for evidence. What had they hoped to find? A squad of X-wings?

Alex threw his sarcasm aside. It was over now; in time they would forget, in time Ryder Lasjow would become the dim memory he once was and should have stayed.

"One of these days you might just have to fight for your little plot of dirt. I hope you're man enough to get involved then. "

The farmer shook his head once more, as the Rebel's words, spoken in anger, surfaced in his memory. This time they had meaning. No, Ryder, he thought, I'm not a fighting man; I have a family. I don't have the idealism of youth, or the zeal for revolution you do. I'm sorry.

Alex gently nudged his wife and, together, they walked across the yard to the house, each dreading the chaos they would find inside.

Unconsciously, Tamara rubbed at the bruises on her upper arm as she stood at the door of her young brother's room. She watched with curious eyes as he fussed over the ruins of his possessions, and as a small tear of self-pity traced a thin, wet line down his cheek.

"Tama?" Brett asked, at last noticing he was being watched. "Why did they break everything?"

"Don't call me that!" Her eyes spoke with simmering rage, and Brett shrank back from the tone of her voice. Suddenly, his big sister scared him. "Only Ryder calls me that." Her voice shook over the name. Deliberately, she stepped into Brett's room, her foot crunching on one of his toys.

Brett's tears betrayed the silent hurt and fears. "Tama - don't!"

Her eyes flamed and her hand lashed out for him, but she was caught as her parents rushed into the room. Alex held her wrist tightly.

"Tamara! Enough! There's been enough hurt."

Brett ran to his mother's arms; she scooped him up and held him tightly.

Hold me, too, Mommy, Tamara cried silently. Hold me, too.

She turned to her father, while pointing at Brett. "It was him! He told!"

Alex, shocked at his daughter's venom, dropped her arm. "He's a child, Tamara; he doesn't understand what he's done."

Tamara stepped away from her father, putting distance between them; she glared at him. "You did the same!" She spoke with furious disbelief. "Do you understand what you've done? You all killed him! He told me what would happen - and you've killed him!"

Mhari handed the sobbing, frightened child to Alex. "Tamara." She soothed stepped toward her daughter. "We did what we had to do. We only wanted to protect you and Brett."

"But you told them what he was, you told them and you condemned him!" She shook her head, tears spilling over her cheeks. "How can you live with that?"

"They threatened you, Tamara. They threatened your brother. What were we supposed to do? You and Brett were our priorities, Ryder would understand that," Mhari explained gently. "He was a soldier, a pilot, he knew the risks. "

"We are alive, Tamara, can't you be thankful for that?" Alex broke, in still hugging his son to him.

Tamara turned on. "Do you think Ryder's thankful? Do you think he'll thank you for what you've done to him? They're going to kill him!"

"Tamara…" Mhari reached for her again; wanting to console her, wanting to calm and comfort her, knowing her daughter's innocence had been sorely shattered.

"Leave me alone!" Tamara turned from her mother, turned from them all and ran from the room.

ooOOoo

Sudden darkness.

Luke lifted his arm from his face and peered into the blackness, waiting, almost expecting some monster to suddenly emerge from the solid darkness that surrounded him. He licked his parched, dried lips with an equally dry tongue. He had been lying on his back on the slab of a bunk for some time as the banks of lights from above had blazed down, as the heat in the cell had grown to intolerable levels and the air had become thick and difficult to breathe. His shirt and pants were soaking with sweat and his hair was lank and wet. His head pounded painfully from the effects of dehydration.

He allowed his arm to fall back over his face when he satisfied himself nothing more was about to happen. Nothing. Nothing again. Each time the light changed, each time the temperature suddenly rose or sharply fell, each time the cell rang with noise or was plunged into silence, he waited, geared up for something to happen. But each time, like now, there was nothing. Nothing but his quick breathing, nothing but his own imagination and even that was growing foggy through dehydration and lack of sleep.

"Hey," he croaked into the cloying darkness, "who turned out the light?"

He laughed uneasily; fighting off the frightened sobs of wretchedness he felt building to clog the back of his throat. He pulled his tired body up and slid backward on the bunk until he rested against the wall being careful to keep the base of his neck clear. Whatever they had shot into him that first day had caused the tissue to swell, and he now endured a constant throb that, if touched, flared hotly. He wiped his hands over his face and his palms scraped on several days' growth of stubble; but he didn't know how many days. He knew what they were trying to do; soften him up, wear him down, through hunger, thirst and fatigue, make him crazy with anticipation of what was to come, so that when it did come he would capitulate easily to their demands.

He had been clever; though. He had done what the Alliance had taught him. At first he had worked out, keeping himself as fit as possible until the hunger and thirst had made him rest more and conserve his energy; he had sung to himself to keep his morale up (though often the notes would crack and crumple; but Luke chose to ignore those moments); he had gone over Alliance battle procedures to keep his mind active and tried not to think of Leia's recollections of the torture she had endured at Vader's hands; the droid, the drugs and the pain.

His stomach cramped, and Luke doubled up, hugging his abdomen tightly, trying to rid himself of the strong hunger pangs. The pain passed, but left him light headed and coldly sweating. He hadn't eaten anything since the day of his capture - whenever that had been - and water in the cell had been scarce. The small faucet set near the waste disposal unit was obviously controlled by an outside source and water only ran intermittently and then only for a few seconds. It was clear they didn't wish him to die of thirst, but also clear they wanted him as weak as possible. He sighed and rubbed at his stinging eyes with the heel of his hands. If only he could sleep, if only they would allow even a few moments of rest but he knew from experience that should his eyes close, should he dose, he would be wakened suddenly by blaring noise, by searing cold and light.

And a bitter thought struck him. Were they doing this to the Lasjows? Were they being held close by? Was Tamara in the next cell?

"Tamara," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the swell of tears, his body couldn't afford to lose anymore fluid. He shivered as the temperature in the cell began to fall and his wet clothing began to draw heat from his limbs.

"What's it like out there?"

Why had he stayed there? Why hadn't he just left once he was well? He'd known the dangers. He'd failed them, just as he'd failed Owen and Beru on Tatooine. Only this time, it wasn't innocence or ignorance that had caused his failure; it was desire and selfishness. Yes, Alex and Mhari reminded him of his aunt and uncle, Brett was the little brother he'd always wanted but never had; and Tamara - Tamara had shown him a naiveté he'd lost, a naiveté he'd fallen in love with. He'd stayed because they were everything he had wanted in the way of a family. It had been an environment he'd never really known before. And he had failed them. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as salt water trickled down his cheeks and dripped onto his blood stained shirt; he didn't know if the tears were for the fate of the family and Tamara, or if they were tears of self-pity.

Quickly, angrily, he shook himself and dried his tears away, realizing he was doing something he'd vowed he wouldn't. He was letting them get to him, he was allowing despair to crawl in and claim him, and he was falling for their tricks and manipulations. He was stronger than this, he wouldn't falter, he wouldn't fail the Alliance, and he wouldn't fail Leia.

"Starlight and moons," he quietly whispered one of Han's bawdy Corellian songs, trying to focus his mind. "Pretty ladies with... Pretty ladies with..." His voice cracked, and he realized he'd forgotten the words. "Pretty ladies. . ."

Why didn't they come? Were they leaving him to rot? Were they starving him to death? Why didn't they come?

"Pretty ladies. . ."

He looked into the darkness and saw swirling shapes there, watched them dance and frolic. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked again. They were gone. He was alone.

"Pretty. ..."

He strained his ears, trying to hear what was beyond the four walls of his prison. But there was only silence. His throat burned with thirst.

"Pre..."

Alone. In silence. Nothing. No one. Forever.

A sound sliced through the silence; water dribbling from the faucet. He rose as fast as he could from the bunk and threw himself across the cell to get to the cool liquid his body so badly required. His searching hands found it in the darkness and he bent his lips towards the running water.

It stopped.

"No…" he whispered desperately, knowing it would be several hours before it ran again. "No." He fell to his knees, his hands moving quickly across the floor looking for any remnants of liquid, but there was nothing apart from the cool metal grating that covered the ground. His hand went back to the tap seeking any lingering droplets. But there were none.

He swallowed hard, as cold panic broke and washed over him. The cry built in his throat, his chest aching for its release; it screamed in his mind. And he buried his head in his hands in anguish, pulled his knees up to stifle his moans, struggled to keep the call to himself. And despite his best efforts; he heard it bounce off the walls. "Please… Please!"

Luke wilted, he slid to the side down the wall and curled on the floor by the dormant faucet and waited, shivering in the darkness.

Silence.

OoOOoo

Byron Jared grimaced as Kasden, sitting beside him, chuckled at the Rebel's plight.

"Time for business, eh?" the elder man noted with some glee.

"I'll alert Dassu," Byron replied in monotone as his hand reluctantly reached for the com.

ooOOoo

Tamara halted in her run at the door to the guest room. She bit her lip and wrapped her hands around her body while fighting the sobs that built within her chest. She stood at the door to Ryder's room. No, she reminded herself, not Ryder - Luke. The pretending was over. She could hear her parents talking in quiet whispers and Brett asking where Ryder was, and why his big sister didn't like him anymore. But she ignored the sounds, as she let her eyes wander around the bedroom and let her mind wander around the memories now associated with the room.

She stepped further into the room and into its devastation. Automatically, she set about tidying the mess. All of the drawers of the bureau were open, the clothes scattered. Tamara lifted the shirts, the socks and the sweaters, folded them and placed them in the drawers, which she then quietly closed. Looking around, she spotted her book lying in a corner, where it had fallen during the troopers' search. She knelt and picked it up.

"What's it about?"

She placed it on the bedside table next to the overturned lamp, which she righted. Something cracked under her foot; surprised, she looked down and saw she had stepped on the porcelain figure Luke had bought on their trip into town.

"I've never seen one like that before!"

With a shaking hand, she picked up the pieces silently apologizing to Luke and telling him she would fix it. Tentatively, she touched the cool clay face, as though she thought that by trying to give comfort to a doll, she would somehow be giving comfort to Luke, wherever he was. Her tears returned to prickle her eyes, but she pushed them away, knowing he wouldn't want to see her cry - not over a broken doll, anyway. She placed the figure next to her book.

Turning to face the room again, Tamara noticed a pair of boots sticking out from under the mussed-up bed. As she bent down to lift them, she also saw a small pile of clothing she had missed; and suddenly she realized it was the pants and shirt Luke had been wearing when he had fallen into the river.

"Does that answer your question?"

Her hand went to her lips at the memory of the kiss; so warm, so tender. She sank to her knees and lifted the shirt, she ran her fingers over the fabric, clutched it to her chest, holding it, wanting so much to hold the person who had worn it. It was too much for her; she buried her face in the material and cried, no longer able to hold her emotions in. She sobbed; her breath coming in little hitches and moans, at her pain and his loss.

Footsteps made her look up; through her teary haze, she saw her mother standing at the door, deeply concerned.

"I wanted him to love me," she said simply; suddenly understanding what had happened between them. "But he wasn't Ryder, he was Luke."

Mhari joined her daughter on the floor and took the girl into her arms; the shirt was pressed between them.

""He was Luke…"

ooOOoo

Sudden light.

Luke cried out in surprise, pain slicing through his thudding head. He buried his face in his elbow to protect his eyes from the blinding light. The cell door opened for the first time since his incarceration, the sound sending cold terror running down his spine. He uncurled, and sat up, eyes squinting in the light, as three Imperials entered the cell. He now regretted his shout; he'd rather be alone.

Two guards - Luke thought he recognized them as the ones who had tossed him in here - positioned themselves on either side of the door, as a grey-uniformed officer entered. The door closed and Luke suddenly felt very small, and very vulnerable.

Dassu smiled at the youth as he stepped down into the cell after the guards. The boy had lasted longer than he had anticipated; but the cry of desperation had come as expected, and now the second part of his job could commence. He needed a confession before he could extract any information the Rebel may hold. He tapped the small, one-way com that was inserted into his ear to make sure it was working. Jared's voice from the observation chamber told him that it was.

The guards grasped the boy by the arms, drew him up and walked him to the bunk. They sat him down and moved back.

"You may leave us," the Colonel told him companions, waving his gloved hand toward the door.

Thaler stepped forward. "Sir, I…"

"It's okay, Sergeant, we're just going to chat. There won't be any problems," he glanced at the boy on the bunk. "Will there?"

He saw the puzzlement cross the prisoner's face, then suspicion.

Luke nodded toward the guards as the cell door slid open once more. "Aren't you going to work me over, too?" His dry voice wobbled, betraying his anxiety.

Dassu almost laughed. He knew to whom the Rebel was referring; the results of the beating were still apparent on his face: large yellow blotches of fading bruises. "We're not all as violent as Captain Donat," Dassu informed him as he sat on the end of the bunk. "Besides, you resisted arrest, and that only serves to make matters worse, and makes you look guilty."

"I panicked…" Luke protested, wondering why he was even talking to this man. The Alliance warned against conversations.

"…and went for a blaster?" Dassu threw the question.

"No!" Luke rose to his feet. "I…"

"Sit down!" the colonel warned as the guards turned towards them once more; he waved them back.

Luke quickly sat. There was silence in the cell again. He hung his head, unable to look at the Imperial officer. His hands trembled and he clasped them between his knees to stop the shakes. Again, he waited.

Dassu leaned against the wall, looking almost leisurely at Luke as the guards left the cell. He broke the clinging, heavy quiet that followed. "You do understand why you are being held?"

Luke glanced up at the grandfatherly features, then dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded. "You think I'm a Rebel," he answered quietly, sounding almost ashamed.

"And are you?"

"No." The answer came too quickly; he might as well have said yes.

Dassu sighed heavily. This boy would be the average case; he would flatly deny everything, he would be easy to break, and he would eventually spill all. He was hardly a challenge. He rose from the bunk and crossed to the faucet as water began to trickle freely. A panel opened at the side and he lifted out a cup and filled it. "We have evidence that suggests otherwise," he told Luke as he returned to his perch on the bunk, and looked to the youth for a reaction. Blue eyes watched him guardedly. "But I'm sure I don't have to repeat what the good captain has already explained to you."

Luke shook his head. No, he remembered it all.

"Here, you need this." The colonel offered Luke the full cup.

Luke stared at it, tried to lick his lips, his body burning with thirst. "No thanks."

"Don't be ridiculous," Dassu chided, softly, holding out the cup

Luke reached for it with a shaking hand, almost dropped it.

"Let me help," the Imperial offered, cradling Luke's hand with his own and guiding the cup to the youth's cracked lips. "Just sip," he smiled. "That's it…." He allowed the Rebel to take his fill before removing the cup and setting it aside.

Luke watched the man closely, confused at his gentleness, his concern. This wasn't what he had expected.

"Captain Donat has also explained the charges that have been laid against you?" Dassu lightly questioned, leaning leisurely against the wall.

"Yes," Luke glanced away, raised his eyes to bank of lights in the ceiling. He blinked and rubbed at his heavy stinging eyes. His head was buzzing, his thoughts hazy and he felt sick with fatigue.

Dassu smiled reading the boys thoughts. "You may sleep in a little while; I only have a few questions for you." His voice was soft, reassuring.

Luke looked back, warily. "And if I don't know the answers?"

"I won't ask you anything you can't answer," Dassu assured him, easily. "This won't take long, and you can get some rest."

Luke swallowed, cleared his throat, and said nothing.

"We don't have a name for you, it would help if I had something to call you. "

Luke could hear the blood rushing in his head, he felt dizzy, nauseous. "Ry…" his voice stuck, and he cleared his throat again. "Ryder Lasjow."

"Ah, yes," Dassu sighed. "I rather expected that. The farmer did say he had called you Ryder. If I recall correctly he felt that the less they knew about you, the less trouble your presence would cause. It hasn't quite worked out that way though, has it?" He sat forward fixing Luke with his stare. "Let's not get bogged down in a charade shall we? You were part of the Rebel reconnaissance team that landed here several weeks ago. You were shot in the side while trying to reach your ship; you also fractured your ankle. Tamara found you and, foolishly, the Lasjows took you in. Denrick Janis treated your wounds and you've lived with them as "Ryder Lasjow" while continuing to reconnoitre our facilities here."

Bitter desolation filled Luke as the Imperial Colonel spoke. They knew everything that had happened. Alex and the Doctor had been questioned. And Tamara? What of Tamara? Had they questioned her? What had they done to her? What had she told them? He didn't say anything, he just sat looking at his bare feet, and thinking that they'd gotten rather grimy since he'd been here.

"Have I missed anything?"

Luke remained silent, trying to fight the shudders that rippled through his body. He had been backed against a wall; he had entered a no-win situation, and suddenly he wished he'd never persuaded his Uncle Owen to buy some droids to help with the harvest.

"You're worried about the Lasjows?" Dassu asked, though the question was more of a statement. He watched the Rebel's reactions closely while listening as Jared fed him information on the boy's vital signs though the earpiece.

The question surprised Luke, scared him. "Yes," he answered truthfully.

"Why?"

"They're my family."

"Of course they are." Dassu's tone of voice told Luke he didn't believe a word he said. He brushed the sleeve of his uniform as he asked, "You like the girl, Tamara?" He lifted his eyebrows with the question.

Luke chilled. "Yes," he answered, carefully.

"Yes," Dassu echoed. "Did you tell her you were a Rebel?"

The question was asked so casually; it almost threw Luke. "I…no, I'm not a Rebel." He spoke slowly, trying to organise his thoughts, fighting to put order to his jumbled feelings. Trying to keep control.

Dassu pressed on. "That's not what Tamara told us."

The news didn't seem to surprise the prisoner; he glanced at Dassu with a sad understanding.

The Colonel shifted his buttocks to the side as he dug deep in a pocket and drew out a candy bar; he passed this to his other hand and burrow into the pocket once more. This time he produced the holo of the Princess Leia. He held it up for Luke to see.

"Is this yours?"

Luke shook his head. "No," he said thickly, knowing the Colonel wouldn't believe him. He also knew there would be no chance to sleep anytime soon.

"You're sure?" his tone was light, sounding perplexed. He tore the wrapper off the candy bar with his teeth while looking at the holo. "Tamara said it was yours, said you knew who it was. " He took careful note of the boy's reaction to the continued use of the girl's name. For the first time, the prisoner looked him in the eyes, with an almost warning glare. "Tamara told me you said the holo was of the Princess Leia Organa. In fact, she said you were a friend of the Princess Leia's." He broke a piece of candy from the bar and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully; purposely ignoring the hunger the Rebel must have been feeling.

Luke's eyes widened at the mention of Leia's name. He paled, and again his hands shook as he realised there was very little chance for him to get out of this situation. But he knew from the few training sessions with the Alliance that his main job here was to delay the Imperial's, to feed false information, to buy time for whatever the Alliance was planning.

The Minoan assault was taking place soon; planned for only a few weeks from the day he was captured; he had to keep them from asking him questions that could lead them to the information he held about it. He had to stall, to play for time, to keep up the farm boy façade he had assumed here - even though both he and the colonel knew it was false.

Dassu listened as Jared informed him of the building pressure within the youth. He didn't really need the bio readouts to tell him about the stress developing within the Rebel or how his heart beat accelerated and his blood pressure rose. He could see the results in the youth's reactions. But with the control questions asked and answered Jared was also able to tell him when the boy lied.

"She didn't want to tell us," Dassu informed Luke, sorrowfully; "but she did, just as you will, too."

Luke's gut coiled; not out of fear, but from fury and disgust. "You hurt her?"

Dassu broke another piece from the confection and this time he offered it to Luke as he explained. "Sometimes if prisoners are reluctant to speak we are authorised to use more… ah…" he smiled, and shrugged, "alternative methods."

Without thinking, Luke slapped the offered candy from the colonel's hand it flew across the cell and struck the opposite wall. Enraged he pushed himself up and staggered to his feet. Then his legs buckled for seemingly no reason, and he fell to his knees. Pain flared from the back of his neck, coursing through his nervous system, igniting and searing every nerve ending. His body stiffened as his spine arched and he howled in agony.

It was there - then it was gone. And Luke found himself lying on his back on the floor staring at the bank of cold lights that illuminated the cell. He swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut trying to remember how he had fallen and why his limbs felt heavy and numb.

ooOOoo

Byron lifted a shaking hand from the controls, wishing he could have let the Rebel strike Dassu. He wiped sweat from his brow and glanced at Kasden, who was completely unaffected by the events.

ooOOoo

Luke opened his eyes as a face appeared above him. The Imperial shook his head and spoke, but the words were muffled, and indistinct, lost among the roaring in his head.

Dassu frowned down at the youth at his feet as blue eyes blinked hazily up at him. "That was foolish," he smiled, reproachfully. "Very foolish." He reached out, offering the younger man his hand.

Luke grimaced with pain, summoned his strength and batted the hand away. His body was immediately afire once more, convulsing uncontrollably.

Dassu crouched by the prisoner as the movements stopped. The boy heaved in air and groaned pitifully. "Perhaps you'll answer my questions now?" he suggested.

Still stubborn, Luke answered through gritted teeth. "I… can't. I don't know the….ah… answers."

Dassu didn't need Jared to tell him the boy was lying, but still the technician relayed the information through his earpiece. He sighed, looked pained. "Why don't we forget your name for now then, and the Princess Leia. Why don't you just tell me your rank?"

Luke glared up at the man hovering over him. "I don't… have a rank," he explained wearily, his body aching, cool sweat gathering on his brow, as he feared his answer would bring another jolt to rip through his body. "I help out on my uncle's farm."

ooOOoo

Byron Jared hesitated, looking at the reading on the controls feedback monitor. He frowned; there was some truth to the boy's statement.

ooOOoo

"Come now," Dassu smiled. "We both know that isn't true. Please don't waste my time or ridicule my intellect. Just tell me your Alliance rank."

"Farm Boy," Luke told him, wryly, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness hit him. He felt giddy, felt the room spinning and didn't know if it was the effects of dehydration and starvation, or a residual effect of whatever they had sent coursing through his body. "First Class."

The Imperial laughed delightedly. "Now that sounds much more rebellious!"

Luke pushed himself up into a sitting position with a soft groan. Only to be slammed back down with another blast of pain. He screamed; hands clutching his head as the searing energy slammed into his skull.

Dassu sat back on his heels waiting for the violent spasms to stop once more, waiting for cries of agony to abate and watching as the Rebel's fingers tore and dug at the device in his neck as he struggled to stop the pain, but ultimately caused more.

ooOOoo

Jared allowed the current to continue for a few seconds more before shutting off the control with a trembling hand. He turned away from the view before him as the loud howls subsided to little hitches of breath and muted sobs.

ooOOoo

He couldn't move, had no will to command his muscles to work. He couldn't feel anything apart from the pounding, thudding from his brain that sent nausea churning through his stomach. Something trickled at the back of his nose and his throat and he choked, coughed as it pooled and clogged, hampering his breathing. Strong hands took him by the shirt and turned him onto his side. And he coughed again, spat; feeling more liquid spill down inside and drip from his nose. He gagged and retched dryly.

"Take it easy, Lieutenant," Dassu advised, using the rank Alex Lasjow had given him for the boy. "You've burst a blood vessel in your nose. It happens sometimes with the pressure. Rest for a moment and we'll talk some more."

One word penetrated Luke's wretchedness. "What?" he gasped, realising with horror the Imperial knew his rank. "I…never…" he groaned as his limbs cramped." I didn't say anything…"

Dassu chuckled and scolded softly. "Of course you did."

"No…"

Dassu ignored him. "Now, why don't you just confess to what you are? And this can stop and we can sit down and talk like civilised beings."

"I never… said anything," Luke persisted, trying to open his eyes, trying to focus his jangled thoughts, horrified that he may have unwittingly given the Imperial his answer.

"Come, come, Lieutenant just tell me you're a Rebel and this pain will stop."

"No." He had to play for time, he had to resist. He had to protect what he knew, the bases, the personnel, the missions. He had to take the pain.

Dassu frowned, his lips pursing in annoyance. He stood and moved back from the sprawled youth and glanced at the wall opposite to where he knew Jared and Kasden were observing. He nodded.

This time screams were heightened in pitch as the energy levels increased.

"Are you a Rebel?" Dassu repeated, his voice a cold monotone, almost bored as he watched the youth's body stiffen and jerk; more blood flowed from the boy's nose from the force of the charge and he knew he couldn't sustain this level of punishment for much longer or else the blood vessels in the Rebel's brain may also rupture.

Luke could think of nothing; all rational thought driven from him as wave after wave of pulsing energy punched into his nervous system. He only wanted it to stop.

"Yes!"

"Say it," Dassu ordered, prolonging the agony, allowing Luke to convulse on the floor.

"Please…"

"Say it!"

"I'm a Rebel…please!"

Suddenly, it stopped. Luke gasped, sobbed; his muscles cramped and he groaned. His limbs disobeyed him when he told them to move; his head throbbed, sending more waves of cold nausea through him. He heaved and vomited water and blood while vaguely aware of the cell door opening once more. There were boot steps around him, hands lifting him from the floor, stripping the sweat sodden shirt from him. He tried to struggle as his naked back hit a wall, as his arms were lifted above his head, spread wide and his wrists fastened in tight binders; palms facing outwards. He was confused, puzzled, scared; the Imperial had got what he wanted why didn't he just leave?

Dassu stepped forward as the guards moved back. First, the admission of guilt, he thought; watching the youth futilely pull against the restraints, then the extraction of information. "Lieutenant?" He beckoned, attracting Luke's attention, blue eyes locked with his own and he turned his head toward the door.

Luke followed Dassu's gaze curiously. The door opened. Luke whimpered, a low moan escaping his lips, and he weakly fought against his restraints,as the beast from Leia's nightmares entered his.

"You have to see it, Luke; you have to see it and you have to suffer it to understand what I mean..."

He shook his head. "No! No, no, no…"

"Lieutenant," Dassu's voice called to him again, as the droid floated closer, its whine filling the cell, overpowering all other sounds. The door closed as the Imperial spoke to him again but he couldn't tear his eyes from the extended mechanical arm that carried the full syringe. "You have information we need."

Luke heard Dassu, but couldn't see him as the spherical droid filled his vision. His tears ran freely as he finally realized the full implications of his situation. It wasn't a bad dream, it was real; it was happening, and it was happening to him. The droid reached him, the needle slid into his arm, the drug shot into his bloodstream, and he heard someone laugh as he shouted for a mother he had never known.

ooOOoo

Alex threw the last dead nerf onto the burning pile and covered his nose with a handkerchief to stifle the smell. It was useless, he knew; the smell would hang over the farm for several days. Death was hard to disguise. He turned and looked at his house as night fell. Apart from the crackling and popping from the fire, the evening was silent and peaceful.

ooOOoo

Byron Jared pushed through the crowded mess hall with his meal tray balanced precariously on one hand. His eyes roamed the crowded room, searching for an empty table. Gratefully, he saw a group of engineers vacate one near the back of the hall. He hurried his steps, lest someone should reach his goal before him, and threw himself into one of the empty seats. He placed his tray on the table and stared at the cooling, congealing food on his plate - his stomach twisting tightly. He pushed the tray to the side, not having the appetite to even lift a spoonful, wondering what had possessed him to come here rather than going to his quarters, where he could really be alone.

He slumped back in his chair, loosening his stiff collar with a shaking hand.

"Please!"

Byron squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to close off the image which forced itself upon him He wished he could shake away the memory; but he knew from past experience that these memories were the kind that persisted, the kind which gnawed at him, gradually wearing him down until the day came when he wouldn't be able to take any more. Byron knew that day was fast approaching, and he feared it.

"Bad day, Jared?"

The low, bass voice jerked Byron from his thoughts. He glanced up at his friend, unable to find even a small welcoming smile for the large medical captain. The newcomer planted himself opposite Byron, stirring the food on his plate with a spoon. Byron's stomach leapt, nausea pushing at his throat.

"I've been waiting all day for this," Bower grinned at his food, as he tucked into the meal.

Byron turned away. "You can have mine, too."

The medic smiled, showing a row of white teeth. "It really was bad, huh?"

"Yeah." The reply was quiet. "The worst."

Bower set down his spoon, interested. "Who is it?"

"A Rebel lieutenant." Byron told, brushing back his hair with a shaking hand. "He won't give a name, won't give anything."

"I'll bet that pleased Dassu," the larger man laughed, picking up his spoon again. His hunger was still to be sated.

"He's a kid." Byron shook his head, almost incredulously. "The Rebels have kids for officers." His mind went back to Sam, and the fear he had seen in his younger brother's eyes - fear of him. That same fear had been mirrored by the boy who, at this moment, would be fighting the effects of a powerful drug. Byron shivered.

"Scraping the bottom of the barrel," Bower commented, shovelling in more meat, oblivious to Jared's mood. "Getting them young and twisting their minds." He brushed a speck of dust from his dark uniform.

"I'm not so sure; sometimes it takes innocence to see anything that's rotten."

The captain choked on his food. He nervously glanced around the tables nearest to them, but no one appeared to have heard. "Suns, Jared!" he breathed angrily. "Do you want to join the Rebel? Pipe down!"

A muscle pulsed in Byron's cheek as he answered, "I am in with the Rebel; I'm the one who has to watch and listen, not you!"

Bower realized the effects Jared's duty had on him. "I'm sorry," he apologized, noticing the pale face, the shaking hands, and the frightened eyes. "Can't you get a transfer?"

Jared laughed sarcastically, derisively. "Fat chance! With my record?" He picked his spoon off the table, absently playing with it. "Besides, Dassu's on my case. If I ask for a transfer, I'll end up lower than I already am."

Bower could feel his friend's depression; it was a heavy, solid pall. "You need a drink," he stated firmly.

For the first time, a slight smile played on Jared's lips. "That's what I like about you Tatooins - you always state the obvious!"

The captain laughed, pleased to see the technician's humour return. "That way you know where you are with us." He took another mouthful of food and mumbled through it, "Let me finish eating first; then I'll find that bottle I've got stashed away." Bower reached over for Jared's dinner plate, and scraped the meal in with his own.

Byron winced. "No wonder they call you Tank."