AN: Thanks again to all of you have ben taking the time to comment! It really is appreciated!
Back to Luke...
All previous disclaimers apply...
Missing
XVIII.
"It's not real!"
The scream reverberated around the cell and ricocheted off the walls of the observation room. Dassu stood calmly at the side of the view screen, impassively watching the prisoner for any sign of submission. The Rebel frantically pulled against the restraints that held him firm to the wall, tugging his wrists, trying to twist them out of the tight cuffs to no avail; he had merely abraded his own skin with his efforts. His face was a mask of terror, his eyes wide, glazed - staring at some horror only he could see.
The droid floated at his side, waiting for further orders.
"It's not real!" the youth cried again.
The colonel spoke smoothly, authoritatively, into the com which was set into the wall by the screen. "It is real, Lieutenant - very real."
"No!" It was a gasp. "It's a trick!"
Kasden flashed a glance to Jared, who was watching the Rebel's vital signs, not having the courage to look into the cell itself. He flicked another switch on his console and the gurgling sound of running, pouring, filling water became a roar. The panic-torn screamed jerked Byron from his attempt at casual indifference; he read the jumping lines on his screens, watched the heartbeat race, and he wiped a cold sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform.
"Sir," the younger technician dredged his voice from through his blocked throat, "his life signs are becoming erratic. The drugs are…"
Dassu raised his hand sharply, cutting Byron's warning off, determined not to let the Rebel beat him again. After several sessions it had become clear that the boy was a challenge after all; but challenges only made him more dogged. "No tricks," he told the youth, then calmly suggested; "the water's getting higher, getting faster - give me the name of your base!"
"I can't!" Luke wrenched on the cuffs, gagging on imaginary water as it crept over his chin. It was cold, so cold it numbed his body. It lapped at his lower lip and he swallowed and choked, coughed as it entered his lungs. He tilted his head up, stretched his neck as much as he could lifting his face away from the chilled water. "This isn't real!"
"But you know it is," the tinny voice rang above the sound of the water.
"Please…. Don't do this… Please…"
Caught in the strangling grip of terror and convinced his cell was flooding; Luke began to submit to the manipulations of Dassu and his drugs. His fear of water, his fear of drowning, exacted too strong a pressure on his mind to resist grabbing at any lifebelt thrown to him. He stared at the water, stared through the water - and saw bloody spots on the grating of the cell floor. He frowned slightly, wondering where the spots had come from, and why they weren't spreading out, mixing in with the water.
"Lieutenant," Dassu called to him, seeing the first indications of compliance. All it needed was a little more prodding. "The location of your base?"
Luke shook his head, blinked his eyes, as sweat dripped from his plastered hair, he tried to clear his fogged senses. He gazed at the blood on the floor, watching as another droplet landed. He lifted his head, saw his wrists, saw blood swelling from behind the binders, it trickled down his arm and dripped from the elbow to the floor. It wasn't pooling out in the water, it wasn't dispersing - it was dripping down the grating of the floor.
Dassu saw the direction of Luke's attention and anger played over his features; he turned to Kasden. "Have the droid give him another ten units," he ordered and, "enhance the sounds."
"Sir!" Jared protested. "He'll be over-dosed… his body is already struggling with…."
"Another 10 units," Dassu bit, impatiently.
The droid floated closer; the hypodermic needle pausing for a moment as the droid scanned for a fresh injection site, and then it slid into Luke's vein injecting more of the drugs into his blood stream. Then the cell thundered with the sound of pounding water, wrenching Luke back into the drug-induced hallucination. The wave knocked his head hard against the wall, white foam obscured his vision. He yelled and water filled his mouth and nose. He spluttered, coughed, tried to turn his head away, cried in bitter fear.
"It's getting higher now," Dassu told him, pleased he hadn't lost him.
Luke lifted his head his gaze going to the ceiling, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the effects of the drug; his body was trembling, his breathing haggard, his head fogged and fuzzy, his thoughts confused between the real and the imagined. But he knew something, he had understood something. If only he could remember. If only he could clear his thoughts. Something about the water and…
He turned to face the view screen, eyes blazing with a wild triumph. He tugged his wrists harder against the binders; pulled and twisted his arms, the cuffs digging deeper into his flesh and fresh blood swelled and spilled as he cried over and over. "It's not real! It's not real, not real…."
Jared winced as the prisoner worked against his bonds. He had seen this reaction before: a captive would inflict real pain to overcome the imaginary pain. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. "Sir," he spoke again, reminding the colonel of his previous warning. "We can't keep this up, we'll lose him."
"One more chance, Rebel!" Dassu's stern tones broke over the microphone. "Tell us the location of your base, or we'll fill your cell completely."
Luke was confused, scared. He knew the water wasn't really there, that it was a trick. But the voice told him that it was there, his eyes told him that it was there, and he felt it. "It's not real!" Fright cracked the words as he fought to convince himself of the truth. More blood dripped, faster now. "It can't be real!" The water level reached his head, covering him; he couldn't fight anymore, his strength ebbed. Mists rolled in over his mind, swaying and billowing pleasantly; tightness constricted his chest as he tried to draw breath.
"Sir, we're going to lose him!" Byron tried to keep the anxiety from his voice, knowing death would be best for the Rebel - but remembering that if the prisoner died, then it would be his fault for not informing Dassu.
The Imperial colonel cursed, but spoke quickly into the com. "Lieutenant, listen to me! You're safe - safe! The water is draining away, it's falling below your head… now chest level, moving lower… draining away… And it's gone." He spoke more solely, easing the prisoner from the hallucination. "There is no water. You're safe now. Safe." He watched the boy's head fall forward, as he gasped in a breath of air and went limp against his restraints.
Furious, Dassu slammed closed the wall com. He turned to the two technicians. "Get a medic down here." With that he stormed, defeated again, from the room.
"Phewwweee!" Kasden whistled. "That was a close one!"
"Yeah," Jared breathed, agreeing, as he slumped with relief in his chair and looked in on the silent boy hanging from the wall and the droid still hovering nearby. He glanced at his read outs frowning at the low bio-readings. The boy still reminded him of Sam; was still too young to be where he was, to be subjected to more of the same torture. There was no future left for this youth, nothing apart from more pain, more anguish followed by a painful death once Dassu had broken him and milk him of his information. Best he should die now while quiet and unconscious and unaware.
It was with regret that Jared opened the com to call the medical staff.
ooOOoo
Although it wasn't night, the room was in twilight, the windows darkened artificially. It was quiet here, calm; here she could find a peace that eluded her anywhere else in the house. Tamara relaxed on a chair by the window of Luke's room, her eyes closed, and her breathing steady, her heart worn and sore. A smile grew on her lips as she heard little footsteps running in the hall, and her mother's voice shouting at Brett to wash his face. The door to the room slowly opened and her little brother peeked meekly in at her.
"Tamara?" he whispered, a little fearfully. His sister had seemed different since they'd come home from visiting the Imperial soldiers. At first she had shouted at him, then she hadn't spoken to him for days; she had been quiet and hardly ate anything at dinner times and then she sat in either her own room or Ryder's room for hours and hours. And she cried a lot.
The girl looked toward him, the apprehensiveness of the young face bringing remorse and guilt to mingle with the grief she felt. She knew her little brother had been having a hard time at school; knew he's been getting picked on since Ryder's arrest two weeks ago; knew he's been excluded for a few days for fighting back. And she knew her own behaviour towards him at times had been unforgivable. He was a child and could not understand what had happened, what he had done.
"Oh, Brett," she said, tears filling her eyes. She held out her arms for him. "I'm so sorry."
He approached her cautiously. "You're not angry with me?"
Tamara laughed at his filthy face and grimy hands. She pulled him into a hug. "No, I'm not angry."
The five-year-old's body relaxed with relief as his big sister cuddled him. These last few days had been confusing and strange and Ryder had gone and he missed him. "You're sad because Ryder's away?"
"Yes," she said quietly, as a new surge of pain cramped her chest.
"Dad said Ryder wasn't ever coming back," he began tentatively, upset at losing such a good playmate. "Is that true?"
Although the words hurt her Tamara answered; "Yes, Ryder's gone, Brett."
"Is he dead? Like the Nerfs were when we came home?"
Tamara choked, cleared her throat and willed her tears away. "No… not yet…"
Brett was silent for a moment mulling over Tamara's answer. "Is he sick again?"
Tamara almost answered with the truth, but stilled her anger at the Empire. "Yes," she said once more, speaking softly. "He's sick again."
"Mum says if people are really sick it's a blessing when they die," he stated with childish certainty. "That there's no pain any more and they're happier. So you're not to be sad as he'll be happier."
She ruffled his hair, her eyes shining with salty tears, her throat blocked with solid anguish "I'll try not to be," she said thickly, and she smiled at her brother and mimicked Luke. "Now, Corellian, you'd best do what your mother said, or she'll be in here after you."
Brett squeezed his arms around her and planted a huge, wet kiss on her cheek; then he ran from the room. Her hand went to the honoured cheek in delighted surprise and she smiled through her grief.
Perhaps her brother was right. At the moment she didn't know if Luke was alive or dead, didn't know if he was in pain and suffering at the hands of his captors, or if he was at rest and oblivious of the galaxy. If she was to think only of the latter then she could still her heart and fully grieve without thinking of any uncomfortable alternatives. Luke was dead, at rest, at peace.
No longer sick.
Tamara reached for the switch and let the daylight flood the room, no longer wishing to sit in the dark. She dried the tears from her eyes and followed her brother's path from the room, pausing for a moment to look back into the chamber. Luke might be gone, but the room would always be his. She quietly closed the door, listening to Brett splashing in the bathroom. From the sounds, it was obvious that the youngster had ceased washing and was now playing with the water, or "scuddling," as Mhari would say. Tamara left him to it, wanting to find her mother.
Mhari wasn't in the house and neither was Alex, so Tamara went searching in the yard. The day was warm, the sun casting light rays that pleasantly brushed her face. There was no breeze to interrupt the heat. A multi-coloured crow squawked overhead, swooping to the ground; a speeder passed by the farm. Voices, muffled and quiet, whispered from the garage, catching Tamara's attention. She walked toward the sounds, but hesitated a few feet from the open door, the words clear from the short distance.
"I should have known," Mhari sounded angry with herself. "I should have recognized him."
"It all happened a long time ago; you can't expect to remember everything," Alex replied, almost chiding his wife. "Besides, knowing wouldn't have stopped what happened from happening."
"We should have told Tamara, Alex. We should have told them both."
"Why? What difference would it make? It's safer for them not knowing. Can you imagine what would happen to that boy if the Empire suspected what we do?"
"I don't think it would be any worse than the situation he's already in; and it may save him from execution." Mhari's voice was sad, not hopeful, as she said the words.
Tamara took a step back from the garage, not daring to stay any longer, her mind in turmoil. Why should her mother have recognized Luke? What had happened a long time ago? What should she have been told? Who, or what, was Luke? Question after question sprang to her mind as she raced back to the house.
What was it that could save Luke's life?
Mhari turned at the sound of running footsteps and caught a glimpse of her daughter's back as the girl disappeared into the house. She looked back at Alex. "She heard," she told him.
ooOOoo
Bower stepped reluctantly from the elevator and entered the detention block. He glanced nervously around the large, oppressive hallway before reporting to the bored desk officer.
"Medical Captain Bower. What's the problem?"
The officer gestured up the corridor. "Self-inflicted injury in maximum security."
Surprise played over the big medic's face. "The Rebel?"
The officer nodded.
Bower thanked him and lifted his medical pack. He started down the corridor between the numerous blank doors that led into the small dark cells. He shivered as he imagined the occupants of those tiny holes, human and alien spirits locked away, languishing in despair, waiting for the miracle release or praying for the freedom of death. His boots echoed on the walkway, the sound hollow and empty, like the souls of those who designed this place. As a medic, this prison was against everything Bower lived and practiced. And, like any other medic, he abhorred the duty of patching up a prisoner for another session of interrogation.
He reached the observation chamber and palmed open the door. He grinned a false smile of calmness as he entered the room, and threw a greeting to Byron's partner who was lounging with his feet up on the console desk. "Hi Kasden, if Dassu catches you relaxing on duty he'll bust you."
Kasden laughed. "I think he's finished for today."
"Thank the gods," Byron mumbled.
The older technician chuckled louder. "That's probably what the Reb's thinking."
"Speaking of whom..." Bower interceded, before an argument could begin. "How is he?" He glanced up into the view screen, immediately spotting the pathetic figure fixed to the wall with head hanging forward and blood trailing down his arms; a low moan rose from the cell.
"His life signs have levelled out; they're still weak, but steadier," Byron reported.
"Good. Now, who's going to have the honour of helping me with him?" Bower raised his eyebrows with the question.
Byron stood. "Kasden's relaxing, so I'll help; wouldn't want to make him break the habit of a life time…" He grinned at his jibe, but the humour failed to reach his eyes.
"Suits me," Kasden yawned as Jared and Bower left the room.
ooOOoo
Darkness, loneliness, pain.
Luke's muscles contracted and shivered; he groaned, giving vent to his misery. He floated on the penumbra of consciousness, bewildered by real and imagined images. They danced together in his head as he struggled to sharpen his senses. Figures and scenes intermingled, one superimposed upon another, like a faulty holograph. Water swirled, shots burst around him, sand-vipers struck, lowen snarled, a syringe pierced, laughter was joined with screams. His muscles contracted painfully and he groaned.
"Ahana," he thought he heard himself whisper. "It's Ahana." But no sound escaped his lips. He was totally oblivious to the door opening and Jared and Bower stepping down into the room.
"You can release the cuffs, Kasden," Bower called handing his pack to Byron, and he caught the Rebel as he slumped forward and carried him to the bench. The boy struggled weakly, protesting the touch. Gently, the medic laid his patient on the cold bunk and took his case from Jared.
"Hallucinogenic?" he asked, fishing out the required equipment, a small cauterising unit.
Byron nodded. "Phentroxalene."
The captain frowned. "Strong stuff," he noted.
"Dassu made him think his cell was flooding," the technician put forward, watching Bower's reaction.
The medic shuddered; coming from a desert planet had not given him a love of water. He took the Rebel's arms, turning them as he examined the wounds - also noticing the various puncture wounds where the droid had injected him. He grimaced at the gashes around the wrists that still leaked blood. "He did this?"
Byron sat on the bunk, holding the Rebel still. "Yeah," he exhaled, flinching back from the stench of sweat and blood and fear that rose from the prisoner. "He pulled against the cuffs."
Bower suppressed the sickness he felt, knowing it wasn't unusual for a subject to mutilate himself in an attempt to escape the hallucinations. He worked fast and proficiently, cleaning the injury of blood before he reached for the cauteriser. At the first touch of heat, the Rebel shrieked and bucked, trying to pull free from their grip.
"Take it easy." Bower fought to reassure and still his patient. "I'm trying to help."
"Don't hurt me… please! I…don't…can't…" The plea was slurred, stilted by the effects of the drugs.
Bower glanced at the Rebel, knowing eye contact would help calm the fright. "It's okay," he said kindly to the half-lidded eyes. "Just you…" He broke off, staring in shock at the hazy blue irises that were fixed on his own darker brown ones. He looked at the bloody, sweaty, tired face. "Sweet Suns!" he whispered, reaching up to brush wet blond hair from the younger man's brow, for a better look at the puzzled features.
"Is something wrong?" Byron asked.
His companion's words drew Bower from his shock; he glanced nervously at the technician and shook his head. "This whole place is wrong," he said quickly, trying to cover his surprise. Determinedly, he lifted the cauteriser again. "Hold him, Jared," he ordered, and applied the heat once more.
"Tank?" the Rebel questioned; and then yelled again.
Byron strained to hold the boy down. He watched his friend closely, puzzled by the medic's reaction. He had never seen Bower so edgy before.
The cries stopped, to be replaced by soft little breaths of pain, as Bower finished closing the wound. Again, the Rebel turned to the medic. He reached out, trying to gain his attention. "Tank, please…"
"Bower?" Jared asked, confused.
The captain ignored the questioning voice. "He's delirious. He'll be like this for a while." He spoke shortly, stiffly. "They gave him too much of a powerful drug; it's a wonder they didn't kill him." Gently, but still firmly, he applied a dressing.
Hope filled Luke as he heard the familiar deep voice that chased away the dreams. This was real. Tank was real. He had to be. This wasn't a vision to confuse and frighten him. Tank was Biggs's friend, Tank was his friend. They had planned to go to the Academy together - before Uncle Owen had said no. Tank would help him. Tank had to help him. He had to explain what was happening. "Tank, they wanted me to… to tell."
Tank ignored Luke's words, his heart hammering. "He's hot, running a temperature. Help me turn him over."
Jared manoeuvred the youth's hips and Bower turned him by the shoulders and pushed the Rebel's head forward to get a clear view of the control unit. The medic gently probed the swollen, crusted wound around the small metal disc and pus popped free.
"Tank…." the prisoner murmured.
"This is infected," Bowered stated with some anger. "You're meant to monitor his vitals; couldn't you tell he was fevered?"
"Dassu didn't consider it important."
"When did he last have some fluids?"
"Several hours ago."
Bower brought his pack closer and drew out a vial and hypo syringe. "I'm gonna give him an antibiotic, and set up a re-hydrate pack."
"Dassu…."
"Dassu needs him alive, leave him like this and he'll die!"
Jared frowned at Bower's fury. "Sure, whatever you say, Bower."
They turned the boy onto his back.
Tank filled the syringe and lined up a vein that was already pock marked and bruised from numerous injections, he glanced at the younger man. "Luke, I'm going to give you shot; it won't hurt you, okay? It'll help."
"Tank…" Luke's voice was a whisper. "Help me… please…"
Bower slipped the needle into Luke's arm, administering the dose of antibiotic and then cleared the vial away. He fix the re-hydrate pack to Luke's limb and set up the auto-feed to deliver the right amount of nutrients, fluid and electrolytes into his young patient's blood stream.
"Tank," Luke mumbled again, his eyes closing. There was something he needed to say, something he had to tell. "Tank… Biggs… He…Biggs…was… Tank…Help me…"
Bower packed his gear away, trying not to take any heed of the Rebel's words. He stood and washed his hands at the faucet, shook them dry, and picked up his case.
"Tank…"
"Bower?" Jared stared at the Rebel, then at the captain.
The medic motioned to Jared to leave the cell and then followed, glancing back one last time before the door closed.
"Tank… don't leave me!"
The door slammed shut, cutting off any more pitiful protests.
"You know him," Byron challenged the medic, the moment the door shut them off from the sound sensors in the cell. He leaned against the corridor wall, studying his friend. "Don't you?"
"How could I possibly know him?" Bower's face was blank, a wall hiding everything. It was a practice he had learned, being a medic.
Jared persisted. "He called you 'Tank'; he knows you."
Bower shrugged. "He must have heard you call me that. You have to remember he's drugged, he…"
"I never said your name," Jared interrupted, still digging. "And you called him 'Luke'." He pointed out.
Bower's back was up; he was fighting for an excuse. "No.… I said 'look" with a double 'o'. I was surprised - like you were - at how young he is; that doesn't mean I know him."
"You're from Tatooine," Byron stated.
"So?"
"So's he."
"That doesn't mean a thing!" Bower exploded, using anger to get away from the prying questions. "What are you trying to do? Implicate me as a Rebel?"
"No, of course not; but I…"
"That's all right, then," he said, now dismissing the incident. "Just watch his signs. But you can tell Dassu he'll need to give him at least twenty-four hours before the next session." He stared at the cell door for a moment, and then glanced back at Byron. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to attend to." Woodenly, he turned on his heels and strode quickly down the corridor.
Byron watched his back recede, and then joined Kasden. He threw himself into his seat. Reaching to his console, he switched off the sound system, not wanting to listen to the prisoner weep.
"What's wrong with the medic?" Kasden asked, scratching his nose. "He looked like he was spooked in there."
Byron gazed at the hunched body on the bunk; the boy still reminded him of Sam and he just couldn't shake that first image off. "Maybe he was," he whispered, leaving Kasden perplexed.
ooOOoo
Tank threw his gear into his locker and slammed the door closed. He punched the metal panel, giving vent to his anger and ignoring the pain he caused himself. Then he leaned against the locker, massaging his knuckles.
"You know him, don't you?" Byron's accusing voice echoed in his mind.
"Tank - don't leave me!" Luke's voice begged.
He crossed his small room and sank onto the bed, letting his head fall into his hands. How did Skywalker get to Irlam? How did Skywalker become a Rebel? The last time he had seen Luke was before he and Biggs left for the Academy, over four years ago. And now Luke was a Rebel.
Tank shook his head, smiling slightly at the irony of someone once so set on going to the Imperial Academy, turning out to be a Rebel. He lifted his head and stared at the blank screen of his computer console, then glanced away, denying his curiosity. But the grey screen demanded his attention. He rose from the bed and seated himself before the computer. He heaved in a breath and switched it on tapping in his request.
The activated screen cast a hazy, flickering green light over his face as it searched its banks. Then set up the list of known Rebel Alliance personal he had asked for.
"What the hell?" Tank jumped at the familiar name at the top of the list, again his heart hammered in his chest as his eyes stared at the name; Luke Skywalker.
What had Luke done to merit such attention? His fingers tapped quickly over the keys and the picture Luke used to carry on his ID appeared on the screen, and a blurb, giving Luke's name, birth date, guardians and planet of origin. Then more information, which Tank paused on the screen:
Known Alliance Rank: Lieutenant
Wanted alive for the offences of treason, murder and for the destruction of Imperial property.
Approach with caution – subject reported to possess Jedi Abilities.
Report live apprehension directly to Lord Vader.
Tank read and reread the information in disbelief. Luke was Jedi? Luke was wanted by the Sith Lord himself. Alive!
He relaxed into his chair and flicked off the computer. A small smile flickered over his lips. He wanted off this Rim-world. Luke was here. Vader wanted Luke, and only he knew who Luke was. Bower's smile widened, as unexpected opportunities seemed to beckon before him.
"Tank—don't leave me..."