Author's Note: Here is where I start switching between Then and Now. Sorry for the late update. I was busy (damn you Minesweeper!).And I don't own Star Wars.

Question and Answer

Now…

Number 314 drifted in and out of consciousness. She listened to the soft thump of her heart, felt the rise and fall of her chest, and knew she was not dead. She even felt…comfortable. What new trick is this? Someone walked to her side—the soft footsteps pounded into her head—but she didn't open her eyes. Instead, she willed herself back into the blackness flickering at the edges of her mind. He can't find me there.

"Has she woken yet?"

"No—but she cries out in her sleep sometimes. Most of it is unintelligible, but occasionally she moans something about 'violet eyes' or someone named 'Amy.'"

"Can't you help her?"

"Physically—yes, she's recovering. But mentally…I don't know. Personally, I don't think she wants to wake up."

"Why not?"

"You saw how badly she was treated, Sgt. Knight. Would you want to face the world after that?"

"But she's safe now…"

"Does she know that? I don't think so."

"So…what can we do?"

"We need someone who can get inside her head and draw her out."

"But who…?"

"A Jedi."

The voices whispered through the air above her. They sounded so…different, like… Number 314 shoved the memories away, letting the voices fade into the rushing sound in her ears. Everyone with that voice dies.

Then…

"Name? …Name?"

"Amara Richards"

"Age?"

"19"

"Home planet?"

Amara chewed her bottom lip and glowered at the officer across the table from her in the Imperial equivalent of a bare-bulb interrogation room. The gray-walled room was sparsely furnished with only two chairs and a black slab that passed for a table and slid out of one of the walls. Sterile, white light glared from the ceiling. Behind her interrogator, a black plain of opaque glass glimmered—an observation booth.

"What is the name of your planet?" The officer rapped the table impatiently with his knuckles.

Amara had been shocked when she'd been hauled to her feet by a pair of stormtroopers who found her unconscious in the slave ship's cargo hold. All she could do was gape at them—she was dreaming, delirious, but a glimpse of the violet-eyed boy's body being kicked by another stormtrooper had thrown her back into reality. She'd known only two things in that moment: protect Amy, protect Earth. As far as she could remember, the Imperials were like high-tech Nazis—she could only hope she had fallen into their universe at the end of the movie.

"Planet?"

Lie…Amara struggled to remember any planet mentioned in the movies. Alderaan—blown up. Hoth—that was the ice planet right? Corascant…

A door hissed open, and Amara found herself staring into the impossibly light blue eyes—like a blind man's—of a middle-aged man in a white lab coat. He raised one corner of his thin mouth in a cool smirk and leaned across the table. Amara leaned away. "Perhaps number 314 doesn't know the name of her planet. Is that it?"

Amara pressed her lips into a thin line and glared at the newcomer—he had to have been watching from the black window. He was obviously in charge of this operation—he radiated cruel confidence.

"Well, if that's the case, can you at least describe where you lived or what the stars looked like, 314?"

"My name is Amara," she hissed.

"And I am Dr. Rave," the doctor countered, "but let me tell you something, number 314, I don't give a damn who you are right now. I want to know where you're from. Is that clear?" His grin widened menacingly.

"Crystal."

"Well…where is your planet?"

"Space."

"Where in space?"

"In a solar system somewhere in a galaxy," Amara replied with a sweet smile.

Dr. Rave glared back. "What is the name of your system's star?"

"Sun."

"What do you call your planet?"

"'Home'…sometimes 'World.'"

Dr. Rave rounded the table, his face livid, and grabbed her arm, nearly crushing it, and yanked her to her feet. Amara's smile wavered but she managed to keep it plastered on her face. "Perhaps your friend will be more willing to talk."

Amara paled. Amy.

The Doctor pressed a button on the wall. Four stormtroopers filed in. "Take 314 back to her cell." He glanced at Amara; his eyes glinted. "And make sure she has company."

Heads—human heads with their eyes rolled back in their sockets lined the walls of her cage, strung up by their hair…and she recognized them. Jake, Kat, Mendelssohn…Only the violet-eyed boy still stared straight ahead—straight at her. Amara huddled in the center of her cell, her knees brought up to her chest, her face in her hands. Don't tell them anything, Amy—don't tell them anything.

The sound of his own booted feet clacking across the spotless metal floor calmed Dr. Lucius Rave as he paced the laboratory, occasionally stopping to study the data scrolling across one of the large computer screens at the front of the room. Neither of the surviving humans had talked. The first one…she was smart. It would take much more than idle threats to coax any information out of her. The second, however, was so stupid all she could do was whimper and cry in response to his questions.

He'd almost killed 315 (he had no use for damaged specimens), but she'd kept asking for 'Amara.' He paused. Even damaged tools can prove useful. He continued pacing—he needed to find out where these humans came from. The navigation records on the Claw were pulverized, useless. Here I have two purebred humans from a world completely untainted by alien scum—and I can't find it. Though Dr. Rave would never admit it, even his genetic structure was corrupted by un-human components from ancestors who had been less than scrupulous in choosing their life partners. He had long ago given up hope of finding one untouched person in the galaxy. Now he had two, perhaps a whole planet full for the Empire to begin anew upon.

I punched a few buttons on the massive desk before the screens. A live feed from the security camera monitoring his new specimens filled every screen. He watched the tearful reunion of 314 and 315 with a dark smirk. I was right to let 315 live. She is the key.

Now…

Jonathan couldn't sleep so he wandered the halls of the space station, haunting the medical wing in particular. He had requested to see the entire holovid record Rave kept on Amara and been told he would have to wait until it could be fully processed by the Republic's War Crimes Commission. Now…he found himself standing outside her door. His hand hovered above the door controls a moment before he opened the door. Amara lay on her back, almost lost in the white sheets twisted about her waist; her pale skin appeared icy in the faint starlight glimmering into the room from the large rectangular window stretched across the length of the far wall. He went and stood beside her bed. Her eyes flickered behind her eyelids.

He took one of her thin hands in his own and pressed it gently. "Amara," he whispered leaning close to her ear. "Amara…"

Her head turned imperceptibly toward his voice, but she didn't open her eyes or answer