Author's Note: Fun Fact—part of this interrogation scene was inspired by a dream I had a while ago. Anyway, I don't own Star Wars, just my characters.

Oz

Then…

The second blow from the stormtrooper's fist knocked Amara to the ground, and a kick to her stomach made her gasp for breath. She curled into a ball, shielding her head with her arms. Tiny drops of blood splattered the metal floor. Her lip was bleeding. Somewhere, Amy was crying.

"Perhaps now you'd like to tell me the name of your planet, 314?" Dr. Rave asked.

Amara lowered her arms and risked a glance at the doctor. "I don't know, Doctor," she sneered, "that last blow to the head really disoriented me—I can't seem to remember anything. Do you think I have a concussion?"

A stormtrooper slammed his boot into her back—she heard ribs crack. Dr. Rave smiled down at her. "You are going to have to learn when to shut up."

"Do you enjoy contradicting yourself? Just a moment ago you wanted me to…" Amara was cut off by another blow to her stomach—for an endless minute all she could do was cough. Finally, she wiped her mouth, and her hand came away bloody. Out of the corner of her eye, Amara caught a glimpse of the doctor's smirk and, beyond him, Amy cowering in the center of three stormtroopers and cradling her left arm.

Dr. Rave noticed the glance. He nodded to the stormtroopers surrounding 315, and one of them punched the girl in her injured arm. She screamed. Dr. Rave turned his gaze back to 314 who was trembling with rage. "Want to change your attitude, number 314?"

"Bite me," Amara spat.

"Eventually perhaps," he replied, raking his cold eyes up and down her figure, before again signaling to the stormtroopers surrounding Amy. A sharp uppercut snapped her head back, and Amy fell onto her back—the stormtroopers continued kicking her.

"You bastard." Amara lashed out at the doctor but was stopped by a blow to the back of her head. Her vision blurred, and her ears rang with Amy's sobbing screams.

"That's technically incorrect, 314—my parents were married."

Amy's screams disintegrated into desperate gasps and moans. Amara flinched at the dull thud of a boot striking flesh. She glared at the doctor. "Stop it." Her voice sounded more pleading than she liked.

"Not so brave when it's someone else's life, are you?" Dr. Rave met her glare. "You stop it: tell me what I want to know."

Amara's chest tightened, and she could feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Amy lay still. "I'll tell you if you leave Amy alone," she whispered, her green eyes never leaving his blue ones.

Dr. Rave grinned. "Done." The stormtroopers instantly ceased their assault and picked up Amy's limp body.

"Where are they taking her?" Amara demanded.

"She'll get some medical attention, and then she'll be returned to her cell. Forget her." He offered Amara a hand, but she stood up by herself, ignoring the pain lashing through her body and a wave of nausea. Dr. Rave couldn't help being a little impressed. "This way," he said and guided her into his office. He shut the door behind them.

Amara collapsed into the chair the doctor offered her, and concentrated on keeping him in focus as he rounded the desk and sank into the chair opposite her. Her head pounded—it felt like a monster had climbed inside her skull and was busy raking its claws down the sides of her brain.

"Now," Dr. Rave said, steepling his hands on the metal desktop, "Where are you from?"

"Oz."

"Oz? Where is it?"

Amara felt a smile tugging at her mouth. "Not Kansas."

The doctor frowned. "Don't play games with me, 314."

"I'm not, sir," Amara said earnestly, "I'm from Emerald City."

Dr. Rave's eyes sparkled. This is it. "Emerald City on Oz—how do you get there?" Silence stretched between them. He clenched his hands.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road," Amara snorted, unable to contain her laughter any longer. For one glorious moment, she was able to forget where she was—tears rolled down her cheeks. Am I happy or sad? Brilliant or insane? Her broken ribs ground together painfully, but she didn't care.

Dr. Rave's face turned white and then a yellowish red. He stood stiffly, his entire body shaking, but Amara continued to laugh. "You'll regret that," he growled.

Amara giggled. "Will you get me?"

"Yes."

"And my little dog, too?" she shook with another fit of laughter. I've lost it. I'm laughing when I want to sob.

Dr. Rave strode to his office door and threw it open, barking at some stormtroopers to take 314 back to her cell. They dragged her from his office—she was still giggling. When she was gone, Lucius ran a hand through his short blond hair—he'd almost killed her; he'd wanted to with an unreasonable urgency. He couldn't afford to lose control, not with this specimen. He slammed his fist into the wall. But I will get her—her and her fucking dog.

"They went to Heaven, right?" Amy asked, weakly lifting her right hand to point to the rotting heads on the cell walls.

Amara sat cross-legged with Amy's head in her lap and stroked the girl's tousled brown hair. "Yes."

"Can God find us here?"

Amara smiled sadly down into Amy's worried face. She didn't believe in God herself, but… "I'm sure He knows where you are," she whispered.

"But then why doesn't He save us? Where is He, Amara?"

Amara recognized the note of faith breaking in the girl's voice. "He's here," she said, pointing to Amy's chest, "inside you."

"Inside me?" Amy gasped and tried to lift her head to look at herself as if she suspected she had just sprouted wings, but Amara held her down.

"He can only help you if you first help yourself, though. So don't give up and don't tell the evil men anything—we'll find a way to escape. I promise."

"How?"

"I don't know—now go to sleep. We'll see what tomorrow brings."

Amy sighed and closed her eyes. Amara stayed awake long after Amy's breathing became slow and regular, just listening to the footfalls of the night patrols and watching Amy's eyes flicker beneath their lids. Dream…Dream up a god… because tomorrow will be worse.

Now…

Marcus cuffed Jonathan's shoulder. "You're running yourself ragged, Sergeant. Ever heard of a break?"

Jonathan continued pounding his fists into the training dummy. He'd barely slept the past three days—instead throwing himself into drilling his team and working out between visits to Amara.

"You do know that you're on leave right?"

Jonathan spun and took a swing at Marcus's smiling face. Marcus dodged easily. Jonathan's shoulders slumped. "Leave me alone," he sighed and began to walk away, but Marcus stopped him.

"I know you're worried about that girl, Jonathan, we all are, but is this really the way to handle it? Are you helping her?" Jonathan refused to meet Marcus's eyes. "It's just not like you to act this way."

"You don't know what she's been through," Jonathan hissed, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Three days ago, he had seen the holovids that sick doctor had taken of Amara—all of them. He couldn't get the images out of his mind.

Marcus frowned at his friend—noticing the dark shadows under his eyes, the gaunt, haunted look of his face. "Just know that I'm here if you want to talk, okay?"

A spark of humor lit Jonathan's dark blue eyes. "About something serious?"

"Yeah, I know…me, serious." Marcus forced a laugh. "When's that Jedi supposed to arrive, anyway?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Yesterday."