The floor was cold inside the containment field. The prison was large enough for the human trapped within it to lay down but not large enough for her to lie comfortably. She slept restlessly and woke every time her body connected with the field. A shift of the foot and pain lanced up her leg, a shift of an arm and her hand went numb. Her hair, once long even in its topknot, was now a mess of burnt ends from its contact with the force field around her.

Qatya was in pain, not just from the effects of the cell, but also from the torture to which her Sith captors subjected her. Her captors did not believe that she was no longer a Jedi, no longer able to feel the Force. It has been years since she was exiled from the only family she'd ever known. As far as the Republic was concerned, she was nameless; she was the Exile.

Her spirit was not broken yet, although she'd been within the not-so-gentle clutches of the Sith for over two standard weeks. She'd been subjected to mind-numbing drugs to see if she would give any of the secrets of the Jedi while under the influence. She'd also been Force choked until she passed out, Force wounded until she thought her bones would pop out of her body irregardless of the skin and muscle covering them and burnt with lightsabers over nerve-heavy areas of her body.

All this torture, however, just fueled Qatya's resistance to their questioning. She tried as best she could to turn the pain inwards and use it to block their forays into her mind. Qatya concentrated on the pain, not on the past she wanted to forget or the hope for a future. There was more than enough pain for Qatya to use.

At this moment, though, Qatya was not thinking about the pain. Instead, she was cursing quite fluently in a myriad of languages. The target of her ire was her captors and her own part in getting captured.

"Stupid idiot", she muttered, "you just had to trust Weendu. Weendu won't betray you, yeah right. Weendu has a can't-be-beat delivery, yeah. Weendu is an honest guy, you can trust him. I am such an idiot. Why would I trust a glitter biter? Sithspit, all they had to offer him was some spice and he would've rolled over on his mother, let alone one of his smugglers." With an irritated huff, Qatya turned onto her back and looked up at the top of the cell. To keep her muscles from atrophying, she started to kick them in circles towards the ceiling.

"This deal just can't be beat. With the amount of money Weendu is paying you, you can afford the possibility of discovery that you're heading into Republic space. It's been so long since you've been there, the Jedi have probably forgotten about you. Besides, Malak was killed years ago, so it's not like there are any Sith out there that would remember you from your war days. What a line of crap, Qatya, did you really believe that? This is what you get for trusting someone." After muttering the last line, the doors to the cellblock opened and a Sith soldier stepped through into the room.

"Your food is here. Don't try anything stupid or I'll have to take care of you." He smiled as he spoke the last. Qatya could tell he looked forward to "taking care of her". His specialty was the use of drugs and Qatya could attest to the fact that he was good at his job.

The food looked disgusting. It was a runny sludge that couldn't possibly be edible. Qatya refused the food with a shake of her head. She hadn't eaten in a week, ever since they'd switched her rations to this sludge. The soldier left it on the floor outside her cell and walked away.

"Ugh, how they expect me to eat that crap, I'll never understand. Man, I'm rank smelling. I know I'm a prisoner and all but the least they could offer me is a shower or something. I can't be too pleasant to torture, after all, what with this smell."

Qatya stood up and started to stretch. She needed to be in shape for her escape, whenever the chance came. Her ship, a small Corellian freighter named the Expatriation in acknowledgement of her status, had been destroyed when she was captured. She felt a bit of pain for the loss of the ship. That ship had been with her ever since she was exiled from the Jedi. It had carried her throughout the Outer Rim and a little beyond it. She'd seen worlds that didn't have names, smuggled goods that the Republic had never seen and interacted with aliens that had barely heard of Basic, let alone spoke it.

As she bent down and folded her hands under her feet, her cell was rocked back and forth. The ship quickly shook again, almost as if it were under attack. The sound of running feet could be heard outside the cell as Qatya tried to find a place to brace herself from flying into the painful barriers. She'd never missed the Force as much as she did right now.

The lights flickered off. For a brief second, the force field shorted out. Qatya took advantage of her opportunity and leaped out of the cell. She landed well away from the dish of slop sliding from side to side across the floor. The lights flickered back on and Qatya punched in the code she'd memorized from her guards' exit from the room.

The door slid open, thankfully the hallway was empty. Qatya did not waste any time racing down the hallway looking for a shaft leading to the landing bay. With luck, she'd be able to steal a ship of some sort and get out of here alive and without detection. As she escaped, she had to balance stealth with speed, a daunting prospect with the wounds that were scattered across her body.

With a start, Qatya realized that she was still in her skivvies as she ran. This brought a smile to her face and a chuckle escaped. With her burnt hair, oozing wounds all over her body and charred skin, she was not looking her best.

The lights flickered again as the auxiliary power kicked in, leaving Qatya momentarily disoriented. She blinked quickly and ran on, further into the Sith ship. Her luck ran out as she came to a busy intersection of soldiers.

Qatya reached down to take her vibroblades by route. With a sigh and a disgruntled push at the hair that slipped out of her topknot, she ducked into a room. The sound of the door must have been louder than she thought as soldiers burst into the room. Qatya froze in the center of the room.

"What is this? Who are you?" The soldier addressing her must not have been down to the prisoner area.

"I'm the new Sith leader and I'm taking control of this ship, hand over your weapons and kneel in front of me." Her Jedi Masters had always said her mouth was going to get her in trouble one day, it was nice that she was still proving them right after all these years.

"You are the Jedi prisoner! Men, get her!" Qatya looked around for something she could use as a weapon. Her eyes alighted on a small sculpture sitting on the edge of the desk beside her. With a quick snap of her arm, she threw the sculpture at the soldier closest to her. After a satisfying clang against the helmet, the poor piece of artwork dropped to the floor. The soldier quickly followed suit.

Qatya grabbed his blade and turned towards the rest of the closing Sith. She parried and thrust to the best of her abilities. Unfortunately, the lack of nourishment and movement, in addition to her injuries, hindered her and she was eventually over-powered. The blade was knocked out her hand.

With cruel eagerness, the soldiers twisted her arms behind her and kicked her legs out from under her. She hit the ground hard with her knees. She did not stay in that position for long, however, as her head was pushed to the ground. A booted foot stepped on her neck and held her in position.

"A surprisingly good escape attempt for a Jedi, I applaud your fortitude." A smirking voice from above addressed her.

"When are you idiots going to listen to me? I'm not a Jedi! I haven't been for years. Does no one here understand the concept of exile?" The foot pressed harder into her neck and her words were cut off due to lack of oxygen.

"I doubt the veracity of your words. I'd love to stay here and verbally spar with you, but we are under attack and I must see to the battle. You two, stay with her. If she escapes, you will find yourself in a torture field beside her." The boots in front of Qatya's face snap-turned away from her and disappeared from sight. The door hissed open and shut.

"So, guys, what's going on out there? Who's attacking us?"

"Shut up, Jedi." Qatya rolled her eyes. She stayed on the ground, with a boot on her neck for what seemed to be an eternity. The sounds of blaster fire in the hallway outside the room brought her newest set of captors to alert. The boot lessened the pressure on her neck as the duo pulled their blasters out and stood ready.

When the door slid open, she couldn't help but flinch as blaster fire was exchanged and voices shouted. When a heavy body fell on her, Qatya sighed. A second body soon followed and Qatya felt a spray of blood across her face.

"This is really not my day, my week or my month, is it? All for a stupid load for that slimeball Weendu. Never again, Qatya, never again will I trust a glit biter."

"Is there someone under there? Ma'am?" A voice called out in Basic. The voice sounded concerned but wary.

"Yeah, just me, stuck under these bodies. You guys aren't going to torture me too, are you?" The weight of the bodies on her back lessened and Qatya was helped to her feet. She blushed as she saw the group of soldiers in Republic gear standing in front of her. She was still dressed only in her skivvies.

"We're taking you to the Harbinger. Don't try anything." Qatya nodded her acquiescence and marched with the soldiers surrounding her. The sounds of blaster fire still occasionally rang out from somewhere in the ship. Resistance to the Republic forces was slowly being diminished.

All too soon, Qatya saw the inside of yet another force cage. This one had a warmer floor than the other one. Qatya sat down and waited for someone to come interrogate her. It'd been years since she'd been in Republic space and she wasn't sure what to expect. When she'd left, the Republic had just finished the war with the Mandalorians. The soldiers she'd commanded and the galaxy she knew had changed, in part due to her old compatriots Revan and Malak. She'd heard through the galactic rumor mill that Malak had been killed by Revan but the rumor mill was low on information regarding Revan.

A man in a crisp uniform stepped into the room. The field around Qatya turned off as he keyed in a command on the control console.

"I apologize for the care you have received so far while with the Republic forces. We cannot be too sure of the Sith. They have attempted to trick us with false captives previously and we weren't sure if you were truly a captive of the Sith or not."

"What makes you so sure I'm not a Sith here to infiltrate your group?" Qatya could not resist asking the question.

"We've retrieved the holovids of your, err, questioning at the hands of the Sith, Master Jedi."

"I'm not a Jedi."

"Sure, I understand completely. We have clothing for you. It should be delivered shortly. Would you care for food or drink?" Qatya nodded and the man issued an order through his comlink.

The door slid open and an odd looking protocol droid bearing a box with a tray of food on top entered.

"Statement: These garments should fit you." Qatya nodded her thanks. She quickly pulled on the tunic and pants from the box. The clothes were a little baggy but considering that she had nothing to her name right now, she'd take what she could get.

The food looked normal. It wasn't the runny sludge that portrayed itself as food on the Sith ship. Instead, it was normal military rations. Qatya quickly downed the tray and drank the entire liter of water. The man in uniform, as he had yet to give Qatya his name, looked on with a bemused expression on his face.

"Would you care for more? We would be happy to provide it for you." Qatya smiled and nodded.

"I haven't eaten in a week, or at least I think it was a week. It could have been more, it could have been less." The man nodded his understanding. He issued another order on his comlink. The same droid shortly entered with another tray of food.

"Statement: Your wounds look like the pain you.

"Concerned Query: Shall I arrange for treatment?" The protocol droid addressed his query to the man in uniform. He shook his head.

"I have a few questions first." The droid left the room. Qatya was again left with the man. She devoured the second tray of food and finally felt like she had energy to deal with the fiasco her life had become.

"Master Jed… err, Ma'am, what were you doing onboard the Sith Interdictor?"

"I was a prisoner. I was transporting some goods for an ex-friend of mine and the Interdictor" Qatya looked to the man and he nodded. "the Interdictor pulled me out of hyperspace. My ship was destroyed during my attempt to escape. I've spent about two weeks getting tortured and questioned by the Sith. Am I now to be tortured and questioned by the Republic? Things have changed, haven't they?"

"We would not torture one such as yourself." The man gave a benign smile. "I've been remiss in my manners. I am Commander Hardo Trask. I am with the Republic military as an Intelligence Officer. You are?"

"I am Exile." It still hurt to call herself that. As part of her exile from the Jedi, she lost the right to her name, her previous identity and the Force.

"Your name is Exile? I find that hard to believe." The man scratched his chin as he contemplated her response.

"I have no other name, not in Republic space. I am Exile." The knife in her heart twisted a little deeper. She still had not accepted the fact that the Council had forced her out of the ranks of the Jedi for going where she thought the Force wished her.

"Exile, do you know why the Sith captured you?"

"Commander, I have no idea. I'm a transporter of goods. I'm no one special. I haven't even been in Republic space in years."

"I shall leave it to the Admiral to explain to you." The man's wrist unit beeped and he excused himself from the room. Qatya stood and started to pace the area. Her burns itched. Without thinking, she scratched at one of them. With a hiss of pain, she yanked her hand away from the now intensely throbbing flesh on her upper arm. The man came back in and smiled at her.

"We have open quarters in the officer's wing. I will escort you to your room. Please, come with me." Commander Trask beckoned the Exile out of the room as he led the way through the maze of corridors. Qatya could feel the hum of the hyperdrive underneath her feet as they walked.

Finally, after Qatya was completely lost, they stopped in front of a room almost at the end of the corridor. The door glided open and the two walked into a comfortably sized room. In addition to the bed, there were a few footlockers and some chairs and tables in the seating area.

"The men, after finishing off the resistance on the Interdictor, found some items they suspect belong to you. They've taken the liberty of stowing the gear in that footlocker." Commander Trask gestured at the far footlocker. "I hope that you will be comfortable here. Some of your wounds look quite serious. If you will excuse me, I'll arrange for medical treatment for your wounds."

"Thank you, Commander." She couldn't stop the smart salute as the officer exited the room. He threw a startled look at her as he left. She sneered at herself.

"Couldn't help the military gestures, could you? You're not commanding people any longer, you idiot. Stop giving clues away. Great, now I'm talking to myself. I'd really prefer some intelligent conversation." The last made her laugh as she explored the room. She sat on the bed and gave it an experimental bounce. It was quite comfortable, especially compared to the cold hard floor she'd been sleeping on previously.

She found the chairs equally as comfortable as the bed. She grimaced as she looked in the mirror on the wall. Her face was covered in scabs and burns. Her topknot had fallen to the side and hair was quickly escaping. Her arms, what she could see of them outside of the tunic, were covered in burns also. Qatya sniffed the air. Yep, I'm rank, she thought to herself.

With a slight hesitancy to her steps, Qatya walked over to the footlocker. When she opened it, she was surprised to see her beloved armband nestled on top of her ruined clothing. The armband had been a gift from Revan for her valor in battle.

Without Qatya's brilliant strategies, the first battle of the war would have been lost. Dxun was a hard fought moon that had cost too many men and women their lives. Qatya dragged her thoughts away from the dour memories best forgotten and dug deeper in the box. She didn't find much else of interest.

She hissed in pain as she attempted to put on the armband. It was too tight, too close to the cuts, bruises and burns that decorated her entire body.

The door beeped a warning. As it slid open, it revealed the same protocol droid that had delivered her meals. It gave her a datapad.

"Statement: Here are the instructions for your medical treatment. Please be prompt." The droid gave her an odd look and left. Qatya looked at the datapad and then tossed it into the footlocker before closing the lid. The datapad instructed her to report for a tank dunking to heal all her wounds. She hated the taste that the tank left in her mouth, but it was the only way to truly heal all the damage from her "questioning sessions" with the Sith.

The medical bay was clean and the officer in charge was friendly. The same protocol droid was standing nearby as she disrobed.

"You sure get around, don't you?" Qatya tried to be friendly with the droid.

"Condescending Statement: I am only where I've been instructed to be." Qatya rolled her eyes and climbed into the tank. The medical officer keyed in a command into the console. The tank filled with the healing fluid. It tasted a little funny in Qatya's mouth. That was the last cognizant thought for Qatya as the poison took effect.

A/N: Just my interpretation of how Exile ended up on the Harbinger. Like it, don't like it... let me know.