Chapter 8:
A/N: Thank you so much to I love dance, Mireilles3, Forever-Luke, Treenahasthaal, and Glace96 for reviewing! Reviews are awesome : ) Anyway, this chapter is a bit long so it took me a while to edit. Hope you like it!
In some respects, fire-knives were inappropriately named. They weren't meant to cut, even if they were approximately blade-shaped. They weren't even hot in the normal sense of the word. But they did deliver high-voltage shocks that left painful welts to deep electrical burns, depending on duration of contact, on their victims – who were not often coherent enough to tell the difference electricity and fire.
Luke Skywalker was one of them. He was bound between two metal columns at the wrists and ankles, wearing only a pair of grey shorts ironically similar to the ones used in bacta immersion.
Each breath was agony, increasing the pressure on his battered ribs and shoulders, already straining from having to support his weight. He couldn't move his head much, but in the mirrored walls he could see the red lines and blood trickling down his face and chest, sharp against his white skin.
Luke inhaled in a shuddering gasp as the metal made contact again, slowly tracing the lower edge of his right shoulder blade to rest on his side. Folds of black chiffon filtered through his vision. His head dropped down, but he could dimly make out the interrogator's criminally unhurried voice drifting through his perception.
Luke felt his body involuntarily tremble as an infuser was pressed against his neck, followed by a deep, sharp, ache.
Almost immediately, he felt some of the haze clear away, but the shaking worsened. He wished it would stop. It was only giving them the wrong impression. It was cold, that was all, and he desperately needed to rest.
He could hear what the interrogator was saying now, or some of it, at least.
". . . plans for Bilbringi?" The interrogator stared at him expectantly. Luke had no idea why, as he certainly hadn't given them any reason to think that that particular question would be answered. He remained silent, unable to face the thought of concentrating hard enough to come up with anything coherent.
This was apparently not a major concern for the interrogator. He looked behind Luke and the fire-knife grazed his skin again. Luke felt his back arch as far as the restraints would allow as he gave another anguished gasp.
The interrogator raised his eyebrows. "Feel free to speak up."
It was no use saying anything, he told himself. It wouldn't stop anyway.
The interrogator was as calm as ever. "I'm sure you'll change your mind."
The last thing he saw before bright lightning covered his field of vision was Fel's face, pale and troubled against metallic strokes of color. He didn't look happy, for what it was worth.
Soontir Fel stared at the section of gleaming metal wall above Dr. Rengell's head. Doctor being used in the loosest possible sense, as he doubted Rengell was emotionally capable of healing anyone.
". . .methods of interrogation," Rengell was saying. "To say that Skywalker has continued to resist common forms of psychological, psychiatric, pharmacological, and physical interrogation would be technically truthful, though overly simplistic – "
"Oh, just call it torture," Fel snapped as his gaze swept downwards. "You don't need to boil it in honey for me."
Rengell gave Fel an annoyed look but continued. "Skywalker has exhibited numerous signs of weakening both emotionally and physically. For example – "
Fel resumed his staring as he tuned Rengell's voice out again. Luke hadn't thus far seen fit to share a single piece of information, but Rengell had the audacity to say that his imminent breaking was a sure thing?
Dr. Rengell shot him another irritated glance. "Baron Fel, I don't understand why you are so insistent that we have these ridiculous excuses for report sessions if you're not even going to listen."
Fel gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"
"It's obvious that you don't want to be here. You keep insisting that I use unpleasant terms like 'torture' and 'prisoner,' but whenever I go into any sort of detail whatsoever you look like you've swallowed a swarm of flitnats.
"It's furthermore clear that you have some moral objection to this interrogation. But don't you think it's a bit hypocritical to be condemning me for doing the dirty work while you sit here and watch?"
Fel let himself be drawn into the argument against his better judgment. "I recognize it as necessary and good for the benefit of the Empire, but I'm not enjoying it."
Dr. Rengell raised an eyebrow. "And you're under the impression that my idea of fun is watching Skywalker thwart me with every second of his resistance? Or are you telling me that you can do whatever you want, as long as you don't enjoy it? Force forbid that you base these things on the way the prisonerfeels."
Fel gave him an incredulous look. "Are you trying to preach to me about the treatment of prisoners?"
Rengell smirked at him. "I was merely trying to speak on your level. No, this doesn't particularly bother me. But you obviously don't like it, so why don't you try to stop it?" he asked curiously.
"If you're suggesting that I become a traitor to the Empire for the benefit of a Rebel, you're wasting your time."
Rengell's smile widened. "Well now, so it wasn't really about Skywalker, was it?"
How did they find out about me? Farsiria asked herself. The question pondered by most spies in her position, detained and facing the more intimidating end of a blaster.
Right before they died a fiery death.
Farsiria could see that Princess Leia and Wedge were accompanied by a woman she didn't know and a tall and physically imposing man that was obviously her interrogator. New Republic Intelligence might be above torture, but they certainly weren't above mind games.
There were only two feasible answers she could think of to that question. The first was that they had detected her computer programming manipulations, which was unlikely.
The second was that Wedge had given her away.
No, that couldn't be possible. As Farsiria took another quick glance at his face, it was obvious that as grim-faced as Wedge looked, he still didn't recognize her. And she doubted that he was capable of faking it that well.
After all, Farsiria thought, Wedge might have got the political sense of the family, but I inherited all the acting talent.
Might as well break the silence.
"I might be intimidating," Farsiria said in her usual not-quite-all-there tones, "But don't you think this is stacking the deck a bit?"
As white-hot flames enveloped him, Luke felt more than heard himself cry out as the room faded into a dim blur of red and chrome.
It could have been seconds or hours before he woke up – but he suspected it was probably closer to seconds.
Typically the most unreliable of the senses, sight was the first to go. After enough of the pain, his vision would blur together and reform itself into a dizzying array of red and green lines on black, a dissonant impression brushed onto stark metal.
It was ephemeral, fading away long before comprehension could occur. The contours would blur into elusive silhouettes as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
Hearing was next.
The harsh sounds of demanding voices and (as he vaguely recalled) a sudden cracking sound followed by splintering pain in his real arm faded to echoing resonance, eventually dissolving into a muffled blanket of dim vibrations.
Taste and smell left at about the same time. All there was to perceive was the impression of metallic blood, which trickled from his mouth and permeated his overloaded senses until he couldn't tell where it began and reality ended.
Touch, regretfully, never died away.
Injected drugs forced him back onto the side of consciousness and he dangled, suspended there by a cruelly thin thread in a crushingly endless cycle. The nauseating agony that had been slowly fading to ice started up again as Luke began to make out the interrogation room again. He listened to the faint, agonized sound of his own choked breathing as he fought to keep compressing and expanding broken ribs.
He began to dimly make out the sounds of someone's voice again. ". . . ose . . . auth . . . zation . . .just . . . another hour . . . ssion to be over . . . enough for the moment . . . this done now." And then nothing. Either he was dying (and strangely, his vision kept becoming sharper) or they had stopped for the moment.
Luke's vision had, sadly, progressed to the point of being able to perceive an ignited lightsaber slashed a blazing streak of viridian across his line of sight. He wondered if it were a hallucination. Since when did the Empire have lightsabers?
It moved up into his shoulder.
Guess not, Luke barely had time to think, before all avenues of rational thought were cut out from under him.
Soontir Fel entered the interrogation room.
A severely battered Luke was tied to a column in the center of the room, his body trembling with strain as electrical shocks were delivered by an electrojabber set on its lowest setting – which wasn't actually that low. Fel didn't even know if Luke was conscious; his eyes were closed, and his head hung limply down.
Fel looked away.
"I need to talk to you." He gestured brusquely at the interrogator, a middle-ranking Imperial whose name he didn't know.
The interrogator motioned for a subordinate to take over and stepped to the side with Fel. "What is it?"
"I have new orders for you," Fel said calmly. "I want the prisoner moved to bloc 7K3."
The interrogator raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"
"We're reconfiguring. You know how the Admiral is always on our case about efficiency and all that."
He nodded sympathetically. "I suppose that's authorization enough for me, then. If you'll just wait another few minutes for this session to be over. . ."
Fel gave a pointed glance towards Luke's direction. "That's enough for the moment. I want this done now."
The interrogator paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, sir; it's Admiral Talinia's orders. The prisoner is to be given no respite. You know how these Jedi are – start cutting corners and before you know it, they've conjured a blaster out of thin air and shot up the ship."
"He hardly looks capable of that," Fel said. But he had no choice, and in any case, how much would a few minutes matter?
"Feel free to stay, sir," the interrogator said. "I could explain the process to you. It's all about the drugs, really."
"Is that so?" Fel snapped.
The other didn't seem to notice his tone. "Yes, sir. There's two major ones we're using right now. The hallucinogens, and the anti-hallucinogens. The hallucinogens are used for, well, hallucinations."
There was a crackling sound, and Fel whirled around. The electrojabber had been turned up higher, and it was now forming a long arc of green light. Fel opened his mouth, irrationally, to stop him, but it descended into Luke's shoulder too quickly. He didn't make a sound – just slumped and went completely limp.
"A perfect example, sir. To us, it looks like an electrojabber. But to the prisoner, it's likely something different altogether. Like a turbolaser, or green lightning, or any thing else, really, made of green light."
"That's useful?" Fel asked coldly.
"That's where the anti-hallucinogens come in. You see, the hallucinations are useful for breaking the prisoner, but he'll obviously not be in a fit state to answer questions. When we use the anti-hallucinogens, the prisoner becomes more rational and able to communicate with us."
"All right, he's unconscious," Fel snapped, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Perfect time to move him without taking chances. I'll need a stormtrooper to come with me."
Whether it was the practicality of his argument or the look on his face, the interrogator did not protest. One of the subordinates hit the release button for the column restrains, and a stormtrooper moved forward.
Fel motioned for the stormtrooper to go ahead of him. He did so, half carrying, half dragging Luke. When they reached the intersection between the correct hallway and the docking bay, Fel pulled out his blaster and took aim.
In his right hand was a blaster, set on kill, which he had taken from one of the weapons rooms that as an officer he had access to. In his left was an injection of a certain anesthetic that had the fortunate side effect of wiping out its user's memory for two to three standard hours that he had swiped from medical bay.
A simple plan, but effective.
Luke was one the wrong side, it was true, but Fel had known him well all those years ago. He wondered what his younger self would have said if he had known that one day he would supervise the torture of his reckless, loyal, innocent friend one day. Fel knew this – Luke would never stand by and let this happen to him, even if the Rebels ordered it.
Luke would never reveal anything anyway. It was only ending his suffering a little faster.
The blaster was meant for Luke, but Fel had no intention of being caught murdering such an important prisoner. The stormtrooper would be hidden in a supply closet across the hall, with the drugs injected and no memory of Fel's crime. It would mean certain execution for him, but then, Fel was no longer a bleeding heart Rebel. What was a stormtrooper compared to Luke Skywalker?
He fired the blaster.
The shot was lined up perfectly. His skill and accuracy as a pilot and gunner were unmatched. But even a tech could make this shot, standing less than two meters away from the unconscious Jedi – an incredibly easy target.
Fel saw the red bolt of energy escape from his weapon, almost in slow motion, as if time and space were curving in . . . .
The stormtrooper crumpled to the ground.
For a moment, Fel just stood there in shock. It had been a perfect shot, he knew that it had. He glanced down at the blaster, realizing something highly important that had never occurred to him until that moment.
The blaster hadn't been calibrated. It shot left.
With enough time, certain types of blasters eventually lost their accuracy. This was easily rectified by getting them calibrated every so often – it was so simple and inexpensive that it was inconceivable that simple maintenance step would be skipped. Except, Fel realized, if they were stored in an out-of-the-way room accessed only by officers who prefer to purchase their own weapons anyway. He certainly did.
All of that was irrelevant. He had just shot a fellow imperial for no good reason, unless Talinia would accept the excuse that he missed while trying to kill her most important prisoner. He needed a new plan.
And he had one.
He jabbed the injection into Luke's arm and started dragged him into the docking bay.
As he powered up Admiral Talinia's private transport, the Frost Shadow, he took a moment to reflect on how lucky he had been.
It had taken him roughly two and a half minutes to stun the two guards, bypass the computers, and drag Luke into the ship's medical bay. It would to take another few to get the ship powered up enough to fly out of the Star Destroyer.
Of course, even if he could dispose of stormtroopers without being noticed for a few minutes, Fel knew that blasting off into spacewould be just a little more conspicuous. No, the Starkiller's turbolasers, ion cannons, and tractor beams were going to be up and blasting the moment he revealed himself.
Still, for the best pilot in the galaxy, it might be possible. Fel could truthfully say that the only person who could theoretically give him a run for his money was lying unconscious barely ten meters from him.
The display lights signaling that the Frost Shadow was ready to go winked on. He disabled the force field containing the docking bay and lifted off.
Almost immediately, energy blasts from the ion cannons began to paint the starlit panorama of space that surrounded the ships. Fel efficiently swerved and dodged as he worked towards delaying the Starkiller long enough for the navicomputer to finish. He had set it to plot a course to the closest civilized planetary system that was neutral in the fight between the Rebels and the Empire.
Pretty soon, Fel realized that if it didn't finish soon, there wasn't going to be anything left to make the jump with. Legendary pilot that he was, facing an entire deployed squadron of TIE fighters without backup was a challenge.
The alarms intensified as another glancing hit from one of the said TIE fighters impacted the ship's dying shields. The displays began to blink the message, "SHIELDS FAILING. SHIELDS FAILING. SHIELDS. . ."
"Yeah?" he yelled out in frustration. "I'll just stop getting hit, then!"
As a matter of fact, he didn't need to. Fel risked another glance at the navicomputer, and this time, it was actually fruitful. He dropped the pilot controls and lunged for the hyperdrive.
Three . . . two . . . one . . . .
The Frost Shadow's front viewscreen erupted into white streaks, and Fel knew that they had made it.
Syal Antilles, otherwise known as Farsiria Adanis, slumped against the wall of her cell. She was fatigued and miserable, but unquestionably relieved.
She had gone through all of NRI's interrogations revealing only information that wouldn't do too much damage. The New Republic was too civilized to torture spies, even for information on Luke Skywalker, but they hadn't been above using truth drugs and lie detection equipment.
Most people were not aware of the fact that truth drugs merely impaired the judgment section of the brain; with training such as Syal's, they were almost useless. The lie detection equipment was harder to overcome, but Syal used the tactic of rationalization and omission.
It was one of her habits, as an undercover agent, to organize her thoughts when she had a spare moment.
Number one. I told them that I'm really Syal Antilles, and that I'm spying for the Empire. The Syal part was unavoidable. One simple check of her features would reveal that information, and she would rather give it to them as a gesture of honesty and openness if it had to come out anyway – though harder to dismiss was the look she imagined would be on her brother Wedge's face when he found out that his sister was an Imperial spy.
The "spying for the Empire" part was technically true. She was spying. And even if she was doing it in the employ of a certain organization on Xandra, she was doing it for her husband, even if he didn't know it. Soontir Fel was most certainly a part of the Empire.
Number two. I told them that Luke Skywalker is on Xandra. That was the closest thing to a lie. Syal had focused a scenario that would, indeed, take Luke Skywalker to Xandra until she almost believed it. She had also told them that she knew exactly where he was on the planet's surface, but didn't know the precise name. Well, she knew where he would be if he were indeed on the planet's surface.
She made up some reassurances about how Admiral Talinia wanted to use his status as a political prisoner for at least a few standard months before she began any interrogation, being careful to phrase it so that it could be taken as speculation if they were paying attention. Which they weren't. Syal could see that Leia Organa Solo wanted to believe it so much that she, along with the rest of them, were practically tying the blindfolds themselves.
Number three. I admitted to setting Luke up for his capture. Organa Solo already knew that she did. She didn't know exactly how, but the Chief-of-State had mentioned the words "holocron" and "psychometry." Probably some forms of advanced technology that nobody was planning on enlightening her about.
That meant that NRI knew that she had trailed Luke Skywalker around for a few standard weeks, set him up to confront her the night before he left for Drinn Loekai's smuggler ship so she could slip a tracer on him, and physically follow him to the ship so she could betray him into the hands of another smuggler who presumably delivered him to the Empire.
And finally, number four. I sounded sufficiently naïve and clueless. After they gave her the antidote for the interrogation drugs, Syal had tried a story about how Coruscant was going to blow up if they didn't let her get to her ship and send a message to Admiral Talinia.
The NRI interrogator didn't buy it.
"Really," he had smirked. "You seem pretty calm for someone who thinks they're going to be space dust in ten standard minutes."
Still, the ploy had served its purpose. Hopefully they would underestimate her for her lack of subtlety in trying something so obvious, or for trying to make them underestimate her in such an unsubtle way. Either way, they could laugh about the fact that whatever she was trying to do; she was still in their cell.
They had furthermore asked her about a lot of other trivial details that wouldn't matter to anyone in the long run. But luckily for Syal, what they didn't ask her was if she was setting them up.
It was only a little while before General Solo yanked open her cell door and point a blaster at her.
"You're coming with me," he ordered, gesturing with the blaster.
"Why?" Syal asked, letting a note of uncertainty and panic creep into her voice.
"We're going to Xandra to find Luke," he said, as if it were obvious. Well, it kind of was.
"I said that I couldn't pick it off a map!" she protested, with just the right amount of whininess. In truth, it was difficult to keep from chortling with glee.
"That's what we've got the Force for," General Solo replied. "Now if you want to leave Coruscant—" He doesn't know how much— "Come on."
A/N: Next chapter: unfortunately, Luke's not out of hot water yet.