Part 1 of an old Star Wars story I was writing years ago
Found this on my PDA and had forgotten I was even writing this. I'm not sure I should post the rest, but here's part one.
One Week Before the Battle Of Yavin
"Enough," he rumbled, as the cell door rolled open, revealing three troopers and a figure pinned beneath them. The men tore themselves reluctantly from the prisoner, re-fastening their uniforms hurriedly and standing to alert. None of them spared a glance for the bruised and bloody bundle that lay unmoving on the floor of the detention cell. The only indication that the figure was a person was her face. Remarkably, despite the beatings and the various forms of torture that had been inflicted upon her, her face was unmarked. Perhaps Tarkin believed he could force her to transmit a message renouncing the rebellion. Tarkin was a fool. She would die first.
"Send down a medic unit, then leave us." His voice betrayed nothing of the fury he felt with the prisoner's obdurate refusal to spare herself this treatment, and the disgust at the depths to which both the troopers and Tarkin seemed more than willing to descend in order to force her co-operation. He was aware that the three men believed he wanted to take his turn with the prisoner in private. The idiots could not comprehend that even if he had either the capability or the inclination, it was futile at the moment. Every time the pain and terror became too much she retreated deep within herself to a place where even his casual attempts to touch her mind were rebuffed.
He didn't understand why his Master tolerated such fools. Their disrespect for the power of the Force was blatantly obvious. If he had been given the opportunity to use it to extract the information from her in the first place, he was sure the rebel base would already be nothing more than rubble. Instead they had wasted days injecting her with drugs, cutting her, raping her, beating her to no avail. For one so young and delicately built she had an unusually high tolerance for pain. But although her ability to withstand such treatment was astonishing, he knew she would not be able to resist his forcible intrusion into her mind.
"Without proper treatment some of these injuries will not heal properly," the medic informed him timidly.
"That is irrelevant. Your only concern is to see that she lives long enough to tell us what we need to know. After that she will be executed. Scars are the least of her worries."
"Yes, Lord Vader," the man cowered.
At least he realized the power of the Sith. "For now I just need her conscious and coherent."
"Yes, my lord."
He watched as the man injected yet another drug into the prisoner's blood stream. Within minutes she began to regain consciousness. Her head lifted and she looked around her like a child waking from a bad dream, uncertain of her surroundings. Slowly her eyes focussed on him. Her expression changed. Gone was the confused child. In her place was the defiant, determined princess who reminded him far too much of someone who had also been courageous and regal beyond her years.
An odd sense of déjà vu washed over him, followed closely by burning rage. It was all he could do not to choke the life out of her right then and there. How dare she look at him like that, taunting him with ghosts that should have been dead and buried long ago? With supreme effort he controlled the rage, preparing it for a better use. "Leave us," he growled at the medic. "Now, princess, the time for games is at an end. This can be over quickly, or slowly, but I will have that information."
"I don't think so," she smirked at him, despite the weakness of her voice.
With a snarl of rage he lunged toward her, pinning her head between his hands with enough pressure to hurt. She squirmed, but could not free herself. Using his anger he pushed his mind into hers, ignoring the startled gasp, the frantic effort she made to free herself from his grasp. His consciousness bored into hers, trying to find a way into the secret areas, the parts she carefully shielded. But even as he channelled all his rage into the task of breaking through her walls he realized it was pointless. The harder he pushed the stronger her walls seemed to become. How could she possess such power?
Disgusted he released her. She slumped back to her bunk, exhausted, once more just a wilful child. But still his anger burned … burned … The thought tempted him. Burn her. Burn away the resemblance. Tarkin be damned. Burn her and put out those eyes that told him he was just as much a monster inside as he appeared to be.
One Week Before the Battle Of Yavin
"Enough," he rumbled, as the cell door rolled open, revealing three troopers and a figure pinned beneath them. The men tore themselves reluctantly from the prisoner, re-fastening their uniforms hurriedly and standing to alert. None of them spared a glance for the bruised and bloody bundle that lay unmoving on the floor of the detention cell. The only indication that the figure was a person was her face. Remarkably, despite the beatings and the various forms of torture that had been inflicted upon her, her face was unmarked. Perhaps Tarkin believed he could force her to transmit a message renouncing the rebellion. Tarkin was a fool. She would die first.
"Send down a medic unit, then leave us." His voice betrayed nothing of the fury he felt with the prisoner's obdurate refusal to spare herself this treatment, and the disgust at the depths to which both the troopers and Tarkin seemed more than willing to descend in order to force her co-operation. He was aware that the three men believed he wanted to take his turn with the prisoner in private. The idiots could not comprehend that even if he had either the capability or the inclination, it was futile at the moment. Every time the pain and terror became too much she retreated deep within herself to a place where even his casual attempts to touch her mind were rebuffed.
He didn't understand why his Master tolerated such fools. Their disrespect for the power of the Force was blatantly obvious. If he had been given the opportunity to use it to extract the information from her in the first place, he was sure the rebel base would already be nothing more than rubble. Instead they had wasted days injecting her with drugs, cutting her, raping her, beating her to no avail. For one so young and delicately built she had an unusually high tolerance for pain. But although her ability to withstand such treatment was astonishing, he knew she would not be able to resist his forcible intrusion into her mind.
"Without proper treatment some of these injuries will not heal properly," the medic informed him timidly.
"That is irrelevant. Your only concern is to see that she lives long enough to tell us what we need to know. After that she will be executed. Scars are the least of her worries."
"Yes, Lord Vader," the man cowered.
At least he realized the power of the Sith. "For now I just need her conscious and coherent."
"Yes, my lord."
He watched as the man injected yet another drug into the prisoner's blood stream. Within minutes she began to regain consciousness. Her head lifted and she looked around her like a child waking from a bad dream, uncertain of her surroundings. Slowly her eyes focussed on him. Her expression changed. Gone was the confused child. In her place was the defiant, determined princess who reminded him far too much of someone who had also been courageous and regal beyond her years.
An odd sense of déjà vu washed over him, followed closely by burning rage. It was all he could do not to choke the life out of her right then and there. How dare she look at him like that, taunting him with ghosts that should have been dead and buried long ago? With supreme effort he controlled the rage, preparing it for a better use. "Leave us," he growled at the medic. "Now, princess, the time for games is at an end. This can be over quickly, or slowly, but I will have that information."
"I don't think so," she smirked at him, despite the weakness of her voice.
With a snarl of rage he lunged toward her, pinning her head between his hands with enough pressure to hurt. She squirmed, but could not free herself. Using his anger he pushed his mind into hers, ignoring the startled gasp, the frantic effort she made to free herself from his grasp. His consciousness bored into hers, trying to find a way into the secret areas, the parts she carefully shielded. But even as he channelled all his rage into the task of breaking through her walls he realized it was pointless. The harder he pushed the stronger her walls seemed to become. How could she possess such power?
Disgusted he released her. She slumped back to her bunk, exhausted, once more just a wilful child. But still his anger burned … burned … The thought tempted him. Burn her. Burn away the resemblance. Tarkin be damned. Burn her and put out those eyes that told him he was just as much a monster inside as he appeared to be.