Chapter Text
It didn’t take long for Chester to realize the sudden lack of clones. The men Tarkin had guarding her now they were in the detention facility were naval officers, natborns, and a scatter of the natborn Senate Guard. They were also all human–or so near to human her unfamiliar eye could tell no difference.
Interesting, she thought.
She’d been afraid of this since she arrived, getting vanished off into some black site by people intent on learning the Federation’s capabilities and weaknesses. Strangely, the actual realization of that fear wasn’t so bad. It was almost a relief to come to grips with the thing she’d dreaded so long.
To have it happen now, just when home and freedom were within her grasp? Made her angry . And she wasn’t a Jedi. She wasn’t the sort to restrain her anger. She wasn’t even the sort to apologize for it.
The Force suppressant drug they’d injected her with was adding an edge of vertigo and nausea to the world, which made her even angrier. She wanted to throw up or punch someone or, if Tarkin got into range, both.
They thought she was a Jedi. They were acting like she was a Jedi. But she wasn’t. For one thing, she was completely absent their sense of fair play, and for another, being cut off from the Force wasn’t going to upset her the way it was supposed to. She’d spent her career relying on her wits, her persuasiveness, and inadvisable but creative use of the technology around her. When all else failed, she’d always had friends to fall back on.
And this time was no exception. Ventress was out there, well paid and possibly also affectionate, and also totally innocent of Jedi decency. Her squad would be furious–maybe furious enough to break some rules. And Plo?
The thing that might restrain him would be the blowback on the Jedi Order should a direct confrontation with Republic Intelligence occur. But he certainly wasn’t someone Chester would want to make genuinely angry.
She had a feeling this might actually do it.
She glanced at the officers on either side of her, then down the corridor, and took a long breath. If this was going to happen, this is the best time and way it could have happened, she told herself. There was still a sharp feeling in her chest, her heart beating hard, her muscles tensing for pain, but she also knew it was true. She’d done everything she could have to prepare for this. It was either going to be enough, or it wasn’t. She was either going to figure out how to get out of this, or she was going to die.
It was just another Tuesday in Starfleet.
Well, it sounded brave enough in her head. She didn’t feel very brave right now. Mostly just nauseous, and really not looking forward to coming events. There was a temptation to kick herself for so obviously comprehensively pissing off Tarkin. She couldn’t have done a better job of it if she’d tried, and she’d not tried very hard to avoid it, which was, again, stupid, because she’d known damned well how dangerous he was.
She was in it now, and probably not walking away with all her own fingernails. If there was an upside to this debacle, it was that she’d get to tell him exactly what she thought of him to his face.
It was a thin fucking silver lining, but at least was something pleasant to think about.
“We are not the Separatists,” Tarkin was pronouncing as they led her into a cramped dark room, with a single vent high overhead. “The very brutality of their methods makes them inefficient. Nevertheless, Knight Tulin, I would advise you to cooperate.”
Chester let them shove her down into the small chair in front of the desk that took up part of the room. The rest of it was what looked like a very recently installed table, tilted upright on the long axis and furnished with a plethora of sturdy-looking restraints. Like someone had just gotten the leeway he wanted for ‘enhanced interrogation’ or whatever they called it here. Who better to test those new latitude of discretion on than someone who’d been royally pissing him off for the last few months?
“Ah yes,” she said. “Very civilized. The electrode, instead of the thumbscrew.”
The blankness that passed over his face was very, very brief, but she relished it all the same. “We both know that I’m not Song Tulin,” she said, trying to settle herself in the small hard chair as if it were her accustomed seat on the Bedivere’s bridge. “So perhaps you might explain the point of this little authoritarian exercise?”
Tarkin’s smug look came back, significantly more intense. “I think we can dispense with lying to one another, Commander. You know perfectly well why you’re here.”
Chester shifted her weight. Having her hands behind her back instead of in front of her limited her options a lot more, and was also a hell of a lot less comfortable. “Actually, as the host, I think good manners dictate you do the explaining, Admiral.”
“I will never understand the Jedi tendency for flippancy,” said Tarkin, with some displeasure. “You will need to show yourself to be a great deal more cooperative than that, Commander, if you do indeed intend to return home.”
She laughed, a short humorless bark. “I thought we were being honest with each other. I doubt I’m leaving this facility alive.”
“That depends entirely upon you.”
Chester fidgeted in the chair again. Relieving the tension knots in her upper arms was a lost cause, but she couldn’t help it. She flicked a nervous glance at the table in the corner, its restraints hanging empty. Sure, the Republic probably had laws against torture, but it wasn’t as if it were a society real enthusiastic about abiding by its own legal code these days.
“You and I both know that the Republic as it is will not last,” said Tarkin. He leaned over the desk from the other side, forcing her to look up if she wanted to defiantly match his cold hard glare. Chester leaned back and looked him in the eyes like a rude guest at a reception she wasn’t going to bother getting up for.
“Having just been kidnapped off the street in broad daylight makes that pretty clear,” she said. “I know you’re all excited about being the boot in the world’s face, Tarkin, but authoritarian regimes are unsustainable. You’re going to find yourself on the sharp end of the stick sooner than you think.”
He smiled. “What will replace it will be better. Stronger.”
“More fragile,” said Chester. “Brittle, unable to bend, easily broken, making enemies of its own citizens and an inglorious end for itself.”
“How grandiose, Commander. You certainly do have a taste for breaking the universe down into black and white.”
“Fine. Whatever you say. Don’t blame me when your symbols of power go up in flames around your ears.” She gave him an amused look and shook her head. “So why am I here? I do realize you’ve taken some of the teeth out of the Jedi Council, but I’m not sure how far I’d care to push it, if I were you.”
Tarkin kept smirking, not a shred of worry in his expression. “Allow me to worry about the Jedi, Commander. They are not the pristine figures they once were.”
“I certainly will.” She lifted her eyebrows at him and made a show of settling herself in the seat and waiting, expectantly.
He was evidently in no mood to play games. “You have spoken with great frequency about your United Federation of Planets and its Starfleet and yet you have said very little. This poses a security concern to the Republic.”
“Worried about the new civilization on your doorstep?” said Chester. “Or looking for the next conquest?”
He smiled an ugly little razor of a smile. “Something like that.”
She returned it. “We grew out of our imperialistic phase, Admiral. If only you could say the same.”
“The Jedi may be susceptible to your assurances of moral superiority, Commander, but I can assure you I am not.”
“Very well. To put it in simpler terms, we are no threat to you if you are no threat to us. Let us leave it there, and perhaps part on better terms than we otherwise might.”
His head tilted fractionally. “Was that a threat?”
“Did it need to be?”
He looked at her from hooded eyes a long moment. “I see. Allow me to make something perfectly clear, Commander. I am in no mood for flippancy or games. Your Jedi will not be coming to save you. You have very few choices for escaping your present predicament save through cooperation. Continuing to try my patience will not produce the outcome you desire.”
Chester weighed her options, watching him closely. She planned to lie. She planned to start lying early, long before she reached the point where she’d tell them anything to make the pain stop. Even if she died here, she wanted them as confused as possible when they first headed through the wormhole, which meant she needed to tell Tarkin a story he’d want to believe far more than the truth while she had the wit and control for it. But timing would be everything. Let her nerve appear to break too soon, and he’d suspect she was lying. Too late–well, she had a reputation for having a fine disregard for her own skin, but she didn’t want any more pain than absolutely necessary.
She was going to need to play a really unpleasant guessing game here. How much of a coward do you think I am? Their previous conversation might incline him to think she would sell her own family for advancement, but she had faced down an army of droids between then and now. That would put a crimp in the cringing, saving-her-own-skin act.
With an internal shudder, Chester acknowledged that she might need to do at least a little screaming to sell this. Then she stuck out her chin and glared at him.
“As the outcome you desire is clearly to interrogate me for information that can be used in hostile activity targeting the Federation, it is incompatible with my own interests, and my oaths as a Starfleet officer.” She could taste metal in the back of her mouth; her guts cringed with the anticipation of pain and humiliation. “My answer to you is the same as the one I gave to Dooku: you, sir, and your security concerns too, may go directly to hell.”
“As I expected,” he said, without even a twitch of an eyebrow, and gestured to the guards. “A brave noise, Commander. We will see how long it lasts.”
The last time Plo had seen Asajj Ventress, on Khorm, she had cut his Commander’s eye out.
She was much more out of place here, lounging in a plastic chair in the back room of Dexter Jettster’s diner on Coruscant–the one Dex used for children’s parties. She smirked at Plo as he stepped in, looking him up and down.
“Lost track of your resident troublemaker, have you?” Her grin was deeply unpleasant, the smirk of someone who knew she was, however temporarily, safe from the deadly threat across from her, and assuming that the deadly threat found this frustrating. “Well, you’re in luck, because she didn’t trust you Jedi to save her, either.”
“So I am told,” said Plo. “Does that mean you intend to go to her aid?”
He pulled out one of those incongruously floral-patterned chairs and sat. Wolffe remained standing, his arms crossed and defiant.
Ventress got a look like she thought he wasn’t following the script correctly, but the smirk stayed in place. “Diane and I have…an arrangement. And have for some time.”
“Oh,” said Wolffe, unimpressed. “You mean that one date of yours.”
“I believe that was roughly three weeks ago,” Plo put in.
“She also hired me,” said Ventress, all cool superiority, but there was also a sense of someone trying to get a handle back on the conversation. “A remarkable sum. Just in case Republic Intelligence got… grabby. As evidently they have.” She snorted, derisive. “You idiots really throw away every advantage you have, don’t you?”
“We had heard of that, yes,” said Plo, leaving out the recency of that knowledge. He ignored the insult; Ventress was quite clearly fishing for a reaction. “Given the manner in which Diane was brought to this galaxy, I cannot fault her caution. I also happen to know where more of those credits ended up.”
“Oh?” said Ventress, quirking an eyebrow.
Plo felt Wolffe smirk. Ventress’ eyes flicked up to him for a moment, and narrowed. Wolffe’s Force presence filled with amusement.
Plo said nothing, just slid a datapad over to Ventress and watched.
She powered it on, stared, snorted. “Fine. You can be useful, sometimes. What do you want?”
“The same thing you do,” said Plo. “Diane’s safety, and her return to her home.”
Ventress went from mildly irritated to intent. “That hurt to say,” she said, her head cocking like a predatory bird. “Not happy to just get rid of your embarrassment, Master Jedi? It’s been your way with the rest of us.”
He wasn’t sure of the story behind that, but… “I believe I hear Dooku’s voice in that, not yours,” he said gently. “And as for Diane… I would prefer that she stayed, but I believe we both know this is not the place for her, and I would be a poor friend–or mentor to keep her from her home or her duty.”
“Even if your chances would get a lot better with her on your side,” said Ventress, and her tone was hard to read.
“Even so,” said Plo. “Ahsoka related the list of requests you made to effect her rescue. I believe we can offer somewhat more.” He slid another datapad over to her, a comms device, and a few other oddments, all of which were remarkably illegal to furnish to Dooku’s former assassin. Then he settled back in his seat, feeling it creak, as she examined them. “I would advise against trying to sell the data,” he said. “It will remain current for tonight, but no longer. Furthermore, we can offer further support–or at least a distraction.”
“I can’t believe Tarkin would just let you access this. You’re sure it’s still good?” Ventress raised the datapad, peering at it suspiciously.
“Tarkin would not, no,” said Plo. “Fortunately, Commander Chester has friends in other quarters.”
“Huh,” said Ventress.
“Do you require anything further?” Plo asked politely.
“No,” said Ventress. She got to her feet and gave him a mocking bow. “Thank you, Master Jedi. You’ve been most helpful.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.
Plo also got to his feet. “Commander Chester has placed a great deal of trust in you,” he said. “I can only hope she was not mistaken.”
“Was that a threat?” asked Ventress, mocking.
There was a part of Plo that very much wanted it to be. He opted to remain silent and take his leave.
“AAAUGHhh fuck .” Chester sagged forward on the table, muscles aching and her teeth still vibrating. A stoic act wouldn’t have bought her anything but frustration, but she couldn’t say that screaming about it really helped, either. She was really looking forward to the part where she got to pretend to be a coward and started babbling, but he wasn’t going to believe it yet, godfucking dammit .
Also, putting up a spirited fight before they strapped her down had seemed like a good idea at the time, but as the new owner of a black eye and some really seriously bruised ribs which hurt every time she tried to breathe deeply, or, yes, scream, she now had serious doubts about that decision. Somehow she always managed to forget how bad getting suckerpunched fucking hurt long enough to run her mouth and get suckerpunched about it.
She had just enough time to register just how much she ached before the electroprod came down again and she spasmed in the grip of the current.
Still better than what the Dominion would have done to me, she told herself once it let up. She lifted her gaze to Tarkin and the blurred shapes of the officers around him. At some point she’d bitten herself. She rolled the blood around in her mouth, then spat it onto one of the bastards who’d gotten too close.
He raised a hand to slap her, but Tarkin stopped him. “Somehow we still seem to be misunderstanding one another, Commander,” he said. “Perhaps this will clear that issue up.”
The door opened.
A small round droid hovered into the room. On its side was mounted an old-fashioned syringe, filled partway with an unsettling viscous liquid.
Oh, fuck this, Chester thought, her eyes going wide. Fuck this, fuck the needles. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, and she was going to pretend that the waver in her voice was just really good acting.
If they pumped her full of truth serum–or whatever that thing held–she wasn’t going to be able to lie effectively. It was time to have her nerve fail.
Thank fuck.
“Look, you don’t need –” she started, and flinched as the door closed and the droid glided closer. That needle did not look particularly clean, or sharp, and was it going for her neck?!
Fucking hell , she had had it with this galaxy! Fuck this!
“No, stop! You can’t do this!” She wasn’t really having to fake the dread or panic in her voice. It was a really big needle. “I’m Admiral Zhai’s daughter, when my mom finds out you’re fucking toast! ”
Tarkin raised a hand and the droid stopped, the needle an inch away from Chester’s neck. She sagged, breathing hard.
Was he going to buy it?
“And who, exactly, would this Admiral Zhai be?”
Chester flicked an anxious look at the needle, then back at him. She tried to project a wavering bravado. “She’s the commander of the Tenth Fleet, the largest in the quadrant, and you bet she’s looking for me.”
She could see it falling into place behind his eyes. She knew she was pushing it, seeming to lose her nerve so early, no matter her actual fear, but something about this, as she’d hoped, was fitting with his perceptions of her in a way that he found more plausible than the truth.
“She hasn’t found you yet, that much is evident,” he said.
“That you know of,” she said. “I know she’s looking for me, and she knows where I disappeared.”
He looked skeptical, and she tugged at her restraints. “Look you know how these things work, right? Normal people don’t make Commander at my age, all right? I was excited when I got here, finally a chance to do something without her looking over my shoulder, she’s always got someone keeping an eye on me. I got top marks at the Academy, I don’t need her help!”
Again that sly look; what she was saying, even though it flew in the face of everything she’d said and done up until now, fit better with the reality he’d constructed than all the evidence in front of his face.
“Have you been similarly truthful about your Federation, Commander?”
Oh he really thought he was clever. She looked around, like she was trapped. Not wanting to admit this. “It’s… it’s not the one I was raised to believe in,” she said in a small voice. She recalled the beliefs she’d encountered from the Senators, especially the ones allied with him. “It’s that… after a century of everyone’s needs being taken care of, no one having to fight for themselves…”
His expression became even more intent. Gotcha , she thought. She reached back mentally to the classes she’d taken on 20th and 21st century Earth history, specifically remembering what she could of the anti-communist propaganda so common in the United States between the second and third world war.
“Everyone has what they need ,” she said, defensively. “So what if it’s hard to get into the ‘Fleet? We only take the best, from the best schools, they all have a chance if they’re good enough . They might complain about standing in lines for their food rations, but they’re fed, and housing might be crowded, but we don’t have people on the streets.”
Okay. Bread lines and lack of opportunity. She’d probably have to wait a bit before talking too much about the corruption. Maybe she could do it by complaining about the equipment?
She wasn’t going to volunteer that, though. He’d have to ask.
“As I expected,” said Tarkin, smug. “The society you described was far too good to be true. Still, your entitled attitudes do imply certain things about at least the upper echelons of your Federation. Let’s talk about your Starfleet’s military capabilities, shall we?”
Let’s not , thought Chester, with a grimace. Lying about specifics promised to be much, much harder.
“Commander…” There was a smug note in Tarkin’s tone, and he made a small gesture at the interrogation droid, which hovered closer. Chester gulped.
“Well,” she said in a tone of wavering bravado, “it won’t do you any good, because all Federation starships are equipped with corbomite…”