The second set of interrogators asked, of all things, about her health. They wanted to know if she had heart problems and if she was fully human, or if she had some genetic quirk. Kaeden’s voice was slow to return, so she mostly nodded or shook her head in reply, and when they were satisfied with her answers, they strapped her to the chair, palms up. Kaeden realized that this exposed all the veins in her arms. One of the interrogators went into the corridor for the medical tray and wasted no opportunity for drama in showing Kaeden the needles and vials they were about to use on her. After all the injections, Kaeden felt too cold and too hot at the same time, and she had trouble holding her head upright.
“Give her a few minutes,” she heard one of them say to someone who stood in the hallway. “We might have underguessed her weight. They’re all a bit scrawny in the Outer Rim. It makes them hard to medicate.”
Kaeden blinked stupidly and wished very hard for a glass of water. Then she laughed out loud. Water! Why not wish for free arms and a clear head and a ship that would carry her to safety. What she really wished for, more than anything, was that the first interrogator and her terrible machine would never come back into her cell.
The door opened again. Kaeden tried to look up, but her head was still too heavy for her neck. A very bright light came on, and something hummed loudly, uncomfortably close to her ear. She turned slightly and saw the round black interrogator droid hovering there, bright needles protruding from it. The threat was clear: talk or pain. Kaeden honestly wasn’t sure yet which one she was going to choose.
Another chair scraped against the floor, and a figure sat down across from her. He was dressed in Imperial gray, and his hat was pulled down over his eyes. Kaeden couldn’t decipher his rank, but he carried himself like someone who was used to being obeyed.
“Kaeden Larte,” he said. She was a little surprised he knew her name but tried not to show it. She failed. “Human female, legal adult, caretaker of Miara Larte, a sister. You were not born here, but you were orphaned here, you have never been indentured, and your work record is spotless. Your crew lead thought you might actually replace him, when he got around to retiring.”
That was a surprise. Vartan had never mentioned it, and Kaeden had never considered it. It was somehow reassuring to know he thought well of her, even though it did her no good whatsoever at the moment.
“More recently, however, your prospects have dimmed somewhat,” the man continued. “Larceny, vandalism, conspiracy, murder, and treason. That will probably put a stop to your upward career mobility.”
She wished she had something clever to say, like a character in a holonovel, but her tongue was too heavy and her brain too slow. Also, she was too scared.
“The only decision you have remaining is how you wish your sentence to be carried out.” He pulled his hat up, and Kaeden was struck by the pitiless look in his eyes. “You’ll die for your crimes, of course, but if you were to cooperate with us, we would make sure you left this mortal coil with, shall we say, no worries on your chest.”
Kaeden flinched so severely that she wrenched her arms sideways in their straps. Her shoulder joints scraped agonizingly, but before she could fully register the pain, the chair toppled over. Her arm had moved just enough that it was crushed under the metal chair, and it was that pain, real and concrete, that finally broke through the fog in her brain. Two stormtroopers rushed into the cell to pick her up and set her right.
“I see we understand each other,” he said, as though nothing had happened. “I need you to tell me two things, Kaeden, two little things, and you’ll die with a single blaster bolt to the heart. Where are your friends hiding? We know they ran off and left you to get captured, but you must know where they went. Tell me.”
She tried to answer him but only croaked.
“And what is the Jedi’s name?” This time, the look in his eyes was demonic. He didn’t want to capture or torture Ahsoka. He wanted to kill her—for a promotion or for power or for the opportunity to say that he, personally, had killed a Jedi. He wanted Ahsoka dead.
Kaeden croaked louder this time. If he thought she legitimately couldn’t talk, it might buy her a little time.
“Your lack of cooperation is unfortunate.” He clicked his tongue at her. “But not altogether surprising. Consider carefully, Kaeden Larte, and I will be back when the sun comes up. Or perhaps one of my colleagues will come instead.”
Kaeden managed to control the flinch a bit better this time. The ache in her arm helped, giving her something else to focus on. It was definitely broken.
They left her strapped to the chair.
Ahsoka perched on the roof of the Imperial admin building. Climbing up had been easy. Now that she was no longer being careful to hide her true self, she had managed it in two jumps. The hardest part was waiting for a break in the patrols and finding the best spot to make her ascent. The rear of the compound was still underprotected.
Her examination of the prefab building yielded some interesting results. Ahsoka had seen the tanks, of course, but the building itself was of the style used during the Clone Wars, which meant she could guess the layout of the inside without actually seeing it. She allowed herself a small smile at the idea that Imperial monotony was working to her advantage.
She crossed the roof to the left side, her right since she was approaching from the back, because it had suffered the most damage during the day’s attack. She ruled it out as soon as she saw it, though, because the guard had been quadrupled to compensate for the damage. There would be no easy entry that way. Ahsoka slid down the wall to the lower roofline, still at the rear of the building. If the design was consistent, the holding cells would be there anyway.
She looked over the side, down the steeply slanted walls, and saw narrow windows that she remembered being at the tops of the cells. They were included in the design for air circulation and deemed an acceptable security risk because they were thought to be too small for escape. They were, Ahsoka noted, also designed with full-grown adult humanoids in mind. That would be her way in.
One of the windows was emitting a very bright light, the sort that an interrogator might use to keep a prisoner as uncomfortable as possible. The light went out suddenly, and Ahsoka made herself count to one hundred before she lowered herself headfirst, with her toes clinging to the ledge, to check the room. There was no point getting caught because of impatience.
She peered through the dimness and felt something in her stomach uncoil. There was Kaeden, and she was alive enough to be sitting upright in a chair. Ahsoka reached into her pocket and drew out the last of Miara’s corrosive charges. She couldn’t risk the noise of blasting the window, even though this way would take longer. Upside down, the charges were difficult to install, and Ahsoka nearly burned her thumbs off, but she managed it in the end and moved to the side to wait.
Her head was pounding by the time the glass was brittle enough for her to push it into the cell. It made more noise than she might have liked, but the thick walls muffled it somewhat. She crawled through, biting her tongue as she brushed against the leftover chemicals, and then dropped to the floor.
“Kaeden,” she whispered. “Kaeden, wake up.”
Kaeden stirred and looked at her, and her head lolled to the side. Drugs, then, in addition to whatever else they’d done to her. Her arm was broken, and the wound on her head had reopened, trickling blood into her eye. Ahsoka went to work on the restraints. She didn’t bother with breaking the locks; she just cracked the straps using the Force.