AN: I wanted to try something a little different and I remembered that a friend once said she liked reading about Luke seen from other people's points of view. I also recalled protests in London from a couple of years ago and the OTT reaction of the Police and I did a little more research on interrogation techniques by the KGB and Gestapo - and other regimes over recent years. So Instinct was born.

I'd like to thank Kazlynh as always and Veronica W. for casting their expert eyes over the fic. And I'm dedicating this story to Lovesdaryl for pushing me on! (Check out her Walking Dead fic)

Disclaimer: All Star Wars characters and situations belong to Lucasfilm and Disney. I write these tales for fun not profit.

Instinct

Part One

It was instinct that drew Commander Yarryn's attention to the boy.

The youth was like any of the other detainees slowly moving across the courtyard from the transports to the towering edifice that was the Imperial Repatriation, Re-education and Subversive Containment Headquarters. There were thirty long, thin lines of beings, each one moving single file toward the temporary registration desks where each individual would have their Identification checked and verified before being directed to three different groups; those for immediate release, those set for further checks and those whose destination were the holding cells in the bowls of the centre to await interrogation and eventual execution.

Looking at the numbers trekking footstep after footstep to the waiting desks Yarryn knew he was in for a long few days: for it would take days to weed out the innocent from the guilty. That was always the danger of the type of action they had taken to quell the protests that had arisen that day. Street after street had been cordoned off, blocking all escape exits for the protestors, shoppers and workers alike and thousands had been herded and kettled and held for hours until transports could be called to ferry them to the IRRSCH for processing.

There had been deaths of course. There always were at these protests. Young eager activists, radicalised by the Rebellion, who always seemed to chance their luck and paid for it in their own blood. It was too bad that their actions always seem to result in the loss of innocent lives, too. Mothers and children out walking to buy clothes in the shopping district, workers on a lunch break stepping out of a café and being gunned down because the protestors had decided to bring their rally down that particular street at that particular time.

A sad waste of life that the Empire, and its Emperor, condemned in the most sombre and angry tones. Swift and severe justice was promised for those who had planned and participated in the chaos.

Whether this boy was directly involved was still to be ascertained, but Yarryn had a feeling about him and, more often than not, his instincts were proven right. He had gift for seeing the guilt beneath an innocent exterior.

The young man's head was down, staring at his feet as he shuffled forward. Blond, average height, dressed in faded black pants and bright yellow jacket the youth looked like nothing; no one of significance. Every now and then his head would rise and he would glance up and around at the heavily armed troopers stationed on the high walls above the moving mass of detainees. Then the head would drop as though resigned.

Wanting to test his gut-feeling, Yarryn stepped closer to the desk the boy was approaching and the seated trooper behind the temporary workstation waved away a tall Gran toward the group for further investigation. Shoulders slumped the Gran lumbered reluctantly away in the direction he was shown with a trooper at his back and the human youth stepped up to the desk.

"Identification," the bored trooper barked.

The boy stiffened and swallowed at the stern tones, blue eyes blinking, and then he fished in his back pocket and drew out an ID chip. Nervously licking his lips the boy passed it over and watched as the soldier ran it through the portable reader. Personal Information immediately appeared on the screen and the verification came up green indicating that the ID the young man carried was valid.

"Name?" The trooper asked, sounding bored. Yarryn knew the solder would ask a few random questions to check the information on the ID chip.

"Luke… uh… Luke Dunestrider."

"You're not from here, Luke?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"No sir, I'm originally from Tatooine."

"Farmboy, huh?"

There was a blush on the boy's face and Yarryn was hard pressed to place the source; embarrassment or anger? The boy was quite difficult to read and that was intriguing.

"Yes, sir…"

"Where are you staying just now?" The information was on the ID, but double checking everything did no harm.

"In the Covell District, sir. The Mosbree Hostel."

"Rough area," the trooper observed. "Heard there was another murder there last night; a Clawdite with a crushed throat."

"It's all I can afford," the boy confessed with a shrug.

"What is your business on Corulag?"

"I'm looking for work," the boy glanced up at the high walls, squinting in the afternoon sunlight.

The trooper looked up, regarding the youth before him. "Farming not good enough for you?"

The red deepened. Anger, definitely anger.

"No," the boy replied, honestly, his eyes returning to the seated soldier. "I want to go to the Academy, but I need to take extra classes to pass the entrance exams. That costs money."

There was a smile in the trooper's reply and Yarryn was pleased that the soldier wasn't weary enough that he was willing to accept every answer without testing further. He had probably heard similar stories from twenty others before the youth.

"Academy, really? What division?"

The boy's reply was immediate and there was enthusiasm in his voice, a true desire. "Pilot. Combat pilot."

"You want to fly, kid?"

"Yessir," the boy nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. At that moment he fairly exuded innocence, but Yarryn hadn't travelled the hyperspace lanes in a garbage scow. He knew a play when he saw one.

The trooper glanced at the card, glanced at the screen again. "You could volunteer, enter the Army Corps, become a trooper."

A genuine grin creased the youth's face, the blush fading. "I don't think so, sir. Someone once told me I was too short to be a Stormtooper."

The soldier laughed, and Yarryn saw the youth relax a little with the banter and he had to admit the soldier was impressing him. So was the boy.

"When did you arrive on Corulag?"

"Uh… two weeks ago, sir."

"From where?"

The boy thought, eyes moving right as he remembered. "From Nar Shadda."

The trooper looked sharply up at him. "And what had you being doing for the Hutts?"

"I.. uh… I'm good with mechanics, ships engines," he lifted his hands, showed the calluses and ingrained oil and dirt still under his finger nails. "I worked in the spaceport, saved for the trip here."

The trooper nodded. "So, Mr Wannabe-Combat-Pilot, what were you doing in the Trading Centre today?"

The boy's jaw tightened… Yarryn saw it, the trooper couldn't have failed to have seen it… and he swallowed again. "Looking for work," he explained, "like I told you. I heard that Jenniks was hiring staff."

The trooper tapped something into his console, more information filled the screen. Again Yarryn saw that the boy was being truthful. The department store was indeed having a recruitment drive.

"Had you already made an application?"

"No sir, I was on my way to apply when…" he shrugged, indicating his current predicament, "… you know…"

"Pity," the soldier said, "that could have verified your story. Did anyone else know you were heading there?"

"No, sir," the boy conceded and Yarren could see concern filter into the blue eyes.

"Anyone else with you?"

"No, sir."

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

"No, sir. I keep to myself in that place."

The trooper nodded. "Probably wise, but it's a pity all the same, we might have got you out of here sooner if we could verify your story." He tapped some information into his console and turned around waving at the stormtroopers gathered behind the desks. One of them stepped forward.

Yarryn saw the boy's jaw tighten again, saw understanding filtering into his eyes, saw a flare of… and again he was unsure of his reading of the boy's emotions. It might have been fear he had seen, it might have been apprehension, it might have been something entirely different.

Frustration?

"Okay, Luke," the trooper spoke smoothly, giving the boy the same story he had given the Gran before him. "Everything seems to check out, but we need to confirm and verify your story. The trooper here is going to take you inside to a holding area and…."

The boy was rigid, he glanced up at the massive building then down, his eyes darting between the soldiers and then that blue gaze met Yarryn's and only then did he realise that the Commander had been watching. Yarryn knew what the youth saw; a head taller than the troopers around him, steel, grey eyes and a scar that ran diagonally from the bridge of his nose across his left cheek and down through his neck.

He held the boy's gaze until the youth glanced away, dropped his eyes to Yarryn's rank and operational insignia. The boy paled, swallowed, seemed on the point of running.

Yarryn tensed, ready to shout the order for stun settings only if the boy should bolt. He wanted to speak to this young man.

"… further checks will be carried out. With any luck you'll be out of here by tomorrow morning."

And the boy relaxed, shoulders loosening, hands shoved deep into pockets. "Tomorrow? What kind of checks?"

"We'll contact the hostel, make sure you are living there. Ask about any associates. Verify that the bio details on your ID actually match you. It shouldn't take long."

"Oh, okay…" Compliance, submission, an understanding that there was nothing else he could do about his situation.

"Please go with the trooper here."

The boy nodded, blue eyes glancing at Yarryn again, before stepping away from the table in the direction indicated. The commander watched him go and then leaned over the shoulder of the sitting trooper and lifted the boy's Identity chip. "Have his details sent to my office."

The trooper glanced up. "You think he's one of them, sir?"

Yarryn looked back, watching the blond head disappear into the growing numbers of detainees being sent in the same direction.

"I'm not sure," Yarryn confessed, "but I intend on finding out."

ooOOoo

It was the middle of the night and the vast court yard and landing zones were lit by high beam lights as the last of the detainees were processed and the portable equipment and tables were packed up and returned to storage. A brief chilled breeze kicked up dust and debris scattering it across the duracrete; it would all be gone by the morning, cleaned and cleared by the caretaker droids who were already rolling out of the building.

Commander Yarryn sighed, wishing he could clock off and head home, but he knew from experience of these police actions that he would be snatching only an hour or two of slumber in his office as the detainees were processed. He had a busy few days ahead and would probably get less sleep than those singled out for interrogation. A single drop of water hit his face and he glanced up at the dark of the night sky. Rain….

Turning on his heel he marched toward the open doors and the banks of elevators beyond that would carry him below to the detainment rooms, the cells, the interrogation chambers and a night of deciding who would be released, who would be further questioned and who would die.

Organised chaos was the only description that Yarryn had to define what he walked into when the elevator doors parted. The reception area of the prisoner processing area was heaving with bodies; species of all shapes and sizes jostling for space and position, while protesting their innocence with appeals and pleas. Harassed staff shouted orders at the detainees and at subordinates. It was a similar scene, albeit in a slightly smaller scale, to the one from the outside courtyard earlier in the day.

Yarryn started through the throng, initially having to push past bodies, until his uniform, rank and stature were noticed and the way ahead suddenly parted easily for him. Fear, he found, created respect and the reception area quietened a little with his presence. Except for…

… he turned at the high pitched cries, at the accompanying sobs, looking for the source and saw a young human woman cradling a child in her arms. The babe was struggling with its blankets, little arms and legs kicking as the weeping woman gave her name to the bored guard sitting behind the desk.

Yarryn moved closer, while taking note of other children among the crowd.

"… please, I have already given this information and my child needs…"

The guard didn't even look up at her, barking out. "Silence! Just answer the questions asked."

"Yes, sir… but, my child…"

"What is going on here, Sergeant?" Yarryn asked quietly; he found he rarely needed to raise his voice.

The Sergeant looked up, paled. "Uh, sir… I'm just processing this prisoner."

Yarryn looked at the woman's tear stained face and at the squalling child in her arms. "Prisoner?"

"Yes, sir… she's…"

"A mother with a hungry child," Yarryn observed to the guard. "I also see other children. There are elderly, too."

"Sir, orders dictated that those who cannot verify…"

Yarryn sighed. "I am aware of the orders. You would have thought we would have learned from the last round of protests." His eyes wandered the crowd. "Get this woman's home address and release her. Do the same with all children under the age of twelve standard years who are alone or with parents and all elderly prisoners over the age of eighty. We can verify their identities and affiliations at a later date."

"Sir… I… some may be Rebel sympathisers and antagonists."

Yarryn nodded. "True," he conceded, "some may be… but we have a back log to clear tonight and with the space ports shut down and the city traffic routes closed they won't get very far if they try to run. So, release them."

The sergeant nodded. "Yes, sir!"

Yarryn placed a hand on the woman's arm and smiled as she instinctively flinched at his touch. "You'll be home soon," he assured her. "My apologies for your inconvenience."

He saw disbelief in her eyes, and relief. "T-t-thank you," she stammered.

"My pleasure," Yarryn briefly bowed his head to her, before turning back to his staff. "And sergeant?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't question me again."

The man swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he forced out. "Yes, sir."

The atmosphere in the area changed, it was no longer charged, no longer felt on the verge of anarchy. With his presence and with a simple act of kindness he had restored the crumbling order. Fear won respect – in that the Tarkin Doctrine was correct - but softening it with common sense, with fairness, helped preserve that order and respect.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and took out the identity chip he had lifted earlier. He wanted to salve his curiosity about the boy from the courtyard. "I want this run again," he ordered, handing it to the officer, "I want to know everything there is to know about Luke Dunestrider. Contact the garrison on his home planet. Run facial recognition for the last week on the city security systems I want to know what he's been doing, where he's been going and who he has been meeting. Summarise it and send it to me, but I want his actions during the protests today in full. I want to look at that myself."

The officer glanced at the hordes behind Yarryn, looking harassed and anxious, but he did not question this time. "Yes, sir. It will take more time to get his background if he's from off world."

"Tatooine," Yarryn supplied, turning away as his men thinned the crowd; picking out the elderly and the young. "He's from Tatooine."

"I'll start this immediately, Commander."

"See that you do, Sergeant," Yarryn dismissed, then asked. "What holding cell is he in?" He could hear keys being tapped as the man responded to his request.

"Minimum Holding, cell sixteen."

"How many are in with him?"

"The Sergeant checked his screen. "Fifty-six."

Yarryn nodded; it wasn't unusual for rooms to be overcrowded after such action. "Process the room as normal, but delay him until the nearer the en. Make him wait, but not the last though, and alert me before his release."

"His release, sir? I thought you…"

Yarryn turned, lifting an eyebrow in warning.

"Yes, sir!"

The detainees still waiting to be processed parted again as he passed through them, heading for his office and the quiet it offered him. On entering he activated his computer, removed his hat and shrugged off his jacket before settling into the chair at his desk.

He flicked through the monitor systems until he found the feed from Holding Cell Sixteen. It took a few moments to find the boy in the crush of bodies, but Yarryn spotted him sitting on the floor against the far wall when the large Horaarn hiding him shifted to the side.

Yarryn tapped in come commands to the keyboard and the cell camera zoomed in and focused on the sitting figure. He relaxed into his chair and considered the youth, considered the information on the ID chip.

Luke Dunestrider. Aged nineteen and born on Tatooine in the Bestine area. Orphaned young in a Tusken Raider attack and raised in a local facility for disadvantaged juveniles. No record of any criminal offenses and very average academic scores. Yarryn scoffed, and this boy wanted to be a pilot with scores like that?

The ID had recorded that the youth had left Tatooine four months previously and travelled to Corulag via Nar Shadda just as he had said. Yarryn made a note to check that the youth had actually passed through that system and had been working at the shipping port as he claimed.

He glanced back to the monitor as the cell door opened and three detainees' names were shouted. The crowd of prisoners shifted nervously, anxiously, as the three left the cell to an unknown fate. Yarryn didn't care how his men processed them, his focus was on the youth now sitting gently tapping the back of his head against the wall. The boy was nervous, unsettled, by his situation – which was to be expected of all the detainees and yet Yarryn had the feeling that this youth had more reason to be nervous than most.

And he was going to find out what that reason was.

ooOOoo

Yarryn yawned, his jaw popping painful, and dropped a couple of stim-pills to give him an extra boost for the many hours still ahead. It had been a long night and an even longer day and he had only managed two hours of snatched sleep at his desk, but the processing of the previous days detainees had gone well. Through low ley interviews he and his men had already identified forty individuals who had been marked and advanced for more enhanced questioning and had even more released; innocents of the day who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time who would now be home and in bed as another night drew in.

He chewed the tablets, grimacing at their bitter taste, and swallowed them down with a gulp from the lukewarm glass of water he had sat on his desk a few hours before. Placing the glass down he shifted through the pile of data cards, glancing at the information they contained on the detainees so far. It was with some disappointment and chagrin that he realised that, over 24 hours into the investigation, they hadn't yet identified any of the ringleaders behind the previous day's protests.

He threw a datapad to the desk and collapse back into his chair, rubbing his eyes. His superiors would be disappointed if he was unable to produce anyone of note.

A tone from his desk comm buzzed.

"Yes," he barked, answering it.

"Sir, you wanted to be alerted when Dunestrider was about to be released?" It was a reminder, spoken like a question.

The boy from Tatooine. Yarryn smiled, suddenly more alert and focused.

"He's been through first stage interview?"

"Yes, sir," the tinny voice told him. "Everything has checked out so far. His ID is authentic and his story has been verified by the authorities on Nar Shadda. Lieutenant Towen has marked him for a Conditional Release until we have confirmation from Tatooine. We don't expect that back for a few hours yet and…"

"What about the security footage I asked for; the facial recognition for the last few days and for the protest itself?"

"We only have some partial footage from the protests prepared for you, we're still working on the…"

"Send through what you have. Stop and arrest him before he leaves. Have him progressed to stage two. Take him immediately to interrogation. Have Towan and Gran'et assigned to him. No sleep, but allow him water. Run question pattern Onith: no coercion, nothing physical or threatening yet. Feed his questioning through to me."

"Yes, sir!"

Yarryn stood, stretched, and yawned again. He buttoned his jacket, pulled it down to draw out the creases and lifted his cap from the desk. It was time to go to work. Time to focus on just one prisoner.

Yarryn strode into the prison's Discharge and Release section and positioned himself at the back of the room so as not to interfere with the process, or unsettle the officers currently dealing with those being released from custody. Some, like the boy, were being given a Conditional Discharge; having a temporary tracker placed just under the skin on the back of their hand to ensure that the Empire could monitor their whereabouts until such times as their stories had been fully verified. Others were being released unconditionally after being cleared of any wrong doings.

The relief in the room was palpable; each being, whether human, Twi'lek, Bothan, or Sullustan, held expressions of cautious hope, nervously glancing at the exit and the officers stationed on either side of the door as they picked up their ID chips and any belongings that they'd had to relinquish when arrested.

Dunestrider was different. He didn't look at the exit once. His attention was fixed ahead, face grim, thoughtful. He looked as though he had things of a greater weight on his mind.

At the moment he was listening intently to the officer behind the partition as it was explained to him that his ID chip had been misplaced and he was being issued with a temporary one. A flash of uncertainty crossed the boy's face and he looked up, saw Yarryn, and locked eyes with him.

The understanding in those blue eyes was immediate and Yarryn had to quash a smile of satisfaction; it seemed the boy's instincts were as good as his own. Except it wasn't fear he saw flash across the youth's face. It was anger.

It was time to end the charade. It was time to show the boy what he was really facing. Yarryn nodded at his men standing either side of the doorway.

The officers stepped forward as Dunestrider turned to face them.

"Turn back around," he was ordered sharply.

The boy held his hands up, palms out, protesting. "I…I don't understand. I'm being released…" he glanced at the other beings in the room, but most of the others turned away, refusing to look at him; just glad it wasn't them. "Please…" he tried, sounding wretched.

"Turn around," he was told again, "and place your hands on the counter."

A few seconds of heightened hesitation and, just before Yarryn was about to authorise the use of force, the boy's shoulders sank. He turned around and placed his hands, palm down, on the counter. He kept his eyes down for the time it took for the guards to cuff one wrist and sweep it behind him, before grabbing the other to shackle them together behind his back.

The simple act of applying the cuffs told the youth how serious this was, but the caution the guard began to recite to him drained the blood from Dunestrider's face.

"You are being indefinitely detained under section thirty-two of the Anti-Insurgency Act. There are suspicions that you have conspired against the Imperial throne…

"What? I… no! This is a mistake!" At his protests the guards took his arms and began walking him back toward the detention area.

"… you have no rights to legal representation during questioning. If you fail to answer when questioned more direct pressure may be applied to you."

The boy's steps slowed and he twisted around to catch Yarryn's eyes once more. There was a silent plea in the blue irises, fear, but also… Yarryn straightened watching the youth being manhandled through the doorway… resentment?

Definitely something other than the desperation and terror he was used to seeing from prisoners in the boy's situation. Where was the panicked struggle, the fight? Dunestrider had protested, had not gone willingly, but he had gone quietly, with reluctant resignation and something elusive, something Yarryn couldn't quite place.

Was he truly a Rebel? A hardened terrorist who was now saving his energy for the rigours of interrogation?

Yarryn sighed, the boy was an enigma. No outward sign of subversion, everything pointing to the youth as being an innocent bystander who had merely gotten himself caught up in the crowds of the protest and ended up kettled and arrested. But Yarryn's interest had been piqued, his gut feeling telling him to ignore the obvious and look below it, to look at what the boy wasn't displaying.

The Commander returned to his office and to his desk, immediately turning the monitors on and switching each one to show the same interrogation room but from different angles. It was empty for now save for a bare table and two chairs sitting on opposite sides. It was a boring room; plain, dark walls with shadows banished by bright light that streamed from above. It was supposed to look innocuous, it was supposed to look bland but somehow every prisoner that had ever sat within its confines had eventually told them everything they wanted to know, and some things that they hadn't even been asked, and often without any form of enhanced persuasion.

He was good at his job. His staff were good at theirs and, despite the enigma he presented, Yarryn did not doubt that the youth currently being processed would be just has happy to answer every question asked of him.

It would be a while yet before the boy would be placed into one of those chairs. An arrest under the anti-insurgency act meant that he would stripped, searched and changed into prison attire. Yarryn's staff would bag his clothes, take hair, blood and DNA samples. His room at the hostel would be searched and his possessions confiscated. Everything would be forensically tested and, if the boy really had travelled from Tatootine to Corulag via Nar Shadda then chemical and mineral traces of his journey would be found within his hair, on his clothes and bags.

The Commander tore his eyes away from the room and picked up the first data pad. It contained visual data of the protests, specifically security recordings of Luke Dunestider's movements in the city that day. He settled down to scroll through the snatches of silent video that his staff had pulled for him.

Just under an hour later and he had watched all of the footage. Dunestrider had left his hostel and had indeed headed straight into the city centre. He had caught public transport and had alighted the speeder a few blocks from the department store. There had been little interaction with others; a nod here and there when his eyes had met those of others, the odd brief snatch of conversation that suggested the boy was asking for directions and then he had turned a corner and found himself in the same street as the protest marchers. Dunestrider had tried to keep his distance, had backed into a wall and stood for a few minutes beside a trash container watching the procession as it snaked past him.

He had moved away, still keeping as close to the wall as possible and had bumped into a dark haired man. They appeared to exchange pleasantries, shook hands and went their separate ways. Moments later chaos descended and the crowd of protestors changed direction and started running up the congested street; pushing and shoving their fellow collaborators and pedestrians alike.

Panic ensued when the troopers appeared encircling the area, cutting off streets and herding the crowds into three separate corrals with overwhelming numbers. Some tried to fight back, pushing and shoving at the soldiers, but a few, quick, street executions stilled the urge to fight back and with the bodies dragged off the streets temporary barriers were erected keeping hundreds in place and giving the authorities time to organise transport and detention.

Dunestrider had been lost in the crowds, but had been picked up again by the security cameras. He had been caught in the ornate square just outside the department store where, he had claimed, he was hoping to gain employment. He was standing in a squash of bodies near the centre of the square, looking lost, looking frightened, looking all the world like the unemployed youth he claimed to be.

The footage ended just as the sound of a door opening came from the speakers. Yarryn turned his attention from the datapad to the monitors. He watched as Dunestrider, hands now bound in front of him, was lead into the room and pushed down into the chair furthest from the door. His cuffed wrists were lifted, stretch straight and fixed to the catch hanging from the edge of the table, leaving his hands dangling loosely. His ankles were shackled to the chair legs. It was an intentionally uncomfortable position; given the distance of the chair from the table the prisoner was unable to sit straight, was unable to lie down. Eventually his shoulders would ache and his back muscles would cramp. Bent over as he was his breathing would become laboured and difficult. If left in this position for hours the pain and discomfort for the prisoner would become unbearable.

The heat of the room would gradually increase until the air was muggy and humid. The close atmosphere was uncomfortable for all – but the interrogators could leave at any time, the captive could not.

Yarryn watched as the officers exited and the boy was left alone. Dunestrider's eyes immediately lifted to the view room he found himself in. Four metres by three metres, blank walls, blank table, and with a bank of lights above there wasn't much to see and the blue eyes dropped back to the table top and small whisper reached the room's audio system.

"Kark…"

Yarryn grinned at the Huttese curse that seemed to perfectly sum up the youth's situation. It would be a few hours yet before anyone else entered that room. The subject would left alone to sweat it out, both figuratively and literally, before the interrogation began.

It was then that the boy would wish to be alone again. Yarryn turned his attention back to the datapads scrolling once more through the footage from the protests not knowing what he was looking for, but feeling he had missed something important.

ooOOoo

Two cups of stong caf and another couple of stim pills and Yarryn was still wide awake. His eyes were stinging from the need to sleep, his body felt sweaty and dirty and he knew he ought to shower and change before much longer, but still this youth kept his gut churning despite the fact that he had learned nothing new about the prisoner.

The recordings from the protests had yielded nothing more despite repeated viewings and the additional footage sent through to him from the preceding few days and also failed to give further, useful information. All it had shown was the boy going about his daily business; entering and leaving stores with purchases, frequenting various employment agencies, visiting local entertainment facilities, having a drink and, a couple of times, leaving with a female companion. Two different woman, Yarryn smiled; lucky boy.

He had already issued orders to follow up in the stores, agencies and clubs and had asked that the women be identified and brought in for questioning. Any avenue was open to investigation.

A cough from the monitor's speakers drew his attention and he glanced up as Dunestrider squirmed in his seat. The youth was now in obvious discomfort and was trying to alleviate the growing ache of his body, sweat had darkened the blond hair and plastered it to his skull, and his breathing had become a little laboured.

It was already a stark contrast to his first low level interview with Towen. On watching the recording of Dunestrider's first interrogation Yarryn had been struck by how amiable the boy was – even after sitting in a holding pen for several hours watching others be called and released before him. He had easily and eagerly answered everything put to him, just as he had in the courtyard. He had been open, earnest and his story had not changed. His Identification was valid, and he had been easily verified as staying at the hostel and really they had no reason to detain him further. Towen's decision to conditionally release him had been the correct one.

But there was that niggle in his gut, that instinct that told him there was something about this boy.

Yarryn watched a bead of sweat run down the side of Dunestrider's face.

It was time to increase the pressure.

Yarryn reached across his desk and briefly activated his comm. "Send in Towan."

A few minutes later the door of the interrogation room swept open and a tall, ungainly, dark haired man dressed in the black uniform of an Imperial Interrogator, entered the room with a carton of water and a data card in his hands. He addressed the cautious and suspicious youth immediately.

"I'm sorry about the wait you've had," he apologised as he un-cuffed Dunstrider's left wrist and handed him the water. The boy's hand shook as he took the carton and drank thirstily, "but we've had many to process and we only have a limited number of staff. Hopefully we can get this cleared up and send you on your way."

Give the prisoner water, give him some hope. Towan was pleasant and unassuming. He could also be a ruthless bastard.

"I'm Lieutenant Towen. I think I spoke to you before?" he introduced, now setting the datapad down as he waited for Dunestrider to finish the water, "and you are…" he turned the datapad, glancing at the screen and reading, "Luke Dunestrider?"

The youth glanced at the Imperial, nodded and swallowed nervously but gave no further reply.

"Yes, I remember now. Tatooine, right?"

Another nod.

Towan lifted the empty carton from Dunstrider's hand and gestured to the empty cuff. "I'm sorry, but I have to secure you."

The boy capitulated, allowing the cuff to be snapped around his wrist once more.

Towan moved to the other side of the table and, pulling the chair out, he sat down. He was quiet for a moment as he flicked through the information on the datapad and then he glanced up at the subject and began the interrogation with a warning.

"You are obliged to answer truthfully to every question I ask. If I am not satisfied with your answer, or if you do not answer I am required, by law, to use more enhanced interrogation techniques…"

Another nervous swallow.

"… do you understand?"

A lick of the lips, a nod.

Towan smiled. "I need a verbal answer."

Dunestrider's eyes flickered to the walls, obviously realising that he was being watched and recorded. He cleared his throat "Ye… Yes. I understand."

"Name. Age. Date, planet and place of birth?"

The boy frowned, brows brought together, eyes narrowing. "I, Uh, I've already answered these questions before when…"

Towen didn't look up from his datapad. "And you need to answer them again."

Trying to roll his shoulders to ease the strain on his muscles, the boy answered. "Luke Dunestrider. I'm nineteen standard years. I was born on Tatooine, Bestine township on the first day of the Empire and…"

Towen glanced up and noted. "An auspicious birth date."

The boy shrugged, dismissively and Yarryn sat forward at the gesture. The tell could mean one or two things; that the boy was weary from a life of it being noted he was born on the same day that the Empire was created, or that he was indifferent of the Empire itself.

Yarryn could see by the slight narrowing of Towen's eyes that he had also noted it.

"Okay," The Lieutenant continued, his voice lighter, trying to put the prisoner at ease somewhat to see if he could be tricked into another mistake. "Tell me about your parents, about Tatooine and what has brought you to Corulag."

And so the youth repeated what he had already told them on his initial arrest and interview. He was an orphan. He had left Tatooine and come to Corulag to apply for the Academy. He was looking for work. He was wanting to be a pilot. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was ordinary and everything rang true… except that it didn't.

There had been that tightening of his jaw when previously asked why he had been in the Trading Area, there was the glib shrug of his shoulders when Towen had remarked on his birthday being Empire Day.

Towen took him back to the protests, walked him through his route to the city right up to his moment of arrest when the troopers began clearing the kettled areas.

Towan nodded, listened, tapped his fingers on the datapad as the youth spoke. Dunestrider was tired, sore, the heat and humidity in the room was unbearable and yet Towen had only just started.

"So, you want to be a fighter pilot?" The Lieutenant asked.

"Yes, sir." Short answers. No elaboration. Little deviation from his previously given answers. He was either telling the truth or had training in resisting interrogation.

"Why?"

"I want to fly."

Watching, Yarryn sat forward, suddenly more alert. Towan glanced up at the youth and Dunestrider himself stiffened. They all knew he had made a mistake.

It was a minor one, but it was there nonetheless.

The question was… would he try to fix it. Would he stammer out a quick fix, or would he sit it out and see what happened.

Towen maintained silence, patiently waiting for Dunestrider to fill it.

He didn't. The boy sat quietly and waited for Towen to speak.

There was now a power play in the room. Towen had asked and the boy had answered and was giving no more.

However, The Lieutenant was no fool. He knew exactly what was happening. "Just to fly?" he asked, pleasantly, as though the tension in the room was a figment of their imaginations. Then he highlighted the youth's error. "Not to serve the Empire?"

The youth frowned in feigned confusion. A drop of sweat gathered at the tip of his nose. Had he not been tethered to the table he would have wiped it before answering, he would have hidden his mouth as he answered with the lie. "Yes, sir. Of course, to Serve."

Towen smiled. "Of course." His tone implied he had heard the falseness of the answer. "Tell me what happened on the day of the protests."

The youth sighed, eyes rolling to the ceiling. He was sore, scared, tired, fed up and was now having to repeat himself for the third time since his capture.

"I was going to Jenniks. They're hiring staff and…"

"Start before that. Start from when you woke."

"What?" There was confusion. "What do you need to know that for?"

"I asked… you need to answer," he was reminded.

The youth's eyes went to the ceiling. "I woke up. I got dressed. I had breakfast…"

"What did you have?"

Incredulity flitted over the boy's face, but he answered the questioned and gradually walked Towen through his day once more right up to the moment he was taken from kettle and placed in the back of a troop transporter.

As he finished Towen nodded, made a few notes of the data pad and glanced at the youth and again stated. "Tell me your name."

ooOooo

Three hours later Yarryn was standing and stretching, bones popping, when Town lifted his data pad and thanked the youth for his time and explained that someone would be with him again in a few minutes and that hopefully they wouldn't need to keep him for much longer. The Commander could tell that the exhausted prisoner didn't believe him.

It wasn't long before Towen stepped through his office door.

"I think you're right, sir," the Lieutenant offered, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Hardly behaviour expected of an Imperial Officer, but understandable and forgivable under the circumstances. "There is something off about him. He's only giving what he needs to give with his answers. He's keeping everything short, no elaboration or description and, although we haven't been specific yet, he seems to be avoiding or omitting information."

"And his comment about just wanting to fly?"

Towen thought for a moment. "He knew he had made a mistake, but it could be that the Academy and service in the fleet is the only way for him to achieve his ambition of becoming a pilot."

Yarryn glanced at the monitors, at the youth still under surveillance. "His school scoring on his ID doesn't indicate an aptitude for flying. Does he strike you as being Flight Academy material?"

Wiping sweat from his face once more, Towen snorted. "No, sir, not on first viewing," then he frowned, "but, sitting across him…? He's intelligent alright."

Yarryn nodded, thoughtfully. "I agree. We need that background information back from Tatooine and the forensics on his clothes and biology."

"I'll have it chased up, sir. Meanwhile?"

"Take a break, leave him to sit for a while and then send in Garn'et."

"Still Pattern Onith?"

Yarryn nodded. "Keep it low key, keep it repetitive. I want him exhausted. Let's see if we can trip him up again."

"Yes, sir," Towen turn on his heel to leave.

"Wait," Yarryn called. "At some point have Garn'et strike him. Just once, then you take over. It'll give the boy a measure of our patience, and warn him of consequences."

Town nodded with a smile. "Yes, sir."

ooOOoo

Specialist Garn'et laced his fingers and placed his large hands on the table, leaning forward as he spoke. "I know you're tired, Luke," he placated, smoothly. "But we needed to recheck all your information before we can consider releasing you."

He was a bull of man. Shorter than Towen, stockier, but no less intelligence and quite possibly more ruthless than his colleague. Garn'et enjoyed the more physical aspects of enhanced questioning. However, for now, he was content just to play along with the Onith question pattern.

The youth's head hung, his eyes heavy with fatigue. He'd had no water, had been offered no more since Towen had questioned him seven hours earlier. Garn'et had already repeated all the questions, had gotten the same answers. Perhaps they were more stilted, more whispered, but still the same answers. This was his third repetition and he was ready to change the tempo and see what reaction they got from the prisoner.

"So, I need you to tell me again: what were you doing in the Trading Centre?"

It was taking Dunestrider longer to answer. At times his words were slurred as he fought thirst and fatigue. "I… told you," there was taut, but powerless, frustration in his answer. "I was…. looking for work."

"What?" Garn'et tilted his head, as though he hadn't heard. He ducked lower trying to see the boy's eyes.

"…looking for… work."

"You hadn't planned in taking part in the demonstration?"

A small shake of the head and sweat fell from his hair. "No…"

Yarryn was watching again. He'd left his office after his conversation with Towen. Had showered, changed and had something to eat. On his way back he had been handed another datapad with the results of the forensic tests and had been annoyed when informed the background checks from Tatooine had not yet reached them.

The boy had been in custody for over forty-eight hours. For the last eleven he had been sitting under hot lights and in high humidity with little water and no respite. His clothes were saturated with sweat. Shackled by his legs to the chair with his wrists, now bruised by the tight cuffs that bound them together, still fixed to the lip of the table. He'd been kept bent forward placing pressure on his back, and shoulders. He was breathing heavily, gasping in air against the cramping of muscles. Yarryn wouldn't be surprised if his legs were numb.

"And yet you did," Garn'et suggested. It was the first time in any of his questioning that an accusation had been posed to the youth.

There was a pause, a beat of time as what Garn'et implied sank in to a brain and mind fuzzy with dehydration and lack of sleep.

Then. "No…"

Dunestrider had dropped the "sir" a few hours ago.

Garn'et leaned forward. "Look at me, Luke."

There was no movement.

"Luke, you were there for the demonstration weren't you?"

The youth raised his head, the blue eyes seemed darker, deeper as he answered, putting some emphasis behind his words. "No… I… told you. I was looking for," a lick of dry lips, "work."

"Tell me what you did when you saw the protestors?"

Dunestrider squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, pupils flaring in the lights and shook his head. It was obvious to Yarryn that he was fighting to stay awake, fighting to keep his wits about him.

"I tried… to keep away. I didn't want… caught up in… anything."

"What were you doing at the Trade Centre, Luke?" Garn'et repeated. Starting to backtrack in an attempt to confuse his subject.

The boy's head dropped. "Work…," he sighed.

Garn'et feigned puzzlement. "You were working?"

"No… looking for work."

"What do you think about the Empire, Luke?"

Dunestrider dragged his head up again at the unexpected question, looking baffled. "What?"

Garn'et slouched back, picked up the datapad and tapped its edge on the table top. "The Empire," he said. "What are your feelings about it?"

"I… I don't know what you mean."

Still he tapped with the datapad. "Do you like it? Hate it? Support it? Think the order the Emperor has brought to the galaxy is a good thing? A bad thing?"

Despite his tiredness, despite his weary fatigue the boy's voice had an edge to it. "I.. don't… I've never thought about it."

"No?" Garn'et assumed surprise. "Surely, you must have considered it when you were going to apply to one of its academies?"

"I… just wanted to…. fly."

So, Yarryn noted, the boy was ambivalent to the Empire. Which could account for his earlier error around serving the Empire. Or, perhaps that's just what he wanted them to believe.

More tapping as Garn'et considered the boy sitting before him; slim and slight and struggling. Then abruptly the officer stood and the boy stiffened, looking out from under his sweat darkened hair, startled by the sudden movement of the interrogator. "Tell me your name."

Yarryn grinned at the sound that came from the youth. It was a sob of disbelief. It had taken eleven hours of sitting in a chair being repeatedly questioned, but at last the prisoner was beginning to despair as, once more, the questioning returned to the beginning. Garn'et was a tenacious interrogator and Dunestrider would get no respite from him.

"Please…"

The plea was a whisper through the speakers of the monitors.

Yarryn absently lifted his own datapad, the new one he had brought into the office after his break, as he watched what was happening within the interrogation room.

The appeal from the boy was ignored by Garn'et. "Tell me your name."

Silence. Heavy breathing. Head hanging low, sweat dripping from saturated hair.

"Tell me your name!"

Yarryn frowned at the continued silence, had the boy passed out?

Finally, Garn'et leaned over the table roaring. "Tell me your name!"

The prisoner jumped, bruised wrists catching in the cuffs. "Luke Sk…." He stopped, suddenly looking confused, scared. He blinked at Garn'et and hastily added. "Strider…. Luke Dunestrider."

Yarryn paused with his thumb over the activation button of his datapad. They had him!

Garn'et smiled, lifted his own chair and brought it around the table and turned it, setting it next to the boy. He dropped into it, straddled it and rested his arms on the back. He regarded the youth with hooded eyes and asked with humour. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You didn't sound very sure."

The boy tried to swallow and gagged dryly. "I'm tired… I… I… need to… sleep… please."

"Tell me you name."

The prisoner closed his eyes. "Dunestrider…. Luke… Dunestrider."

"No…," Garn'et reminded him. "It's something else… Luke Sk…" Garn'et pushed away, stood. Moved the chair out of the way. "Come on, boy, tell me your name!"

"I told you!"

"I think you're lying."

"No…"

"Tell me your name!" Garn'et's voice was rising.

"Dunestrider… Luke… Dunestrider."

"That's not your name!" Garn'et roared. "Tell me your name!"

The boy looked up him, eyes wide, desperate. "Luke Dunest…"

The heavy backhand blow to the boy's face was sudden, violent, abruptly cutting him off and lashing his head to the side. Had he not been tied down he would have been knocked to floor by the force of the blow.

The door to the interrogation room swept open and Towen entered, shouting, "Specialist Garn'et, you are relieved!"

Garn'et smartly stepped back from the prisoner, turned on his heels and left the room.

The boy, with a thin trail of blood weaving down his chin from a split lip, was watching Towen carefully. There was a little more fear in his eyes now. Just as there should be. He saw the youth's eyes flicker to the thick baton Towen now wore attached to his belt.

Yarryn watched as Towen lifted the chair and placed it carefully on the opposite side of the table to the prisoner and sat down.

Onith was over. Level two was over. The interrogation had just elevated and the next phase of questioning, Krenth, had begun. At this level the questions would be still repeated, but now suggestions would be made to the prisoner, evidence presented and, if need be, true enhanced methods would be introduced.

Towen cleared his throat. "We know you made an error, Luke. You know you made an error. You have shown ambivalence to the Empire. You were in the vicinity of a protest march against the Empire and the Emperor. And, just moments ago, you stumbled over your own name."

"I…"

Towen lifted his hand, placed his finger at his own lips cutting the youth off. "I'm not finished."

He allowed the silence to drag, watched the boy try to lick away the blood; tongue probing at the cut.

"I remind you that you are required to answer all of our questions honestly and openly and we do not believe that you have been doing so. I also remind you that we are sanctioned to use whatever means we deem to be necessary to encourage you to answer our questions. Do you understand what I have just said?"

A muscle twitched in the youth's cheek. His breathing quickened. "Yes…"

Towen smiled. "Good, then perhaps we can avoid any more unpleasantness. I am going to ask all of the questions again and you are going to answer. I'm only going to ask them one more time and the answers you give will either satisfy us, or they will not. What happens after this hinges entirely on your answers, do you understand that?"

Dunestrider, his identity now in doubt despite his ID being recognised as valid, nodded. "Yes…"

Towen leaned forward, placing his elbows on the edge of the table. "Then, please, tell me your name."

Knowing he was trapped and with a heavy sigh of acceptance, the boy answered. "Luke Dunestrider."

Yarryn shook his head. The boy was tenacious and, despite everything, he was sticking with his story. Truth be told, they still didn't have enough evidence to prove beyond doubt that the youth was what they suspected; either a ring leader in the organisation of the protests, or an actual member of the Rebel Alliance. If asked Yarryn would lean more toward the latter although he could still not explain why he believed this.

It was a gut reaction. It was purely instinctive.

Yarryn turned away from the monitors and brushed his thumb over the activation switch of the datapad. He quickly scrolled through the results of the forensic examinations of the samples taken from the boy himself and his belongings and immediately felt his heart sink in disappointment; the boy did indeed appear to originate from Tatooine. His journey was confirmed by the mineral and chemical results; he had indeed travelled to Corulag through Nar Shadda.

He scrolled down. The boy did have traces of lubricant, oils and fuel on his hands which also backed up his tale of working with engines and…

The hair on the back of Yarryn's neck stood, a cold chill washed through him…

… and tiny amounts of particles that suggested the youth had handled a zero-four Z Cryogenic power cell.

…used solely in Incom T-65 fighter/X-Wing class craft. There is also sufficient data to confirm that the subject has spent significant time in the Yavin system within a time scale of twelve weeks from the date of this exam. His hair sample shows…

Yavin.

Yavin. Where only a few scant weeks ago, the Rebellion had massacred thousands of Imperial personnel and citizens during one swift attack.

Yavin. The first major defeat the Empire had suffered and the anger and outrage they all felt still ran fresh and deep.

Yavin. The fact the boy had been there within the timescale of the attack said more about him than anything else and that fact also decided his fate.

Luke Dunestrider, or whoever he was, was affiliated with the Rebel Alliance. Luke Dunestrider was either a fighter tech or a pilot. Luke Dunestrider was a dead man.

Yarryn reached for his hat, ready and prepared to enter the room and take over the interrogation. But he stilled his hand and lifted the datapad with the footage of the protests from his desk. What was one of the Yavin Rebels doing on Corulag? What mission was he on? And who was he with – for surely he could not be here alone.

He turned data pad in his hand, looking at the blank screen. There was still something in the footage that he knew he had to find before he took over the boy's interrogation.

Let the Rebel sweat a little longer.

ooOOoo

to be concluded in Part 2