Luke woke up, his head feeling like it had been struck by a meteorite. Blurry-eyed, he blinked several times before things came into focus. He was surrounded by black air, like he was in some kind of netherworld. Silvery light came down on Luke, cutting through the darkness like a spotlight.

Was he dreaming? he wondered, half-dazed as he squinted up at the brightness. He drearily pushed himself up to stand and looked himself over. He felt sluggish, his head hurt, and there was a slight soreness in his arms and legs, but he didn't seem injured anywhere. He felt more or less the same, looked the same, still dressed in his simple light-colored sleeping clothes. This wasn't a dream... but then what was it? Where was he?

He scanned around, the opaque blackness revealing nothing, yet the more he looked the more he confirmed that he was in a room. The floor was metallic, and the light, he saw, was actually filtered from an illuminator installed on the ceiling. Luke drifted around, making small, incremental steps. Absentmindedly he rubbed his head, grimacing at the sharp, pummeled feeling there...

His memory sparked. Images flickered through his head: Pretor Flats, waking up in the middle of the night, seeing the droid... dragged out of bed, down the halls...

The Dowutin... that odd name she'd called herself; Ninth Sister... That Imperial ship —

Luke tensed. An Imperial ship... His memory churned out more of what had happened: when he had been resisting as he was forced up the ship's ramp, a voice telling him to stop struggling before a giant fist came down on his head like a rock.

And now, this place...

A soft whir came from behind. Luke flung his head around in time to see a door slide open and two figures walk in. One was large and muscular, reddish lens guards over both eyes... the very same Dowutin who'd brought him into the Imperial shuttle. In front of her was a tall humanoid with ashen-white skin that had creased lines trailing down his face and over his bald scalp. A Pau'an, Luke was sure they were called. Markings were on his face resembling war paint, and like the Dowutin he wore dark-grey armor over a dark-grey uniform. Both their bulky shoulder plates bore the Imperial crest.

The Pau'an strode before the boy. There was a prudent air about him, his posture was stiff, his expression solemn. The Dowutin stayed to the side of him, her arms crossed and her wide mouth set in a scowl. They both stood at the edge of the spotlight and watched Luke with a strange, idle attentiveness.

Feeling distinctly like an insect caught in a jar, Luke swallowed.

"Ah, so this is the one," the Pau'an said, his voice carrying a clear Core accent. His head nudged toward his larger companion. "The Pretor Flats boy?"

"That's him. Didn't take much, the droid did most of the work. Like I said, puny, this one. Roughly the size of an Ugnaught."

"That he is."

The Pau'an man pulled out a datapad. He swiped at the screen, checking over the contents. Nonplussed, Luke stared wide-eyed at him and the Dowutin. Questions roiled inside him, possibilities swept through his brain... The Dowutin had mentioned finding out about his age — how had that happened? And all this!... He knew the Empire was horrible, had horrible rules, but surely something else had to be going on...

The man studied the datapad a moment longer. His hairless eyebrows lifted as he shifted his attention on the boy. "Well. Those were some foolish lengths to go to just to get into a second-rate academy. I'm interested in understanding... just why you did what you did."

Panic sprung up in Luke. He didn't know what to do — what could he do? He just stood there, silent and floundering.

The man came further out of the shadows. Yellow irises bore down on Luke, stern and snakelike, set against black, shaded eye-sockets.

Luke's mouth worked. "Who... are you?"

"I am the Grand Inquisitor. And I will be asking the questions here." The Pau'an lifted his chin. "Now, let's cut to the chase, shall we? We know you created an I.D. when you signed up for the Pretor Flats' evaluation."

Again he lifted the datapad. He pinpointed each thing as he read it.

"Two weeks ago, Tythal City, Sector 12's eastern registration station. First name: Luke. No last name. Homeworld: Lothal, in the Outer Rim. No address or residence. No relations. Born 2 standard years BFE. We all know the latter isn't true, but this isn't merely about that. Drifters and outcasts of all ages register themselves into Imperial services all the time. In fact, the more unknown and squalid you are, the better. Our Empire is benevolent that way." He smiled, revealing a row of long, splinter-like teeth, the incisors of which curved inward. "And having no past records is hardly surprising for a Lothalite. Dirt-poor farmers, derelicts, criminal gangs... that's the Outer Rim in a nutshell. Lawless obscurity. But more to the point... you created this fake I.D. Just how fake is it?"

The Pau'an leaned forward. Reflexively Luke shied away; he couldn't help it. This Grand Inquisitor was intimidating enough, but up close that skeletal, war-painted face was like something from a nightmare. And it wasn't just his appearance; both he and the Dowutin gave off a cold, deadly air... They were like charged thunderclouds ready to smite him at any moment... and Luke perceived the calm-mannered Grand Inquisitor was the more threatening of the two. But the man's ashen face stayed an impassive mask.

"We merely want the truth," he attested. "What was your motive for enrolling in that academy? What is your real history?"

The young eyes darted up at the gaunt face. Luke's mouth rippled, opened. Then it shut.

Ninth Sister sighed. "You want me to get it out of him? Save us all some time?"

"I'll call for your insistence when I need it, Ninth Sister." The Grand Inquisitor's eyes narrowed as they targeted Luke. "A mere youngling after all... I can feel the fear rising in this one. He knows what trouble he's in."

Luke's mouth hardened to a scowl. Trouble... He was a prisoner. Everything was over, everything he'd done, had wanted to do...

"I d... didn't... I never meant... to..." His stuttering was uncontrollable. "I just wanted to... get into flight school... I-I had to lie to get in, it was just—"

"We know. We saw what happened. You approaching the sign-up station, telling the man you were eleven — and after he told you the age requirement was thirteen and dismissed you, you went back and claimed you were thirteen... and then he admitted you." The Pau'an's gaze was unblinking. "Almost as if he had changed his mind. Or his mind had been changed for him."

The boy went white and gawked in disbelief.

The Grand Inquisitor's mouth curved. "Is it settling in now? Yes, boy. The surveillance cams caught everything."

Stunned, Luke just stood there. He soon found himself breathing in and out in a certain rhythm... To push the fear out, shed it, send it away with each passing breath... But the fear stayed clung to him like a second skin. At a loss, Luke could only stare ahead blankly.

The Grand Inquisitor stirred in the shadows, resigned and watchful. He took his time before he spoke again. "We reviewed the footage... and we decided to wait. Perhaps the man was simply foolish, simply soft-hearted, letting you slip by out of pity... after all you did do an awful lot of begging and pleading..." The lined Pau'an face loosened. "Oh, but you proved our suspicions correct with those results. Speedy reflexes, precise aim, along with all of this... very impressive for one so young. You'd make a good—"

"Why are you doing this?" Luke shouted all of a sudden, and both the Grand Inquisitor and Ninth Sister made a start. Luke eyed them both in turn. He felt explosive, his fear was still gnawing at him, but his temper was too, something was pounding in his ears, blazing in his limbs. "Why — why did you take me away? Why let me into the academy just to take me away? Why? Why? I don't understand!" He screeched aloud. Then Luke turned and flew at the airy blackness of the room. He ran straight into a wall. Infuriated, he punched it: clang. He beat his fists upon the wall again and again. Clang clang clang clang clang—

Ninth Sister cocked her head and made a scoff. But the Grand Inquisitor seemed bemused as he watched the boy flail against the hard durasteel.

"Well, Ninth Sister?" he said, raising his voice to account for the continued noise. "Is he being truthful?"

"Must be," commented Ninth Sister. "Why else would he sign up to an Imperial school? Putting himself right under our radar... he'd have to be ignorant or an idiot. I don't sense he's putting on an act."

"I just wanted to become a pilot!" Luke spat, landing another balled fist against the wall. "I didn't... I didn't do anything..."

The Inquisitor snorted. "Haven't you been listening, boy? Your pre-testing results were abnormal. The Empire has these mandatory evaluations in place for finding cases such as yours. It's not just about education levels and fitness checks for the sake of it. We're rooting out a disease." His tone suddenly deepened. "The disease of the Jedi."

The fury in Luke shattered harder than glass against duracrete. His fist froze against the wall. He couldn't move. No muscle in his body so much as twitched.

"So you do know of them," the Grand Inquisitor goaded quietly.

Luke's fists trembled and they fell, making awkward squeaks against the metal. It was a long moment of silent, dead air. All Luke could see was the dark sheen of the steel against his sore knuckles, and all he could hear was his own uneven breathing.

He mumbled, "I don't... know..."

Ninth Sister growled. "There's no use in lying."

"I don't... know anything..."

She lifted her head, the reddish guard lenses over her eyes catching a glint of the light. "Listen, kid, I read people, I can take in emotions like a nexu takes in the scent of blood. I know you're hiding something. Make this easy on yourself and fess up."

"I don't... know... anything!"

"Keep saying that, brat, and you'll find yourself being shut up in ways you don't want to think about—"

"Enough!" the Grand Inquisitor exclaimed, stamping his foot down impatiently. His white face scrunched. "Answer me now: How much do you know of the Jedi? Were you taught by one?"

The boy turned around, tight-lipped and stone-faced. He met the Inquisitor's scrutinizing gaze as he stood half-eclipsed in the darkness. Silence prolonged. The Pau'an frowned and veered closer until he was inches away from Luke.

"Who is your master?"

Luke moved to shift away, but the Grand Inquisitor took a side-step and blocked him. A hand caught Luke by the shoulder.

"Let go—" Luke grunted, tried to pull away, but the gloved hand clamped around his arm. "Let me go! I d-don't know anything about— about any Jedi—"

"How unfortunate," drawled the Inquisitor. The grip around Luke's arm began to twist. "Then I'm afraid I don't know how to not break your arm."

Recoiling, Luke tried again to pry himself out of the Pau'an's hold, but it was no use. His nerves screamed as his arm continued to twist. Writhing helplessly, he looked up from under his bangs and sent the Inquisitor a scathing look, and whispered, "Sleemo."

The Inquisitor's eyes lit. "Why you—" He clenched his teeth, then took hold of the boy's other shoulder. He shook him. "Don't try to protect them! The Jedi are not worth fighting for, not worth lying for — they themselves are the lie! They are a disease. Perhaps you'd care to see what happens to those who let themselves become infected?"

Before he could utter a word Luke felt the very structure of his bones bending — buckling— then snapping. He cried out. He pushed and kicked wildly at the armored figure, desperate to wrench himself free. Then he was let go. Luke dropped to the floor, open-mouthed and clutching his now dislocated arm,

"Confess," the Inquisitor hissed. "Your teacher, your background. Everything."

Agonized groans answered him.

There was an impatient growl; then Luke found himself suddenly propelled away as if by a cold blast of air. The back of his skull hit hard against the wall, momentarily numbing him, and Luke fell. His face meshed against the floor.

In the distance floated the sallow, skeletal face of the Inquisitor. Through Luke's watery eyes, his tall form was reduced to a melted shadow.

"Talk," barked the Inquisitor. "Articulate. Enunciate. Make words."

Luke fought the urge to sob, pressed his eyes shut, tried to hoist himself up, his arm one gnarled, hot spasm of pain... he couldn't ignore it, it was sapping him, his head was swimming... He felt himself losing all trace of thought...

The Grand Inquisitor let out a sigh and glanced at Ninth Sister. "Read him, quickly, before he blacks out."

She nodded and took a step forward. She rose a clawed hand.

"Huh... well..." she said after a moment. Her orange face contorted. "I'm picking up... pain. Lots of it—"

"Observant of you, Ninth Sister, but I gathered that he's in pain. Perhaps you'll pick up on, say, who the Jedi is?"

The Dowutin glowered. "It's a fine line between reading emotions and reading memories. But there is... someone. I'm getting an impression. It's..."She trailed off, steadfast in her concentration. Several seconds passed.

Finally she spoke again. "Wait, I'm getting a name... Ben... Ben Kenobi."

The Grand Inquisitor's face lifted in surprise. "Kenobi? Not Obi-Wan Kenobi? Why, that would be a great find. He is high on the old target list, one of the few Purge survivors that was never found."

"I definitely get the name Kenobi. It's foggy, but... a robed human guy with a grey beard... fits his description."

"Location?"

"Give me a second, the kid's almost knocked out and his thoughts are a mess... Kenobi, he's... I'm getting... sand. A desert, I think... A sunset... with two suns..." She paused. "...Tatooine. That's the place. The kid's got a lot of resentment towards it."

The Inquisitor stroked along his jaw in thought. "The boy could be Kenobi's son. It's been twelve years since the Purge, the boy provided no last name, it would all fit..."

Ninth Sister gingerly prodded the boy's head with her foot. "Well, he's out cold now. Best to pick this up again later. Gotta say, I'm surprised I had to read him. I thought he'd be blabbing two minutes in. He was trying to mind-trick us, you know. And you saw him doing that meditative breathing technique when he was all frazzled?"

"Of course I noticed. Padawan lesson number one," the Pau'an dryly remarked. "And that will do, Ninth Sister. You can stop trying to reaffirm the information you acquired with your extraordinary emotion-reading abilities."

"Hey, pays to be thorough." She made a gruff, muddled sound under her breath. "Especially when failure could mean a visit from a certain Sith Lord we all know."

The Grand Inquisitor lowered his head. He murmured, "True."

Quiet filled the room.

"Anyway... I still can't figure out the thing with the kid's medical results. You think he had anything to do with that? If he could mind-trick that one guy..."

"No. Further investigations proved it was simply a malfunction. A geomagnetic pulse storm caused disruptions across the board, blocking signals, corrupting data, causing power-outs. All data being processed at the facility at the time was scrambled. Not surprising such a thing would happen on a primitive world like Lothal." He nonchalantly waved a hand. "And midi-chlorian testing would be pointless now. He's clearly Force-sensitive, clearly Jedi-taught. We have more than enough information to go on... In time, the boy will crack like the rest of them, and we'll have another Initiate for Project Harvestar." He grinned. "Not to mention a new target to look forward to... It has been a rather dry spell for Jedi-hunting as of late... Yes, I think our work is done for the moment."

With that he headed for the door, his hands clasped behind his back. The Dowutin followed him. The Grand Inquisitor pressed a few buttons on the control panel and the illuminator shut off. The room darkened. A tinge of light peaked from the doorway, emanating briefly on the fallen form of the boy before the door shut and the room was then completely enshrouded in darkness