Prisoner X7835241

Ylesia

Thracken Sal Solo steps off the Peace Brigade transport, walking the short distance towards the newest slave carrier to arrive. He looks up at the sun that beats down upon him, and snarls slightly as he curses Shimrra for demanding that he come here and assume this position. He steps forward as two warriors step off the transport, followed by a shaper holding some obscene looking biot, a priest and a couple of shamed ones herding a burden beast, with a young human male restrained atop it.

The warrior steps forward. “This Jeedai is to be stored until the time of the Great Sacrifice four klekkets from now. Is this understood?”

Thrackan glances once at the still body on the beast and tenses as he bows slightly at the waist. “Of course, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to where he can be stored.”

As he walks through the dusty streets a plan hatches in his mind, even as he suppresses the smile that threatens to appear on his lips. He can use this Jedi.

He shows them a room, and the beast is lead in, as all but the shaper leave. The warrior who spoke earlier turns to him. “He will be collected in three klekkets.” The warrior pokes Thrackan with a taloned finger. “If he is not, then you will suffer.”

The warrior spins on his heel and marches back to the coral vessel still visible in the distance. Thrackan grins at the retreating back, and looks at the young man still unconscious in the small room.

With the grin still on his face, he returns to his office, and sends a message to one of his contacts in the fringe. He needs ysalamiri. In walks his trusted lieutenant, his assassin. He smiles at Dagga Marl, and gestures to the seat on the far side of his desk.

“We’re going to liberate ourselves a Jedi.”

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Ten years later.

His name is Prisoner X7835241. For nearly ten years that is the only thing he has been called, he has long since given up trying to convince the droids who guard him to call him anything but that.

He rubs his hand over his head, feeling the stubble that is growing there. His mouth twitches as he realizes he will probably be shaved again soon.

Another month down.

A lifetime to go.

He stands up from his bed, and walks over to the small sink and piece of polished metal which serves him for a mirror. He turns on the water, splashing the tepid fluid over his head, and scrubbing his face.

He remembers that his eyes used to be blue and his skin was once healthy and touched with a tan. Now his eyes are a lifeless grey, and his skin pale and sallow from having not been touched by the sun in around a decade.

Giving his face one last quick rub, he walks over to the simple reed mat which serves as his bed.

Another day down. Another day of sitting in the small room staring at the wall ends.

Now he gets to sleep. This is his favorite time of the day, the time when he gets to close his eyes and dreams of places he visited as a child, of places he wishes he could be now, and of places he wants to go one day.

He lies down and closes his eyes. In moments sleeps grants him peace and release.

Sleep grants him dreams.

He smells the stench of the swamp. The tang of decaying plant and animal matter. The moist air.

He hears the call of the night birds. The steady dripping of the water as it falls from the sky. The gentle lapping of the pools of standing water which surround the area he finds himself.

He recognizes the planet. Dagobah.

He grins.

It is not often that he finds himself in this dream. It is one of his favorites, and only started appearing a few years ago. Before that the dreams took him somewhere else, to different worlds, different places, and different times.

Yet for all the places the dreams take him, there is one constant in them.

For all the differences in the dreams, there is always one thing he can count on in them.

To him, it is the only thing worth it. To him, it is the only thing worth staying alive for, worth not giving into despair for.

He hears the squish of a foot in the mud, and turns to see her.

She is jogging towards him, her blonde hair glows in the dim light as it bounces in rhythm to her steps.

She is dressed in a simple training outfit, the scars on her forehead a shock of white against her tan flesh. She comes to a stop in the clearing and bends over, placing her hands on her knees as she tries to slow down her breathing. She straightens back up, and he smiles as she runs a hand across her bare stomach. A thin sheathe of sweat cover her exposed flesh as she picks up a towel hanging from a tree and wipes her face with it.

He watches as she turns towards him, her mouth moving in words that he cannot understand. But he glories in the rich huskiness of her voice. He knows from experience that she is unable to see him, but that she seems to know that he is there, that he is watching her.

His being there used to make her cry; now it just causes a bitter sweet expression to flicker over her face.

He smiles as he silently watches her. He is happy for these few moments.

She is that constant, that one thing which keeps him both sane and from falling into despair.

And though his own name has been lost to him, he knows hers. Tahiri.

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Thrackan clenches his fist, wanting nothing more than to slam it into the pointed nose of the scientist before him. His mouth tightens, his teeth grind, and it takes all of his self-control to keep from hearing the meaty thunk of his fist breaking the cartilage of the man’s nose.

He leans forward, using his bulk and height to overshadow and intimidate the small man.

“I want this station operational, and I want it done now!”

The scientist takes a step back, and glances towards his subordinates behind him. “I’m sorry sir, but we just can’t do it. We have built the Anakin Solo droid, and it truly believes that it is Anakin Solo, but Centerpoint just won’t accept that it is.”

Thrackan closes his eyes and slowly counts to ten, doing a simple breathing exercise in an attempt to get his anger back under control before he has to find another head scientist for this project.

“Why is that Dr. Ottleman?”

“We lack the necessary biometerics for Anakin Solo. His records were on Coruscant, and they just don’t exist any more.”

Thrackan turns away, squeezing the bridge of his nose as a headache settles behind his eyes. “Just what type of biometerics do we need?”

“Brain scans, fingerprints, aura scans, normal body temperature, heart rate, iris scan and a DNA sample.”

Thrackan growls slightly and walks from the room, leaving a confused scientist behind.

Two days later finds him standing in front of a dilapidated old warehouse. The grey stone building is ugly, and square, and holds Thrackan’s greatest treasures. He presses his thumb against the lock, and grins as the door slides up slowly.

He walks into the dimly lit room, and opens a door to a stairwell which leads into the darkness. He walks into the darkness, and arrives at the bottom, finding two combat droids standing at full attention. Thrackan smiles at them, at least the droids can obey simple commands.

He walks around them, and opens the door to the cell they guard. He steps in, and a floating medical droid flickers in behind him. He allows the door to close behind him with a loud bang as he smiles at the young man doing some arcane exercise on the floor of the small cell.

“Hello Prisoner X7835241.”

The prisoner finally looks up at him, disdain and disgust clouding his feature. “Shove it Thrackan.”

Thrackan laughs, and gestures towards the medical droid. “This droid is going to take some measures and draw some blood and do a few other things. You’re going to allow it to do so.”

The prisoner stares at Thrackan for a moment longer. “When have I ever done what you wanted Thrackan?”

Thrackan’s lip pulls back in a snarl. “You owe me, I rescued you from the Vong, they were planning to sacrifice you to their World Brain.”

The prisoner barks a laugh. “And then you’ve kept me locked up in here for a decade. I’d say that evens things out.”

“This droid is going to do its job, or else I’m going to have to call those combat ones outside to beat you unconscious.”

“Thrackan, one day I will get out of here, and then I will kill you.”

“No one knows you’re here. Everyone thinks you are dead and gone.” A malicious smile flickers over his face. “And they’re happy that way.”

“I don’t believe you. The Force will let them now I’m here.”

Thrackan laughs. “You’re Force-blind now boy.”

The prisoner shrugs his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter, I will get out of here, and I will kill you. You’re a blight on society, an insect to be crushed.”

“Come now Anakin, is that any way to talk to your cousin?”