Chapter Text
Kallus regained consciousness, his head throbbing worse than before, and his stomach churning. He tried to get up, desperate to find a ‘fresher to throw up in, but cold metal around his wrist pulled him back to the bunk he found himself in. He retched, and a bucket appeared in front of him. He made use of it gratefully, his stomach soon emptied, and the subsequent dry heaving increasingly painful. Concentrating, he forced his body under control, and managed to stop. His nausea soon subsided, but his headache had become even worse, he noted, the pain like spikes in his brain.
The bucket was removed, and he looked up, finally able to focus on his surroundings. The room was small, someone's quarters, based on the bunk, and spartan. He assumed he was on the Ghost, from his memories of fighting the Spectres, and the clone now facing him, familiar from his failed attempt to capture the rebels on Seelos. The clone wiped his face for him, and he felt it heat in humiliation.
“I suppose I should thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Where am I?”
“You're on the Ghost.”
Interesting, Kallus thought, that the clone seemed willing to tell him the truth, if he was correct in his assumption about his location. Asking questions of your captor was a delicate balance - attempting to gain more information than was given away - but it was something he had been trained for.
“What did you do to me? I feel terrible,” he asked.
The clone smiled. “Oh yeah,” he said, “Zeb told me to tell you, we had to stun you a second time, so we could treat you. So you can expect some additional discomfort, especially with your head injury.”
“Fair enough,” said Kallus, grimacing, his irritation mixing with a grudging admiration towards the lasat. In other circumstances, if he wasn't in so much pain, he might almost have found the remark amusing. He only hoped the lasat had felt just as bad as he did after its double stunning.
He looked down at himself, finally noticing he had been stripped to his underwear, and his bruises had been liberally treated with bacta while he had been unconscious.
“What are you planning to do with me?” he asked, his blood turning to ice as the reality of his situation hit him, the fog in his brain clearing a little. If they had gone to the trouble to treat him, they must be intending to do something with him. These rebels, excluding the lasat, and perhaps the Mandalorian, seemed too idealistic to use torture to extract intel from him. But they were part of a larger cell. They were probably already en-route to hand him over to somebody eager to get their hands on an ISB Agent. Or maybe they were just waiting for the lasat to recover from its injuries, so that it could take its revenge. He tried not to remember the sounds his squad had made, as the mercenary had moved through them, ripping them apart one by one.
“No idea,” replied the clone, “I've been stuck in here with you. But no need to look so worried, this isn't the Empire, you know.”
Kallus bristled. A little worry was warranted, when faced with death or torture at the hands of a terrorist cell. He lay back and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when you know,” he said, imperiously. He needed to think, as hard as that would be with his head pounding so sickeningly. Work through his options, in case there was a way out of the situation.
—--
“All done,” said Sabine, checking Zeb's new splint one last time. “Can he tell us what happened down there now, Hera?”
Hera looked at Zeb, and said “Only if he feels up to it. But it would be best if you can, Zeb. We have some decisions to make.”
“Dont worry, I feel fine now,” Zeb said, truthfully. The painkiller Sabine had given him was strong; even for a lasat. “Not much to tell. We fought in the escape pod and it crashed. Kallus recovered first, he'd already cuffed me to the pod by the time I woke up. That thing came out of nowhere, and he managed to kill it somehow. Saved my life, I guess.”
“What about your escape?” Sabine asked.
“Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about that. The first time the creature appeared, Kallus went to fight it, and I managed to break free. We only managed to chase it off together. But then Kallus stunned me, and that's when he welded me to the escape pod.”
“What a sleemo,” said Ezra in disgust. “I bet you saved his life, too.”
“Dunno ‘bout that.”
“Tell us how he managed to kill it. That thing was huge,” said Sabine, eagerly.
“Sorry Sabine, that will have to wait until later,” said Hera. “Now we know what happened, we have to work out what to do with him. I don't feel comfortable with an ISB Agent on board.”
Zeb stayed silent while the kids threw out suggestions, each wilder than the one before. He knew what he wanted to do with the Agent, but he didn't think it would be popular.
“I doubt that's even physically possible,” said Kanan with a smile, to Sabine’s last suggestion. “Maybe we should stick to what's feasible. Zeb, what do you think?”
“I wanna let him go.”
“What!”
“Seriously? After everything he's done?”
“Don't you think we should at least interrogate him first?”
“Nah,” said Zeb, stubbornly. “He saved my life. Doesn't feel right, doing anything else.”
“He welded you to the escape pod, after he knew that beast was down there,” said Sabine. “He left you helpless. You don't owe him anything.”
“She's right,” said Kanan. “He was just keeping his prisoner alive, so he could take you back to the Empire. You know what would have happened then.”
He didn't mention what had happened to him, when he had been captured, but Zeb knew he was thinking about it. Zeb felt sick, picturing Kanan in restraints, electricity coursing through his body. But it didn't change his mind.
“I know,” he said. “But he could have killed me, and he didn't.”
“Like I said, he wanted a prisoner to ‘interrogate’,” replied Kanan.
“Or use as bait,” Ezra added.
“You don't get it. When you found us, when you were calling up on the surface. He should have killed me. He knew he wouldn't be able to beat you all. He knew he'd lost.” Zeb could still feel the ghost of the chill he'd felt, looking down the barrel of Kallus’ rifle as they both listened to the shouts above them. He hadn't believed it when the Agent had lowered the weapon, and gagged him instead.
“Maybe he did think he would win,” said Ezra. “He does keep trying.”
“He didn't,” said Zeb, firmly. He'd been thinking about it, and he realised he had seen the knowledge of his inevitable defeat in Kallus’ eyes. “And most Imps would kill a prisoner, over losing them.”
“Are you sure that's what you want?” asked Hera, seriously.
“Yeah, it is.”
Chopper warbled something, and Sabine said, “Chopper’s got a point, maybe we should be letting Commander Sato make this decision.” Zeb growled. The droid somehow only managed to come up with sensible suggestions when they went against what Zeb wanted. He watched as Hera and Kanan held a silent conversation between themselves.
Then Hera nodded, and said, “I think the choice should be Zeb's, considering everything. I'll deal with Commander Sato.”
“Thanks, Hera.”
Hera went with Kanan to the cockpit, to set a new course, and Zeb was left with Sabine and Ezra, who both looked at him expectantly.
“Fine,” he said. “Here's what happened..”