Chapter 3

A/N-I know it has been awhile since I worked on this, but I thought I'd give it a go again. I'm not making any promises; life's been hectic but I'm going to try to work on this story again. With that in mind read on….and don't forget to review. ;)

----------------------------------------------------

"Tell me your name, creature."

The man paused, wondering why he had to think so deeply about so simple a question. It was right on the tip of his tongue, hovering just out of sight. It should be second nature. He shouldn't have to think.

And about the moment when he remembered and his mouth opened to say it, he felt a dull throbbing in the back of his head and he suddenly forgot.

Who am I?

What is my name?

"Don't make me ask you again, creature," demanded the sharp voice.

He didn't know who she was but she had made it plain that she wasn't one to be defied. Her voice was a delicate, dry, monotone that scratched at his ears.

His thick brows frowned and he closed his eyes. He had just had it. What was it again? A-something, he was sure. "Hold on a sec," he muttered, finding a reservoir of boldness deep down. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to be cooperative. "I'm thinking."

He tried to think faster. They didn't like when he brooded too long. They thought it was dangerous. And what ever they saw in him that caused them to be afraid, they wanted to hurt.

The shaper, Nen Yim, he now remembered, made a gesture and a name floated to the surface, written in fiery incantations on the inside of his eyelids.

Farooq Naan.

That didn't sound quite right. It had the ring of familiarity to it but it didn't seem to…belong.

When he thought of himself, Farooq Naan was not the name that came to mind.

"My name is….Farooq Naan." he admitted reluctantly. The alien woman nodded, as if pleased. But it didn't feel right.

He fidgeted in his restraints as fear set in. Why could he not recall his identity? Not knowing caused his head to ache and he recoiled from his damaged psyche as if he had been physically beaten. He felt worn.

He looked down at his bare chest, in an attempt to distract himself, and saw that the wound was mottled by a yellowish hue. It was almost completely healed, and he inwardly smiled. Without the Force he would have been a goner.

And his captor, Nen Yim, was so intrigued at his rate of healing. She was getting so upset, and deep down, he got some kind of satisfaction for denying her willing answers to her questions.

He knew they were trying to shape him, to turn him into a Dark Jedi warrior who would carry out their biddings but they didn't know how deep these dangerous waters they were playing in ran. He was powerful, and if the moral restraints that bound him were cut free all hell would break loose. He would not be controlled by the Yuuzhan Vong. Nothing would control him. They wanted him to destroy the Jedi but if he fell than the bloodshed would not end there.

His lips firmed. He would never give in. He was strong and getting stronger every day. And if his will proved to be too fragile to withstand the torture then he would kill himself before allowing them to transform him into a nightmare.

…but the loss of his true name. That was unsettling. Could Nen Yim just pick at and dissect his thoughts and memories at random and delete or add information? He would never know which memories were real or which had been implanted. He was capable of eradicating the Jedi and he wouldn't even know it.

His whole life was over. They could take his memories of his family, his rigorous Jedi training, even how he felt about Tahiri. They could take it all away.

"Farooq Naan."

With each repetition, the name sounded more right. Three syllables that meant: him. His identity. I am Farooq Naan, he thought.

Nen Yim spoke up. "Do you remember your crèche mother, Farooq? Did she ever tell you what your name meant?"

"No. I didn't have a crèche mother. I grew up on Coruscant with my parents and my sister and my brother." As his recollection became clear, other things did as well. He frowned. Things were changing so fast. It was confusing. "My name…it's A-anakin. Anakin Solo!" He grinned in victory. There was hope for him yet.

Nen Yim howled in frustration as she again, for what seemed the millionth time, touched the tendril ray.

Anakin braced himself for pain but surprisingly none reached him.

A thin, whispery cloud of papery nothingness dazed his mind and he paused. "Wait. That's not right. I grew up on a poor, cold worldship called Blazing Glory."

Exactly.

That was the truth.

For a certainty.

Why couldn't I remember before? Is my crèche' mother still alive, he thought? Has she embraced death? Neither option fazed him.

"And?" prompted Nen Yim.

"And," he said, with absolute conviction, "my name is Farooq Naan."

In a small, dark part of his mind, a trickle of nervousness beading its way through his being and rested between his shoulder blades, barely noticeable.

Oh no, thought Farooq Naan, this isn't good.

"I'm so confused," he groaned, his eyes closing in distress.

"Yes," the Master shaper sympathized, "but soon that will change. You were sent as a child to the enemy as a spy, to gather information, to be taught in their warrior traditions, so that now, with your glorious, successful return we can reeducate you in our ways and you will become the ultimate warrior."

She gave him a pointed look.

"That is what you want, isn't it?"

Farooq thought for a moment. "It is my greatest hope," he muttered uncertainly but tried to sound convincing, he didn't want Nen Yim to have any doubts about him. If he pleased her maybe he could someday emerge out of this torture chamber. Maybe he could escape, Farooq Naan thought excitedly. I will break free from these restraints. And wipe that smug smile off the shapers delicate face.

She would tremble in wake of the being she created. He was Yuuzhan Vong. He would introduce her to the gods that gave her the shaping skill, and kill her using all his pent up fury, using his own gift from the gods-this Force. He would murder her and then set himself onto the path of redemption, the trail that would ultimately lead to the destruction of the Jedi abomination.

"I am so uncertain. When will me reeducation be complete?"

"In time," clucked the shaper. "You must endure the pain for a time." She paused. "But what is pain to the great and soon to be glorified Farooq Naan?"

Farooq straightened his spine a fraction and pursed his whispery thin human lips. He could only nod in agreement.

Farooq pondered things.

Nen Yim soon noticed one of her shaping creatures vibrating in alarm. "What is it, Farooq," she placed unnecessary stress on his name. "That you want to ask?"

"Will I remain in this pale sallow unscarred skin for long?"

Nen Yim gave him a cursory glance, subjecting him to her shaper's glare. It made him wary.

"Upon your triumphant return to your people, then you will be ritually scarred. But only then."

Farooq considered this and nodded. It was fair.

He clenched a fist. He would do everything in his power to attain victory.

Nothing, not even the master of all the Jedi, would stop him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now do what you do best. ; )