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Counting the days was pointless, Kallus had known that. After the first month, he knew the ghost crew was not coming to save him. They may have had more important missions, or they may have thought he was killed upon his discovery. Regardless of the reason, they weren’t coming back for him. It would have been easier for him if he didn’t have hope.
Unfortunately, that was something he had needed to keep alive and well during his time as Fulcrum. Kallus was very well acquainted with hope, and now, despite the odds, it refused to leave him. No matter how many times he told himself that no one was coming to save him, a little voice in the back of his head spoke up, wondering ’what if?’
He knew it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. To wonder why exactly the Spectres were not coming to his rescue as he had seen them do for their own so many times before. The
Spectres were unmatched in their abilities to overcome completely insurmountable odds to save their own. Every time Kallus posed the question to himself, that’s where he got stuck. Of course, he was not one of their own. Not truly, anyway. It would never matter how much work he did for the rebellion, or how much good he did in the galaxy. He would never be a redeemed man. And he went right back to feeling guilty about his hurt feelings. This was what he deserved for his crimes.
Time began to lose all meaning as Kallus stared at his cell walls. Day after day, he had very little human contact. Someone would leave food and water for him as he slept, and it would be replaced by the time he woke up the next morning. He felt like a caged animal in a zoo. Of course, he couldn’t really blame the empire for treating him like this. He was a dangerous man after all. Unfortunately enough, the troopers on board the Chimera were smart enough not to underestimate an ex-ISB agent.
Even the slightest bit of human interaction would have given him something to look forward to. He longed for someone to acknowledge his presence, even if it was during a session of torture or interrogation. That was what he had been prepared for, not whatever this was. He could handle torture. He was trained for that. He was expecting a long, grueling, and painful interrogation, and then a swift execution when his investigative team had tired of him.
Instead, he sat alone in his cell. For months on end, he sat in the cell, his only companions his thoughts. The ghosts of his past kept him company well enough, he supposed. It was sometimes difficult to feel truly alone with the ghosts of all the beings he had wronged weighing on his shoulders. His nightmares had never had mercy on him, not even when he was still working for the empire. With all his newfound time to simply sit and think, they had gotten progressively worse, to the point where Kallus avoided sleep as much as humanly possible.
That had brought along other challenges, however. He noticed that as his sleep dwindled, so did his food and water supply. The longer he stayed awake, the more time between meals.
He supposed he started to lose hope when he noticed how prominent his ribs and hipbones had gotten. Even though he wanted nothing more than to get rest, and receive food, it was out of his control. The massacre of Lasan was seemingly painted on the inside of his eyelids, forcing him awake after even brief moments of blissful unconsciousness.
Even though some little part of his brain screamed at him that this was wrong and he should be taking care of himself for when his rescue did come, Kallus found himself unable to care most days. Today was one of those days.
Sitting on the floor of his cell, delighting in the pain of the hard, cold, durasteel against his aching joints, Kallus arbitrarily wondered how much longer he would have to suffer. With his worsening insomnia and his failing health, he wondered how much longer he had. How much longer would his heart be able to hold out? How much longer until his systems started to shut down, and he was left as nothing more than a skeletal husk to haunt the Chimera and its crew?
The hopeful flame in the back of his brain had been quieter lately. Maybe his hope was finally being used up. He ran a hand along his ribcage, feeling every hill and valley under his fingertips. He chuckled darkly as he thought about the ghost crew. They most certainly thought he was dead by now. Kallus had estimated it had been well over a year since he had been captured. But if they were aware of his capture, of the fluttering beating of his heart beneath his prominent ribs, they were running out of time.
As he felt that flame of hope flicker towards extinguishment, Kallus felt his eyelids droop. As much as he wanted to stay awake, to avoid the nightmares, sometimes his body gave him no choice. He supposed this was one of those times. Unable to fight the warm and terrifying pull of sleep, Kallus gave in, leaning his head against the wall as he drifted into unconsciousness.
~~~
Breaking into imperial facilities was never easy, especially not trying to infiltrate a star destroyer. Especially not when that star destroyer was being commanded by Grand Admiral Thrawn himself. But, against all odds, the Spectre crew had found a way. Even without their fulcrum able to help.
The second they had gotten word that Kallus had not actually been killed, but was being held in imperial custody, the crew had been off the ground in a matter of hours. It was not so much a discussion of if they were going to extract Kallus, but rather how. Rebel command had not exactly been pleased with their departure, but Hera was determined there was nothing they could do to stop her.
Of course, this had all happened at a rather bad time. They had all been preparing to return to Lothal to help liberate Ezra’s homeworld. However, the kid had agreed that Kallus’s life had meant more in this moment, and that while Lothal had time, Kallus might not. Zeb, as always when it came to matters involving the ex-ISB agent, was inclined to agree.
“Karabast Kanan. Where’s the detention block? This is takin’ too long, we need to get outta here,” Zeb whispered through gritted teeth at the trooper next to him.
“Be patient Zeb. We are lucky we got this far. We are almost there, and they don’t suspect a thing.” Kanan seemed confident. More confident than Zeb, apparently.
It was not surprising though, given the fact that both Kanan and Ezra were disguised as storm troopers, as well as armed. He, however, was dressed in a prison jumpsuit with a pair of binders around his wrists. Everyone had agreed that Zeb being included in the infiltration team was a bad idea. Kanan had insisted that he and Ezra could handle it. But Zeb was not taking no for an answer. He was going with them, and he was going to see Kallus again, one way or another. If he had to drag the man out of here completely unconscious… or worse… he was going to let nothing stop him.
The crew rounded another corner, coming across more troopers.
“Hey! We didn’t get word of a prisoner transfer. State your business, troopers,” one of the troopers demanded.
Zeb tried to hide his smirk as he saw Kanan wave his hand subtly. “I thought you all had work to attend to on level fifty six.”
The troopers looked dazed for a moment before snapping back to reality. “We… have work to attend to on level fifty six. Carry on.” With that, the troopers retreated, leaving them alone in the cell block.
“Do we know which cell he’s in?” Ezra asked, stepping behind Zeb and slipping the binders from his wrists.
Shaking out his hands, Zeb turned to look around. “I have no idea. But he’s got to be around here somewhere.” He looked at Kanan for a moment, realizing that in the Jedi's stillness, he was reaching out with the force. He waited a moment, reminding himself to be patient. He had been told that multiple times, by essentially all the members of the crew, including Chopper at one point. He was somewhat surprised to find himself overly anxious to see Kallus. The entire crew, and the greater rebel movement, owed the man quite the apology. They simply hadn’t known he was alive. But that didn’t change the fact that they had left him in imperial custody for almost a year and a half.
“He’s in cell number 8,” Kanan announced somberly.
Immediately dashing toward cell 8, Zeb waited anxiously for Ezra to unlock the door with his stolen code cylinder. The second the cell door receded, Zeb was rushing down the steps, not waiting for either Jedi to follow him.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light in the room, but he saw nobody in the room at first. The cot hanging from the wall was empty, save for an empty plate and small glass next to it. Apart from that, the cell was empty.
“Oh, that’s all I need now. Hallucinations.”
Zeb jumped at the quiet voice from behind him. He turned quickly, and had to work very hard to school his expression into something a little less horrified.
Kallus was there, at least, Zeb thought it was Kallus, leaning up against the corner of his cell. The man was sitting on the floor with his knees tucked up to his chin. His facial hair had grown out into an unruly mess, and it looked like the man hadn’t bathed since he was captured. His hair, once slicked back and short, had since grown long, and hung over Kallus’s face like a veil. Even shrouded in shadow as his face was, Zeb could clearly see the way his eyes were sunken and tired. His cheekbones and jawbones jutted out much more than Zeb had remembered. Compared to the confident, commanding figure he had left on Bahryn, he hardly recognized this man.
He took a small step forward, kneeling about a foot from where Kallus sat curled against the wall. “Kallus?”
Kallus didn’t respond. He just continued to look inquisitively at Zeb’s face. He did that for a moment before speaking once more. “You look different. I guess my memory is failing me as we speak.” The words ground through his throat like sandpaper. It sounded like the man hadn’t had a drop of water in days.
“It’s… Kallus, it’s me. It’s Zeb. And Kanan and Ezra.” He saw Kallus’s vision shift to the men standing behind him. Zeb looked up, seeing they had both removed their helmets. Looking back at Kallus, the man still had that strange look on his face. “We are here to get you out.”
Nodding for a moment, Kallus leaned back against the wall, letting his legs flatten against the ground. Zeb’s eyes widened as he saw how the jumpsuit hung off Kallus’s now thin frame. His collarbones stood out starkly against his skin. The man looked near death.
“No,” he said simply.
Confusion slipping onto his face, Zeb repeated, “No?”
Kallus simply shook his head. “I refuse to believe I’m this far gone. You’re not real. The Spectres don’t know I’m alive. I’m going to die here, so please, just leave me to pass in peace.”
With that, the man firmly closed his eyes.
With that statement, Zeb felt his heart break a little. “Kallus, we are really here.” He shifted forward and placed his hand on Kallus’s thin ankle.
At the contact, the man jolted and his eyes shot open, immediately finding Zeb’s. He shifted his incredulous view to the two men behind him before stopping back on him. He looked as if he was about to cry. Sitting forward very slowly, Kallus brought his hand down on top of Zeb’s where it rested on his ankle. When their hands made contact, Kallus gasped. His hand was shaking as Zeb placed his other hand on top of Kallus’s in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.
Looking back into his eyes once more, Kallus spoke brokenly. “You’re really here.”
Zeb smiled and nodded at him. “We are just sorry it took us so long to find you. We thought…” he trailed off.
“We thought you were dead. We thought you had been executed,” Ezra finished solemnly.
Looking past him at the young Jedi, Zeb saw Kallus’s face melt into a mixture of despair and bliss. “I understand. I’m just glad you all are here now. I would very much like to leave this dreaded cell.” He coughed for a moment after finishing his sentence. Zeb wondered momentarily how many words the man had spoken in the past month. Or year. He decided it was probably better not to think about it.
Pushing the thought from his mind, Zeb nodded. “Alright then.” He stood up, keeping a tight grip on Kallus’s hand. The other man looked up at him with misty eyes. “Can you stand?” Zeb didn’t let go of his hand.
Kallus nodded for a moment before bracing his free hand against the floor. It took him a moment, and much more effort than it should have, but the man eventually pushed himself up to his knees, and then Zeb pulled him most of the rest of the way up to standing.
Once he was on his two feet again, Kallus lost balance almost immediately. He caught himself on Zeb’s torso, suddenly glaring daggers at his own feet. Zeb could tell the man was trying to steady his own breathing. How long had Kallus been like this?
Zeb tossed an arm around Kallus’s shoulder, pulling him forward slowly, so he could reacquaint himself with the mechanics of walking. Zeb said nothing about it. He felt awful.
“My apologies. It has been a minute. I am a bit lightheaded,” he said, leaning further into Zeb’s side. Zeb tightened his grip on Kallus, stepping closer to him to offer more support.
“Can you walk?” Kanan asked suddenly. “We have to go. There’s a larger patrol on the way down here. I don’t think we can all slip by unnoticed.”
Kallus looked up at Kanan. For the first time since he had opened his cell door, Zeb noticed determination burning in Kallus’s sunken eyes. “I’m ready. Let’s get out of here,” he declared.
After having to essentially carry Kallus up the stairs, it was abundantly clear to Zeb how the man was mistreated here. He had no muscle mass left, whatsoever. What became increasingly alarming to Zeb, however, was the distant look Kallus kept getting in his eyes as they slowly made their way toward the Ghost.
Upon turning a corner, Zeb looked over to find Kallus’s gaze completely glazed over, his eyelids uneven and drooping closed.
“Hey,” Zeb called,tapping Kallus gently with the hand he was using to hold him up. “Are you okay?”
Kallus didn’t answer right away. He kept staring into the distance, clearly seeing nothing. Zeb stopped for a moment, bending down slightly to look closer at Kallus before the man mumbled something.
Zeb stepped in front of him and grabbed both his shoulders. “Kallus?” But the man wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Before Kallus could answer, his eyes were rolling back in his head, his entire body going limp and slipping out of Zeb’s grip. “Shit,” the lasat exclaimed as Kallus’s limp body hit the floor. “Kanan, stop, something weird is happening.”
Zeb didn’t notice Kanan and Ezra coming back in his direction as he tried to gather Kallus in his arms. Before he could do so, however, Zeb noticed the man was beginning to shake uncontrollably. It started as smaller tremors that were mainly localized to the man’s limbs, but as Zeb tried to get his hands under Kallus’s body to move him, he began convulsing and shaking.
Feeling panic rise up in his throat, Zeb called once more for Kanan. “Kanan, it’s bad, I don’t know what’s going on.” He was trying to keep his voice down and mostly calm, but he was failing spectacularly as he watched the man he cared about shake and twitch violently on the ground in front of him.
He heard footsteps right behind him as Ezra and Kanan returned to help. Zeb couldn’t look away to acknowledge them. Taking a moment to read the force signature around them before answering, Kanan sighed. “He’s having a seizure. He was probably too dehydrated. We should have carried him. Walking was too much stress on his body.”
Zeb was starting to panic. The shaking wasn’t stopping. It was uncanny to see how Kallus’s eyes rolled back into his head. “How do we fix it? What can we do?” As much as he hated it, panic was seeping into his voice.
“There’s nothing we can do. Normally, we have to wait it out.” He was quiet for a moment while he reached out through the force. “But we can’t do that this time. There are troopers coming. We need to move him, now.”
Zeb looked up at the Jedi. Move him? While he was like this? But the resolve and slight worry he could see in Kanan’s unmasked face was enough to convince him. They didn’t have another choice.
Taking a deep breath, Zeb secured one of his hands around Kallus’s back, and the other under the crease of his knees. It was much more difficult to keep Kallus in his arms when he was shaking so badly, but Zeb was determined to get him back to the shuttle.
Standing up, he turned and ran after the two Jedi. He tried not to watch as Kallus’s head flopped limply over his arm. He tried not to worry as he felt the man shake himself nearly apart in his arms as the team ran toward the Ghost.
Kanan pulled his com out of his pocket. “Hera, we need to go. Start the engines up, we are almost there.”
Eventually, the convulsing slowed to a violent shiver, and Zeb’s heart nearly stopped. As the man went still in his arms, Zeb paused for a moment, searching for any sign that Kallus might still be alive. He was sure he would feel better when the shaking stopped. That was not the case. Kallus was still unconscious, and felt like dead weight in his arms.
It wasn’t until Zeb felt the ghost of a weak breath run across his cheek that he knew Kallus was even alive.
He quickly caught back up with Kanan and Ezra as the crew boarded the stolen Lambda shuttle. Zeb looked around the hangar for any possible hostiles. It seemed like Hera had taken care of the landing crew after all. Once they were all on board, Zeb felt the shuttle bob and weave to avoid the imperial turbolasers upon their escape.
Setting Kallus down on one of the rows of seats, Zeb knelt on the ground next to him. Once he had felt the pull deep in his stomach of entering hyperspace, he let himself feel the stress of the day. Kallus was still unconscious, but as Zeb put a hand in front of his face, he could feel the breath coming from the man’s nose and mouth. He was alive.
As Zeb brushed the long strands of hair out of Kallus’s face, he sent a small prayer to the Ashla that their rescued prisoner would stay strong, and keep fighting until they got back to base.
“You’re gonna be okay, Kallus. I swear,” Zeb promised as he rested his head on the benches next to where Kallus was lying. He would make sure of it.