Chapter Text
The hologram of Hera Syndulla flickered and died, leaving the cabin of Ahsoka’s shuttle in oppressive silence.
Ahsoka stood still, her hands resting on the edge of the holotable. She had just told a friend to let a teammate—a partner—die. She had looked into Hera’s eyes and denied her the one thing that mattered, all for the sake of a rebellion that was still mostly a collection of whispers in the dark.
The guilt was a physical weight, pressing against her lekku. She closed her eyes, trying to centre herself, but instead, she found a memory.
The stone floors of the Jedi Temple were cool beneath her. Ahsoka, no older than fourteen, sat in a semi-circle with a dozen other students. Next to her was one of the younger Padawans - his eyes wide and attentive, his knee bouncing with nervous energy.
At the front of the room stood Master Kelleran Beq. He didn't look like a creche master today. Today he looked like a tired warrior – his hands tucked into his sleeves.
"This is a difficult topic – one that I very much wish I didn’t have to teach you today" Beq said, his voice resonant and serious. "But if you are taken by the Separatists—or anyone else—you will need to know how to conduct yourselves. As Trial Master, this falls in the scope of my expertise.”
Ahsoka nudged the boy beside her to get him to stop fidgeting.
"A captor wants four things," Beq explained. "Control, Dependency, Compliance, and Cooperation.”
“They aim to strip you of freedom, make you rely on them, follow orders, and eventually act for their cause. Control is first; they strip your agency. They take your lightsaber, your robes, and your freedom—holding you in confinement.”
Ahsoka shivered.
“Then comes Dependency. They become the only source of food, water, light. This is achieved through Pressures—physical pressures like isolation, fatigue, sensory deprivation, even abuse.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “This is war, not a game. Abuse will be used against captives.”
A chill settled over the room and silenced all remaining fidgeting.
“Psychological pressures are just as dangerous,” Beq continued. “False hope, boredom, lack of confidence, worry, guilt, shame—they can break a mind just as a club can break a bone. The threat of punishment alone keeps your brain in constant fight-or-flight.”
“From there comes Compliance,” he said. “Small tasks at first: asking permission for necessities, greeting your jailers, cleaning, even singing. Everything builds toward Cooperation. They want you to help them destroy what you love.”
The human boy beside her raised his hand. “How do you go from singing to joining the enemy?”
A few students tittered, releasing tension, but Master Beq didn’t seem upset.
“Good question. That does seem like a stretch.” He smiled at the room, letting the tension bleed away for a moment. “It isn’t immediate. They start with small treacheries—offering a gift in exchange for a favour, making you feel indebted. They may ask advice, build rapport, make resistance feel like betrayal. It all begins with Dependency, and it compounds.”
“The most common forms of Cooperation they want to exploit are propaganda and intelligence. They might ask you to record a message, convincing comrades to stop fighting. That can demoralize troops—or frame it as a confession.”
A holovid popped up. A bloodied man in a tattered uniform appeared.
“My name is Captain Damarak of the Royal Naboo Security Forces. I speak to you today on behalf of… the authorities.”
Battle droids patrolled empty streets. “It is important to obey the curfew. It keeps everyone safe. Those who ignore the rules endanger themselves and others.”
Back on the man, a droid loomed behind him. He gulped and finished hastily: “The Trade Federation thanks you for your cooperation.” His jaw tightened. Emotions flickered across his face—shame, fear, despair.
The vid ended with a single word beneath the Trade Federation logo: Obey.
Ahsoka felt it through the Force—the weight, the tension, the reactions of every student who had witnessed the holo.
Beq waved a hand and the image vanished. “To survive this, you must master four resistance strategies: Posture, De-escalation, Skepticism, and Delay.”
He gestured toward boy beside her. "Posture, Padawan Dume. What does that mean to you?"
Caleb straightened his spine. “Its how you hold yourself.”
“You’re on the right path,” the Master nodded. “Padawan Tano – can you expand on that, in the context of today’s topic?”
“Not letting them see that you’re hurt” Ahsoka said thoughtfully. “If they think you’re weak, they’ll target that. If you show them you’re not broken… they stop looking for it.”
“Very good,” Beq said. “But it’s not just how others perceive you. Combine your answers. You hold yourself up not just for the captor, but for yourself. Never let yourself believe you’re broken—self-doubt is the enemy’s work. Maintain your dignity.”
He turned back to the class. “This leads into De-escalation. You are not there to win every argument. Follow reasonable commands to create the illusion of a model captive. Refusing inconsequential orders wastes willpower. Use composure. Speak slowly and clearly. If your emotions are steady, your defences are impenetrable.”
“There is no emotion, there is peace,” another padawan piped up.
“Very good,” Master Beq acknowledged, “Though I prefer the older phrasing: emotion, yet peace. You will feel emotions in these situations. Peace isn’t absence of feeling—it’s acceptance. Anger passes. Hurt fades. Passion fizzles.”
Ahsoka’s montrails twitched. This is not what she’d been taught – but she had to admit that it certainly made sense. A few other padawans shifted uncertainly, eyes flitting sideways at one another.
"But Master," Caleb interrupted, "what if they use emotions to hurt us?"
"Then you use Skepticism," Beq said, his eyes locking onto his. "Internalize it. Every question, every 'kind' gesture, every piece of news they give you—doubt it. A skeptical resistor is nearly impossible to exploit because they never accept the captor's reality."
He looked at each of them. "And above all – Trust in the Force.”
They sat quietly for a moment before rising. Caleb raised his hand again.
“Master Beq—you forgot the last strategy. Delay. What are we delaying?”
Beq laughed softly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Until you can escape… or be rescued.”
Ahsoka opened her eyes in the present. The memory of Beq’s voice faded, replaced by the low hum of the shuttle.
She thought of Kanan – Caleb Dume – sitting in a dark cell Force knows where. She knew the Inquisitor was using every tool Beq had warned them about.
"Maintain your dignity, Jedi," she whispered to the empty cabin.
She had told Hera not to go, not because she didn't care, but because she knew if the group rushed in and failed, the Empire would have everything.
She sat in the pilot's chair, her hands trembling slightly. She had to have confidence in him—the boy who had sat on that stone floor and learned how to resist.
She breathed out and remembered the Master’s words ‘Emotion yet peace’. She let herself feel the grief, the guilt, the doubt, then let them pass over her.
She couldn’t let Hera and her crew rush in there.
There were others suited to that job.
She reached for her communicator.