Chapter Text
There were two ways to maintain control of a galactic empire, Peter had drilled into Derek from a very young age: force and fear. With force, people could be made to obey, made to act in accordance with the laws. When force was in play then fear of that force was always a factor but, Peter had explained carefully and with examples drawn out over many lessons, there would always be people who would risk their lives despite that fear. However, he had continued, the people most likely to risk their lives were the people who could most be made to fear when something other than their own lives was at stake.
And that was why Derek sat in his command chair on the bridge of his warship while two of his personal security team hauled in a struggling figure who had been transferred here from the strike team’s spacecraft. The boy was a little older than Derek had expected, a man or near enough by the counts of most systems in this sector of the galaxy. He was thin - no doubt rebels didn't always have a steady food supply - but he was surprisingly attractive despite that. And there was fire in his expression as he met Derek's eyes with a glare.
"I'll never tell you anything," the boy said. "I don't care how you torture me, I won't betray my father."
Derek smiled a little, amused by this bold declaration from someone who had probably never seen how a true torturer operated. But information revealed under torture was suspect at the best of times, and Derek had a much more valuable use for this kid.
"Whether I torture you," Derek said, "is up to you. And to your father."
"What do you mean?" He was obviously scared, but he was still willing to speak to Derek, to demand answers of him without any simpering or begging. Derek had to respect that. Some of his father's rebel fire had obviously been passed on to the kid.
"You are now my guest. Your physical needs will be cared for."
"Just not my emotional and psychological needs?" the kid asked, with enough bite in his tone to amuse Derek even more.
"If you do something foolish like attempting to hurt any of my people, you will be punished for it. If your father's forces attack any of my outposts, you will be punished for it. If your father's forces kill any of my soldiers, you will lose a part of your body for every life taken." Derek paused to make sure his words sank in, watching the kid squirm nervously. "However, if you both behave sensibly, there is no reason why your stay here shouldn't be a pleasant one." He looked at the two security officers, Boyd and Isaac, holding the kid in place. "Get him cleaned up and find him something clean to wear. He stinks."
The kid did smell, the sweat of fear and the dirt of too long spent living in hollowed out asteroids where water was too precious to waste on washing. Maybe the kid would be grateful for a real bath. Maybe he would come to see the benefits of being a guest of the overlord.
"Is this where you order me bathed and oiled and taken to your chambers?" the kid demanded, before security could march him out.
"If that's where your interests lie," said Derek, "I'm sure that could arranged." The kid was attractive enough and his fire was entertaining. Derek wouldn't mind seeing what he was like in bed, though he wouldn't let the kid’s mouth anywhere near his genitals in case the kid tried to bite them off. It seemed the kid wasn’t going to be interest though.
"Fuck you," the kid snarled. He spat, the glob of saliva hitting the deck in front of Derek's chair.
One of the security officers raised a fist to punish the kid for such a show of disrespect.
"Boyd!" Derek said. The fist froze mid-punch, even as the kid flinched away from it. "He didn't do me any harm. I think punishment is unnecessary this time."
"Yes, sir," Boyd said. He and Isaac hauled the kid out. Derek sat back in his chair and pushed thoughts of the kid out of his mind.
He had other things to think about, like the matter of the plague on Fessin 3. The other planets in the area had sent some relief workers, but the system didn't have enough equipment to manage on their own so Derek would have to figure out some way to ship medical supplies between solar systems without depleting any other world's vital stocks. The logistics of moving medicines and plasma and such things would be problematic because a lot of them required careful handling, which meant getting ships and crews capable of moving the materials and doing all of this quickly enough to still be of use.
At least if keeping the boy here as hostage kept the rebels from their attempts at destabilising civilised society, he'd have more time to devote to matters like the welfare of his people.
***
Stiles was going to have bruises on his arms from where the two grunts were hauling him around, but he was surprisingly uninjured otherwise. He didn't expect that to last. He was bound to say something to piss of the Almighty Asshole and that would lead to him getting the promised punishment. Stiles was sure that punishment meant torture. Given the threats about cutting parts of him off, he knew he couldn't expect any mercy from the brutal overlord. Stiles had seen the public broadcasts of executions and the various shows of force that Hale had made sure were shown around the galaxy to keep people trembling and afraid. Now Stiles knew he was going to be the star of one of those broadcasts, all in the name of keeping his father in line.
The grunts reached a door and one of them, Boyd, touched a panel beside it. The door slid open to reveal a neat bathroom, with a shower cubical and even a real bathtub. Stiles couldn't remember the last time he'd had a bath. The grunts shoved him roughly inside.
"Get yourself clean," Boyd ordered. "Towels are in that cupboard there," he pointed, "and we'll deposit a clean change of clothes through there." He pointed to a plastic box on the wall that had a flap that could be opened from the hallway outside.
"What if I don't do what I'm told?" Stiles asked. He wanted to understand the limits of his freedom here and how much he could get away with.
"We've been ordered to get you cleaned up," Boyd said. "You can wash yourself or we can do it for you. Your choice."
Stiles decided he didn't want these two manhandling him any more than they had done already, especially not if it involved him being naked. Besides, he'd not had a real shower in so long he couldn't even count the weeks.
"I'll do it," Stiles said. Boyd nodded and closed the door behind him.
Stiles took a minute to quickly explore the bathroom, looking for anything that might be useful as a weapon. He hoped someone would have left a razor or something he could manipulate into a useful tool, but unless he wanted to try beating someone up with a bar of soap, he was out of luck. He stripped off and got into the shower cubical, adjusting the settings for water flow and heat. Hot water engulfed him, the spray beating down on sore muscles, and he could almost feel the dirt behind banished from his skin. For the first minute, he just stood there and enjoyed the experience of the warmth.
There was a timer on the control panel, counting down each second he spent under the spray, no doubt as part of an effort to reduce the strain on the ship's recycling systems. Most showers would cut off after a while, once an allocated water ration had been used up. Stiles decided to stay in the shower until that cut off kicked in. He couldn't rebel without getting punished, but he was just following instructions. He'd been told to get clean and so he would, wasting Hale's water was just a by-product. He scrubbed every inch of himself and then he soaped up and scrubbed himself clean all over again.
He washed behind his ears and between his toes. He rinsed himself off with the clean water and then wondered how long this was going to take. He watched the counter ticking upwards, seconds and minutes passing, adding up, becoming more and more accusatory, but never triggering the automatic cut off that Stiles had expected. He wondered if this was Hale's personal bathroom. Perhaps the overlord's showers didn't come with rationing measures.
Stiles was starting to get bored. How long could he stay in a shower anyway? His boredom was destroying his plans for petty revenge and he was starting to worry that the grunts would wonder what was taking him so long. The last thing he wanted was for them to burst in on him and drag him off to his cell while he was naked. Stiles climbed out of the shower, but left the water running rather than abandon his revenge plan entirely. He retrieved one of the towels, which were larger and fluffier than any towel he'd ever touched in his life. He'd spent the last year using a stained rag as a towel and there was something almost decadent about wrapping the towel around his entire body as he went to see what clothes he'd been given. The clothes were clean and soft too, with loose pants and shirt and some underwear, all in a dull shade of beige. There were even some shoes, though they were more like slippers with their thin soles and lack of fastenings. They were probably fine for walking around on smooth ship decks, but would be next to useless for walking outside. Not that he was likely to see outside on any world any time soon. He pulled on the dull beige and it was hard to think of the clothes as anything but a prison uniform.
He turned off the shower at the last possible moment and opened the door. The grunts stood to attention from where they'd been lounging across the hallway.
"About time," one said.
"We were starting to think you'd drowned in there," the other said.
They took hold of Stiles' arms, more gently this time, and started marching him through the halls of the warship towards whatever cell was now his home.