The Death of Duty

Chapter 13 - Treasonous Torture

The blinding brightness did nothing to help the pounding ache in my head when I opened my eyes. I blinked a few times to adjust, and a silhouette stood over me.

I lurched to the side, my bones grinding against one another from disuse. The figure above me jumped back in shock, and then hands were on me, pinning me down. I thrashed against them, but there were too many. Two hands on my arms, two on my legs.

"Stop moving, Fremen bitch," someone cursed, one of the figures holding me down.

A Harkonnen soldier, no doubt.

I stopped to catch my breath, my eyes shattering over the room, taking in every detail.

It was my own room, with my bed, and the same four walls I'd grown used to. But a man in a fine white shirt stood next to the bed, alongside two Harkonnen soldiers, their dark armor bulky compared to the other man's light attire.

I narrowed my eyes on the man in white. He had a diamond tattoo on his smooth forehead, a sign of his imperial conditioning against taking a human life.

He was a Suk doctor.

"I am just checking your vitals," he said, palms facing toward me in surrender. The soldiers still held me tight, but I didn't fight as he approached again, leaning over me and closing his eyes. He placed a palm on my forehead and breathed in.

"You have been out for two days," he said, eyes still closed.

My stomach dropped. The doctor's brows twitched, no doubt picking up on the drastic change in my vital signs at his words. "Your body has been recovering slowly," he said and opened his eyes again, pulling back. The soldiers released me, and I shook off their grips. "I gave you a feeding tube to replenish the nutrients your body lacked, and I reintroduced spice to your system."

My eyes widened and I glanced over my body, clad in a thin white gown. Needles were stuck in my arms that attached to some sort of machine beside the bed, and I pulled my gown up, uncaring of what the soldiers or doctor saw. A thick clear tube was attached to my stomach, no doubt where they fed me for the days I was out.

I wrapped my fingers around it and tugged. It didn't budge.

"Your body still requires the tube, and it will be removed when it is no longer needed to restore your health," the doctor said, watching me mess with the tube.

I glanced at him, and then back at the tube. The soldiers stood off to the side, waiting in case I were to make a move.

I tugged at the tube again, and then I yanked, pulling it from my body. A sharp sting radiated from the hole in my body, but I tossed it on the floor. The doctor stared at me, mouth open, but I turned my attention to the needles and tubes in my arms. They were all connected to one thing or another, no doubt pumping me full of unknown chemicals.

I plucked them out of my veins, beads of blood forming in their wake.

Fuck medical help. I was just fine on my own.

"Get out," I breathed, my chest heaving. The doctor didn't move, unsure of what to do. "Get out!" I yelled—at the doctor, at the soldiers.

He flinched, no doubt anticipating an attack. And then he was moving toward the door, his feet quick as he disappeared outside. The soldiers followed, and then I was alone.