ABOARD THE MALACHOR, 40 YEARS ABE:
Screams echoed off the corridors of the Super Star Destroyer's detention level. Stormtroopers and Imperial Officers walking past marched quickly, spines stiff and eyes straight ahead as though trying to give the impression that they heard nothing. The two white-clad stormtroopers stationed on either side of the door to cell 3827 shifted nervously but dared not look at one another, nor at those who passed them.
Within the cell, the screams faded as Darth Revan twisted a dial on the torture couch where Breha Organa-Solo was strapped.
"That...that all you got?" Breha panted. Her pale face gleamed and her brown hair had gone dark with sweat. Blood from where she had bitten her lip trickled down her chin and her eyes were hollow, pained. They fell closed, fluttering in exhaustion as she sagged back against the couch. Still she managed a smirk. "I thought you were...supposed to be...some kind of Sith bigwig."
"Not exactly a Sith, no," Revan corrected in much the same tone that a school master might use to lecture their charges. "If you're going to join me, you'll have to learn to understand the nuances...but we can discuss that later, once you've had a chance to adjust your core ideals."
Breha's eyes shot open. "Join you?" she repeated. "Are you crazy? I'll never join you."
"We shall see," Revan said lightly and reached for the controls of the torture couch once more.
"Even if I was interested in the Dark Side-which I'm not," Breha said quickly, unable to stop her eyes flickering toward that black gloved hand and the dials that would send pain racing through her limbs again the moment they were twirled, "I wouldn't join forces with anybody who's as bad at strategy as you are."
Revan's hand lowered and the red helmet tilted curiously sideways. "Bad at strategy?" Revan repeated. "Interesting accusation. Do explain?"
Breha huffed. "Well just look at you," she said, jerking her chin in substitute for the sweeping hand gesture her restraints prevented. "You don't know how to prioritize. Your ships are out there assaulting Coruscant, the very heart of the New Republic, and where are you? In here, focusing on one lousy prisoner instead. That's bad tactics and you'll end up paying for it."
"My subordinates are quite capable," Revan replied mildly. "Certainly they can manage to pound a defenseless planet into submission without my peering over their shoulders."
"Until something goes wrong," Breha said shortly. "Then they'll be looking to their leader for orders, and where will you be?" She smirked. "Hanging around the detention block like a tiny useless lump of bad fashion choices."
Revan laughed and said, "Coruscant has no real means of fighting back. This 'assault' is just to sow fear, little Jedi-the planet is already mine. And by the time I land, every single sentient living there will know exactly whom to bow before-"
A hollow thumping reverberated through the ship, making the lights flicker and Revan stumble. Spinning around in a swirl of black cloth, Revan started toward the door but it whooshed open before the Dark Lord had taken more than two steps.
"Lord Revan," gasped the sweaty-faced Imperial ensign who all but fell through the opening, "it's the Republic Fleet, my lord-they're here!"
Breha broke into a rich, breathy peal of laughter. "How's that strategy going?" she asked.
Revan turned back and gave Breha an inscrutable look from across one black-cloaked shoulder. "Ahead of schedule, it seems. I wasn't expecting them for hours yet. How convenient, I can move up the time-table now." There was no way to see Revan's expression from beneath that weathered helmet, but something about the flicker of light against the smooth black visor gave off an impression of a grin. "I do so hate being bored."
Beckoning the young ensign to lead the way, Revan turned away from the disconcerted Jedi and strode out of the cell. The furious insults Breha spat at the two departing Imperials were cut-off by the cell door sliding shut once more.
