Unspoken Threat

The bacta drained away with a hollow metallic gurgle. For a long moment, Darth Tempus did not move. He simply hung suspended within the cylindrical tank as the last rivulets of translucent fluid slid from his pale skin. Crimson lights embedded throughout the Chamber of Chronos pulsed in time with the slow turning of impossible gears.

Each rotation was accompanied by the distant tolling of clocks that belonged to centuries long dead. Steam curled around him as the front of the tank unlocked. He stepped onto the black stone floor. Water and bacta dripped from the leather harness crossing his chest and the dark armored skirt hanging from his belt.

His pale flesh contrasted sharply with the black leather and flowing cape. His face remained expressionless beneath the scarred mask that concealed him, its crimson lenses reflecting the countless clock faces surrounding the chamber. His boots left wet footprints across the rune-etched floor as he approached the obsidian pedestal at its center.

The Holocron of Darth Chronos rose silently from its cradle. Blue light blossomed above it, followed by a dozen overlapping timelines. Some faded almost immediately. Others branched into thousands of impossible futures before collapsing beneath their own weight. Tempus studied them in silence, one gloved hand resting beneath his chin.

Another gesture sent the projections racing forward through time. The destruction of Alderaan. Escape aboard the Millennium Falcon. Yavin. Hoth. Bespin. Endor. Countless opportunities bloomed before him. Too many. He dismissed them all.

The timelines froze before flowing backward once more until they settled only hours after his previous observation aboard the Imperial battle station. The Holocron emitted a low, resonant hum. A crimson fracture appeared in the air before him.

At first it resembled a crack in polished glass. Then the fissure widened, revealing polished gray walls beyond and the sterile white light of an Imperial detention block. Tempus stepped to its edge but did not cross. He simply watched.

Leia Organa awoke with a sharp intake of breath. Her shoulders ached. Cold durasteel pressed against her back as she blinked beneath the harsh ceiling lights. The interrogation chamber stood silent except for the low mechanical hum of life-support systems somewhere beyond the walls.

Only then did she notice the restraint. A length of chain ran from a collar at her neck to an anchor mounted high in the wall. The arrangement allowed only a little movement before the chains pulled tight. It was uncomfortable by design. She tested it once. The chains rattled loudly against the wall. They did not budge.

Drawing a slow breath, she forced herself to remain calm. Panic would accomplish nothing. The heavy blast door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Black armor filled the doorway. Darth Vader entered without haste, every measured footstep echoing through the chamber. His cape drifted behind him like living shadow. The door sealed shut with a heavy clang.

For several long seconds, neither of them spoke. Leia raised her chin despite the strain in her shoulders. "I was beginning to think the Empire had forgotten about me."

The respirator within Vader's mask answered first, its slow mechanical rhythm filling the silence. Then he reached deliberately toward his belt. His gloved hand settled upon the hilt of his lightsaber, resting there with quiet certainty. He did not draw it. He did not need to.

The simple gesture was enough to remind Leia that unimaginable violence sat only an instant away. Behind the dark lenses of his mask, he regarded her without a word, allowing the unspoken threat to linger in the silence between them.

Hidden beyond reality itself, standing motionless before the narrow crimson portal suspended within the Chamber of Chronos, Darth Tempus watched in absolute silence. History had resumed its course. Now he intended to learn exactly how Darth Vader intended to break the Princess of Alderaan.