15 BBY
Outer Rim
Aboard the Stark Harrow
35th week of Deployment
"Let go of me!"
The woman twisted in the Imperial officer's grip, trying to wrench her arm free. Her wrists were bound, her clothes still stained from the armed fight she had put up on the former separatist world. A resistance cell had lingered there and empire had ben keen on stamping it out while also requisitioning its captives for labor camps.
"Listen, you rebel bitch," the sergeant growled, yanking her closer. "You'll pay attention when I speak to you. The Military court won't care if I kill you right here, right now, so you'll do exactly as I tell you."
"Is that so?"
The voice cut through the large docking bay like cold air through a cracked bulkhead.
Sergeant Hoak stiffened. He turned too quickly, boots scraping against the deck.
Lieutenant Menno Coehorn stood at the far end of the prefabricated grilled cage the captives had be held in , immaculate in his officer's coat, cap tucked beneath one arm.
The white lights overhead reflected from polished code cylinders at his breasts. His expression was still calm, almost mild.
To his right stood Ensign Raith Sartha, posture straight, hands folded behind his back. Behind them waited a pair of stormtroopers from Delta Base, silent and faceless, their helmets betraying nothing.
"L–Lieutenant," Hoak stammered, releasing the woman as if she had suddenly burned him.
She stumbled but kept her footing, retreating back to the cell she was taken from with a half step, breathing hard.
"I was merely reminding this dissident of her manners," Hoak rushed to explain. "She's been uncooperative."
Menno began walking toward him, boots echoing softly. "Is that what you were truly doing, Sergeant?"
The question carried a thin edge of amusement, which somehow made it worse.
And within seconds Menno was standing close too close. Hoak could smell the officer's cologne, could see the faint reflection of himself in the man's dark eyes.
"Do you think me a fool?" Menno asked quietly.
"Do you intend to lower the standards of His Majesty's armed forces by behaving like an undisciplined brute, incapable of mastering his base desires?"
"No, sir," Hoak blurted. Sweat gathered at his brow. "Of course not, sir."
Menno studied him for a long moment. The bay of the Gozanti cruiser seemed to shrink around them.
"The next time I find you harassing prisoners," the lieutenant said, voice still level, "I will personally ensure you are brought before an Imperial disciplinary tribunal. And if you are so eager for rough company, perhaps they will assign you to a labor world where you and the inmates here may become very well acquainted."
Hoak swallowed. "Understood, sir."
"Do you?" Menno tilted his head slightly.
"Yes, sir!"
"Good. Remove your self from my presence", He finished before stepping past him as though the sergeant had ceased to exist.
He stepped inside the cell and stopped before the woman.
Up close, she looked younger than he had expected of a hardened rebel fighter. It was very clear that she was pretty even as dirt streaked her cheek, and a cut marked the edge of her lip, but defiance held her upright more effectively than any brace.
"What is your name?" Menno asked.
She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the stormtroopers.
"Lysa Venn," she said at last.
"Miss Venn," Menno replied, polite as if they were at a reception rather than a prison transfer, "you are being transported to Kygon for processing and judgment. Your treatment aboard this vessel will remain within regulation. No one will touch you without authorization. And the same goes for the rest among you. Do I make myself clear?"
He basically asked the entire cell. To which he got only a silent reply.
They may be prisoners but they shouldn't be treated like animals.
Lysa studied Menno, suspicion warring with confusion. "Why?"
"Because order must be maintained," Menno answered simply. "Even for the enemies of the Empire."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Menno turned away.
"Ensign, see that the prisoners receive water and nutrient allotments," he said. "We arrive within eighteen standard hours. I want them alive, prepped for documentation , and able to stand."
"At once, sir."
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