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Chapter Text

*

“Sir! Sir, we’re being hailed!”

The relief in the comm officer’s voice was palpable as the secondary bridge erupted into cheers. Thrawn allowed it to continue for a moment before clearing his throat, the sound abruptly cutting off.

They had been drifting for weeks, slowly cannibalizing their remaining ships as they made their way blindly towards the center of the galaxy in short hyperspace jumps, calculating their next leap at each step to avoid the chaotic tumble of dangerous debris in their path. They were down to just two ships, the Chimaera and the Thunder Wasp – and Thrawn would admit the influence of sentiment on leaving those ships to the last – but even he had to admit it was a futile attempt; if the navigator’s calculations were correct, it would take years to return to civilized space in such a manner, if they didn’t run out of food or fuel first.

Civilized space.

Not for the first time, Thrawn was forced to reflect on how his time in the Empire had changed him. Civilized space. Words were not his choice of art, but he had drawn meaning from paintings, sculptures, weaving, even music. Words were not so different.

So, what could he glean from his words that would tell him of himself?

Civilized space. Civilized: at an advanced stage of social and cultural development. Alternatively, polite and well-mannered. To claim one such space as “civilized” was, naturally, implying that the rest of space was not.

And yet, Thrawn himself was from uncivilized space, if “civilized” was applied to Imperial space. Had been born there, raised there; had grown, learned, and become himself there.

He had claimed to Ar’alani, to his people, that his time in the Empire had not changed him. And yet.

Civilized space.

Regardless. They were being hailed. The one-in-a-thousand chance that they would encounter a people with advanced technology had happened, and it was almost enough to make him believe in the Jedi’s Force.

But not quite.

“Put it through, Senior Lieutenant Lomar,” he called.

“Yes, sir!” the man called back. His voice is exuberant, unprofessional. Given the situation, Thrawn would permit it.

The comm crackled with static. Thrawn could see the officer holding his breath, face pale. Then a voice came through.

“Ssshhhcckkk--toyahl---wa, ngod--atobi,” it said, interrupted by more static. Then the message repeated. “zzzck--lesilw--- ato---i,”

“Sir?” Lomar asked. His face heats as it creases with worry, frustration. He is disappointed, and fearful the transmission will not prove useful. “Should I try and clean up the signal?”

“No need, Lieutenant,” Thrawn replied smoothly. “It is a distress call – they are under attack. Trace the signal back to its origins; perhaps we may offer some assistance.”

Standing at his side, Captain Pellaeon stirred. “Sir?” he said quietly, too quietly for the rest of the bridge to overhear. His voice contains doubt; as is often the case, he is concerned that the strategy is too risky. “Is this wise? The Chimaera is severely damaged. We may not be able to provide much aid.”

“Consider, Captain,” Thrawn replied, slightly louder. If Pellaeon was voicing it, it was likely that others among the crew were concerned as well. And while an announcement of his intentions would hardly be appropriate, allowing some nearby to overhear would reassure them that he, as always, remained in control. “The Chimaera has indeed taken a great deal of damage, particularly to its exterior. Unfortunate. However, our internal systems remain functioning. Which includes…”

Pellaeon was silent for a moment, thinking. He slides a sideways glance at Thrawn, exasperation hidden, but present; like many of Thrawn’s protégés, he finds such tests frustrating.

He would learn.

“The TIE fighters, sir?” he finally replied.

“Precisely.” Thrawn gave him a nod, pleased. The captain still had far to go, but he showed promise, and with his experience, would learn quickly. “We still have nearly our full complement of TIE fighters, including the remaining TIE Defenders. Furthermore, I can assure you that capital ships of the size of an Imperial Star Destroyer are nearly unheard of in this region of space. The sight of the Chimaera alone should suffice as a deterrent for any pirates in the area, and a flight of nearly seventy starfighters will drive off all but the most desperate.”

“And if they are desperate?” Pellaeon asked.

Thrawn smirked. “Then the TIEs will make short work of them. Unless technology has advanced at an unprecedented pace, their shield designs should be, at most, decades behind.”

“How can you be sure?” Pellaeon demanded. His face remains creased in doubt; he has served under Thrawn’s command for only weeks, and has not yet adjusted.

“Because in my youth, I captured the first deflector shield seen in the Unknown Regions,” Thrawn replied carelessly, hiding his smirk. “And while that design has undoubtedly begun its spread throughout the region, it was captured during the Clone Wars. And the Unknown Regions do not have nearly the development capabilities of the Sienar Fleet Systems.”

Pellaeon’s brow clears, a flicker of astonishment across his brow before it settles into strict professionalism. “I see, sir. Forgive me, I didn’t realize you knew the region well.”

“Not this region specifically, or I would have a much surer heading for us,” Thrawn commented. “But word in the Unknown Regions travels quickly, and any such innovation would have shifted the balance of power noticeably.”

Pellaeon shifted. “An innovation such as an Imperial Star Destroyer?” he suggested.

Thrawn smiled. “Perhaps.”

*

Pellaeon frowned out the viewport as the Chimaera limped through hyperspace, leaving the Thunder Wasp to continue its travel and hopefully find some other sign of civilization – one more heartening than a distress call, Pellaeon hoped. The Chimaera was responding as fast as they could, which was magnitudes longer than it should take. The ship was heavily damaged, and at their pace, whoever had sent the call could very well be out of time by the time they reached them.

But it was the first contact they’d made with anyone in whatever forgotten corner of the Unknown Regions they’d been dropped into, and they couldn’t let it go to waste.

Thrawn had retreated to his office to prepare for the potential battle and review what little the Empire’s files had on the area. Nothing that they hadn’t picked through already in their attempts to determine where, exactly, they were, but he’d insisted that the short, staticky call would provide him with new insight.

He had, just before departing the bridge, informed Pellaeon that the language used was Minnisiat, a trade language of the Unknown Regions – or Chaos, as it was apparently called here – and that they might attempt either Sy Bisti or Meese Caulf to communicate.

Pellaeon didn’t speak Sy Bisti, but he did know enough Meese Caulf to get by, a relic from his Judicial days when trade languages were still required for the curriculum. A quick census of the bridge had returned that Lieutenant Commander Pyrondi spoke some Sy Bisti; enough, she claimed, to keep up with Thrawn’s schemes in that language. Apparently, Thrawn’s former aide – Eli Vanto, Pellaeon remembered that scandal during the Savit mess – had spoken it, and Thrawn had found a tactical advantage in the obscure tongue.

Pellaeon sighed. He’d never been particularly gifted at languages and had no interest in learning one that would be useful for only a few weeks, at the most. Once the Chimaera was repaired, they would swiftly return to Imperial Space, hopefully in time to capture what remained of the rebels before they could spread their anarchy through more of the galaxy.

Until then, Meese Caulf would have to do.

“Coming out of hyperspace, sir!” The call came from the helm as the lines of hyperspace collapsed, the ship shuddering as it dropped into real space like a rock. Not at all like an elegant Imperial Star Destroyer should, but at least they hadn’t lost any pieces that Pellaeon could see.

Such concerns were immediately swept aside by the scene outside the viewport.

“Shields up!” Pellaeon barked, as the first salvo from the gunships swarming the planet below flew towards the Chimaera’s hull, glancing off the shields, flaring to life just in time. “Ready TIEs. Comms, open!”

“Comms open, sir!” Senior Lieutenant Lomar called back.

“Unknown combatants, this is Captain Pellaeon of the Chimaera!” Pellaeon called over the comms in Meese Caulf, with the few words he had very good practice in, old soldier that he was. “We are responding to a distress signal. You will stop your attack and retreat! Repeat, stop your attack and retreat!”

He turned to the weapons station. “Commander Pyrondi, repeat in Sy Bisti please.”

While the woman opened the comm on her console, Pellaeon turned away, pulling out his private comm. “Grand Admiral Thrawn, we’ve arrived on the scene and engaged the enemy,” he reported. “Assorted gunships – they look like pirates to me.”

“I have received the scans,” Thrawn’s cool voice replied. “For the moment, I concur, although the situation may warrant further investigation. After the battle is resolved. Prepare a Marg Sabl maneuver. We will make the most of the element of surprise.” 

“TIEs, prepare to launch Marg Sabl maneuver!” Pellaeon repeated to the flight controller, who nodded as he transmitted the orders to the TIE squadrons. Pellaeon paced the command deck, one eye on the tactical display, one eye on the scene outside the viewport. Another salvo rocked the bridge as the gunships approached; the Chimaera’s turbolasers responded, but the ravaged vessel simply wasn’t up to its full strength.

“Turbolaser pattern one dash four,” Thrawn called calmly behind him as the Grand Admiral arrived on the bridge. “Let those below believe we are holding our power in reserve, for now.”

“TIEs ready, sir!” the flight controller called.

“One moment,” Thrawn ordered, holding up a hand. Pellaeon shot him as close to an angry glare as he would allow himself towards a superior officer, trying desperately to read the man’s face; the gunships were nearly close enough to start slipping fire through their shields, if they realized how vulnerable they were-

“Patience, captain,” Thrawn advised lazily. “Let them see us… and dismiss us.”

Pellaeon turned back to the tactical display wordlessly, watching the ships get closer and closer. He shot another glance at Thrawn, wondering if that would be enough for the man to launch their best defense, but the Grand Admiral simply raised an eyebrow in return.

Pellaeon looked back at the display, and then he saw it: as the first wave of gunships continued their advance, the second – which had moved to follow the first – had turned back to the planet below, apparently believing the damaged Chimaera too little of a threat.

Their mistake.

“Launch,” Thrawn called, and Pellaeon began his internal countdown; five seconds to launch the TIE squadron, three seconds to form up behind the shadow of the Chimaera, and –

Just as the gunships reached the Chimaera proper and began their run against the hulk of the Imperial Star Destroyer, the TIEs swept over the top, opening fire on the gunships lined up oh so neatly against the Chimaera’s hull.

In moments, they were obliterated.

“Brace for debris,” Pellaeon called to the bridge, the sad remains of the pirates clattering against the viewport’s shields.

“TIEs advance on the gunships. Helm, bring us in along bearing zero twenty-four mark three hundred, between the attackers and the planet below,” Thrawn continued calmly. He must have caught Pellaeon’s flicker of confusion, as he continued, “Our TIEs can easily handle the bulk of the gunships, but moving them into the planet’s atmosphere invites more dangers than it is worth. Especially considering the planet’s defenses.”

“Defenses?” Pellaeon couldn’t help but ask, turning back to the viewport. From what he could see, this section of the planet was empty green space – fields or forest of some kind.

“Indeed. Cleverly hidden – you will note the lack of regularity that usually betrays development. But the color patches here and here have a particular blend of disorganization that stands out against the background. Almost an art in itself – an avian people, I would guess, or one with a background in flight and avoiding conflict. I look forward to meeting them,” Thrawn commented, as mildly as if he had unearthed another piece of his art collection to show Pellaeon and not as if he was in the middle of a dramatic space battle.

Pellaeon squinted at the planet but could not for the life of him see whatever Thrawn saw in the vegetation. “If you say so, sir,” he said diplomatically.

“We shall see soon enough,” Thrawn replied with a small smirk, clearly catching on to Pellaeon’s doubts but turning away without comment. “Focus turbolaser fire on the gunships fleeing the planet,” he called. “Do we have a tractor beam?”

“No, sir!” Pyrondi replied from the weapons station. “Tractor beams remain inoperable. Shall I order shots to disable, sir?”

“Yes, Commander. Inform the TIEs to leave them alive for capture,” Thrawn agreed immediately to the bold suggestion, from a weapons officer, and Pellaeon again marveled at the synergy between the Grand Admiral and crew – a rare thing in the Imperial military, where so many officers relied on fear and force for discipline.

The ship shuddered as she entered the center of the battlefield. Pellaeon winced at the shrieking of the hull; they desperately needed to repair the holes, not to mention their shields if Thrawn was going to take them into situations like this. Still, he couldn’t deny that the strategy was working; the bulk of the remaining gunships were forced to break away rather than crash into the Chimaera, and the general confusion of their aborted charge was leaving them open for the TIEs sweeping by.

On the other side, Pellaeon blinked as a ship suddenly exploded. Squinting, he finally caught sight of a wavering line of distortion an instant before another gunship’s wing sheared away. Some sort of laser outside of the visual spectrum, he would guess, although such things had been long discontinued in civilized space due to the risks of invisible weapons fire and difficulties with calibration and maintenance.

“Sensor station, scan that ship,” Thrawn ordered, the sudden coldness of his voice diverting Pellaeon’s attention from the ongoing battle. “TIEs, target – do not let it escape.”

But it was too late, Pellaeon realized, as the ship, coming up from the planet’s surface, angled away from the Chimaera, putting the gunships between it and the TIEs. He held his breath as four of the TIEs put on speed, a mad dash through the battlefield – but even as they closed in, a gunship crashed through their formation, colliding with the lead TIE. Both exploded in a fireball, and Pellaeon bit back a curse as the freighter disappeared into hyperspace.

Thrawn hissed something under his breath, turning away. He stared into the distance for a moment, before his face smoothed out, and he turned back to the viewport, eyes flicking over the battle.

“Bring in the survivors for questioning,” he ordered, the last flares of laser fire dying down as the gunships surrendered, weapons powering down. “Sensors, send everything available on the escaped ship to the Analysis Team and my datapad. Captain Pellaeon-”

“Comm, sir, from the planet’s surface,” Lomar called.

“Captain Pellaeon?” a voice warbled through, an odd, musical tone to the accented Meese Caulf. “I am Etchra of the Third Flight. We thank you for your timely aid.”

“This is Grand Admiral Thrawn, commanding officer of the Chimaera,” Thrawn replied. “We received your distress call and are pleased to have prevented further trials for your people. May we ask, who are the marauders who threatened your planet? Are they likely to return?”

There was a brief pause before the voice returned. “They are the Shrrigar,” they said unhappily. “They are pirates, attacking trade routes outside the asteroid field. They target small ships, freighters and cargo vessels without escorts, but flee when confronted.”

“They did not flee this time,” Thrawn pointed out. “And an attack on an inhabited planet is far beyond a freighter or cargo ship. What changed?”

“We do not know,” Etchra admitted. “Five orbits ago, their attacks increased in power and frequency. They have struck at trade outposts, armed convoys, isolated colonies, and now, our own planet. Their ships are stronger, their weapons more powerful; we are besieged, Grand Admiral Thrawn, and we only hope your victory here will push them back long enough for us to recover.”

“How much time do you need?” Thrawn asked, and Pellaeon suppressed a frown. Fending off some pirates was one thing, but the Chimaera had their own quest, and the troubles of the Unknown Regions were not their concern.

“…It is hard to say,” Etchra replied after a long moment of silence. “We are a peaceful people. Our military is designed for defense, but we have been overwhelmed. I would need to speak with the Second Flight. But we thank you for what time you have bought us, Grand Admiral Thrawn. We of the Third Flight ask what we might offer in return?”

Pellaeon caught the slightly nervous, slightly hopeful lilt to the voice as it neatly deflected the direction of Thrawn’s inquiry. The presence of an Imperial Star Destroyer would put anyone on edge, and he would guess the people below were quickly calculating their odds should the Chimaera decide their offer was insufficient.

It sat poorly with Pellaeon, the idea that they might be mistaken for a pirate plundering the skies; he’d joined the Republic’s Judicial Forces to fight such criminals and bring peace and order to the galaxy. It was why he’d stayed with the Empire, after the disaster of the Clone Wars, and why he was proud to serve in the Imperial Navy. The younger generation might rail against the Empire’s stringency, but Pellaeon knew the alternative, had seen firsthand the chaos brought on by the Republic’s weak-willed spinelessness in military matters.

“The safety of your people is reward enough,” Thrawn replied smoothly. “We are not warlords, here to make demands for tribute; simply a ship returning to our people after our own misfortunes. However, if it is within your means, we would appreciate your assistance in our own quest. Our ship has sustained heavy damage in the battles behind us, and we are low on the supplies and support to repair our vessel.”

“Of course. We are happy to help,” Etchra replied while Pellaeon slanted a glance at Thrawn. The Grand Admiral had a habit of responding to his subordinate’s thoughts as much as their words, which Pellaeon found rather off putting; but in this case, he reminded himself, it was more likely Thrawn had simply come to the same conclusion. Regardless, Thrawn hadn’t even glanced at him, and his face was as opaque to Pellaeon as ever. “I do not know if we will have everything you need – your ship is strange to us. But what we have is yours, in our thanks.”

“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps we may discuss the details in person. I admit, I would enjoy a closer look at your planet. It is quite magnificent from above – I have been admiring the camouflage nets on your turret installations.”

There was another long pause, and Pellaeon hid a wince, trying to imagine what that must have sounded like to those below. Honest respect? A veiled threat?

“We are impressed, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Etchra finally said. “Few have the eyes to see us from above, and we have worked hard to maintain that advantage. The Third Flight would be happy to show you what we have built here. We believe that all things should have their own beauty, and we are proud of our craft.”

“An admirable sentiment,” Thrawn said. “If there are any examples of your work you would be willing to share, I would be most grateful. I have a deep admiration and respect for the art of different cultures and would be pleased to add yours to my collection.”

“I will send some files,” Etchra promised. “Along with directions to our city. The Third Flight is pleased to welcome you to Chptera, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

The comm clicked off, and Thrawn frowned, again with a sharp gaze into the distance. Pellaeon moved a step closer, ready for orders.

“Prepare my shuttle,” Thrawn ordered after another moment’s thought. “We will depart once I have had time to review the files.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon replied. “Shall I order a guard to accompany you?”

“I will know once I have reviewed the files,” Thrawn said. “For now…”

He gazed into the distance, in the direction of the escaped ship, then turned back to Pellaeon, eyes sharpening.

“Bring me the Jedi,” he ordered. “I believe he may be of use, and it is time we spoke of his future.”

*

Chapter Text

*

The Chpterans met them at the landing pad, on a hill overlooking a wide, green meadow. Or what would have been a wide, green meadow, if not for the blackened scars of laser fire that dug harsh lines out of the once-pristine landscape.

Bridger finally ceased his fidgeting with the ensign’s uniform he had been given, stilling as he looked over the torched fields. Pellaeon hoped it might shut the boy up, at least for a while; he’d been an utter nuisance since Thrawn had let him out of detention, and it was time he learned that this situation was no laughing matter.

Personally, Pellaeon doubted the wisdom of setting the insurgent free at all, but Thrawn had declared their discussion a success, and insisted the boy was needed. For what, Pellaeon couldn’t imagine, but could only hope that the Grand Admiral’s latest scheme wouldn’t come crashing down on them like a herd of purrgil. Again.

“Take a good look,” he muttered to Bridger. “This is what we’re fighting.”

Bridger shot him a look. “I’ve seen it,” he replied pointedly. “It looks just like Lothal. After the Empire came.”

“As I said, we share a purpose,” Thrawn replied quietly, heading off Pellaeon’s reply. Pellaeon bit back his acerbic retort and looked away, something like shame sneaking its way through his heart; it was hard to remember, sometimes, that their war against the Rebellion had so often been fought against idealistic children like Bridger. “Now, pay attention. Our hosts approach, and we must determine if they have been… influenced. Bridger, I rely on your insight.”

It was Thrawn’s turn to receive a look from the young man, although his was filled with surprise rather than aggravation. Pellaeon couldn’t help but eye the Grand Admiral as well. He knew the stories of the Jedi’s powers, but he was hardly comfortable relying on those of a boy, Jedi or not. And what Thrawn expected Bridger to find in the Chpterans, he couldn’t imagine.

The six Chpterans met them at the base of the hill, bowing in a flutter of feathers and strips of fabric that they wore in complex designs around their vaguely humanoid bodies. The effect was a swirl of dull colors and interlacing patterns that was nearly enough to make Pellaeon dizzy and disguised their body shape quite effectively; he could see what Thrawn had meant about a culture of camouflage.

“We are emissaries of the Third Flight,” the leader announced, flaring their crest. “I am Tkara; with me is Etchra, with whom you spoke. The others are here to observe and learn.”

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, of the Chimaera,” Thrawn replied, with a respectful bow of his own. “With me is Captain Pellaeon, my second in command, and-”

“Ensign Brom Titus,” Bridger interrupted in Meese Caulf, and yet, somehow still managing an exaggerated Coruscanti accent as he shot Pellaeon a wink and stepped up beside Thrawn. “Here to take notes for the Grand Admiral, on anything… interesting.”

“Indeed. As I have said, I have an interest in art and culture,” Thrawn continued smoothly, apparently unperturbed by the boy’s brazenness, though Pellaeon shot Bridger a scowl. This was hardly the time for pranks, and if Bridger jeopardized their mission here, Pellaeon would drag him back to the brig himself.

“We of the Third Flight are pleased to welcome you to Chptera,” Tkara replied. “We understand you are hoping to receive repairs to your vessel. We are pleased to offer what we can, although we know little of your ship’s systems, and we may lack the resources to assist with such a… formidable vessel.”

Pellaeon instinctively glanced up to where the ISD hovered over the planet’s surface, clearly visible against the sky, and caught sight of several of the Chpteran observers doing the same.

“Your assistance with repairs would be most appreciated, and anything you provide would be greater than what we have now,” Thrawn said reasonably. “Indeed, more than repairs, what we require is knowledge. We are unfamiliar with this part of space, or its dangers, and I would like to be prepared for what we may encounter on our path.”

“Of course. We are happy to share what we know,” Tkara responded, seeming relieved. Probably glad Thrawn hadn’t demanded the whole planet stripped bare, Pellaeon thought cynically, as the group began moving towards the trees at a gesture from Tkara.

The four observers spread out to either side, flanking the group but not close enough to be a threat. Tkara and Etchra continued to lead, Etchra trailing one step behind what Pellaeon would assume was their superior. Thrawn drew up alongside Tkara as the Chpteran began pointing out elements of the settlement, while Bridger skipped up to Pellaeon with a grin.

“Would you at least pretend to have some sense of decorum,” Pellaeon couldn’t help but hiss. “You’re supposed to be an Imperial officer.”

“But I’m not an Imperial officer,” the boy replied cheekily. “I’m a Rebel pretending to be an Imperial officer.”

“Pretend better,” Pellaeon retorted.

The boy snickered, and Pellaeon suppressed another scowl. He knew how to handle a diplomatic mission, at least.

Ahead, Thrawn’s voice sharpened in interest, and Pellaeon quickly tuned back into the conversation.

“You brought the refugees into your city?” he was asking Tkara.

“Yes,” the Chpteran replied, looking somewhat startled at the question. “The outer spaceport was destroyed; the inner spaceport provided more protection.”

“Do you recognize this ship?” Thrawn asked, pulling out a holo of the ship that had escaped during the battle.

Tkara eyed it closely, then passed it to Etchra, who studied the image before becoming engrossed in the holo imager itself. Pellaeon was reminded of what Thrawn had said about the lack of technology in the region as Etchra finally passed it on to the observers, who crowded around.

Tkara turned and spoke to them in what Pellaeon assumed was their own language, a high, fluting song. There was a round of discussion, before they turned back to their guests.

“We do know it,” Tkara replied. “Its people were unable to continue their trade route due to the Shrrigar’s attacks and took shelter with us. What is your interest in them?”

Pellaeon noted their defensiveness. A hallmark of Chpteran hospitality? Or simply a matter of pride, that they would defend those under their protection, even against a greater enemy?

“They appear to have fled during the battle,” Thrawn answered calmly, putting away the holo. “It would be a grave risk for a trading vessel to enter such a fray. I had wondered if they had any ties to the attackers. Do you know what its people did while on your planet? Did they speak to anyone of note?”

Tkara’s crest flattened as they looked to Etchra, who frowned. “There was a group that petitioned the First Flight for intercession,” they admitted reluctantly. “I do not know if that ship’s crew was among them.”

“If you have a list of who was among that group, I would like to know,” Thrawn said.

“You think they were spies?” Tkara asked.

“I think I have many questions about the recent attacks,” Thrawn replied cryptically. “But they are questions for later. For now, you were telling me of the branching ways – please, continue. Titus, take notes.”

Bridger scowled and fumbled out a datapad, hurriedly pretending to scribble on the screen. Pellaeon waited until the Chpterans were turned away before reaching out and flipping it upright.

Bridger grinned sarcastically and gave him a thumbs up. Pellaeon sighed and turned away.

He desperately hoped Thrawn wasn’t getting too side-tracked with the pirate issue here – Pellaeon couldn’t wait to get back to the Empire.

*

By the time they reached the meeting hall, Pellaeon rather suspected that Bridger couldn’t wait to get back to the Empire.

Their path had been slow and meandering as they’d wandered the Chpterans’ settlement, Thrawn pausing often to comment on the architecture and art that had apparently been woven into the surrounding forest. Pellaeon wouldn’t have noticed the buildings at all if they hadn’t been pointed out – the species’ tendency for camouflage apparently extended into their ground structures as well.

Throughout the discussion, Thrawn had insisted that Bridger record anything he found of interest and had taken to actually checking Bridger’s datapad and instructing him on notetaking. The Chpterans apparently found this charming; Bridger seemed to be missing the days when he had been trying to murder them all.

Needless to say, Pellaeon was relieved when they finally sat down to discuss the Chimaera’s repairs.

He was disappointed to learn that the Chpterans traded for most of their metals, which left them without much surplus to supply the Chimaera. They produced some incredible textiles, however, which might be useful for the internal systems, but…

“You use no liquid or gaseous fuels at all?” Thrawn asked. “How do you power your ships?”

“We primarily use solar sails, and store energy for longer journeys,” Tkara explained. “Fusion engines are restricted to the Second Flight ships, and our stores are badly depleted.”

“The Second Flight being your military?” Pellaeon asked, trying to sort through the mess of politics, economics, and logistics they’d been dropped into.

“The Second Flight are… protectors, yes,” Tkara said, hesitating slightly. “Their dealings are with preserving life and livelihoods, in all forms.”

“And the Third Flight are diplomats?” Pellaeon suggested.

Tkara shook their head. “The Third Flight deal with the connections between people,” they explained. “Diplomacy with other peoples, yes, but also amongst ourselves.”

“And the First Flight…” Pellaeon prompted.

“Deal with matters of the future of our people, and decisions thereof,” Tkara answered.

Thrawn stirred. “The traders who sheltered with you petitioned the First Flight, did they not?” he asked.

“They did,” Tkara acknowledged. “They were… displeased with their forced stay and wished us to take a more active stance against the Shrrigar, to reopen the trade lanes.”

“Interesting,” Thrawn commented. “Did they speak with the First Flight directly?”

“They did not,” Tkara said. “They submitted their petition through the Third Flight.”

“So they spoke with the Third Flight, who then championed their cause with the First Flight,” Thrawn mused. “A curious system. I would like to speak with those who met the traders directly.”

Tkara tilted their head. “Why?”

“I wish to know more of them,” Thrawn said. “I wish to know who they were, and what their purpose was on this planet.”

“You do not believe they were traders,” Etchra prompted.

“I believe they may have had multiple purposes here, and knowing who was sent here, whom they spoke to, and on what topics may reveal some of those purposes,” Thrawn explained. “You are sure none of them spoke to or met any members of the First Flight directly?”  

“We are sure,” Tkara replied, looking troubled. “The First Flight meets elsewhere, and we are on war footing. The traders were restricted to the spaceport area and met only with the Third Flight.”

It was only due to Pellaeon’s limited experience with the man, and his finely-honed instincts for navy politics, that he was able to catch Thrawn’s swift glance to Bridger. Or Bridger’s casual, too-casual, nod and shrug.

So, the boy did have some instinct for subtlety after all.

Not that Pellaeon knew what that was about.

Another mystery to the mystery of the Grand Admiral’s plans…

“Very well,” Thrawn said. “I would like to meet with the Third Flight liaisons to the traders, before we leave the area. In the meantime, let us continue.”

Pellaeon looked back down at his datapad, giving up on divining Thrawn’s intentions for now. He had a ship to repair, and an Empire to defend; he only hoped his commander wasn’t getting… distracted by local conflicts.

Tkara made an odd churring noise, which Pellaeon took to be a Chpteran throat clearing. “You should not have to deal with the other Flights, unless you have a petition for the Chpteran future,” they said. “It is our duty, as the Third Flight, to build the connection between our people and yours. We will handle the negotiations with the Fourth and Fifth Flights on your behalf.”

“The Fourth and Fifth Flights, whose duties are…” Pellaeon trailed off expectantly, going back to his growing list of notes on the Chpteran social structure that he sincerely hoped would soon be superfluous. An interesting experience to recount to other officers during Ascension Week, perhaps…

“The creation of things, and the collection of resources.”

“Right,” Pellaeon sighed, fighting his growing headache. “So. Returning to the matter at hand, is there anyone else in this region who we could trade with for fuel?”

The Chpterans looked at each other, then away, feathers ruffling before smoothing flat. Tkara tapped their sharp nails against the table, gazing away from the delegation, then refocused, hesitating.

“There are… the Gadiosions,” they suggested slowly. “On the other side of the asteroid fields. They have many ships that use such fuels, and we assume much fuel of that kind.”

“You assume,” Thrawn repeated.

Tkara’s feathers ruffled again. “We do not speak with the Gadiosions,” they replied stiffly. “There has been much conflict between our people, and what peace we have is… tentative.”

“Dependent on them staying out of our skies,” Etchra muttered under their breath.

Tkara shot them a quelling look, but not before Thrawn’s eyes had snapped to the shorter Chpteran.

“They were the aggressors?” he asked.

Etchra opened their mouth to answer, but subsided as Tkara shifted forward in their seat, feather crest flaring in a demand for attention. “Their ways are much more warlike, yes,” they said. “There was conflict when both sides attempted to control parts of the asteroid field. But they respected our strength, once it had been proven to them, and while they continue to test that strength, they have not yet reached the limits of our patience.”

“A most eloquent answer,” Thrawn said. “So you do not cooperate with them in regional matters?”

Tkara looked taken aback. “Such as what? We see to our own affairs, and they to theirs. The asteroid belt is between us, and we are both the better for it.”

“Such as regional defense, against a greater foe,” Thrawn continued. Pellaeon glanced at him, trying to guess at what the Grand Admiral intended; was this about the pirates again?

Thrawn’s face, as usual, revealed nothing to Pellaeon.

Tkara and Etchra shared another glance.

“We know of no such enemies,” Tkara replied. “Even if we did… the Gadiosions would never respect someone who came to them with such weakness. To even attempt it would invite attack.”

“I see,” Thrawn said evenly, although to Pellaeon, he sounded… not happy. “Very well. I will take the Chimaera to negotiate for fuel, and we shall see what else may be accomplished.”

Etchra startled, looking to Tkara, who peered at Thrawn closely.

“What do you know, Grand Admiral Thrawn?” they asked, low and serious. “This foe of which you speak – is this what your people fight? Have you brought them to our skies?”

“No,” Thrawn replied in a dark voice, rising with a nod to Pellaeon, who quickly tugged Bridger to his feet to follow. “The foes we have left behind us have no interest in the affairs of the Chaos. These foes are something else entirely. Something that is, unfortunately, already here… and something we must ensure we are all prepared for.”

*

Chapter Text

*

The Chpteran-designed canvas made for an interesting shape to the ceiling, Pellaeon noted as he entered Thrawn’s office, but overall, the oddly stiff fabric-like structures seemed to be holding up well against the demands of an Imperial Star Destroyer. Their speed had increased significantly, with the exterior damage patched – temporarily, at least – and the Chpteran hyperlanes around the asteroid field mapped and inputted into their navigation computer. They’d even gotten the primary bridge repaired enough to use, which was certainly a relief.

Thrawn had ordered the Thunder Wasp to continue exploring the region, testing out the hyperlanes to see if any would lead to a trading post with connections to the Empire. Fortunately, the damage to the Thunder Wasp’s hull had been minor compared to the Chimaera’s, especially after the battle over Chptera. Unfortunately, the ship was down to a skeleton crew, most having evacuated during the purrgil attack with more success than from the Chimaera. With their TIE complement transferred to Thrawn’s flagship, he had judged the Thunder Wasp to be in the best position for continued long-range scouting while the Chimaera handled the supply negotiations.

The Chimaera itself was only an hour or so from Gadiosion space, and Thrawn had spent most of the flight sequestered in his office studying what artwork the Chpterans had collected from their neighbors. Pellaeon had been busy overseeing the arrival of the Chpteran goods and ensuring the materials would integrate with the Chimaera as promised, and hadn’t had time to discuss the situation with the Grand Admiral.

Until now.

“Captain Pellaeon. Please, take a seat. You wished to speak with me?” Thrawn asked in his smooth, cool voice, barely a hint of his alien accent threading through the smooth Basic as Pellaeon drew up at his desk.

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon replied, taking the offered seat. “First, I wanted to report on the Chpteran materials: they’re holding up well as basic supplies for construction, and the food passed the toxin scans. We’ve had a few issues with allergies, but nothing the medical droids haven’t been able to treat.”

“To be expected, when encountering new substances,” Thrawn said calmly. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, taking a quick breath to steel himself. Life in the Imperial military didn’t lend itself to questioning one’s commanders, and no matter how casually the rest of the crew dealt with Thrawn, Pellaeon couldn’t quite bring himself to relax his guard. “I’d like to know the purpose of Bridger’s involvement in the Chpteran negotiations, sir, and our intentions in the region.”

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “Do you have concerns, Captain?”

“Not as such, sir,” Pellaeon managed. “But the presence of the prisoner has made some of the crew… uneasy.”

Pellaeon was among them, he didn’t feel the need to add. He’d hoped the boy would go back to the brig after their sojourn to Chptera, but instead Thrawn had given him the full freedom of an Imperial ensign, which the Jedi had promptly used to start harassing the stormtroopers and other officers. Nothing to get him thrown back in the brig – but the boy had taken to popping out of the vents in an attempt to spook the crew, and Pellaeon was mildly concerned that someone was going to shoot him if they all weren’t careful.

They might hit something valuable, like the wiring.

“It would be helpful if the reason for his release was known,” Pellaeon added delicately. “There’s been rumors of… Jedi tricks. Sir.”

Thrawn’s other eyebrow joined the first as he regarded Pellaeon over his desk. “I assure you, Captain, I have not been influenced by the boy, through a Jedi mind trick or any other fashion,” he said, a thread of amusement in his voice. “You may inform the crew that Bridger is uniquely suited to sensing some of the potential dangers of this region, and I have enlisted him on behalf of the Chpterans, Gadiosions, and perhaps others to defend them against these dangers.”

“And us, sir?” Pellaeon asked.

“And us,” Thrawn agreed. “Although Bridger remains resolute in his enmity with the Empire, I have promised him a common enemy in the Chaos and brokered a truce for the duration of our time here.”

Pellaeon took a moment to consider this. “And how long will our time here be, sir?” he decided on.

“No longer than absolutely necessary,” Thrawn assured him. “We will continue to search for a path to return to the Empire with all speed. But while we are here, there are threats that may someday come to threaten the Empire itself, if they are not stopped.”

“The traders? Or the pirates?” Pellaeon asked doubtfully. “Do you think they’re working together?”

“I do.”

“But even so, those pirates were no match for even a single damaged Imperial Star Destroyer,” Pellaeon pointed out. “Surely there’s nothing in these regions that could threaten the Empire – you yourself said that the technology here is limited.”

Thrawn stood and turned to examine the damaged statues against the wall of his office, hands laced behind his back. “That was before, Captain,” he said quietly. “Before I knew what we were facing. I admit,” he added, turning to give Pellaeon a small half-smile, “had I known, I perhaps would not have been so casual in our assault. I had assumed we were beyond the reach of their influence… but not quite. We shall need to be a great deal more cautious.”

“Certainly, sir,” Pellaeon agreed tactfully. “But threatening a lone ISD is one thing. The Imperial Navy is the greatest military machine in the galaxy!”

“You will see, Captain Pellaeon,” Thrawn replied simply. “Someday, you will understand.”

*

Once more, the bridge was greeted by the shrill call of alarms as the Chimaera drew out of hyperspace.

This time, they’d been expecting it.

“TIEs launch,” Thrawn ordered lazily from his position. “Fire to disable; we want a show of force, not a battle.”

“Shields? How are the new materials holding?” Pellaeon called to the defense station.

“Holding, sir!” the lieutenant replied. “Whatever the fabric weave is, it’s laser resistant, at least at this intensity.”

“Excellent. Hold position,” Pellaeon ordered, stepping back over to Thrawn. The Chpterans had insisted on providing at least some of the defensive weaves they’d used against the Gadiosions, and it seemed that they hadn’t been exaggerating its usefulness, although Pellaeon still winced as the blasts from the small gunships left black marks across the hull. Give him a good deflector shield any day.

“TIEs launched,” the flight controller called. “Coming around now… they’re holding ground, sir!”

“As expected,” Thrawn replied calmly. “Bring us forward and engage turbolasers. Target the nearest asteroid, port side.”

“Port side, sir?” Pellaeon asked, frowning at the readout. The majority of the Gadiosion ships were coming from the starboard side; if Thrawn intended a warning shot, it was an unusual choice of target.

“Indeed. Consider its orbit within the asteroid ring around the planet,” Thrawn replied. “Fire.”

The asteroid went up in a ball of flame, and Pellaeon watched as the debris scattered… to the Chimaera’s starboard side, directly into the path of the Gadiosion ships.

The battlefield fell into pandemonium as the Gadiosions desperately attempted to evade both the fast-moving gravel and the Chimaera’s advancing TIEs. Pellaeon noted a few fireballs as the ships fell prey to one or the other, and as the tide continued to turn overwhelmingly against them, the remaining Gadiosions began to withdraw.

“Pursue only to the edge of the Chimaera’s shadow, then return,” Thrawn ordered. “Let us see what they have to say.”

“Patrol pattern epsilon, sir?” Pellaon suggested.

“Indeed,” Thrawn agreed with an approving nod. “Patrol pattern epsilon, and turn us fifteen degrees starboard.”

The Chimaera turned, and Pellaeon immediately caught Thrawn’s intentions as the Gadiosions gathered off the port side, now with a clear view of the full might of the Imperial Star Destroyer and its ring of patrolling TIE fighters.

The two sides contemplated each other, Thrawn standing smoothly confident on the command bridge with Pellaeon at his side, the Gadiosions likely less so on their own ships.

“Very well. Let us begin the conversation,” Thrawn said. “Comms open.”

“Comms open, sir.”

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, commander of the Chimaera,” Thrawn called in Meese Caulf. “We mean no harm to the Gadiosions or their allies. We wish to trade for fuel and supplies.”

After another moment, the comms clicked.

“You say you come to trade, yet you bring weapons of war,” a sibilant voice boomed through the bridge. “How do we know this is not some trick of the Chpterans? We see their handiwork upon your vessel.”

“We have indeed dealt with the Chpterans, as we now seek to deal with you,” Thrawn replied. “They have benefited greatly from our association, as we hope you may benefit as well. Have we not proven our strength to your satisfaction?”

“You know much of us, Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera,” the voice said. “You have indeed proven a strong opponent.”

“And, I hope, a powerful ally, at least for the duration of our time here,” Thrawn replied pleasantly.

There was a beat of silence, then the comms crackled with a long, snapping hiss.

“Very well, Grand Admiral Thrawn!” the voice called jovially, and Pellaeon realized the sound had most likely been laughter. “Let us deal. You have earned the right to walk upon the first moon; there, you must prove your mettle before we may speak.”

The comm clicked off, and Pellaeon turned to Thrawn.

“Sir?” he asked. There were several things he could ask: what kind of ally Thrawn intended them to be to the Gadiosions, whether he intended to extend that offer to the Chpterans as well; whether he realized that embroiling them in regional politics would only make it that much more difficult to extract themselves and continue their quest.

“Likely a test of physical strength. Combat, perhaps,” Thrawn answered his other question thoughtfully, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. “I expected something of the sort.”

“Shall we bring a selection of troops, sir?” Pellaeon suggested, trying to hide his concern. His many concerns.

Thrawn gave him an amused look. “Fear not, Captain. They are a reptilian species, with two distinct body types: large and slow, or small and fast. I doubt either would be a match for my usual sparring partners. In fact,” Thrawn mused, turning to exit the bridge and gesturing for Pellaeon to follow, “arrange for the sentry droids to accompany us – droids are uncommon in this area of space, and will likely increase our standing with the Gadiosions.”

“And if they ask for the droids as payment for the fuel?” Pellaeon asked.

“We shall refuse,” Thrawn said firmly. “Or negotiate for older models – I have several Clone Wars era battle droids that we might offer instead.”

“Won’t that shift the balance of power in the Gadiosions’ favor?” Pellaeon pointed out. While the affairs of these people might not be the Chimaera’s concern, Pellaeon had no wish to unleash newly-armed marauders on the region, especially after the Chpteran’s hospitality.

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said, apparently unconcerned. “However, according to the Chpteran records, the Gadiosions would require additional materials than what can be found in their territories to develop droid forces of any size. And should they successfully ally with their neighbors, additional forces will be necessary.”

More about the mysterious enemy, then, Pellaeon sighed to himself. Thrawn had been frustratingly opaque on the subject; Pellaeon couldn’t tell if the Grand Admiral didn’t trust him…

Or had fully departed from their goal to return to the Empire in favor of dealing with this new threat, and expected Pellaeon to object.

It wouldn’t be impossible to depose him, Pellaeon mused uneasily as he bid the Grand Admiral farewell and turned towards his own office to arrange their transport to the first moon. The bridge crew might be fanatically loyal to Thrawn, but the lower decks and anyone who hadn’t worked with him personally – which, naturally, included the majority of the nearly 40,000 crewmembers of the Star Destroyer – in addition to the crew absorbed from the Harbinger could reasonably be expected to back Pellaeon should he have proof that Thrawn had turned against the Empire.

He didn’t like to think of it. Thrawn had been a good commander – one of the best Pellaeon had worked with, in fact, his frustrating habit of keeping his plans to himself and waiting for his officers to catch up like cadets on a practical exam notwithstanding. Thrawn had proven himself in Pellaeon’s eyes against Savit, against the corruption lacing Imperial politics, and had stayed true to his command and his crew through their difficult journey through the Unknown Regions.

But Pellaeon had never been one to let his personal feelings interfere with his duty to the Empire.

If Thrawn truly did abandon their effort to return to civilized space…

Pellaeon would take command.

*

The moon was rocky and barren, the earth baked into an orange dust that instantly coated Pellaeon’s boots as he stepped off the ramp. A ring of Gadiosions encircled the landing area, watching as Thrawn and his entourage stepped into the center of the scorched earth.

Bridger scowled and scuffed his boot on the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dirt. Pellaeon shot him a quelling look.

“There’s nothing here,” the boy grumbled under his breath. “It’s just – dead.”

“Try to contain your disgust,” Pellaeon muttered back. “This is a diplomatic meeting.”

With a howl, one of the warriors raised a staff and charged. Pellaeon flinched, hand falling to his blaster, but Thrawn stepped forward with ease, drawing batons and meeting the warrior in a clash of metal.

“Super diplomatic,” Bridger said as they watched the fight, the slower Gadiosion digging furrows into the dirt with every hit as Thrawn danced nimbly around them. “Is this what the Empire calls diplomacy? Honestly, makes sense.”

“This is local customs,” Pellaeon hissed, breaking off with a sigh as Thrawn slammed a baton into the back of the Gadiosion’s knee, sending the warrior to the ground. “Which we respect.”

“Sure, as long as you’re winning,” Bridger hissed back, cut off by a shout from the ring of spectators.

Thrawn stepped back, and the Gadiosion rose and limped back to the circle. From behind them, another being emerged, this one short and thin where the warrior had been tall and broad.

“You have passed the trial,” they called to Thrawn, “and have won the right to deal with the Assembly. Come.”

They turned and walked back the way they had come. With a glance to Pellaeon and a twitch of his lips, Thrawn followed.

“Let’s go,” Pellaeon ordered, nudging Bridger forward and walking after the Grand Admiral. Flanking them, the sentry droids whirred back into life and stalked forward, a mechanical accompaniment to the silent walk to a large dome, steps leading them down into the depths of the dark building.

The air cooled noticeably out of the sun, and Pellaeon was grateful to hear the sounds of water dripping throughout the worked cavern, a relief from the dry heat outside. The larger Gadiosions lined the steps down into the cavernous central room, built uncomfortably like a gladiator ring – complete with sandy floor and spectators – with a smaller Gadiosion standing in its center.

Thrawn, and his entourage, approached, and he gave a small, respectful bow. The Gadiosion raised their head and a flap of brightly colored skin flared for a moment, before they returned to regarding Thrawn with dark, expressionless eyes.

“We recognize the strength of Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera, who has passed the trials,” they announced into the suddenly silent room. “Speak.”

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera,” Thrawn said, quiet voice nonetheless carrying throughout the room. “I am here to speak with the Gadiosions regarding the acquisition of fuel and supplies for our vessel.”

“And what do you offer, in return for these acquisitions?” the Gadiosion demanded.

“We offer what supplies we have a surplus of. This includes stocks of food and water, medical supplies, and more,” Thrawn replied easily. “We also offer what we have gained from the Chpterans, which we understand is a scarcity here.”

The Gadiosion seemed to consider this carefully. Finally, they nodded.

“We consider this a fair trade, for the strength of your arms,” they declared. “We will provide you with the details, once we have decided them.”

“I reserve the right to refuse an unfair bargain,” Thrawn said mildly. “This deal must be beneficial to us both.”

The Gadiosion raised their head sharply, dewlap flaring briefly, but Thrawn held his ground calmly and the Gadiosion soon lowered their head and narrowed their eyes.

“We will take this into consideration,” they said grudgingly.

“There is one other matter,” Thrawn said. “The Chpterans wish an alliance.”

The Gadiosion’s head went back up. “An alliance with us?”

“Yes. There is an enemy coming – an enemy that will threaten both the Gadiosions and the Chpterans,” Thrawn replied. “If you wish for victory, Chpteran resources will be indispensable, and their forces a formidable addition to your own.”

The Gadiosion puffed up their chest, dewlap on full display as they answered, “The Gadiosions need no ally to defeat our enemies!”

“And yet, we of the Chimaera challenged you,” Thrawn said. “And we are but a single ship.”

The Gadiosion eyed Thrawn, gaze snapping briefly to Pellaeon, Bridger, and the droids before turning back to the Grand Admiral.

“You say this as if more ships are following you,” they said.

“The Empire we serve is far from here, and has no interest in these regions,” Thrawn replied easily. “Our quest is to return to them following our own misfortunes. No. These are other ships. But they are great – great enough to challenge the Chimaera at full strength, much less at our current state. And they are many – many enough to blot out the stars.”

The Gadiosion turned his head to peer at Thrawn from the side. “These ships, you have seen them?” they demanded.

“I have,” Thrawn said. “There was a great battle against my own people. We are a great power in our territories, and greatly outstrip our neighbors; and yet, it took all of us – Chiss, Paccosh, Garwian, Vak, and more – to defeat our shared enemy. Had we attempted to stand alone – had we not built our alliances in time, the strength of each of our people combined – I would not be here to warn you now.”

The Gadiosion regarded Thrawn in silence.

“We will consider your words,” they finally announced. “We will inform you of our decision.”

“Thank you,” Thrawn said politely. “We await your word.”

The Gadiosion who had led them in – at least, Pellaeon assumed it was the same one, he was having trouble telling the difference in their scaled faces and was mostly relying on clothing, which was some kind of hard-boiled leather for the warriors, and a simple robe with a complicated sash for the smaller ones – appeared at their side, turning to lead them out.

Again, Thrawn glanced to Bridger as they turned to go, and again Bridger replied with a shrug. Pellaeon hoped Thrawn was getting whatever he needed from the Jedi – and that their temporary alliance, whatever the details may be, kept the boy in check when they finally turned towards their quest home.

*

Chapter Text

*

“We have decided to accept your offer,” the Gadiosion’s voice called over the comms. “We will provide fuel, and you will give us these goods in return.”

Pellaeon pulled up the file on his datapad, passing it over to the Grand Admiral, who reviewed it carefully for a moment.

“This is acceptable,” Thrawn agreed.

“As for your other proposal,” the Gadiosion continued, “we have decided to consider the Chpterans’ offer of alliance, on one condition.”

“Which is?” Thrawn asked.

“You must be present for the negotiations,” they insisted. “The Chpterans have not passed the trials. We cannot deal with those who have not passed the trials. This meeting takes place only on the strength of your word; you must be there.”

“I understand,” Thrawn replied easily. Pellaeon shifted uncomfortably, jaw clenching at yet another diversion from their mission. If this dragged on for too much longer… “If I might suggest a meeting location?”

There was a pause, then: “You may.”

“There are several asteroids in the neutral zone between your planets that support a breathable atmosphere,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps one may be suitable, as a middle ground between your peoples.”

“We will consider this,” the Gadiosion promised. “We will inform you of the time and place when they have been chosen. You may inform the Chpterans.”

“Very well,” Thrawn agreed, and the comm clicked off.

Pellaeon held out a hand for his datapad. Thrawn looked at him.

“You are upset with the possibility of another delay,” he quietly observed.

Pellaeon shifted again but saw no point in prevaricating. “Yes, sir.”

“It will be a short meeting,” Thrawn promised. “And will cement the Gadiosions’ assistance. A deal with one person may be broken, should they decide they have the advantage; but it becomes a matter of honor when other parties are at play. Or so they claim to others. I suspect the concept has arrived more out of the practicality of being outnumbered, but as you’ve noticed, the Gadiosions dislike admitting to weakness.”

“I’ve noticed, sir,” Pellaeon said drily. But still… “How do you know about the… matter of honor?”

Thrawn shrugged lazily. “It was clear to me after speaking with the Chpterans on their dealings, and the thread was present throughout what art of the Gadiosions the Chpterans could provide,” he replied. “They depict their victories quite readily… but rarely against more than one foe. And likewise, their allies rarely appear singly. From there, it was a simple deduction.”

“But you’re sure,” Pellaeon pressed.

“I am sure,” Thrawn said, handing the datapad back and turning away. “We will have our meeting and see what else may come of it. I will need Bridger.”

Pellaeon clenched his jaw on a groan of annoyance, tucking his datapad away. “Yes, sir.”

*

“This is good,” Tkara insisted. “We of the Third Flight are pleased to be reaching out to our neighbors, the Gadiosions. We of the Third Flight are excited to build a connection between our people, built not on war, but on peace and respect.”

Etchra nodded along as Tkara finished their opening words, the other two Chpterans – Akria and Orio – seeming less enthused. The Gadiosions, who had, at this meeting, introduced their two representatives as K’ra and K’tol – the four warriors standing resolute behind them apparently did not get an introduction – made a show of turning to talk between themselves and appearing disinterested, but from what Pellaeon could tell, did not seem displeased.

“The Gadiosions respect the might of Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera,” K’ra began in reply, looking first to Thrawn, who had remained silent since briefly opening the meeting a few minutes ago. Their gaze glanced briefly to Pellaeon, at Thrawn’s right, and Bridger, at Thrawn’s left, before their head flicked back to Tkara. “We thus respect the will of the Chpterans,” they finished. “We are here to discuss terms of an alliance.”

“Yes,” Tkara said after a flicker of a pause, crest deflating slightly as they reached for the sheaf of flimsy at their side. Carefully picking through their words, they began. “As you are aware, the pirates plaguing this region have grown in… audacity. Our intelligence has confirmed that they are being supported by an outside force, that which we believe seeks to destroy or subjugate all our peoples. The Chpterans wish to… combine our forces to better repel these dangerous invaders.”

“There is no danger too great for the Gadiosions,” K’tol scoffed.

“Of course not,” Tkara replied quickly. “But a combined defense would more surely defeat them, with fewer losses to both sides.”

K’tol considered this, then bobbed their head. “This is acceptable.”

“We have prepared terms,” Tkara offered, holding out the flimsy. “This is an early draft. We welcome input from the Gadiosions on what may be changed or improved to meet your standards.”

“We would also like reassurance that this treaty will hold,” the other Chpteran, Akria, jumped in, voice flat and full of suspicion. Unlike Tkara, Pellaeon noticed that Akria’s crest was pressed tight to their head, and they sat ramrod straight in the chair the Chimaera had provided. “We are aware the Gadiosions consider such things… optional.”

K’ra and K’tol immediately puffed themselves up, dewlaps flaring. “You insult us!” K’ra snarled, with a flicker of a glance to where Thrawn sat unmoving at the head of the table – also from the Chimaera. “You insult our honor with your accusations-”

“You are the ones who broke the ceasefire over Ekdara!” Orio snapped. “Forgive us for wanting some assurance that the Gadiosions have at least learned from their mistakes-”

“The Gadiosions make no mistakes!” K’tol hissed, rising to their feet, dewlap of full display. “If you had not let your forces grow so weak-”

“Were they weak when they defeated you over Midal?” Akria snarled, rising in response, crest flaring tall. “Were they-”

“We are not here to rekindle old arguments!” Tkara interrupted with a whistle, leaping up to cut off their colleague. “We are here to build connections between us, that such conflict will never again occur.”

“We of the Chpterans have no intention of starting another conflict,” Orio said icily, remaining seated, although their crest, too, was raised. “But should the Gadiosions seek one, they should know that we are prepared to finish it.”

Thrawn stirred, and Pellaeon dragged his eyes away from the devolving debate to glance over. Thrawn was watching the two new Chpterans closely, even as the Gadiosions leaped to their challenge. Pellaeon’s hand inched towards his blaster as the argument threatened to come to blows, but Thrawn simply watched.

Not just the Chpterans, Pellaeon finally noticed. Thrawn was also watching Bridger. Bridger, who was frowning at Akria and Orio even more than Pellaeon.

Finally, Bridger grimaced, and slid a datapad over to Thrawn. Thrawn read it, nodded, and looked up.

“Akria and Orio, of the Third Flight,” he announced calmly, but sternly, and both sides stopped shouting to turn towards him. “You spoke with the refugees that came to your city, did you not?”

It was clear that the question caught them all by surprise. The two called out blinked at Thrawn, their shouting match derailed, but it was Tkara who caught on first, eyes widening as they edged away from the two.

“That is not the business of this meeting,” Orio bluffed.

“This meeting has already been thoroughly derailed due to your efforts,” Thrawn stated pointedly. “You will answer the question.”

Behind them, Etchra was flipping quickly through their notes, Tkara leaning over their shoulder. They looked up.

“It is true,” Tkara called. “Akria and Orio, you were the liaisons who championed the Agbui’s request.”

“What does that matter?” Akria demanded.

“What did they promise you?” Thrawn’s voice was cold, suddenly encased in ice, and Pellaeon spared a glance to his unpredictable commander.

He decided that it was, perhaps, the closest he’d ever seen to true anger on Thrawn’s face, and again Pellaeon wondered what it was that had so upset his commander here, far from any civilizations either of them knew.

“It does not-” Orio protested.

“What did they promise you?” Thrawn repeated, slow and deliberately as he rose to his feet, brooking no further deflections.

Pellaeon hastily rose with him and shot Bridger a glare and a jerk of the head to get him up too. His duty was to stand with his commanding officer, and as long as Bridger wore the uniform, he would do the same or Pellaeon would find a way to throw him into boot camp, whether the Chimaera was stranded or not.

Behind them, the two Dark Troopers and two sentry droids Thrawn had brought along snapped quickly to attention, the audible, impressive hum of weaponry charging up swiftly grabbing the attention of the room.

Akria glanced past Thrawn, to his guard, then back, crest flaring and flattening nervously. “They said – they said they were familiar with the pirate’s tactics, and a show of force would chase them away,” they answered. “They said the Chpterans had the strength, if we were more aggressive – we could easily defeat them, and control the region, if only we tried more… forceful tactics.”

“That is not our way,” Tkara interjected, voice harsh in a way Pellaeon had never heard it before. Their crest was fully extended again, as they raised their head and stood tall. It added another inch to their height – Pellaeon had never noticed how their posture had kept them smaller. And more friendly. “The First Flight was right to reject the proposal.”

“We could be great!” Orio snarled, whirling on Tkara with a flare of cloth and feathers. “We could have owned the region, stopped cowering behind screens and rocks-”

“You have been deceived,” Thrawn interrupted, before the argument could continue. All sides again turned towards where he stood, calmly watching the Chpteran side of the table. “I have encountered this before. The refugees were not refugees at all – they were saboteurs, from the same people that backed the pirates. As they enticed the pirates into attacking you, so they entice you into attacking your neighbors – all so that, once their own forces arrive, you will have already destroyed each other.”

He turned back to Tkara, Etchra, and the Gadiosions, dismissing the treacherous Chpterans. “As I have warned you, this enemy seeks to destroy or enslave all whom they encounter,” he informed them. “Four times, I have defeated them – once by destroying the invaders they sent against my own people, once by thwarting their schemes to trick us into destroying each other, and twice in battle against their forces, once they had tired of subtlety. I have seen their power,” he continued, his voice darkening. “I have seen the threat they present not only to your people, but to all people. And I will not permit them to succeed.”

There was a long pause as the room stared at Thrawn. Tkara’s eyes flicked briefly towards the ceiling, somewhere above which the Chimaera hovered; the Gadiosions stood at their tallest, dewlaps on full display as they considered Thrawn’s warning.

Pellaeon palmed his comm unit. If this broke into a fight, he was confident their guard would protect them, but the shuttle outside was vulnerable. If the Gadiosions moved fast enough…

“Akria and Orio.” It was Tkara who broke the silence, stepping forward to lightly touch one, and then the other. “You are removed from the Third Flight, pending review by the Primaries.”

Akria whirled on them, crest fluttering in shock, emitting a string of clicks and chirps in their own tongue in clear protest.

Tkara said nothing, but Etchra stepped up beside them. “You are not suitable,” they said. “By your own words, you have lost the wind. Step down. It is over.”

Akria and Orio said nothing, but their crests lowered slowly, flattening against the skull as if to disappear entirely. Silently, they each removed a ribbon from their robes, and handed them to Tkara.

Tkara passed them to Etchra and turned back to the Gadiosions. “As is our way,” they began, “we offer our apologies for any insult offered by those who once stood with us. If our apology is accepted, we are willing to continue negotiations.”

K’ra’s dewlap flared. “The Gadiosions do not bow to the demands of any people,” they snarled, and Pellaeon braced himself. “Least of all the machinations of cowards who use trickery to make us fight their battles for them.”

They lowered their head, dewlap folding, but not completely, as they pulled out their chair and slammed themselves down, apparently ready to negotiate.

Now that it was a matter of honor, Pellaeon thought cynically to himself.

“Excellent,” Thrawn said, still standing at ease at the head of the table. Pellaeon settled in to do the same, sending a warning glance to Bridger to stay on his feet; if Bridger wanted to keep the uniform, he’d damn well meet Pellaeon’s standards. “Let us begin.”

*

Chapter Text

*

Pellaeon checked his chrono again and stifled a sigh. Thrawn was supposed to have been here nearly an hour ago, insisting on personally observing the recharge of the weapons system. The Gadiosions had grudgingly, but with teeth-gritted acquiescence, led the Chimaera to one of their fueling stations and allowed them to both refuel and recharge their systems, but the raw, gaseous fuels they used were much less refined than back in the Empire, and the Chimaera’s technicians were concerned about waste buildup.

The weapons recharge would be the stress point; recharging the specialized power cells for their remaining turbolasers required a massive uptake of fuel pushed through the reactor system as quickly as possible. The technicians had made sure every waste port was functioning at maximum capacity, but if there was a blockage…

Those gasses were flammable.

Right now, Pellaeon had the technicians running checks on the secondary and tertiary systems, perfectly reasonable given the situation, but there was only so much longer he could stall. He cast another hopeful glance behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of a white uniform striding towards them.

“Sir!” he greeted, briefly snapping to attention as the Grand Admiral drew up next to him before returning to the matter at hand. He didn’t bother hiding his relief; Thrawn had been tardy to more than a few meetings in the past few weeks, and the crew was starting to notice. “We’re ready to begin the weapons recharge. Just waiting on checks to the secondary and tertiary systems.”

Thrawn raised an eyebrow, the slightest hint of knowing smile crossing his face as he looked over Pellaeon’s outstretched datapad.

“All appears to be in order, Captain,” he replied easily. “My apologies for the delay; I received an unexpected call from Tkara regarding the extent of the Gadiosion’s defensive perimeter.”

“Perhaps you should simply start to expect them, sir,” Pellaeon sighed. Thrawn had been getting dozens of calls from both sides of the new treaty, apparently requiring a third party to moderate some point or another. Sometimes multiple calls in a day, each, without fail, interrupting his duties on the Chimaera. Thrawn always excused himself from any of the truly petty requests for moderation, but apparently couldn’t help but offer his own opinion on military matters.

Pellaeon was just glad they were finally getting refueled and could start moving again. The Chpterans and Gadiosions were perfectly capable of talking to each other, which they’d proven every time Thrawn refused to step in on their calls. Now that they were allied, they could handle whatever threat was coming, and the Chimaera could resume her course after the Thunder Wasp and their search for a path back to the Empire.

Unfortunately, neither the Chpterans nor the Gadiosions knew of any hyperlanes in that direction, or of anything particularly far beyond their borders, so the Chimaera was still restricted to heading for the galactic core one jump at a time and hoping they hit civilization. Or a navigator station, where Thrawn had said they could hire someone who could get their ships through the nasty snarl of unmapped space between them and home at a more reasonable speed.  

Pellaeon hadn’t ever quite realized just how large the Unknown Regions could be when you were trapped in them.

“I am sure they will realize their own strengths soon enough,” Thrawn replied easily to Pellaeon’s comment, flicking through the diagnostic reports. “With my departure approaching, it is reasonable that they would wish to consult with me as much as possible on matters of defense. They know little of their enemy, after all, and have less experience working with integrated units than I.”

He glanced up at Pellaeon and smiled knowingly. “Yes, Captain, we will be returning to the Empire,” he reassured him. “As soon as repairs are complete and the situation is stable, we will depart.”

“You’re very certain it will be stable soon, sir,” Pellaeon pointed out, with more doubt than his commander. He’d heard Thrawn could be politically… dense. And he knew very well how politics could drag out even the simplest of military objectives from his time during the Clone Wars. Senators squabbling over everything from the budget to the deployments, as if they knew anything about warfare.

At least the Empire had been efficient.

“The preparations are coming along well,” Thrawn replied. “And their militaries are integrating smoothly. The rest will naturally follow shortly.” He looked over the fuel depot, the massive hulk of the Chimaera looming over the structure, then nodded to Pellaeon. “Let us begin, Captain.”

“Yes, sir!” Pellaeon agreed, turning to signal the technicians, tucking his datapad under his arm. A klaxon sounded, and activity picked up as the entire station began to hiss with the gas flowing to the Chimaera through the somewhat haphazardly constructed piping.

Thrawn watched it all with sharp eyes as the ship’s reactors flared, the hum of the engines growing to a whine as their color shifted from blue to white. Pellaeon coughed as the temperature rose, the burning scent of leaked fuel infusing the air even as technicians rushed to patch the breach.

“Levels holding steady,” Thrawn commented calmly, still watching the Chimaera.

Pellaeon checked his datapad. Levels holding steady, indeed. “How can you tell, sir?”

“Watch the flaring of the engines,” Thrawn told him, lazily waving a hand. “The output increases with each cycle of the reactor. A faster and variable flare pattern indicates a surge, as when the recharge began, while a steady pattern indicates a regulated flow.”

Pellaeon squinted at the engines, trying to distinguish the flares without looking at the eye-searing glow directly. “I suppose, sir, but I’d rather keep my sight clear,” he said tactfully.

“An excellent tactical decision, Captain,” Thrawn said, and Pellaeon squinted at the note of humor in his voice. Thrawn had been… upbeat, almost playful, recently, and Pellaeon couldn’t quite decide if it was a result of finally repairing the Chimaera, the improvement in the Chpteran and Gadiosion situation, or Pellaeon simply learning to read the Grand Admiral’s face.

“Where’s Bridger?” Pellaeon asked, suddenly realizing he hadn’t spotted the Jedi all day. While normally he’d consider this cause to rejoice, there was too much trouble the boy could get into on a fuel depot for Pellaeon to rest easy without him in sight. If Bridger decided to betray whatever pact he’d made with Thrawn and destroy them, here and now…

“Meditating,” Thrawn replied calmly, eyes on the Chimaera. “In one of the shuttles, I believe. I tasked him with attempting to use his abilities to sense the disturbance caused by our enemy, and he declared the aura of the Chimaera too distracting.”

Pellaeon frowned. Our enemy. “He hasn’t entered the fuel depot?”

“According to the troopers guarding the shuttles, there has been no activity since our arrival,” Thrawn said. “I expect the location might also have proven a distraction to his focus; his Jedi Master died in the destruction of my fuel depot on Lothal. Ah, it appears the recharge is complete,” he finished, as the flow of gas abruptly stopped, the Chimaera and fuel depot settling back into the usual hum. “Results?”

Pellaeon checked his datapad. “84% efficiency, sir, we’re at 51% capacity,” he reported. “Less than we’d hoped.”

“But more than we had feared,” Thrawn replied easily. “Excellent. We-”

The shrill alert of his comm interrupted the conversation, and he raised an eyebrow at Pellaeon as he answered the emergency signal. “Grand Admiral Thrawn here.”

“Sir, we just got a transmission from the Chpterans and the Gadiosions – there’s a fleet attacking the outpost at Schoral. Chpterans have engaged, Gadiosions are asking for orders, sir!” Senior Lieutenant Lomar reported rapidly. “They’re saying it’s the largest attack yet!”

“Prepare for departure, plot a course for Schoral,” Thrawn ordered immediately, turning towards the shuttles at a rapid pace. Pellaeon hurried to signal the technicians and followed. “We will be testing our repairs sooner than expected,” Thrawn commented as he caught up. “But I am sure the Chpterans and Gadiosions will benefit from victorious proof of the strength of their alliance.”

“If this is a larger attack than expected…” Pellaeon pointed out, trailing off.

Thrawn shook his head. “They will succeed,” he said simply. “They must.”

As Pellaeon opened his mouth to respond, he was interrupted as Bridger slammed around the corner ahead of them, staggering up to Thrawn and grabbing his tunic.

Before Pellaeon could do more than gape in protest, the boy was babbling.

“I felt it,” he panted, pulling Thrawn down as he wobbled on his feet. “Out in the dark, coming, coming closer, out of the darkness – I felt it. They’re coming.”

“As I suspected,” Thrawn replied, hoisting the boy up easily and continuing towards the shuttles. “We will meet them over Schoral-”

“Not Schoral,” Bridger interrupted, pulling away to clutch at his head. “It’s not – it’s somewhere else – it hurts – ebezanepete enemypu oshte etyno poncemi, ongephambo ngelevala gothi*,” he recited, suddenly, voice dropping to something harsh and dark in a language Pellaeon didn’t recognize.

But Thrawn did, he saw, as the Grand Admiral stopped and stared at Bridger, eyes widening.

“Of course,” Thrawn breathed, as close to shocked as Pellaeon had ever seen him. Then he turned, and broke into a run, leaving Pellaeon to grab Bridger and drag the boy after them.

Technicians and troopers threw themselves out of the way as they rushed by, and Pellaeon grit his teeth on the indignity of it all – command officers never ran, never gave their subordinates any reason to believe anything was not under their control. Pellaeon had broken into a run in front of his men exactly once in his entire career as an officer, and it had been for the evacuation when Bridger’s monsters had destroyed the command deck of the Harbinger and every second was needed to escape the dark call of empty space behind the cracks expanding across the viewports.

But Thrawn ran, and Pellaeon followed, Bridger beside him, and he prayed that whatever disaster they were running towards, they would survive it better than his old ship had.

*

When the Chimaera pulled out of hyperspace, they arrived not over the small Chpteran colony on Schoral, but over Chptera itself.

It was almost eerily reminiscent of their first visit, Pellaeon thought to himself as he shouted orders, attention divided between weapons, defenses, and the tactical display as Thrawn led them with cold determination through the chaos of the battle unfolding outside.

Except this time, instead of a rag-tag band of pirates, the Chimaera faced off against three impressively large, elliptical warships, which had wasted no time in launching a host of gunships and an assault of missiles towards the Chimaera.

They’d done all they could to prepare. Thrawn was watching the battle unfold carefully; he’d warned Pellaeon that this enemy may, if they were in contact with those he’d faced in the Empire, be aware of the TIE Defenders, which were otherwise their best weapon in this fight. However, there remained hope that this fleet, focused as it was on a different front entirely, would not have been briefed on Thrawn’s tactics.

The ship shuddered under Pellaeon’s feet as another missile salvo made it through, and the alarms screamed.

“Shields down to forty-five percent!” Lieutenant Davi called from the defense station. “We can’t take much more of this, sir!”

“Hold steady, Lieutenant,” Pellaeon called to the bridge at large. “Admiral?”

“Bring us about forty degrees to port, and launch the second bank of TIEs,” Thrawn ordered. “Have the first squadron loop the Chimaera from behind. They want the gunships following.”

Which would bring the gunships into perfect position for the second wave of TIEs, Pellaeon noted as he relayed the order.

“Sir, we have an asteroid!” Lieutenant Commander Pyrondi called from the tactical display, where Thrawn had stationed her to monitor the edges of the battlefield for any surprises. “Coming in from two-seventy mark seventy-five!”

“Launch a probe,” Thrawn ordered immediately. “Speed?”

“Slow, sir, just looks like a drifter,” Pyrondi reported. “Probe launched.”

“TIEs launched!” Senior Lieutenant Kimar called from flight control.

“Bring us down sixty degrees and advance on the lead warship,” Thrawn ordered as fire bloomed in the viewport, the gunships falling prey to the TIEs – but more had pulled back, seeing the trap and delaying long enough to take up the fight against the new wave of fighters. “Prepare a Marg Sabl with the TIE Defenders, and ready bombers.”

“Bombers, sir?” Pellaeon couldn’t help but ask.

“Have faith, Captain,” Thrawn replied. “We will be making use of Chpteran tactics today.”

“Sir, we’re approaching atmosphere!” came a call from Ensign Nammas at the piloting station.

“And the warship?” Thrawn asked.

“Turned aside, but staying level with us, sir!”

“Commander Pyrondi, the probe?” Thrawn called.

“Closing, sir!”

“Helm, stay on course, level with the planet’s atmosphere. Flight Control, launch Defenders, target the second warship,” Thrawn ordered. “Follow with the bombers. Target the planet’s atmosphere, special incendiaries only.”

“Sir?” Pellaeon gasped.

“I had an analysis run during our stay here,” Thrawn said calmly, not looking away from the view outside, the planet looming close below them, the warship across from them, his eyes catching on every detail. “The prepared incendiaries are a particular chemical composition that should react appropriately; the bombers are simply the most expedient delivery method.”

A second later, space erupted into fire.

Not fire, Pellaeon realized after a moment’s flinch. But the strange wisps of boiling gas filling the viewport certainly looked like fire, sending shimmering waves of mirage across the battlefield and the warships hovering within it.

“Sir, the probe!” Pyrondi called, alarmed. “It’s gone! The asteroid…”

“I am aware, Lieutenant,” Thrawn called back. “Helm, sixty degrees to starboard. Circle the warship. Now for the test,” he added to Pellaeon.

“The test, sir?” Pellaeon asked, the thrill of battle and the cold feeling of losing one warring in his chest, as another missile slipped through the Chimaera’s defenses, rattling the bridge.

“They know we know, now,” Thrawn said calmly. “If they are going to take advantage of their secret weapon, they must do so now, before the bombers can come around. They will be rushed, incautious; the advantage will be ours.”

Pellaeon stared, holding his composure through sheer force of will, as in the sky above them, through the film of boiling gas, the no longer distant drifting asteroid began to crack, splitting nearly in two, the dark form of a massive missile launcher revealed as it turned towards where the Chimaera in the midst the still-hazy battlefield.

The Chimaera circled the warship across from them, turbolasers firing, TIEs above. The warship matched them, missiles launching, gunships above.

The asteroid fired.

Pellaeon did not close his eyes, although he caught some of the younger officers flinching. But he watched, heart in his throat, as the missile blasted forth, and the view was filled by fire – actual fire, not from the Chimaera, but from the warship pacing across from them. The warship that had, in pacing them, taken the place the Chimaera had stood just a few moments before, behind a shield of shimmering, disorienting haze – and had taken the missile meant for them, the asteroid’s targeting likewise confused by the wavering mirage.

Someone cheered, a ripple of ebullience racing through the bridge as the warship exploded, debris scattering into Chptera’s atmosphere.

“Focus!” Pellaeon called, before it could get out of hand. “We have a battle to win!”

“Yes, sir!” The resounding cry echoed around the bridge, as perfect as on parade, and Pellaeon turned and nodded to Thrawn, waiting for orders.

Once, he’d watched the Grand Admiral defeat three Imperial Star Destroyers with only the Chimaera, while held at gunpoint on his enemy’s ship. Today, he’d watched the Grand Admiral turn their enemy’s own weapon against them, without a single shot fired against it.

“Bring us up, ninety degrees, and turn forty degrees starboard,” Thrawn called, radiating cold satisfaction. “Call in the TIEs and focus fire on the second warship. Fighters, strafe the weapons array; Defenders, target the engine core. We want them crippled, not destroyed.”

“Shields are down, sir!” Pyrondi called from tactical. “Theirs, that is.”

“The third warship is retreating,” another officer called, and there was another round of jubilation.

“Interceptors and TIEs, break off and pursue,” Thrawn immediately ordered, eyes narrowing on the departing ship. “Pyrondi, mark vector and speed.”

“Departing at one-twenty mark forty-five, sir!” Pyrondi immediately replied. “Moving at one hundred kph and accelerating.”

“Engine core is destroyed, sir, they’re dead in space!” Ensign Hesde called next to her.

“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “Send the Defenders and bombers after the last warship, usual ordnance.”

“It’s slowing down, sir!” Pyrondi reported.

Pellaeon looked at Thrawn, who frowned at the tactical screen.

“Break off bombers,” he finally ordered. “Send the Defenders ahead, keeping a safety distance around the warship.”

But even before he’d finished speaking, the warship erupted into flames as it self-destructed on the edge of the battlefield.

“It’s over,” Pellaeon said, finally releasing the breath he’d been holding since arriving over Chptera.

“It has only just begun,” Thrawn replied.

*

The boarding party had only just made contact with the alien warship, it seemed, when they’d called for Thrawn. Apparently, he had to see whatever they’d found.

He’d brought Pellaeon with him, over his protests. Apparently, Pellaeon also needed to see whatever they’d found, more than they needed to maintain the security of the Chimaera’s command structure.

For some reason, Bridger had also been brought along. Apparently, this would be a group outing.

“See the wave pattern on the hull,” Thrawn instructed the two of them as the shuttle approached the warship, engrossed in the view of its exterior. “Subtle, but indisputable. While their ships cover a wide range of designs, and their full forces have not yet been revealed, the wave design is present in every ship seen thus far. It is a hallmark of Grysk design.”

“Oo, the Grysk! A name, finally!” Bridger said sarcastically, even as he peered out the window at the ship. “Lamest Life Day present ever.”

“It’s not your Life Day,” Pellaeon informed him.

“It could be,” Bridger argued. “You don’t know!”

Pellaeon pulled up Bridger’s file. “Ezra Bridger, Lieutenant of the Rebel Alliance, Jedi Affiliated,” he read off. “Age: nineteen, born on Empire Day, zero AFE.”

Bridger’s face screwed up in disgust at the mention of Empire Day, but Thrawn cut him off before he could speak.

“We have arrived,” he announced, standing and heading for the ramp. Pellaeon followed with one last glare to Bridger, who stuck his tongue out like a child.

The alien craft was cool under Pellaeon’s boots as they entered the hangar bay, Thrawn pointing out details of the construction and design. Bridger frowned, seeming distracted; he skipped up to grin impishly at Pellaeon, but today, it failed to reach his eyes.

“So, what’s the deal with these Grysk?” he asked Thrawn as they headed into the hallway. “I mean, like, scourge upon the galaxy, kidnap people, blah blah blah, but like. You never cared when the Empire was doing it, so what’s their deal?”

Pellaeon relegated himself to a mere glance over at the two, disliking his own disgruntlement at having, apparently, been told less than Bridger.

“The Grysk do not satisfy themselves with direct conquest, nor even enslavement,” Thrawn replied as they entered the hallway. The troopers had dragged the bodies off to the side; he examined each as they passed, although what he was looking for, Pellaeon couldn’t say. “The Grysk seek total control over their subjects – their clients, we call them. They find whatever pressures are needed, whatever weaknesses in a culture that can be exploited, and control them utterly. The Grysk have brought entire species, entire systems, under their power without firing a shot. It is said that a single Grysk can rule an entire planet.”

He stopped at one of the bodies and crouched, removing its helmet. “Here. You see.”

Pellaeon looked down. The face was thin, and pale, and alien; but looking back over the corpses they had passed, he could see the difference from the others.

Bridger was silent.

“Sir?” Pellaeon asked.

“This is not a Grysk,” Thrawn explained. “This is a Darshi, a nomadic people who travel the border between Wild Space and the Chaos. He must be especially important to have been placed on board a ship so far from that front.”

“He doesn’t look enslaved,” Pellaeon pointed out, noting the weapons holstered at the Darshi’s side.

“Look closer,” Thrawn said. “The Darshi are spiritually associated with the long knives that they carry, which are meticulously and individually crafted for each Darshi.” He drew the knife from its sheath and showed it to Pellaeon. The blade was dull, unpolished and crudely made; the hilt, too, was wrapped roughly in frayed leather.

“This… isn’t it?” Pellaeon guessed.

“Indeed not. The Grysk control the blades; by controlling the blades, they control the people, and have turned the Darshi from peaceful travelers to violent servants of their conquest.”

Pellaeon shifted on his feet but held his tongue. It seemed a bit of a stretch; but what did he know about these people? And Thrawn had proven that he could outwit his opponents through their artwork alone…

“You doubt,” Thrawn observed, and Pellaeon winced. “Be assured, my people knew of the Darshi – and the Darshi I encountered on Batuu were irrevocably changed by their subservience to the Grysk.”

“They killed themselves,” Bridger interjected, suddenly. Pellaeon turned, finding the boy standing back, arms folded around his chest, watching them with dark, serious eyes. “They couldn’t blow up the ship, so they killed themselves instead.”

“Yes,” Thrawn said. “You can sense it?”

The boy shook his head, avoiding their eyes. “I don’t like it here,” he said shortly. “It’s – it’s bad. Not like – they’re not Sith, or anything like that. I don’t think. It’s just…” he trailed off, and shuddered, as if cold.

Thrawn cocked his head, eyeing the boy. “Do you wish to leave?” he asked.

Bridger scowled at him, some of his spark returning. “Aw, worried about me?” he snarked, trying for a smirk and not quite making it. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with a lot worse than this.”

Somehow, his voice didn’t quite ring true.

Thrawn turned back to proceed down the corridor, Pellaeon alone catching his pleased look as Bridger followed. He sighed and continued after the Grand Admiral, hoping they could return to the Chimaera soon.

Pellaeon might not be a Jedi, but even he was finding the warship creepy.

As they reached the bridge, or what Pellaeon assumed was the bridge, a trooper stepped forward to meet them at the door.

“Sir. There’s something you should see,” he said, uncharacteristically quiet for a stormtrooper.

Thrawn frowned and quickly continued through the doors, the trooper turning to follow. Bridger hung back, looking at the door with something dark in his eyes.

“Bridger,” Pellaeon prompted.

“You go ahead,” the boy said. “I already know.”

Pellaeon eyed him, then turned and followed Thrawn. Bridger wasn’t his problem; the Grand Admiral was.

The bodies lay thick on the floor of the bridge, the smell of blood and scorched flesh still lingering in the air. Almost all of the wounds Pellaeon could see appeared self-inflicted, hands still clutched around blasters and knives, a few pairs or groups still locked together where they had inflicted the blows on each other. Against one wall lay a line, each with a neat blaster shot through the head; the deserving or the cowardly, Pellaeon couldn’t say.

He found Thrawn standing over the navigation station, the trooper standing respectfully back. Pellaeon approached, and looked down, at the body of a young Chiss.

After a long moment, Thrawn knelt, and closed the girl’s eyes. He carefully arranged her limbs out of their careless sprawl, gently touching her hair.

“The skywalkers are the single greatest secret of the Chiss Ascendancy,” he said quietly for Pellaeon’s ears alone. “Navigators are highly prized in the Chaos – they are the difference between stability and disaster. Those with the gift born among the Chiss are our greatest asset, which have allowed us to remain a bastion of order in the region.”

“She’s young,” Pellaeon observed, equally quietly.

“Skywalkers lose their powers by puberty,” Thrawn said. “We don’t know why. There are exceptions… but they are few, and exceptional.” His hand drifted from the girl’s hair to her hand, which he clasped in his own. “They give up their childhoods for us,” he said. “They give up everything. And in return, we are sworn to guard them with our lives. We would die for them. We would kill for them.”

Pellaeon watched him, swallowing the question. Thrawn would have mentioned if the Ascendancy had fallen; Pellaeon had read the reports on the Savit incident and the account of the strange ship seen in the Chimaera’s company barely a few short months ago.

“What does this mean, sir?” he asked instead.

“It means that today, I have failed,” Thrawn answered softly.

With one last touch to the girl’s hair, he rose, and turned away.

*

Chapter Text

*

Pellaeon tapped the input button and waited for the field to update, then sighed. Still nothing.

Their knowledge of the region was expanding with every new member of the still-unnamed alliance slowly forming around them, brought in by the Chpteran’s extended hand of goodwill, the Gadiosion’s aggressive negotiations – they’d taken the building of a defensive coalition as a matter of honor, following the attack on the Chpteran homeworld and resulting blow to their pride – or by Thrawn.

Thrawn, and his brilliance. Thrawn, and his military insight, easily integrating each new species, culture, and favored tactics into a cohesive whole. Thrawn, and the Imperial Star Destroyer at his back.

The Chimaera was very nearly at full strength. They’d refueled and recharged, fully repaired her hull, and were even making good progress on a full refurbishing of the interior. Those turbolasers destroyed beyond repair had been replaced by local weaponry, missile launchers and some sort of acid launcher Thrawn had been particularly impressed with.

Apparently, the Chiss had used similar weaponry.

And yet, they still had not yet found a clear path back to the Empire. With every new addition, Pellaeon added to their slowly forming star chart of the region; and with every addition, he failed to find a familiar waypoint, any sign of humanity or their ilk. The Thunder Wasp, likewise, had so far found nothing, although Captain Hammerly was doing an impressive job bringing word of their exploits to the region, bringing more allies and more trade into the fold.

They must be deep, deep within the Chaos. The analysts had come to the same conclusion, and with no information on the road ahead, the resources that may or may not be available, or the enemies that could be waiting for them, the Chimaera had elected to remain. For now.

Pellaeon understood. Had even been the one to propose it, at the staff meeting when it had been decided. And had caught sight of Thrawn’s hidden, approving smile.

Pellaeon wasn’t some raw recruit, some starry-eyed ensign fresh from the Academy. He knew when he’d been played, and he didn’t appreciate it.

Which was why Pellaeon was here, meditating over a too-small star chart while Thrawn sat in meetings, organized defenses, and generally involved himself in the alliance they would shortly be leaving behind.

Provided the Grysk weren’t between them and the Empire.

Pellaeon closed his eyes, rubbing at the inevitable headache, then flicked them open with a flinch as the girl’s face flashed through his mind.

They had to return to the Empire. They were only one Star Destroyer and a light cruiser, counting the Thunder Wasp; powerful, perhaps, but nothing against a fleet of Grysk ships.

This wasn’t their fight.

It wasn’t.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Pellaeon jumped at the voice directly behind him, and stood back with a scowl to behold Bridger grinning merrily at where he’d appeared from wherever he’d been hiding.

“Ensign Titus,” Pellaeon drawled.

Bridger rolled his eyes and hopped up to sit on the edge of the holotable, flicking through the planets on the new trade route. He whistled, annoyingly, one eye on Pellaeon as he shifted the careful display into the worst configuration possible.

“Sooo, found your way back yet?” he asked as if he didn’t already know the answer.

At least Bridger hadn’t been invited to staff meetings yet, even if Thrawn had been dragging the boy to every tactical meeting.

It felt like every tactical meeting. It was probably only half. Maybe seventy-five percent.

It was too many for a convicted Rebel.

“Soon,” Pellaeon replied shortly. “I don’t suppose you’re offering some kind of Jedi trick to help?”

Bridger shrugged easily. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” he said, still grinning.

Well, Pellaeon could appreciate the honesty, he supposed, if he wanted to, which he didn’t.

“Why do you want to get back so much, anyway?” Bridger asked, kicking his heels where they swung below the table. His pants were getting short, Pellaeon noticed absently, with a note to have a word with the Quartermaster; with Thrawn dragged Bridger to meeting after meeting with the alliance, the boy should at least look presentable.

Bridger was growing, Pellaeon belatedly registered. How old was he? He’d been nineteen when they’d been involuntarily exiled – Bridger voluntarily, Pellaeon supposed – the same age as the Empire, same Life Day even. Pellaeon… had lost track of the days.

Twenty was hardly a boy, although some of the fresh-faced ensigns darting about made Pellaeon feel old. Bridger behaved so childishly, it was easy to forget his true age; but now that Pellaeon looked closer, he could see the sharp-edged brittleness to Bridger’s false smile.

The boy – the Jedi – was trapped amongst his enemies, wholly reliant on them for survival, facing death at their every whim. Pellaeon should have seen it sooner.

“Just doesn’t seem like that much to get back to,” the boy continued carelessly, not seeing or ignoring Pellaeon’s scrutiny. “I mean, are you really that excited to get back to subjugating the galaxy? Just can’t wait to go harass some nonhumans or bomb a planet or whatever you guys do for fun?”

Or maybe the boy was trying to get himself executed.

“I understand your experiences with the Empire have been… less than ideal,” Pellaeon replied through gritted teeth. “But I can assure you that we do not blow up planets for fun.”

He blinked away the brief flash of memory, scorched earth and glassed fields. The Clone Wars. He’d been remembering them more and more, recently.

“I mean, you seemed pretty happy to bomb mine,” Ezra pointed out. “Did you even get the casualty reports from Capital City? I don’t care what Thrawn was aiming at, someone was living in the neighborhoods he hit. Maybe no one you care about,” he added nastily.

“We care,” Pellaeon argued sharply. “We care about everyone, across the entire galaxy. Billions of people, across millions of planets, and a thousand threats from all sides. You’re young; you don’t remember what it was like in the old days. The Republic was corrupt, stripping us down to the bone until we could barely keep pace with pirates, much less the Separatists.” He turned away, again blinking the images out of his eyes; decades, he’d been fighting what felt like the same war. He was getting too old for this. “The Empire changed that. For the first time, we had a military, a real one built off people fighting for their families, not made in a factory to die. We cleared out the pirates, the smugglers, legitimized trade and opened the trade routes; we’ve brought peace and order to every corner of the galaxy. Hells, boy, we may even take down the Hutts someday.”

“Wow, congrats,” Bridger said sarcastically. “Hey, if you’re so awesome, can’t you do that, like, now?”

Pellaeon turned his glare back on Bridger. “Perhaps if we could fully commit our forces, instead of spreading them across a dozen insurgent groups threatening the peace,” he replied pointedly.

“Maybe you’d have fewer Rebels if you stopped destroying planets,” Bridger argued hotly. “I gotta say, Lothal wasn’t getting much of your ‘order and peace’ bullshit. More of the ‘control by fear’ part.”

Pellaeon held in a sigh. “The work was necessary to support the greater good-”

“Whose greater good?” Bridger shot back. “’Cause it sure wasn’t ours! We were doing fine before you assholes barged in and started ripping the place to pieces, poisoning the air, clearing out the farms and putting people in work camps-”

“The Empire is about more than Lothal, boy!” Pellaeon barked. “If your people couldn’t see that-”

Bridger glared back, uncowed. “Lothal,” he said. “Lasan. Kashyyyk. Geonosis. Kamino. Meastrinnar. Ghorman. Atravis. Caamas. Mon Cala-”

“Enough,” Pellaeon snapped, turning away from the seemingly endless list. He didn’t recognize all of them, but he recognized enough to know the boy’s recitation had nothing to do with planets. “I’m not here to listen to Rebel propaganda.”

He didn’t recognize all of them. But he recognized enough.

…He didn’t recognize all of them.

Pellaeon found that… unsettling.

“Sure, but you’ll listen to Imperial propaganda,” the boy rolled his eyes. “Hey, you were in the Clone Wars, right? Did you shoot your own Jedi, or did the clones do that for you?”

“How many Jedi do you think there were?” Pellaeon sputtered at the sudden accusation, snapped out of his brief reverie. “We were Judicial Forces – the Jedi dealt with the clone troopers. And they attempted a coup. Did you expect the Emperor to just ignore that?”

“A coup? Really? Did he tell you that?” Bridger laughed, mirthlessly. “Sure, I bet my fourteen-year-old master was totally planning to kick Palpatine’s ass. With the horde of younglings and old guys left in the Temple. The ones the Emperor had killed.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m down for it, and I wasn’t even born yet. Must be catching, or something.”

Pellaeon turned away. “I’m not listening to this.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Bridger mused, sliding down from the table. “I bet Palpatine would get along super well with the Grysk. Pretending to be friends to start a war, then backstabbing everyone and taking over? That’s so him.”

“What are you talking about?” Pellaeon asked, aghast, before he could stop himself.   

“Oh, come on,” the boy said. “Everyone knows Palpatine was playing both sides of the war. I mean, Dooku was like, his apprentice, and he put the inhibitor chips in the clones, and once everyone was fed up with it, boom! War over, Dooku dead, Jedi dead, Senate singing his praises…” He sent Pellaeon one last, empty smile. “He won. Everyone lost. And now here we are. You know, it’d almost be funny, seeing the Grysk go up against the Empire – who do you think would win?”

“Get out,” Pellaeon managed. That was – he wasn’t listening to this. He turned away, closing his eyes against the flare of blaster fire dancing at the corners of his vision. It didn’t help. “Just get out.”

He heard the rustle of cloth as Bridger shrugged, and the clang of boots. The door swished closed behind him, and Pellaeon was alone again.

He rubbed his eyes, unable to banish the visions from his past – Saleucami, during the Clone Wars; Kashyyyk, which had always left a bitter taste in his mouth, now turning to a deeper curdling in his chest; the flare of turbolasers, the fire consuming the city beneath them, Pellaeon looking down from above. Always above. Too far away to hear the screams.

Merson.

Merson was – it was just another battle. Another battle gone wrong, out of hundreds, thousands across the wars waged across the galaxy, but…

It was the one Pellaeon had lost.

He hadn’t lied to Bridger – he’d never answered to a Jedi General. But he’d worked with them, many of them, through the three years of war. He’d only ever lost the one.

Ronhar Kim, and his padawan, Tap-Nar-Pal.

They’d had the intelligence. They’d known what should have been there, who should have been there. It should have been an easy mission, against pirates more than anything else.

Then the Separatist Fleet had arrived.

Pellaeon had never quite worked out where they’d been hiding – he’d dropped their ground forces as planned, then rather abruptly had had too much else to think about.

He’d never worked out why they were there, on a backwater planet barely worth taking.

He’d called the retreat. Kim had been on the planet. Tap-Nar-Pal had gone after him, against orders. Neither survived.

The war had moved on, and Pellaeon had put the defeat behind him, resolved to do better, be more prepared. He liked to think he’d succeeded.

He’d never worked out a lot of things about the Clone Wars.

A girl, blue skinned with dull eyes that should be red, stared up at him.

He blinked her away, and got back to work.

*

Chapter Text

*

“Sir, do you really think this is a good idea?” Pellaeon asked Thrawn under his breath as they marched down the hall. Even from here, the sound behind the door was reaching a roar.

“I do,” Thrawn replied confidently, not slowing his stride as he caught a datapad sliding from the precarious pile he had dropped on Bridger to carry. He cut an amused glance at Pellaeon. “And it’s rather too late to back out now.”

“I know, sir,” Pellaeon sighed. “I just think there may be…” He cut a glance to Bridger, just as the boy dropped another pad with a curse and dove to catch it. “Better uses of our time. Sir.”

“You dislike my involvement in the alliance,” Thrawn observed easily. He sent Pellaeon a smile. “I appreciate your focus, Captain. Be assured that we remain purely in a support capacity, and I am here only to facilitate this meeting between those we and the Thunder Wasp have brought to the alliance.”

“You guys really need a name,” Bridger huffed as he caught up. “Like seriously. Chaos Alliance? Anti-Grysk Group? Team Don’t-Want-To-Die-Out-Here?”

“I am sure a name will come in time,” Thrawn said before Pellaeon could respond much less positively. “That is not my concern.”

“Then what is your concern?” Bridger asked, again before Pellaeon could cut him off.

They had reached the door. Thrawn turned to Bridger.

“That we will fail, and all our efforts here will be for nothing,” he said simply. “That the Grysk will conquer the Chaos, and turn their sights on the Empire. That we will not be ready, and they will sweep across the galaxy, leaving fear and servitude in their wake.”

Bridger looked back at him, something serious breaking through his usual mask. “There will always be someone to fight back,” he said. “No tyrant can defeat the will to be free.”

Thrawn inclined his head. “’For the Dark is patient, and always wins,’” he said, a lilt to his voice as if reciting something from memory. “’But one lone candle is enough to hold it back.’”

“Sir?” Pellaeon asked.

“An old Jedi saying,” Thrawn said quietly, a tinge of sadness echoing through his voice. “Shall we?”

He turned and opened the door, entering into the cacophony of voices talking, hissing, and screeching over each other. Pellaeon suppressed a wince at the discordant noise; Bridger, he noticed, looked completely unbothered, and grinned at his discomfort, mischievousness returned in full force as he started humming, just enough to add to the noise assaulting Pellaeon’s ears.

Thrawn proceeded neatly to the head of the table. “Greetings,” he called into the cavernous hall, much changed from the roughly carved cavern it had been when they had met with the Chpterans and Gadiosions so many weeks ago. Now, in addition to the emissaries from the Third Flight and the Gadiosion leadership, representatives from half a dozen neighboring civilizations littered the expanded and finished room, each with places along the two rows of tables extending down from where Thrawn stood.

One at each hand.

“Please, take your seats,” Thrawn continued into the sudden quiet as the gathered dignitaries registered his arrival. “You all should have received an agenda, prepared by Tkara and Etchra of the Third Flight. Have there been any revisions?” he asked the two, sitting on the left with their assistants.

“No, Grand Admiral,” Tkara assured him. “And all parties have approved the agenda.”

“Excellent. Let us begin,” Thrawn said, taking his own seat. Pellaeon and Bridger followed suit on either side, the four guards – two troopers, two droids – standing back against the wall. Other representatives had brought guards – the Gadiosions, Pellaeon noted, and the third, elusive inhabitant of the asteroid cluster, a diminutive and pale people who had brought impressive rocklike creatures as their guards.

Pellaeon still didn’t know if the vaguely humanoid pile of rough-hewn stones, as they appeared to be, were alive or some kind of droid-like construct, and the asteroid dwellers – whose name also sounded like rocks, and Pellaeon had given up on attempting to pronounce it – weren’t telling. But Thrawn had been particularly excited to add them to the alliance, quick to extol the uses of a people who could shape asteroids to their will as easy as a krayt digging through sand.

The meeting proceeded as usual, although with more voices than the smaller meetings Thrawn had primarily been holding over holocall from the Chimaera. Two more groups were being added to the alliance today: the Yparans, a small, insular people living on the edge of the alliance’s current territory who had joined more for the alliance’s ability to scare off the pirates encroaching on their skies than any particular care for Grysk encroachment; and the Onizy Inojma, a trading guild the Thunder Wasp had encountered during their latest scouting run.

That one, Thrawn was also quite pleased about, Pellaeon knew. Eyeing the mixed species group – two avians, and insectoid, and the spokesperson, a mammalian with four arms and what might be the loose fold of gliding skin tucked discreetly against their sides – Pellaeon could understand why. They’d already offered to help with the scouting missions and share their star maps, and had promised to put Thrawn in contact with a navigator’s guild at the very edge of their territory.

“We have other questions for this alliance, before we sign,” Mssissi, the trader’s spokesperson said, and Pellaeon tuned back in, setting aside the signed declaration of mutual defense from the Yparans. “As we have said, we are traders, not fighters. We have already heard the stories of the darkness approaching these skies, and we are pleased to offer our support, but we do not have the weapons or warriors to devote to your defense. We can offer information, and discounts, but we are not scouts nor spies; we carry cargo, and need fuel for our ships and supplies for our people.” They spread their hands, all four. “As it stands, we cannot sign the mutual defense agreement. But we are willing to work towards an agreement we can support.”

The Gadiosions hissed, dewlaps flaring, and the Chpterans looked distressed at the possibility of their agreement failing. Down the table, others murmured to each other, frowning over their own copies or scowling at the traders.

“Perfectly reasonable,” Thrawn said, and the muttering died down. “What cargo do you carry?”

Mssissi shrugged. “Whatever we’re paid for. Anything dangerous costs extra, and our pilots can refuse anything their ship isn’t built for.”

“Are you willing to carry weapons and fuel, or other military supplies?” Thrawn asked.

Mssissi turned back to their compatriots, and all four dropped into a quick, murmured discussion in their odd trader’s parlance. Pellaeon strained to catch a few words, filing them away for later; he’d heard that some traders that worked the Chaos used their own secret codes to communicate, and he’d never appreciated being left out of the conversation.

Mssissi turned back to the table. “Some are,” they said. “Some would prefer to avoid becoming a target.”

“By joining this alliance, you will become a target, regardless of your role,” Thrawn reminded them. “Our enemy does not discriminate between civilians and military, nor those who have declared themselves their enemy and those who have not yet been brought under their control.”

“Yes,” Mssissi agreed, ears flicking back and forth. “I misspeak. Some would prefer to avoid becoming a target on the battlefield.”

“That can be avoided,” Thrawn nodded. “In fact, it brings up a point I would like to raise with this alliance. I am impressed with your coordination in integrating the various militaries, and the distribution of integrated units along the defensive line. However, you have not yet worked to integrate your ships. Why?”

The gathered dignitaries blinked at each other, shifting in their seats. Pellaeon side-eyed Thrawn, wondering how this newest challenge related to the traders’ request.

Finally, one of the dignitaries – Forsha, a Kktraka from the rimward border – rose to speak. “Grand Admiral Thrawn, we thank you for your wisdom,” they started, as they always did. “May you clarify your statement for these humble ones? We have worked closely with our neighbors, the Jafshrr and the Mmechta, and further with the Chpterans and Gadiosions and others of this alliance. What more do you ask of us? These humble ones are grateful to be included,” they finished, sitting down.

The Kktraka had revealed a massive array of planetary defense units when the Grysk’s pirates had come to call, Pellaeon remembered. They could afford to play humble – even the Gadiosions had respected them, apparent ‘weakness’ and all, after that particular incident.

“We thank these humble ones for their voice in these matters,” Thrawn replied formally. “I am referring to your ships themselves. Currently, Chpteran ships carry only Chpteran shielding, Gadiosion ships only Gadiosion weaponry, and so on. I am suggesting that we begin working to improve our ship designs, taking advantage of the opportunities afforded by this alliance,” he continued. Pellaeon blinked, and pulled up the various ships’ specs; he hadn’t considered the possibility, but clearly Thrawn found it obvious, what with the Chpteran shielding and Gadiosion weaponry now adorning the Chimaera’s own hull.

“But… our ships don’t have the power to support Gadiosion weaponry!” Etchra protested, crest fluttering with concern.

“But a Jafshrr engine can, and would also boost your speed considerably,” Thrawn pointed out. “While Chpteran camouflage nets would be ideal for the Kktraka scouts and disguising your near neighbor’s asteroid supply outposts.”

The asteroid dweller’s representative nodded, appearing intrigued.

“Moreover,” Thrawn continued, “the Chpteran solar sails would be particularly useful for long range scouts – or traders – to conserve fuel while in range of star systems.” He raised an eyebrow at Mssissi. “I’m sure that would be of interest to the Onizy Inojma.”

“It would,” Mssissi agreed, leaning forward, short claws tapping on the table. “It would offset costs considerably. We could offer a better discount.”

“But we don’t have the materials…” Etchra trailed off, flicking through the stack of flimsy at their hand. “We couldn’t possibly outfit our ships as such!”

“Not with your current resources, no,” Thrawn agreed. “But your neighbors in the asteroids have a considerable surplus of ores that can be refined into durasteel or even quadanium steel. I am sure they will be able to provide you access to this surplus in return for your surplus of camouflage nets.”

“We don’t use that much durasteel,” Etchra protested.

“But the Jafshrrs do,” Thrawn said. “As do the Gadisions, which they need for their ships, particularly if they are going to assist their neighbors in the asteroids and the Kktraka with the labor of building a defensive network along the border.”

“I assume this is where we come in,” Mssissi interposed.

“Indeed. With the bulk of the alliance’s ships converted to defense, the Onizy Inojma will be essential for maintaining supply lines between centers of authority,” Thrawn said.

“You want us to take over all of the interstellar trade,” Mssissi pointed out. “That will be expensive, discount or no.”

“I want better than a discount,” Thrawn said. “I want you to do it for free.”

All of the traders’ heads went back, and Mssissi folded their arms, frowning over at Thrawn. They inclined their head, waiting for his explanation.

Thrawn spread his hands over the crowded tables. “Consider. What are your arguments for charging money? You require fuel for your ships, supplies for your crews, and repairs when necessary, which you have, previously, been forced to purchase.”

“Forced?” Mssissi repeated, flicking an ear.

“You purchased what you needed because you could not provide it yourselves,” Thrawn explained. “But here, you will be refueled, resupplied, and repaired at no cost, so long as you uphold your end of the bargain.”

Both of Mssissi’s ears swiveled forward as their brows went up. Both tables broke into a flurry of whispers, the various diplomats talking amongst themselves, comparing trade goods and economies, from what Pellaeon could tell. He himself sat stiffly, watching it all as he always did.

It was a daring proposal. That level of coordination, without even a show of currency to back it, was more akin to states under a single governance structure than the loose alliance Thrawn was loosely heading. If anyone else had suggested it, they’d have been shot down immediately.

But this was Thrawn. Thrawn, who had successfully drawn the Gadiosions into an alliance with their ‘weaker’ neighbors. Thrawn, who had ferreted out the fledgling traitors within the Chpteran’s midst, and saved their homeworld, not once, but twice.

Thrawn, whose mere two ships continued to dwarf any single military of the alliance.

Thrawn, who Pellaeon knew was exceptionally blind to political maneuvering and likely had no idea of the magnitude of his “request.”

But he didn’t have to, Pellaeon realized as he looked around the table, where Etchra and Tkara had each turned to their neighbors and were excitedly pulling out ship designs. Where the Kktraka were graciously sliding over to the Gadiosions, who were barely putting up even a token protest; where the Onizy Inojma were speaking amongst themselves, clearly intrigued, watching the debate turn swiftly in Thrawn’s favor.

Thrawn didn’t have to have a clue how politics worked as long as he sat at the top and someone else did the maneuvering for him, Pellaeon belatedly realized.  

He looked over, suppressing a scowl as he caught sight of Bridger standing against the far wall, chatting to one of the Yparan’s attendants, clearly having snuck away from the table at some point during the proceedings. The boy caught sight of Pellaeon looking over and flicked a cheerful wave, grinning widely, and Pellaeon turned away with a sigh.

The boy was behaving less like an Imperial Ensign by the day, and yet, as Pellaeon watched his progress along the wall, he saw the difference where Bridger passed; the guards and attendants relaxed, talking amongst themselves, and not only with those they had traveled with – against one wall, a Gadiosion warrior hid a snigger at a comment from a Kktraka guard, while on the other, the Yparan attendants and Chpteran observers mingled freely, fiercely – but respectfully – debating some point or another.

Pellaeon’s fingers curled around his datapad as another of the Onizy Inojma leaned forward, Mssissi passing on their question to Thrawn as conversation ebbed and flowed around the room. He looked around and swallowed tightly.

The Grysk will conquer the Chaos, and turn their sights on the Empire, Thrawn’s voice whispered in his mind.

Pellaeon closed his eyes, summoning the memory of all those he’d left behind in the Empire: precious few, when he really counted. Hallena Devis, wherever she was now; his son by her, which Pellaeon had deliberately avoided getting involved in. He was an old soldier, and had no business in the boy’s life.

His command had been brought with him. His mentors, old Republic Judicial officers, had long retired and disappeared back into the background of the galaxy. His friends…

Again, precious few. Those Imperial officers he found agreeable were invariably too many ranks above or below to socialize with, and far too many were simply distasteful.

There was little waiting for him, back in the Empire.

Thrawn’s face flashed before his eyes, his commander’s fierce pleasure at the Grysk defeat, his intense focus on building this alliance, glowing eyes fixed always on a future only he could see. The glimmer of connections Pellaeon was just barely beginning to grasp, the connections that Thrawn followed like the steps to a dance only he knew, drawing the rest of them behind him as he led them through the darkness.

The staring eyes of a dead Chiss girl looked up at him from a floor littered with corpses, and Pellaeon opened his own.

“We’re not returning to the Empire, are we, sir,” he murmured to Thrawn under his breath.

Thrawn flashed him a curious look. “Of course, we are,” he said, voice holding only polite confusion. “With the Onizy Inojma’s assistance, we will surely find our way soon.”

“Of course, sir,” Pellaeon agreed politely. Of course.

Of course, the one thing Thrawn couldn’t see was himself.

*

Chapter Text

*

The red alert sounded as Pellaeon was already on his way to the bridge.

He picked up his pace, just short of a jog. The Chimaera had been overseeing the installation of the defensive perimeter, Kktrakan-made with input from Gadiosion engineers, the asteroid dweller’s shapers, and Thrawn and the Chimaera to improve on the design. They weren’t expecting trouble – while close to the border, the construction modules were well within controlled space.

“Sir!” Pellaeon greeted, pivoting into place as he turned a corner to find Thrawn coming up the hall, Bridger in tow. “What’s the situation?”

“An asteroid has struck the Kktraka defense network,” Thrawn replied, not pausing as he swept up Pellaeon in the wake of his long strides. Bridger, still the shortest, huffed and broke into a jog. “It appears to have been shaped by the asteroid dwellers.”

“A traitor?” Pellaeon asked.

“Doubtful,” Thrawn replied dismissively. “I suspect, on closer inspection, that only a superficial resemblance will be found. But it is enough.”

“Enough for what?” Pellaeon glanced at Thrawn as they reached the doors to the bridge.

“Enough for chaos. Enough for confusion. Enough to sow doubt, and in its wake, destruction. Helm, set course for the Yparan system,” Thrawn called as they stepped onto the command deck, the on-duty captain quickly saluting and giving way to the higher-ranking officers. “Prepare for battle.”

“Prepare for battle!” Pellaeon echoed down to the crew pits, setting his questions aside for the moment. “Cross check weapons and shield systems, double on the new installations, and I want a visual check on the Chpteran camo nets.”

He waited for the chorus of yes, sirs, and the blue lines of hyperspace to appear in the viewport as its shields slid closed before turning back to Thrawn. “Ypara, sir?” he asked in an undertone, waiting for Thrawn to share his insight. “I would have thought Kktraka.”

Thrawn tilted his head. “The obvious response,” he agreed. “But consider. Kktraka has been attacked, possibly by the asteroid dwellers, and has broadcast this to the alliance. What will happen?”

Pellaeon’s brows drew tight. “They’ll demand a response from the asteroid dwellers?” he suggested. “They’ll want an explanation, or redress.”

“The Kktraka will accuse the asteroid dwellers of attacking them, a fellow alliance member,” Thrawn said. “And then?”

“If they truly didn’t have anything to do with the attack,” Pellaeon said, recalling Thrawn’s earlier comment, “then they’ll say as such.” He glanced at Thrawn, who looked back expectantly. “…The Kktraka will want proof. Which the asteroid dwellers may not have…”

“But they have been working closely with the Gadiosions,” Thrawn prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Pellaeon suppressed a frown. “Who will rally to their side?” he guessed, following the thread of Thrawn’s logic. “Likely aggressively, as it is a matter of honor, and since the Kktraka refuse to respond in kind…”

“The situation will escalate. The Chpterans will side with the asteroid dwellers, on the side of reason and de-escalation, of course, which unfortunately includes the Gadiosions, who stand for neither,” Thrawn continued, picking up Pellaeon’s thread. “The Jfshrr and Mmechta will join with the Kktraka, their close, known neighbor, rather than the unknowns of the triad of peoples in the asteroid fields. Leaving the Onizy Inojma, who have no centralized base and little worth targeting, or the Yparans.”

“And if they attack the Yparans, the rest of the region will see the alliance failing to defend its new members due to internal disputes,” Pellaeon realized. He paused, thinking it through. “How many ships can we expect?”

Thrawn smiled tightly. “Oh, all of them,” he said. “I expect they’ll want to make an example.”

*

The Chimaera appeared over the skies of Ypara. The quiet, empty skies.

“No sign of any ships, sir,” Junior Lieutenant Maret called from the sensor station.

Pellaeon glanced at Thrawn, who gazed calmly out the viewport. Bridger, sitting uncommonly quietly at the edge of the crew pit, caught his eye, and shook his head, anxiety in the flicker of his fingers as they further disheveled his uniform. Pellaeon narrowed his eyes.

“They will be here,” Thrawn said confidently. “Summon the fleet, and inform the Yparans that we are expecting an attack.”

The thought that Thrawn could be wrong did flicker through Pellaeon’s mind, but it was summarily dismissed. Thrawn had never been wrong. This was where the Grysk could do the most damage. This was where the Grysk would be.

“On their way, sir,” Senior Lieutenant Lomar called from comms.

“Excellent.” Thrawn continued to watch the empty stretch of space. “Launch a shuttle.”

“A shuttle, sir?” Senior Lieutenant Kimar asked as he keyed it into his station.

“Yes. Have the pilot begin systematic hyperspace jumps into and out of the system,” Thrawn ordered. “I want to know of any irregularities.”

“Yes, sir,” Kimar agreed, turning back to flight control to pass the order on to the pilot.

Pellaeon watched with the rest of the bridge as the shuttle rose into view, then jumped to hyperspace. A moment later, it returned, then turned and disappeared again in a different direction.

This repeated. Again. And again.

The bridge watched in silence, the occasional systems check and the calls from Senior Lieutenant Kimar the only sounds from the crew pits. Thrawn and the command deck also watched in silence.

Bridger fumbled a flip of his code cylinder and it clattered into the crew pit, uncomfortably loud in the echoing silence.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, hopping down to grab it.

Pellaeon drifted over, ostensibly to scowl down at the false ensign. “Anything?” he muttered under his breath.

The boy shrugged. “Something’s coming,” he said, equally quietly. “Somewhere.”

“Very helpful,” Pellaeon said sarcastically.

Bridger gave him a strained grin and a thumbs up. Pellaeon sighed and turned back to the viewport.

“Hyperdrive failure, sir!” Kimar suddenly announced. “Outside the system, vector twelve.”

“Warn the fleet,” Thrawn ordered immediately. “They’re cutting off access to the system. Launch TIEs-”

“Shields up!” Pellaeon barked, a second’s insight catching up to Thrawn. If they were blocking vector twelve – “Turbolaser barrage zero-ninety mark ten!” 

“Excellent, Captain,” Thrawn commented as the ships began to slide out of hyperspace, the lead taking the brunt of a turbolaser barrage to the hull; damaged, it slid aside, not stalling the advance as Pellaeon had hoped but out of the fight, nonetheless. “Turn us about, twenty degrees, and prepare breacher missiles with a flight screen.”

The TIEs shot out and around, meeting the gunships pouring from the enemy ships as the breacher missiles launched perfectly into the fray; the TIEs, carefully practiced, danced aside at the last moment, the screened missiles hitting their mark on the nearest frigate, which buckled. Another took its place, launching a return barrage that shook the deck, but failed to penetrate the shields.

Another ship slid out of hyperspace, and Pellaeon winced, not liking their odds. Three large warships were already on the field, one nearly a size to challenge the Chimaera, with nearly a dozen frigates forming a blockade around them, each launching a squadron of gunships; gunships that may be slower, and less powerful, but were considerably better shielded than the average TIE, Pellaeon had noted. And the Chimaera had only a dozen of the stronger TIE Defenders.

But they also had Thrawn.

Another warship slid onto the field. They were up to twelve Prism-class BattleChiefs, three StoneCrusher-class WarMasters, and a Shatter-class, as Thrawn had identified them. Against a single Imperial Star Destroyer.

They would win.

They must.

“Turbolaser barrage, zero-twenty-nine mark five,” Pellaeon called, spying the telltale sparkle of an approaching missile cluster from one of the warships tucked behind the frigate line. The fourth, new to the field, slowed its advance, and Pellaeon cursed to himself as it joined the line behind the Prism-class frigates, which continued to take the brunt of the Chimaera’s assault – and her ammunition – while the Chimaera’s shields wore down.

“Follow with breachers,” Thrawn added, eyes flicking over the scene as the turbolaser fire met the missile cluster and obliterated it in a burst of flame. “Launch Defenders, Marg Sabl, targeting the frigates.”

The bridge shook as another missile cluster slipped through.

“Shields at forty percent, sir!”

Pellaeon moved closer. “That’s a lot of power focused on the frigates, sir,” he observed quietly.

“We need to weaken the line before we can reach the warships,” Thrawn pointed out, frowning out at the battlefield. “I’m confident our remaining armaments will be sufficient. Bridger,” he called, turning to the boy still tucked in the corner above the crew pits. “Do you sense anything?”

Pellaeon followed his gaze, wracking his brain for what Thrawn wanted from the Rebel – he’d never joined them in battle before, apparently happy to let them all die in his absence.

But that was before the Grysk. Before the Chiss girl.

Bridger frowned, eyes distant as he gazed into nothing. “There’s… a few,” he said, shivering. “It’s hard… hard to tell. There’s others, they’re not – they’re bad.”

“Which ship?” Thrawn asked.

Bridger hissed a breath, eyes closed, and pointed.

“We have a vector,” Thrawn announced, turning back to the command deck. “Focus the TIE assault on the frigates between us and the Shatter-class, and prepare a charge, vector two-seven-one mark twenty-seven.”

“Charging the line, sir?” Pellaeon asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice. It was a risky gambit, bringing them within range of the frigates and the warships with no room to maneuver, relying on the shields to take the blows that would come from all sides.

“Indeed, Captain,” Thrawn replied, voice hard. “We must defeat the flagship if we are to survive until the fleet can arrive. I trust the Chimaera to see us through.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon agreed with a deep breath. Charging the line it was, then.

The Chimaera turned slowly, the deck vibrating beneath Pellaeon’s boots as the engines churned with the power to send over a kilometer of durasteel hurtling through space. They picked up momentum as they began their charge, well below their top speed of nearly a thousand kilometers per hour, but with impressive acceleration for the hulk of a ship. Pellaeon spotted the moment the Grysk caught on, the frigates moving to block the Chimaera’s advance; the Chimaera might be several size classes above the Prism-class frigates, but a collision was a collision, and their shields couldn’t block everything.

The TIEs shot ahead, Defenders leading in a wedge formation while the standard units spread out behind, pushing the frigates back. Around the Chimaera, space erupted into laser fire as her turbolasers joined the fray, holding off the gunships regrouping behind them to fire at their tail as she drove through the line. A fallen TIE crashed into the deck outside the viewport, followed by a gunship, and another, plumes of fire flaring as the Chimaera shook from the damage.

The bridge rocked with a blow to the command tower, the offending gunship shooting past the viewport only to be taken down in a burst of flame. Shouts filled the crew pit as consoles sparked with feedback, a fire starting at one, quickly controlled by the supervising lieutenant.

“Damage?” Pellaeon called as the Chimaera rolled inexorably forward through the melee.

“Superficial, sir!” Senior Lieutenant Ehnid called back, “but Ensign Karric needs a medic.”

“I’m fine!” the ensign insisted, staggering to his feet and retaking his seat. “Sir!”

Ehnid shrugged helplessly at Pellaeon, flinching as another hit rocked the bridge, and turned back to the crew pit as Karric’s station came back online with a shaky whine.

“Steady on,” Pellaeon called, watching the warships draw closer through the viewport.

Throughout it all, Thrawn stood steady in the center of the command deck, one eye on the viewport, one on the tactical display. His hands clasped behind his back, head held tall, he could have been commanding any simple exercise, rather than a suicidal charge into the midst of enemy forces.

“We are coming within range,” he called simply, as the bridge shook beneath them. “Prepare to fire.”

“Ready, sir!” Senior Lieutenant Pyrondi called.

“Fire.”

The turbolaser batteries opened up, swiveling to face the Shatter-class as it desperately turned away from the charging Star Destroyer. Its shields took the brunt of the first assault, but as the secondary batteries joined the fray, its hull slowly began to pit, then to fracture, slags of molten metal spinning off into space as the Chimaera hammered into its hull, pivoting to keep the warship within her sights.

The Chimaera itself was not unscathed, the second StoneCrusher coming up behind with its own array of missiles. But size was with them, and strength, and power, as in front of them, the Shatter-class shuddered, then cracked, then split apart, the two halves erupting into fire as the ship disintegrated before them.

Unable to arrest her charge, the Chimaera sailed through, viewport filling with flame as the bridge shook with the force of the blast and the pounding of debris against the hull.

Then they were through.

“Bring us about,” Thrawn ordered, putting a swift end to the few scattered cheers about the bridge. He sent Pellaeon a hard smile. “We are not finished.”

Pellaeon blew out a breath and straightened. There were three warships behind them, and a planet to protect.

The Chimaera, pockmarked with missile damage, smoking from the gunships and TIE fighters buried in her hull, turned slowly to face the Grysk as the StoneCrushers drew together behind them, preparing their own charge, Prism-class frigates spreading out around them. Fewer, now, and it looked like most of the gunships had gone down in the charge; but more than enough to challenge a single, damaged Star Destroyer.

“Shields?” Pellaeon asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Five percent on the forward and port shields, sir,” Junior Lieutenant Davi replied. “We’ve lost starboard and aft.”

Forty to almost nothing, in one single charge.

Pellaeon took another breath, shifting to stand tall, an Imperial officer and captain to the last.

“Sir! Ships coming out of hyperspace!” Lomar shouted, relief evident in his voice. “It’s the fleet!”

Around them, they slid into view – Gadiosion and Chpteran warships, Kktraka, Jfshrr, and Mmechta, even an asteroid etched with the symbols of the asteroid dwellers. Ahead, Pellaeon spotted movement, as the Yparan security forces rose from the planet below to join the fray.

The Grysk advance slowed, ships spreading out. One StoneCrusher turned ponderously to keep both the Yparans and the fleet in sight; another drifted up and to the side, forcing the ring of frigates outward.

The third remained facing the Chimaera, weapons charged and ready.

Pelleaeon quickly ran the odds. Three StoneCrusher-class warships, six remaining frigates, and a still-impressive cloud of gunships, against the two Gadiosion ships – the largest in the fleet, excepting the ISD – several smaller Chpteran vessels with untested weaponry, two Kktraka ships comparable to a frigate along with some few smaller ships, and a round dozen Jfshrr and Mmechta gunships.

And the Chimaera, already damaged, shields nearly gone, having given their all to destroying one warship.

The odds were better. But it wasn’t a victory yet.

“Open a channel,” Thrawn ordered calmly.

The click of the comm echoed through the silent bridge.

“Message to Grysk captain, lead StoneCrusher-class WarMaster,” Thrawn announced into the quiet. “This is Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera. Seven times, I have thwarted your efforts at conquest. Today marks the eighth. Be assured, you will be defeated, and your own efforts have removed your option to flee.” He smiled, cold and sharp. “But we are a civilized people. Surrender, turn over your captives, and your lives will be spared.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You are a bold one, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” a cool, smooth voice called over the comms. The lead StoneCrusher slid a step closer. The drifter, Pellaeon noticed, had turned oddly, neither facing nor turning from the fleet, and continued to slowly float to the side, as if unmanned. “Did you think we did not know you? Don’t worry. We remember you, Crahsystor Mitth’raw’nuruodo of the Chiss Ascendancy, who was banished and exiled for the crime of sending others to their deaths in fights that were no concern of yours. We remember you well. What brings you to the Chaos? Have you finally come limping back from your precious Empire, that seeks to swallow the galaxy itself, and subjugate all to human domination?”

Behind them, Bridger stirred. Pellaeon shot him a sharp glance, catching the twisted expression on his face.

“You are here. Where else would I be?” Thrawn asked carelessly. “It is the responsibility of any honorable warrior to oppose evil when it rears its face. The Ascendancy may not have understood that, but be assured that those who stand by my side know it well. Do you surrender?”

Bridger put his head in his hands, breathing fast. Pellaeon moved to stand next to him, ready for whatever might happen next.

“Bridger?” he asked quietly.

Bridger shook his head. Pellaeon took a quick glance around the bridge, catching a returning look from Thrawn. He nodded.

Pellaeon knelt next to Bridger, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Stay focused,” he ordered, looking for the words that might reach the young Jedi. The young Jedi, currently sitting on their bridge, with all of his strange power, that could be brought to bear in a moment to destroy them. “If they surrender, we can save the captives. Maybe even work towards freeing the people they have enslaved.”

“The Empire-” Bridger choked, then went silent.

Pelleaeon closed his eyes. He didn’t bother noting what he saw. He opened them again.

“The Empire can wait,” he promised the boy, quietly enough that, hopefully, the rest of the bridge wouldn’t hear. “There’s nothing we can do for your people here. But there is something we can do for these people.”

Bridger took a shuddering breath, hands falling from his face. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re right.”

“You’re welcome to hate me for it,” Pellaeon told him, recognizing the conflict in his face. “I certainly don’t like you either.”

The boy snorted and smacked at Pellaeon, which he chose to ignore, rising to rejoin Thrawn with one last clap to the boy’s shoulder.

“Your time is up,” Thrawn called. “If you will not answer in words, we shall answer in fire.”

“Here is our answer,” the Grysk returned, and the lead warship leaped forward, panels sliding aside to reveal a pair of turrets that opened fire on the Chimaera.

The bridge rocked, more fires sprouting up in the crew pits. “Shields are down!” Junior Lieutenant Davi called. “We’re taking fire!”

“Turbolasers,” Pellaeon cursed to himself, belatedly recognizing the design as the Chimaera’s own. The Grysk did learn fast. “Reroute power from-”

Pellaeon was cut off – they were all cut off – as the warship erupted into a ball of fire.

Pellaeon’s eyes traced back, along the trajectory of the shots, to land on the other StoneCrusher – the drifter, no longer drifting, but driving hard into the center of the Grysk fleet.

The Grysk were caught by surprise. In seconds, it was over, the alliance fleet leaping to swarm the last StoneCrusher and pick off the straggling frigates, most of which detonated before they could be captured.

Thrawn turned, fully, to raise an eyebrow at Pellaeon.

“Well then,” he said simply, then turned back to the comm station. “Let us see who our new friends might be.”

Before he could speak, the comms beeped, and another voice blasted over the bridge.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera,” the voice called. “We have taken the ship, and now surrender it to you. We have taken the captives, and now, we deliver them to you. May we come aboard?”

“You may,” Thrawn called with a nod to Pellaeon.

“Prepare the hangar bay,” Pellaeon called. “Full guard, and be ready. Bridger,” he added, turning to the boy.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bridger groaned, with a theatrical eyeroll. “I’ll be there, Jedi woo-woo and all.”

Pellaeon sighed.

*

The Grysk transport was small, and on closer examination, didn’t fit the Grysk design at all. Thrawn frowned when he saw it.

“Sir?” Pellaeon murmured as it landed.

“Let us see,” Thrawn said again, stepping forward as the ramp descended. Pellaeon signaled, and the two lines of stormtroopers snapped to attention as they passed.

Bridger, again at Thrawn’s side, muttered something under his breath as he eyed the troopers. Pellaeon did his best to ignore him.

They stopped at the end of the line and waited as the doors to the shuttle opened. Three beings stepped down: two with pink skin and feathery head crests, tall enough without them, and the third, carried in the arms of the second – a young Chiss girl, eyes flicking nervously around the hangar bay.

Thrawn’s eyes fastened on the beings, then on the girl, and he stepped forward and spoke in a language Pellaeon did not recognize. The girl replied though, first hesitatingly, then faster, until she wriggled down from the grip of the being and rushed quickly to Thrawn, grabbing at his belt.

Thrawn knelt, speaking softly, and guided her over to Bridger, who had also crouched to give her a small wave.

The leader stepped forward and spoke.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera!” they announced in accented Meese Caulf. “I am Iriurora foar Nerocsaa, with the honor of speaking for my subclan. We know of you, Grand Admiral Thrawn, from the Grysk and the Marocsaa subclan, and we honor you, for your assistance to our people in the past and today.”

Thrawn’s eyes sharpened as he rose to answer. “I remember the Marocsaa subclan, and the strength of the Paccosh,” he said formally. “I remember well the assistance of Uingali foar Marocsaa and his warriors. Tell me, does he live? Or have the Paccosh too fallen to the Grysk Hegemony?”

“Uingali lives,” Iriurora replied, with a sharp nod. “As do the Marocsaa. And they fight still, against the darkness threatening us all, despite all who oppose them.”

“Including the Paccian Governance?” Thrawn asked pointedly.

“To our shame, yes,” Iriurora said, shifting on his feet. “The Governance has made a deal with the Hegemony, to provide warriors in return for safety and self-governance. Many subclans rebelled; the Nerocsaa, to our dishonor, did not.”

Thrawn clasped his hands behind his back, eyeing Iriurora closely. “And now you are here,” he said.

“Now, we are here,” Iriurora agreed. “When we beheld your ship – when we knew against whom we fought – we knew we could not stand by. The Vak Combine has fallen, the Garwians and Lioaoins claw at each other’s throats, we fear the great Chiss Ascendancy may have begun to crack; indeed, even the Paccian Governance may have bent the knee. But you have never wavered, Grand Admiral Thrawn, who has returned to us with the symbol of the Marocsaa upon the prow of your ship, won from strange lands and strange peoples. You give us new hope.” He shifted forward, crest flaring as he stood at what must be attention. “The Paccian Governance has failed us, Grand Admiral Thrawn. The Nerocsaa can no longer speak for them with honor. But a subclan without a clan is no people at all; we dare not follow the Marocsaa into exile. Instead, we turn to you. Will you accept our fealty, Grand Admiral Thrawn? Will you take us as your hands, that we may do your work and speak your name with honor?”

Pellaeon glanced at Thrawn, who looked to Bridger.

The boy looked up from where he was showing the girl his datapad – and what looked like the Chimaera’s schematics, Pellaeon noted sourly – and looked over the Paccosh. He frowned, squinting in concentration, then looked back to the Chiss girl.

She plucked at his arm, then turned to Thrawn, face screwed up with a serious expression. She eyed the Paccosh, then looked back at Thrawn, and nodded once, definitively.

Thrawn turned to Pellaeon with a rueful, raised eyebrow, and slight smile. Pellaeon raised an eyebrow back.

Yes. He’d known.

Thrawn inclined his head, and turned back to the Paccosh.

“I accept your fealty,” he said, “that you may bring your subclan under our protection. I promise to lead you with strength, with wisdom, and always, with honor.” 

The Paccosh bowed, both together in unison. “We thank you, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Iriurora said, straightening to continue. “We shall be your servants and your warriors. We shall serve you with strength, and with wisdom, and with honor.”

“We shall be the Hand of Thrawn,” Iriurora finished. “And we shall serve you with our lives.”

*

Chapter Text

*

Thrawn sighed as the comm in his new office clicked off. Things were going well; the alliance, which everyone insisted on calling the Hand of Thrawn, had stabilized, and had grown stronger from the attempt at manipulation prior to the battle over Ypara. They’d defeated several more probing attacks, many without the Chimaera’s direct involvement, and the Paccosh had finally been able to link them back to their own territory, and thus, combined with Thrawn’s knowledge, to the Chiss Ascendancy and the Empire itself.

Not that Thrawn could return. Not yet. Not while the Paccosh were relying on him to free them, the Ascendancy teetered on the edge of annihilation, and the Grysk threatened to swallow the Chaos. And next, the galaxy.

Pellaeon had known first, Thrawn reflected, pleased at how the captain had improved. He’d asked, back during the meeting with the Onizy Inojma. Thrawn hadn’t known, then. He’d only seen it later.

He would always have his blind spots, it would seem.

The door swished open and another of his blind spots strolled in, grinning merrily. Thrawn arched an eyebrow.

“Training is going well, I presume?” he asked Bridger.

“Terribly,” Bridger said, tossing himself down on the long chair next to the window and propping his feet on the side table. His words are negative, but his energy levels are high; his smile does not waver, even upon beholding his former enemy, current ally. “We’ve made a complete mess, in fact!”

“The children are capable of Jedi powers, then,” Thrawn confirmed, setting aside the report he’d pulled out for the last holomeeting. Something about agriculture and crop production; he failed to see why they’d brought the issue to him, but he’d directed them to the appropriate experts.

At least they weren’t asking him to weigh in on the educational system, again. He’d finally told them to select an expert from each group and handle it by committee. The committee was still insisting on him signing off on their decisions, but he’d found no fault in with them, and their briefs were much more straightforward than the arguments he’d been fielding previously.

Bridger rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. Unnaturally, and with an added theatrical element; he has found Thrawn’s statement insufficient. As he often does. “I told you, that’s not how it works. They’re not Jedi powers, or skywalker powers or even Sith powers or whatever. It’s just the Force, and your connection to it, and how you…” he trailed off, and waved his arms. His words are fumbling, but there is no sign of deception; he truly does not know how to put his ideas into words.

Thrawn’s eyes flicked to the twin serpents painted on the ceiling, their root resting behind his desk. Normally, an inability to explain a concept effectively indicated a lack of mastery in the subject.

But Thrawn remembered a time – many times – when he, too, had struggled for words when a friend or colleague had asked after his own gifts.

“How you use it?” he suggested anyway.

Bridger turned his head to scowl at him. “No. I told you, it’s more than that.”

“Very well,” Thrawn conceded their ongoing argument. Frankly, he didn’t see why Bridger insisted on avoiding those terms; he seemed attached to the idea of the Force as some cosmic will of the universe, rather than the simple energy field Thrawn understood it to be. Inaccessible to most, prone to vagaries Thrawn certainly did not understand, but a tool, nonetheless. A tool to be used.

“Anyway, the point is, yes, they’re learning stuff,” Bridger continued, a pleased smile dancing on his face. “Pretty sure I’m not anyone’s choice of teacher, but hey, we’ll figure it out. At least enough so they can fight back if anyone grabs them again,” he added with a scowl. His face holds concern, but not fear; his voice is determined, but uncertain. He is proud of their progress and does not doubt their abilities. He only doubts himself.

“I believe you are the correct teacher for them,” Thrawn said, seeking to allay the boy’s fears. “You, too, faced a tumultuous invasion that left you without family or home at a young age; you, too, found your way to power by nontraditional routes. They are on the same path you have traveled; I am confident you will lead them well.”

“Don’t like your choice of words, but whatever,” Bridger muttered, eyeing Thrawn closely. He looks at Thrawn with suspicion, not for what he has done, but what he might do; the reminder of the Empire is also a reminder of their enmity. “Anyway. Kids are great. How’s the mini Empire?”

It was Thrawn’s turn to sigh. “The alliance is going well,” he replied pointedly.

“They’re not asking you for advice on, like, business again, are they?” Bridger asked. His voice is pitched to annoy, a grating tone he has perfectly mastered, much to the frustration of Captain Pellaeon. And Thrawn. “’Cause you know kriff all about that stuff. Like, seriously. Have you ever actually been to a store?”

“I have frequented many markets in my life,” Thrawn said calmly. “I have an interest in Clone War era machinery-”

“Have you ever once, in your entire life, bought food?” Bridger interrupted. “Like, to not starve?”

Thrawn… had to think about that.  

“Yes. Before joining the military,” he finally replied.

“Right, so when you were like twelve,” Bridger said with another roll of his eyes. He often brings up Thrawn’s military perspective; the age that Thrawn supposedly enlisted grows younger on each mention. “I’m betting economics aren’t a big focus for Imperial academies. I mean, the one I went to mostly taught us to backstab each other, so, you know.”

“I suppose economics are a focus for Lothal street rats?” Thrawn pointed out drily.

“I mean… I know how money works. You have it, or you don’t. And if you don’t, you starve!” Bridger declared. His voice is jovial, but with a core of seriousness. He is joking, but only in the delivery; the information, while a simplification, is sincere.

Thrawn frowned. “We can do better.”

Bridger shrugged. “Everyone says that. You’re in charge – let’s see what you come up with.”

“I’m advising on military matters,” Thrawn reminded him. “Civilian affairs are not my concern.”

Bridger turned and looked at him. It is a look that says Thrawn has missed something significant; one that Thrawn has seen often, recently, from Captain Pellaeon, particularly as the alliance has formed around them, with the Chimaera as its catalyst.

Thrawn frowned back, then looked down at his desk. It was his own design; the asteroid base had been expanded into a full headquarters for the alliance, with everything from offices to training areas for Bridger’s cadets, which had given Thrawn the opportunity to arrange his office in line with his needs, from the large window overlooking the central courtyard to the design behind and above his desk.

They were still trying to make contact with Uingali. The Marocsaa had been driven from Paccosh territory and were avoiding strangers and other Paccosh while carrying out their own guerilla war. Perfectly reasonable tactics.

Thrawn hoped they would meet again soon.

In his hands, Thrawn held a datapad with the latest supply report from Chptera. To the left were more reports on the expansion of the Kktrakan defensive line and suggested modifications from the project engineers. To the right was a stack of reports on food production in the asteroid field and neighboring sectors, including reports of a small plague that had broken out on one of the Gadiosion colonies; Thrawn had recommended a quarantine, and had directed the involved parties to select several experts and form a committee.

The committee, of course, insisted on reporting to Thrawn first.

He had committees.

“Congrats, Emperor Thrawn!” Bridger cheered. Whether he’d read Thrawn’s face or Thrawn’s presence in the Force was unclear. And immaterial. “Don’t fuck up!”

Thrawn raised an eyebrow at him, refusing to let the boy see his sudden discomfort. This had not been his intention; it would require thought, more thought that he had time for, with so much to be done. “Or?”

“Or you’ll have a new, fun Rebellion to deal with,” Bridger informed him. “Also everything you’ve built will rot from the inside, your allies will tear each other to pieces over the scraps, the Grysk will devour them whole, and the galaxy will fall into darkness.” He paused. “And I’ll kill you.”

His words begin with flippancy, but drop into something sharp, and cold. Unlike the boy Thrawn knows. They echo with a depth they should not have, like the words of a storm that once predicted Thrawn’s defeat.

“Noted,” Thrawn said. And went back to work.

This Empire wouldn’t run itself, apparently.

*

Chapter Text

*

“Well?” Ar’alani asked.

Eli took a deep breath, setting the questis down on her desk with a sharp click. He took another moment to breathe, letting his fingers curl into his palms, before he looked up.

“Well,” he said, voice carefully measured. “It certainly sounds promising, ma’am.”

“Promising,” Ar’alani repeated, voice dour.

Eli spread his hands. “It’s the best lead we’ve had so far,” he said. Not that they’d had many, too busy with the failing Ascendancy to properly investigate a missing exile. “If it’s a trap, it’s a lot more creative than the Grysk have been so far.”

Ar’alani crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “So you think it could be a trap,” she stated.

“No, ma’am,” Eli said firmly, then hesitated, picking through the pieces that had led him to that conclusion. “With all due respect, ma’am, the setup is too… random to have been planned. Frankly, it’s too fantastic of an idea. We’ve been looking for Thrawn; we’ve all been looking for Thrawn. To have him show up like this?” He shrugged helplessly. “Logically, he should be headed back to the Empire. That’s his power base. Most of the Seventh was destroyed over Lothal-” he paused, just a quick breath in memory of his friends and colleagues in the Fleet, “-and while he might have pulled off some miracles with just the Chimaera, he’s always had the backing of a fleet for longer campaigns. Every shot he fires is a shot he might not be able to recharge, and every second he’s away is another second the Grysk can drive further into the Empire or the Ascendancy.”

“It’s out of character,” Ar’alani deduced.

“It’s crazy,” Eli said. “As crazy as anything else he’s pulled off.”

“But not a trap.”

“If it was a trap, sir, he’d be trapped, or captured,” Eli argued. “Or heading for the Empire or the Ascendancy with the Seventh Fleet. Instead he’s, what, making a stand? In the middle of nowhere, no tactical targets on the greater scale, with a handful of ships cobbled together from local forces?” Eli shook his head. “It sounds like he’s building a coalition. Which is politics, and we both know how bad he is at that.”

Ar’alani raised an eyebrow. “And yet.”

“And yet,” Eli sighed. “Either he got lucky and found someone who actually… works with his brand of tactlessness, or someone’s running the behind the scenes for him. I suppose we’ll find out soon?” he added, trying not to be too pushy. He’d fought hard for his place here on the Steadfast and the respect of the Chiss he worked with.

Some he might never win over, but he didn’t want to compromise his standing with Admiral Ar’alani – who he hoped had grown to generally appreciate him, although she was about as difficult to read as Thrawn had been in the early days – by seeming too eager to take a risk for his former commander.

Ar’alani stared at him just long enough for him to get nervous, before abruptly rising to her feet, Eli scrambling to follow.

“We shall,” was all she said, striding out the door. She turned, forcing him to rock back as she stopped in the doorway. “Get in touch with Uingali and find out everything they know about this Paccosh subclan,” she ordered. “And whatever else they might have on the region. And see if you can do anything with the purrgil data now that we have a destination. If we’re walking into a trap, I want to be ready for it.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Eli snapped to attention as she turned back towards the bridge, then hurried down the hall towards the secondary comm station. Eli had only met the Paccosh once, when they’d transferred some of the skywalkers they’d captured from the Grysk over to the Steadfast; from what he understood, Uingali had worked with Thrawn before, and trusted Ar’alani and the rest of them only through that association.

Eli hadn’t had the chance to speak with him, his Taarja woefully inadequate at the time, but hopefully now would be his chance to learn more about the warriors Thrawn apparently held in such high regard. And perhaps more about Thrawn’s still-mysterious past as well.

*

“Thoughts, Lieutenant Commander?” Ar’alani said.

Eli took a deep breath, ignoring the sudden focus of the rest of the bridge with slowly growing practice. “The defensive perimeter was impressive for what’s available in the area,” he said. “I can’t tell if the asteroid installations were inspired by the Grysk, or something else.”

“Something else?”

Eli really hated Ar’alani’s habit of just repeating things until she got what she wanted. It was almost as annoying as Thrawn’s habit of asking questions he already knew the answer to, just to get Eli to figure it out himself.

Maybe it was a Chiss thing.

“The main bulk of the territory surrounds an asteroid field,” he pointed out. “It’s likely the locals have at least tried to do something with them.”

“Interesting. Continue,” Ar’alani ordered.

Eli paused to think, squinting at the base looming in the viewport as they got closer. “I can’t say why,” he said, hesitating, but determined to proceed nonetheless, “but I’d swear Thrawn had a hand in designing this.”

“Really,” Ar’alani said, tone changing to something mild.

Eli glanced at her. “Really, ma’am.”

“Well.” Ar’alani looked down at him, eyebrow raised, for just a moment. “As it happens, I agree. Prepare a shuttle to the asteroid. Ivant, with me. Vah’nya, stay with Un’hee,” she ordered the woman, who’d just risen from the navigator station. “We’ll need to secure the area before either of you leave the ship.”

“She’ll want to see him, Admiral,” Vah’nya argued.

“She can see him later. Once we know it’s him, and it’s not a trick,” Ar’alani said, voice brooking no argument. “The rest of you, stay ready. Ivant, let’s go.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Eli sighed, nodding to Vah’nya as he followed Ar’alani out. Someday, he swore, someday he’d get the Chiss to figure out his name.

The shuttle ride was quiet, Ar’alani busy frowning out the window. Eli, with nothing else to do, went over the reports from Uingali; not much, just a quick review of the Paccian subclan system, the last known whereabouts of the Nerocsaa – with the Grysk – and several tales of Uingali’s adventures with Thrawn, in their youth.

Eli wondered who he’d be passing his own stories off to, someday.

The ship landed with a soft jolt. Eli rose, Ar’alani taking point with the Chiss honor guard around her – larger than was traditional, Eli understood, but such were the times – and they proceeded down the ramp.

And there he was.

Grand Admiral Thrawn.

He’d kept the uniform, Eli noticed as they proceeded between the two ranks of troopers. Not just stormtroopers, but warriors from the other species in the alliance as well – several lizardlike beings, some avians, a… silicate?

Beside Thrawn stood an Imperial Captain, one Eli didn’t know, probably picked up with the Seventh Fleet. On his other side stood… the Jedi.

Eli wouldn’t have recognized it, the man’s hair messy and outgrown, dressed in some kind of modified armor from what looked like several different styles – including an Imperial ensign’s uniform? – if it wasn’t for the lightsaber clipped openly to his waist.

Eli’s gaze flicked to the stormtroopers, who were casually ignoring the purported traitor in their midst, and he quietly thanked the Stars that Ronan wasn’t here.

His gaze, as always, was drawn back to Thrawn. He looked older, Eli noticed, a few more lines in his face and the slightest hint of grey in his hair, despite the relatively short time since Eli had last seen him. On closer inspection, the uniform wasn’t exactly the same – he’d replaced the rank bars with the modified chimaera of the seventh fleet, and had moved his code cylinders to the same pocket.

He almost looked… nervous, as he watched them approach.

The Jedi grinned and nudged him with an elbow, earning a frown from the captain, but Thrawn ignored him to step forward.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera,” Ar’alani beat him to it, voice harsh and formal in her still somewhat accented Basic. She had dropped Thrawn’s full name, Eli noticed immediately.

“I am he,” Thrawn said, and his voice hadn’t changed at all. “Welcome to the Hand, Admiral Ar’alani.”

Behind him, the Jedi leaned over to the captain, waving a hand at hip height and mouthing dramatically to him. The captain closed his eyes with a sigh, manfully ignoring him, as the Jedi chuckled and returned to watching the tableau.

“And Lieutenant Commander Eli Vanto,” Thrawn finished, and Eli’s attention snapped back to catch the small smile Thrawn sent him.

“I am she,” Ar’alani replied, clearly insisting on the formality. Her gaze flicked to the two behind Thrawn.

“This is Captain Pellaeon, formerly of the Harbinger, and Jedi Ezra Bridger,” Thrawn introduced immediately, not glancing back to where the Jedi had opened his mouth, but cutting him off nonetheless. The Jedi – who was young, now that Eli was looking closer – pouted. “Captain Pellaeon is my flag officer on the Chimaera. Bridger has been looking after the navigators we have captured from the Grysk.”

Eli eyed the Jedi closely, knowing Ar’alani was doing the same with twice the suspicion. The fact that Thrawn had turned the skywalkers over to a stranger spoke of deep trust… or Thrawn’s… Thrawn-ness.

Ar’alani still hadn’t decided what to do with Ronan, other than make Eli teach him Sy Bisti. But not Cheunh.

“Yeah, hey, that’s me!” Bridger said before the silence could get awkward. “Ezra Bridger, Rebel extraordinaire, Jedi teacher, and all that. The kids are doing great,” he added in a more serious tone, probably catching Ar’alani’s look. “They’re – I mean, they’re not great, after everything they went through, but they’ll be okay.” He smiled, genuinely. “I mean it. They’re okay.”

“We will discuss this,” Ar’alani stated ominously. She turned back to Thrawn and continued in Cheunh: “First, I expect an explanation, Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Chimaera.”

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “An explanation?”

“You disappeared, Thrawn!” Ar’alani hissed, clearly working her way up to a much louder argument in full view of the hangar bay, if she had a mind to. “Barely a few days after we defeated the Grysk in your Kurost sector, you were gone – defeated by insurgents over Lothal? By purrgil? We assumed you had been killed! Or worse,” she continued, “captured. Can you, for once, look beyond your own plans to consider what we would face if you were in the hands of the Grysk?”

Thrawn blinked, taken aback, then wet his lips and bowed his head.

“I have, Admiral. Did you think I had not?” He met her gaze squarely. “I am sorry that my defeat distracted you. I was removed from the field, and was unable to reestablish contact.”

“Why are you here?” Ar’alani ground out.

Behind Thrawn, Bridger shuffled over to Pellaeon. “Do you know what they’re saying?” he stage whispered in Basic. Eli slid a step closer, half an ear on Thrawn’s response, explaining the origins of this Hand of Thrawn.

“No. Be silent,” Pellaeon murmured back, much quieter.

“Don’t you want to know what they’re saying?” Bridger insisted. After Pellaeon failed to respond, the boy poked him sharply in the side. “Hey. I’m not in uniform! You can’t make me act like an Imperial if I’m not in uniform!”

“Would you kindly have some decorum,” Pellaeon hissed. “This is a diplomatic event.”

“So… do you think she’s gonna punch him?” Bridger asked.

“Thrawn’s explaining how you ended up here,” Eli murmured in Basic, having edged his way close enough to the pair. Pellaeon glanced up, startled, but Bridger just grinned. Like trying to sneak up on a skywalker, Eli reflected. “How did a Jedi end up on a Star Destroyer?”

“Thrawn kidnapped me, so I kidnapped him back,” the Jedi replied cheerfully. “He’s not going back to the Empire, by the way, so if you were hoping for that, sorry not sorry.”

Eli eyed the boy. “Why? Because you’ll stop him?” he asked drily.

“Well, I’m sure as kriff not helping,” Bridger drawled. “How’d a human end up with the Chiss? Didn’t get the impression they liked you people.”

“You’re human, too,” Eli pointed out. “Thrawn recommended me. And where did you get that impression? The only Chiss you know is Thrawn.”

“Huh,” Bridger eyed him up and down. “Congrats, mister special. And hey, he had to learn it somewhere.”

“Thrawn doesn’t have anything against humans,” Eli argued.

“No, but he sure fit right in with the Empire’s human supremacy bantha crap,” Bridger said frankly. “Did you know he considers xenophobia to be just, the natural way of the galaxy? He thinks every species believes itself to be innately superior and act accordingly. That’s why he didn’t have a problem with the Empire. I figured he must have learned it from the Chiss, not like people talk out here.”

Eli’s brow wrinkled. “Well… isn’t that normal?” he asked. “For people to believe? Mostly, anyway.”

Bridger stared at him blankly for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Oh my Force, you people,” he groaned. “Have none of you ever, like, met a nonhuman? Worked with people? Lived with them? We had sixteen species on Lothal and let me tell you, once you actually get to know people you get over that bantha crap real fast.”

He sighed and shook his head at Eli. “We’ll work on it,” he added, poking Eli in the side like he had to Pellaeon. It was just as annoying as it had looked. “Lots of awesome people here, you’ll hate it.”

“Thanks,” Eli said sarcastically. “If you hate us so much, why are you still here?”

Bridger tilted his head, giving Eli a small smile. “I don’t hate you,” he said, and it sounded sincere. “I mean, I don’t like you, don’t get me wrong. My master would probably say hate isn’t the Jedi way or something like that. But honestly?” He shrugged. “You’re just kind of sad. Look at you – you never talk to people, you don’t know anyone, you’re so scared of people being different you beat them down just to make yourselves look tough. And when you’re out of targets, you turn on each other. Can’t relax, can’t take a break, can’t take a joke,” he added with a jab to Pellaeon and a laugh as the man glared back. “I mean, you’re so busy trying to prop up your dumb Empire, you never get to live.”

He grinned at Eli. “I don’t hate you. But I sure as hells don’t trust you. So, I’m here to keep an eye on Thrawn, and his pretty little Empire, and save some kids while I’m at it. Because I can’t go home – not while Thrawn could follow me – but no one deserves what those kids went through. So I’m sticking around, and fighting the Grysk while I’m at it.”

He raised an eyebrow in a passable imitation of Thrawn, if Thrawn smiled like that, which he didn’t. “Does that answer your question, Lieutenant Commander Eli Vanto?” he said in a horrible Thrawn-slash-Imperial accent.

“Please never do that again,” Eli told him firmly. “And yes. Thank you.”

Bridger grinned and sent him a thumbs up. Eli vaguely wondered if all Jedi had been this… casual.

“Wait. Empire?” Eli asked, mind catching up on the rest of the Jedi’s speech.

“Yup,” Bridger said, popping the p.

“Thrawn?”

“Oh, you do know him!” Bridger grinned. “Yup.”

“It’s a mutual defense agreement,” Pellaeon jumped in. “To oppose Grysk incursions in the area.”

“Oh, yes, that’s why the Onizy Inojma are running the entirety of interstellar trade, for free, and everyone’s coordinating agriculture and food supplies, because Thrawn told them to, and Thrawn has an education committee,” Bridger added sarcastically. “It’s an empire.”

“It’s not,” Pellaeon stated.

“It so is.”

“It’s-”

“Ivant!” Ar’alani called in Basic, and Eli tore his attention away from the politely squabbling pair. She glared over at him, apparently done with whatever Thrawn had said. “Your insight?”

“He built an Empire,” Eli replied blankly, the first and most major point still on his mind.

Ar’alani’s head snapped back to Thrawn. “You did what?”

“It’s not an Empire,” Pellaeon repeated, louder.

Thrawn looked away.

There was a moment of silence.

“Sir,” Pellaeon said, a note of horrified betrayal in his voice, at the same time as Thrawn started, “It was not my intention-”

Ar’alani burst into laughter. Full-bodied, head thrown back, peals of laughter, almost shaking with the force of them.

Eli had never seen her laugh like that.

“Oh, Thrawn,” she gasped. “Only you! Only you could cause this much trouble without even trying.”  

Hesitantly, Thrawn smiled.

Laughter dying down to chuckles, she looked at him, and shook her head. “Very well, Grand Admiral Thrawn. Of the Hand of Thrawn. Introduce me to your new empire.”

Next to Eli, Bridger leaned over, holding up his hand with a little wave.

“The Hand,” he whispered dramatically.

Eli had to bite his lip to hide his own smile.

*

Chapter Text

*

It was nice to be back on the Chimaera, Pellaeon reflected as he entered Thrawn’s office. Not that the Hand base wasn’t nice – and as much as he hated to admit it, Bridger was right, it was a stupid name – but there was something to be said for the discipline and normality of a starship.

Pellaeon might be adjusting to being the new second in command to an entire Imperial navy, but he didn’t have to be happy about it.

He liked his life to be more predictable.

Anyway.

“You wanted to see me, sir,” he said.

“Yes. Thank you for coming, Captain Pellaeon. Please, take a seat.” Thrawn waved to the chair.

Pellaeon sat, frowning slightly. Thrawn was being uncommonly gracious for a strategy meeting. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“Potentially. It may be too soon to tell whether the incident will affect us, as far removed as we have been,” Thrawn replied, still dancing around the actual question. “But I expect it will be of great emotional impact.”

Emotional impact?

“Sir?” Pellaeon asked, more confused than ever.

Thrawn placed a holo puck on his desk. “We have been cut off from the Empire for many years now,” he began. “Understandable, considering the distance and our preoccupation with the Grysk campaign. Stabilizing the region and building an alliance with the Chiss Ascendancy has been our priority, especially as our reach has extended to form a blockade between the Grysk and the rest of the galaxy.”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Pellaeon agreed, puzzled. Had there been some communication from the Empire? Something they’d missed?

Thrawn pushed the puck towards him. “Recently, we were able to obtain some news of the region from our absence.”

Pellaeon looked at him, and at his nod, reached out and turned on the holo.

It contained four files. Two were dated to just a few months after the Chimaera’s involuntary departure, about when they had begun battling the Grysk directly. One was dated to four years later. The last was dated to the year after that.

Pellaeon opened the first file.

MAIDEN FLIGHT OF THE DEATH STAR HERALDS ALDERAAN’S DESTRUCTION! The headline blared.

The video, some Imperial news host desperately spinning the story – caught fully on tape – into a triumphant win for the Empire while her hands shook was no less horrifying.

DEATH STAR DESTROYED OVER REBEL BASE, the next headline read. GALAXY AT WAR!

Pellaeon closed his eyes and clicked the next file.

EMPEROR PALPATINE KILLED OVER ENDOR, that one said, when he’d worked up the strength to look. EMPIRE SURRENDERS.

He clicked on the last. IMPERIAL REMNANTS ERADICATED OVER JAKKU, it shrieked. VICTORY FOR THE NEW REPUBLIC!

He turned it off.

“So, it’s over,” he said, stunned. Twenty years of Imperial service – twenty years of order, of peace; of oppression, of domination – over. Just like that.

Twenty years of service, and he hadn’t even been there for the end.

For some reason, that was what his mind stuck on. He should have been there. He was an Imperial officer, for better or worse. He was supposed to be there. To rise or fall, to live or die, at the side of the Emperor, or at least the rest of the Imperial Navy.

Who would even have survived? That was four years of war – one year longer than the Clone Wars had stretched, and look at how many they’d lost then. How many of the Empire’s best had died on the Death Star, or with the Emperor? How many planets were devastated beyond repair? Alderaan had been blown into pieces – Coruscant must have been attacked, it was the capital. How much of it had been destroyed? Was the Raithal Academy, where he’d trained, still standing? What about the old spaceport on Corellia, where he’d watched the ships take off and dreamed of the stars as a boy? His apartment? His parent’s graves?

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said, pulling him out of his spiral. “Perhaps not.”

Pellaeon took another breath, setting aside his own fears, and focused on the mission.

“Sir?” he asked, straightening from his dazed slump.

Thrawn tapped the holo puck. “We collected this, and other information you’re welcome to review, from a most interesting individual,” he said. “One Rae Sloane, claiming to be the last Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy.”

Pellaeon’s brow furrowed. “Grand Admiral… Sloane, sir?” he asked.

“I don’t know her either, Captain,” Thrawn replied with a hint of amusement. “Apparently, she was promoted after the Emperor was killed. But regardless. She claims that there are a number of Imperial leaders still at large, and potentially a sizeable portion of ships and armaments still available, although dwindling as the New Republic ferrets them out.” Thrawn paused. “Apparently, the New Republic is disarming themselves.”

Pellaeon blinked, horrified. The pirates alone… “So soon, sir?”

“So it would seem. Still, it does mean that, having decided that they have decisively defeated the last of the Empire over Jakku, any remaining pockets of Imperial authority are unlikely to be challenged. Effectively, at least,” Thrawn added.

Pellaeon nodded slowly, absorbing this new information. “Pockets we could use to bolster our own forces, sir?” he suggested. The Chimaera and the Thunder Wasp had been growing increasingly battered over the years, as the only ships of Imperial Star Destroyer size and power in their continually escalating fight against the Grysk. The Hand forces had been more than making up for it, but their shipyards had yet to produce anything on an ISD’s level.

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Or perhaps, these pockets may offer a greater prize to be won.”

“You’re not thinking of challenging this New Republic, are you, sir?” Pellaeon asked. It would be a dangerous gambit, with the Grysk nipping at their heels. Still. It was Thrawn.

If anyone could decisively win a galactic war and seize the limitless resources of the former Empire in the month or so between Grysk incursions, it would be him.

“Not yet,” Thrawn assured him. “But we must know more about our new neighbors. Perhaps they will make useful allies, or at least inoffensive ones. Perhaps we may find some other way to make use of them.”  

Pellaeon nodded. “What would you like me to do, sir?” he asked.

Thrawn steepled his fingers, regarding Pellaeon carefully. “This will be a voluntary assignment,” he said. “It may take you away from the Hand for some time. You will be without allies. Without resources. In potentially hostile territory. You will have only what you bring with you, and your own skills, in order to succeed.”

Pellaeon straightened to attention. “Yes, sir.”

Thrawn looked down, thoughtful. “Once, I was sent away from my people,” he began reflectively, “to the Empire. My goal was to determine whether they might be of any use against the Grysk.” He smiled ruefully at Pellaeon. “That failed, as you can now see. But perhaps something of that plan may yet be salvaged… and we may determine whether the New Republic will prove an ally, or a liability.”

He placed his palms flat on the table. “Here is your mission, should you choose to accept it,” he began softly. “Take the Chimaera. Go to the Empire, or what remains of it; make contact with this Shadow Council that leads its remnants. Assess them for their usefulness, and learn what you can of this New Republic – their strengths… and their weaknesses.”

“The Chimaera, sir?” Pellaeon asked, worried. Not for himself, but for Thrawn, left without his flagship at the edge of the Grysk incursions.

He could handle himself with the Imperials. He’d handled himself for twenty years, after all. And the dangling carrot of a fleet hidden in the Unknown Regions, under the command of the legendary Grand Admiral Thrawn, ready to emerge at their side, would bring him quickly into their inner circle, whoever might be leading it now.

“Indeed, Captain. You will need its credentials as proof of your claims,” Thrawn said. “I will be fine. The Thunder Wasp shall remain, and the support of the CEDF has brought even greater strength to our fleet. I suspect this mission will last no longer than a year.”

He blinked and looked down. “Then again,” he added softly. “Perhaps not.”

“Sir?”

“No matter,” Thrawn waved his comment aside. “An old memory. One year, Captain Pellaeon. Then I expect my ship returned to me. Or I returned to it.”

“Yes, sir!” Pellaeon saluted, already planning his departure. What crew to bring, what supplies they’d need… “Sir?”

“Yes, Captain?”

Pellaeon hesitated. “…Bridger, sir?” he asked, trusting Thrawn to understand.

“I will tell him,” Thrawn promised. “When it is time.”  

*