Grand Admiral

Nine years, eight months, and twenty-two days after the Battle of Yavin...

Or forty-four years, eight months, and twenty-two days since the Great Resynchronization.

(Four months and seven days since arrival).

— Move it! — Reynar barked at the Imperial specialists packing crystals and valuables found in the Jedi Enclave. Though... valuables? Junk with mere cultural significance, nothing more. — Or do you want Thrawn's stormtroopers to prod you along when he arrives?!

The workers, visibly annoyed by the shouting and constant verbal prodding, began to move. Slightly faster than before.

— Lazy scum, — Reynar muttered through gritted teeth, striding through the camp, which would be dismantled at the last possible moment. — Won't work unless you kick them. I hate...

— You'd better ease up, Inquisitor, — a familiar girlish voice reached him.

It came from the direction of the field kitchen.

Turning sharply over his left shoulder, Reynar approached the source of the sound.

— Did I hear you squawk something, runt? — he inquired of Vex, who was casually finishing her porridge from a plate.

The girl looked at him with clear defiance.

— If it weren't for me, you'd have died in that cave, — she reminded him.

— And now you think you can talk back to me? — Obscuro asked, barely containing his fury.

— You could at least say "Thank you!" — Resentment echoed in the girl's mind. Hidden, almost imperceptible... unless you were sensitive to the Force.

— Consider the fact that your head's still on your shoulders my gratitude, — Reynar stated. He sensed someone else at the edge of his perception. Looking up from the girl, he saw the cook. The soldier, swallowing hard, deemed it wise to retreat into the mess hall.

Yes, he was somewhat grateful for her saving him. But attachments weaken. In the end, she did what a servant should—concern herself with her master's, her commander's, life...

— I'm flattered, — Vex admitted sarcastically, setting aside her half-eaten plate. — Next time you're dying, I'll step over you and keep strolling, sashaying my hips.

— Better that than seeing your face and hearing your commentary, — Reynar shot back. — I command this expedition. You're here only as my apprentice's pet...

— Who spends more time with a Jedi than with you, — Vex snorted. — Some teacher you are...

So that's it! Bre'ano Umakk couldn't find time to speak with the Inquisitor, but had plenty to brainwash Fodeum? Well, fish-face, you're playing a dangerous game.

Reynar felt anger boiling within him. Just as he considered learning about the Light Side and how it might aid against the shadow from his nightmare vision, the Jedi had practically abandoned him, constantly claiming he needed to oversee crystal extraction. Lest you Imperials destroy everything, they must be extracted carefully for future generations...

Hutt-spawned liar!

— Where are they?! — The second thing Fodeum had hidden, as it turned out, was his ability to mask his presence in the Force. The first was ballistokinesis.

— Find them yourself, — a mischievous smile played on the girl's lips. — You're the big commander, aren't you...

His hand instinctively rested on his lightsaber hilt, ready to cleave the girl from shoulder to hip, but he restrained himself.

Killing Fodeum's old friend, even if she "just disappeared," would be unforgivable. Fodeum would certainly stop heeding his Inquisitor teacher. And what's the primary tenet of the Dark Side? To train a successor more powerful than yourself.

Though his vision showed the folly of seizing Thrawn's achievements, the galaxy is vast. If he's to hunt Force-sensitives as promised to Thrawn, mastering the art of turning them to the Dark Side wouldn't hurt.

Fodeum was an excellent candidate for such experiments. Reynar had only ever destroyed Jedi and their allies, but to turn one, to make them serve him... That's a way to immortalize his legacy. If only he could learn the Light Side's advantages to crush Jedi and their toy-like worldview more easily...

— One day, Fodeum won't need you anymore, — Reynar hissed through clenched teeth. — And then I'll come for you. I'll make sure that smug little smile slides off your pretty face. Along with your skin...

— Wow! — the girl feigned exaggerated surprise. — Our big, scary Inquisitor noticed my looks! Hooray! I'll print a poster so everyone knows you think I'm pretty...

— What?! — Reynar faltered. — That's not what I said... I meant...

How do you explain to a Force-ignorant fool that this tactic is for psychologically breaking an opponent? Complimenting while threatening disfigurement. She's not pretty! There's no such thing as an ugly Twi'lek!

— You said it! — the girl childishly stuck out her tongue. — Big, scary xenofascist with a sword, ogling an alien. Tsk, tsk, don't say that in a crowd, or they'll laugh, call you a xenophile in disguise! Argh!!!

The girl clutched her throat, which Reynar was gripping through the Force.

With a wave of his hand, the struggling Twi'lek, fighting for breath and life, was pulled directly before him. Hovering centimeters above Dantooine's ground.

— Shut your filthy mouth, girl, — he growled. — That empty head of yours only has enough brains to keep your lekku from falling off and drool from running down your chin while you eat. You can't even fathom the power of the Dark Side I wield!

— You... hrgh... a Jedi... beat, — she rasped, eyes bulging.

— But if I wanted to snap your neck right now, he's not here, is he? — Reynar clarified. — I warned you before—stay out of my way. Shut up and play furniture while I train Fodeum to be the strongest. Cook his food, wash his clothes, fetch his boots in your teeth—but don't cross my path again. I can get rid of you without him ever knowing. And the pain of loss will push him further to the Dark Side.

— You... idiot! — the Twi'lek squeaked. — Let go! You'll kill me!

— You know, — Reynar grinned, — that's exactly what I should do. Everyone's busy, no one's watching. The cook will vanish too... I'll snap your neck and toss you down a steep slope. They'll think you slipped... And nothing will distract Fodeum from his training!

— Psycho... path! — she glared furiously.

Reynar knew his threats would remain just that—for now. Without this loudmouthed pest, Fodeum would likely turn to the Jedi, not him. Foolish boy. But promising.

Obscuro loosened his grip, letting the girl breathe... as she collapsed at his feet.

— Remember, you little wretch, — he said. — You're nothing. From now on, you obey me. See me coming—run the other way. If I can't find your master, you fetch him to me. If I say jump off a cliff, you do it. Understood?!

The girl glared at him with pure hatred. Even without Force sensitivity, she radiated such fury... one could warm themselves in its glow. Why was this wretch a mere civilian?! She could've been something diligent, deadly! A superb assassin with a perfect trigger to the Dark Side!

— You didn't understand, — Reynar stated. He lifted her again, cutting off her air. — Let's see how you handle pain...

The technique was complex. He needed to focus on her nerve endings to...

— And how do you... handle it? — the girl suddenly asked, breaking his concentration.

— What? — Reynar didn't grasp her question.

He understood a second later—when sharp pain flooded his lower abdomen, instantly freeing the Twi'lek from his Force grip. Reynar collapsed to his knees, reflexively clutching the spot where the little wretch had kicked him with her little foot!

— S-s-scum... — he hissed, glancing at the girl, who now stood opposite him, aiming a blaster.

— Piece of filth! — she shouted in his face. — Ungrateful piece of filth! I could've just waited for you to die in that cave! I stood there watching the Jedi revive you! An entire company of "dolls" stood silent! We waited for you to die! And only because I pitied you, I said to save you! I could've waited ten more minutes, and you'd be dead! Guaranteed! And not one stormtrooper would've touched me! Because no one here likes you, respects you, or follows your orders except because Thrawn appointed you!

— I'm an Inquisitor! — he roared in her face. — I'm in command here!

— You couldn't even protect your own appendage, — she spat angrily. — You don't even command a part of yourself! Arrogance enough for a galaxy, but zero results! That's why Fodeum ignores you—you're just a chained beast hating everything and everyone! What, complexes getting in the way? Did your Jedi mommy not nurse you as a kid?! Angry as a nexu, I thought nearly dying might soften you! But you've become an even bigger scum! Threatening me?! I didn't touch you until you started sneering at everyone! Look at you, great Dark Lord wannabe!? I—a simple Ryloth girl—took you down with one kick!

Gradually, anger dulled the pain, soothing the agitated nerves in his injured organ. Well, you tailed harpy, just wait. A couple more minutes, and you'll be torn to pieces!

— You don't know me! — he rasped, already imagining unleashing his rage. No, he wouldn't kill her—the creature would pay another way. But his fury demanded release! — You know nothing about me! Don't touch my past! It's— — the Force twisted into a whip around him — mine! Alone!

A telekinetic blast slammed into the field kitchen, flipping and warping tables and chairs, tearing off the canopy, overturning the food vat and automats. The mess hall was swept aside, flipping onto its roof. From the Force's echoes, the cook was alive but terrified, soiled, and scalded.

Nearby, crates of packed equipment shattered, lightsaber crystals scattering like a precious rain...

Who cares!

The girl, around whom a storm had just raged, stared at him in fear. Just like before... Except this fool either lacked or had an excess of brains to process the threat and dismiss it. Hutt, why wasn't she Force-sensitive!? She'd make a worthy apprentice!

Vex shook her head in blatant pity.

— You're so full of complexes, — she said, as if she'd seen the Force's wrath before. A technique he'd trained half his life to master, emulating Darth Vader, who, by his own words, destroyed the lab that made him a cyborg with it. — Inquisitor, you should treat those nerves, yeah?

— How do you do that?! — Reynar felt his rage evaporating. All he managed was to scare her for a moment or two—then she stood there, acting like nothing happened.

— Don't know myself, — the girl crouched before him. Disgust and contempt in her eyes shifted to pity. — You know... I feel sorry for you. It's obvious you've got a ton of baggage you drag through life. That's why you're so angry—weak and angry.

— I don't need your pity! — he swatted away her hands as she touched his cheek.

— Everyone does, — Vex said earnestly. — Fodeum, when he ran from his people, was like that too... Unsure. Happy one moment, crying the next. Talking helped. That's how we became friends.

— Spare me your Jedi sermons, — Reynar grumbled, but without malice.

— I'm no Jedi, — she sighed wearily. — You men always see us Twi'leks as mere objects of interest. But we're smart and caring. Sure, each with our quirks, but that makes life interesting. Me, for example, I can listen. And give advice. You just need to talk it out.

— I have everything I need, — Reynar cut her off. — I have myself!

The girl smiled sadly. She switched from mockery to sympathy too quickly. Unbelievably quickly.

— How long will you last alone? — she asked. — You always need someone nearby. Living solo is tough. I know. Especially with a past full of pain. Look, — she averted her gaze, embarrassed, — I'm sorry...

— For what? — What was wrong with this girl?!

— Well... — Vex nearly turned away. — I meant to kick your shin...

— No Hutt-spawned way you missed that badly! — Reynar exclaimed, eyeing the length of his thigh from knee to hip.

— Don't choke me then! — she snapped, eyes flashing. — I hate that! You know how many times I was dragged by a collar and choked?! — Vex pulled down her high-collared sweater, revealing a neck covered in old scars. The kind from skin rubbed raw... — Want to know where I got these?

Something was off... Completely wrong... How did he go from attempted murder to sitting here listening to this erratic girl... Vex?!

Stranger still, he genuinely wanted to hear her story...

— Tell me, — he rasped.

She looked at him warily, cautiously. As if preparing to share something precious. He understood her perfectly. Past secrets were always... deeply personal. He wouldn't risk sharing his own and...

— I'll tell you, — she said. — If you tell me your story.

— No, — he replied sharply.

— Then I won't either, — she stood effortlessly. — I'm not spilling my past if you won't share yours!

— But you wanted to, — a confused Reynar said.

— If you tell, I will too, — Vex promised. — But I'm not giving you anything to hold over me or mock me with! Goodbye! Oh, and— — she glanced at the Inquisitor — lie down somewhere, let it settle.

Turning, she strode off quickly.

Reynar considered chasing her, talking, but... he suddenly didn't care.

If she didn't want to, fine, no great loss.

Standing, he hissed in pain. Slowly, very slowly, he limped toward his sleeping module.

***

It was an odd sensation, being aboard the Chimaera again.

Han's memories of his last visit to Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship weren't pleasant, tied to the crushing defeat in the Honoghr system. There, Thrawn, with relatively few forces, smashed his task force and captured nearly all his ships.

But today, he stepped onto the main hangar's landing deck not as a prisoner. At least, he hoped so.

The first thing Han saw, descending his shuttle's ramp (ironically, a former Imperial Lambda), was the familiar hull of the Millennium Falcon. His ship, now Thrawn's trophy...

Suppressing a flare of resentment, Solo kept scanning.

Chimaera's officers and technicians wore Imperial Navy uniforms, complete with rank bars and code cylinders in their tunics' pockets. But they also sported chevrons... A golden-yellow "gear," once an Imperial symbol. Though now a different color, not on black...

The effect was odd, especially since the Dominion positioned itself as pro-Imperial.

The second difference was the near-absence of stormtroopers or security personnel. It was as if nothing had changed. A Lambda with an enemy general arrives? No big deal...

No one even tried to escort or guide him.

— Time for another meeting, General Solo, — a voice from behind startled Han, nearly making him jump. By sheer will, he stayed put, turning slowly...

Before him, hands clasped behind his back, stood Grand Admiral Thrawn in his pristine white tunic with gleaming epaulets. How he'd slipped behind Solo unnoticed was unclear, especially with two Imperial Guards in their black-and-red robes and visored helmets, a major-ranked adjutant, and a gray-skinned Noghri in tow.

— So it is, — Solo grunted, locking eyes with someone he hadn't expected to see on Thrawn's side.

The fifth member of Thrawn's entourage seemed out of place. But questions could wait.

— Hey, Luke, — he said, eyeing the Jedi. Skywalker smiled warmly, extending his prosthetic hand. Han didn't play offended and shook it.

Almost automatically, after greeting his friend, he offered his hand to Thrawn. The Dominion's ruler glanced at it, then at Han's confused attempt to process his mistake, before silently freeing his own hands from behind his back. With a deft, almost delicate motion, he removed his right glove, revealing a large, blue hand.

And gave Han a firm handshake.

— You're punctual, — Thrawn noted, re-gloving his hand.

— It's in my interest, — Han replied, casting a wistful glance at the Millennium Falcon. — I trust there's no issue with transferring the prisoners?

— None, — Thrawn answered. Seriously, where did the Grand Admiral come from? He didn't disembark from Han's shuttle, did he? — My pilots have vacated the ships with former prisoners, so you're free to take both the transports and the sentients aboard.

— Thanks, — Han said reluctantly. — But we brought our own transports. If you don't mind, I'll order my people to dock with yours and start transferring the prisoners.

No way he'd drag Imperial ships to New Republic facilities. He knew their tricks with "beacons" and such. No thanks.

— As you wish, — Thrawn said indifferently. — I assume this will take time?

— I'm sure it will, — Han confirmed.

— I propose we use it productively, — Thrawn nodded toward the Falcon. Another pang of loss and resentment...

— With all due respect, I'd like to retrieve my family, friends, and leave, — Han admitted.

— As you wish, — Thrawn seemed utterly uninterested. — But I suspect you'll need to board the Falcon regardless.

— Is that a threat, Grand Admiral? — Solo tensed.

— Not at all, General, — a smile touched Thrawn's lips. — Of all the Republicans aboard my flagship, you're the only one I trust enough to pilot the Millennium Falcon out of Chimaera's hangar.

Wait. What?

— Hold on, — Han shook his head. — Did I hear that right? You mean...

— The Grand Admiral is returning the Falcon to you, — Skywalker interjected. — Leia, the kids, Lando, Chewie, even C-3PO—they're already aboard.

— Could've left the "Goldenrod," though, — Han muttered.

— Thank you, but I'll pass, — Thrawn chuckled. — That droid frays my crew's nerves.

— He's good at that, — Han agreed. — Well, I tried...

— No need to try, General Solo, — Thrawn said unexpectedly. — Do, or do not.

Han noticed Luke flinch. What had Thrawn said to rattle even a Jedi?

It took a couple of minutes for the group to stroll to the Falcon's ramp. To Han's annoyance, he noted several familiar dents on his ship's hull were gone. Crude welds had been replaced with impeccable Imperial craftsmanship. Someone had tinkered with his ship—thoroughly.

— Don't take offense, — Thrawn said as they reached the ramp. — My technicians intended to prepare the ship for my use, but during repairs, they realized it'd be easier to buy a new one. That said, Chimaera's technical team is impressed with your skills, Captain Solo. Keeping a ship like the Falcon operational... it's no small feat.

— Yeah, not cheap, — Han agreed, noting the Imperials had upgraded several components on the ramp's locking and sealing mechanisms. No more risk of random depressurization, and the ramp would lower without jamming? Thanks, guys. Those parts cost about a thousand credits each. Han would never have bought them himself.

Inside, the Falcon gleamed as if scrubbed with a tank of cleaner. Panels were neatly fastened, no rust... Han almost doubted it was his ship. But a few distinctive marks confirmed it was his. They'd just cleaned thoroughly. Well... he'd need to give the "old girl" a good shakedown to ensure no Imperial "beacons" were "forgotten."

— Han, — spotting her husband, the Alderaanian princess threw herself into his arms. Ignoring friends and foes alike, Han spun Leia in the air, hugging her with a strength even a Wookiee might envy.

Five more minutes passed exchanging greetings with everyone—from Chewbacca, Lando, to Winter and an unfamiliar young woman, clearly Corellian. The last guest aboard his ship Han recognized only after Luke introduced a Corellian legend.

— Senator Bel Iblis, — Han said with a hint of awe, shaking his compatriot's hand. — It's an honor to meet you, a Corellian hero...

The Alliance leader, visibly embarrassed by the enthusiastic but brief speech, glanced at the Grand Admiral standing in the passageway to the lounge.

— I'm equally delighted by our meeting, General Solo, — he said. — Doubly so, as it marks my release from our captivity...

— I think we owe that to someone else, — Han glanced at Thrawn, who observed the familial and friendly reunion with a faint half-smile. — It was the Grand Admiral's decision to exchange you...

— Quite intriguing, — Bel Iblis said tightly. — After so many promises...

— I believe, — Thrawn said softly, — it's time to clarify the situation.

Despite the lounge's low hum, Thrawn's words silenced it. Guided by the prospect of a lengthy discussion, the Republic citizens settled into comfortable seats. Unfortunately for Thrawn, no space remained on the couches. Not that he seemed eager to sit.

Han glanced at Luke, who sat on a couch's edge beside the unfamiliar Corellian woman. Likely Bel Iblis's aide—her face was familiar from the preliminary list of freed prisoners.

— Palpatine is ready to strike, — Thrawn began without preamble. Bel Iblis's brows shot up, and the room's tension spiked. The Corellian seemed about to speak but stayed silent. — His preparatory campaign is concluding. By year's end or early next, he'll attack. He currently controls the Pentastar Alignment and Imperial Space through proxies. Lesser Imperial Remnants will either submit or join willingly.

— Including the Dominion? — Leia asked.

— I dictate my state's policy, — Thrawn declared. — Yet Palpatine hints at neutrality toward my territories if his campaign against the New Republic succeeds. Alignment with the New Republic is a target painted on your sectors' backs.

— Why tell us this? — Lando inquired.

— Isn't it obvious? — Thrawn countered.

— Not at all, — Han admitted.

— Then some analysis, — Thrawn continued. — You possess significant Imperial military hardware but lack the means to maintain it. I offered to trade it for your prisoners—you refused. Meanwhile, Orinda proposed exchanging Princess Organa-Solo and her children for Imperial Space's support, resources, and reserves.

Han tensed noticeably, as did everyone else.

— But you promised to release us in exchange... — Luke began.

— Politics is complex, — Thrawn stated. — You all understand I wouldn't discuss my agreements with you, Jedi Skywalker, before the Imperial Ruling Council. Their army and fleet at Dominion borders are the last thing I need.

— But they'll come, — Bel Iblis said confidently. — Palpatine can't be trusted...

— I don't recall saying I trust his words, — Thrawn replied. — I have no interest in destroying the New Republic, though I could...

— It'd take years, — Leia said, stung.

— ...in weeks, — Thrawn finished. Han somehow believed he wasn't exaggerating. Looking at Thrawn's actions... he'd only hit supply lines with a fraction of his fleet, capturing ships to bolster his own, not conquering territory. — But I need you, — the Grand Admiral added unexpectedly.

— Oh? For what? — Bel Iblis asked, surprised.

— You're a buffer zone, drawing most of Palpatine's forces, — Thrawn said. — Leaving him too weak to strike the Dominion.

— You're a shameless, amoral sentient, — the Corellian woman beside Luke said. — You'd sic Palpatine on the galaxy while hiding on the sidelines?

— Believe me, Lieutenant Irenez, your actions prompting my moves against the New Republic weren't altruistic either, — Thrawn smirked. — I'm warning you openly: Palpatine's primary targets are Jedi Skywalker, Princess Leia, and her children.

— Over my dead body, — Han declared.

— You don't realize how easily the Emperor could arrange that, — Thrawn said. — I trust Jedi Skywalker will share the full story of his Polis Mass asteroid visit during your return to the New Republic, — Leia's frown told Han she was unaware of something. — I hope you won't disappoint, Jedi Skywalker, and reveal the details you've omitted.

Luke, staring at the floor, nodded briefly:

— You've ensured I'll share it sooner than later.

— Your tale of meeting Palpatine's agents was the price I set for Lieutenant Irenez's release, — Thrawn said. The Corellian woman looked at the blushing Jedi with interest and gratitude. — Now, to the main point. I told the Imperial Ruling Council I'd surrender the Princess and her children only for Grand Moff Kaine's super star destroyer Reaper.

— They'll never agree, — Leia said confidently. — Those Remnants are at odds, even if covertly...

— Hence, an impossible condition allowed me to frame the New Republic's clumsy Oplovis sector attack as a ship-for-prisoner exchange, — Thrawn said. — Otherwise, I'm certain Reaper would soon be mine, and you, Princess, would face the reborn Palpatine. Not to mention your children being raised as Dark Side adepts.

— Does Palpatine have another Darth Vader? — Han asked, surprised. Glancing at Luke and Leia, he clarified:

— Who else could he field?

— I'll explain later, — Luke promised.

— So, you want something for our release? — Leia asked.

— Lusankya, — Thrawn said. A murmur rose, silenced by the Grand Admiral:

— I don't require it repaired—just its current state. No need to move it or hand over its crew, as you did in Oplovis, — Thrawn said. — Jedi Skywalker has a comlink to contact me. Just provide the ship's location—I'll retrieve it myself.

— And use it against us, — Bel Iblis said grimly.

— If the New Republic persists in warring against the Dominion, yes, — Thrawn didn't deny. — Fail to retrieve your prisoners, and I'll keep capturing your ships, sending long-held captives to Coruscant.

— How do we retrieve them? — Leia asked, surprised.

— I've stated the terms, — Thrawn reminded. — Give me Imperial ships or other military hardware, and you'll receive prisoners equal to the crew capacity of the equipment provided.

— So, you weaken the New Republic by taking its hardware and returning prisoners you captured while seizing our ships? — Lando clarified.

— Yes, — Thrawn answered simply. — Yet you miss the bigger picture. Maintaining Imperial tech requires Kuat Drive Yards, which inflate their prices. Meanwhile, you have ships under construction that freed crew members could staff. With minimal complements, you could field many modern warships to face Palpatine, not outdated ones.

Han nearly cursed. Wasn't this discussed at the Provisional Government's meeting, then between him and Ackbar while strolling the Imperial Palace's Vestibule on Coruscant? Who's spying for Thrawn?!

— The proposal has merit, — Bel Iblis said unexpectedly. — But you'd gain a super star destroyer...

— The weakest of its series, — Thrawn noted. — Requiring significant time and resources to restore, plus nearly three hundred thousand crew to train. For years, Lusankya will only defend the Dominion from internal threats, nothing more.

— The New Republic won't agree, — Leia said firmly.

— Of course, — Thrawn agreed. Suspiciously easily. — Hence, I'm negotiating with you, not Mon Mothma. The longer you delay the inevitable, the longer your career military languish in captivity. Then filtration camps await, — Han barely restrained a curse. — All of you, — Thrawn clarified.

— That's nonsense, — Calrissian said confidently.

— I trust General Solo will explain your misconceptions' depth, — Thrawn said. — My proposal greatly eases your coming struggle. Give me ships, I return prisoners. No need to train recruits to replace losses or spend vast sums rebuilding your forces.

— Wouldn't it be simpler to exchange prisoners for credits? — Leia suggested.

— Sure your budget won't run deficits for years? — Thrawn asked.

— We have plenty of credits... — Leia began but stopped, realizing her blunder.

— Which is why they don't interest me, — Thrawn countered. — But if you offer aurodium equal to the prisoners' mass, I'll consider it.

— That's tons of precious metal! — Calrissian exclaimed.

— You're mistaken, — Thrawn assured. — Thousands of tons.

— The New Republic lacks that much aurodium or other valuables, — Leia admitted.

— Hence my offer to you, — Thrawn emphasized, — to provide Lusankya's coordinates and reclaim nearly three hundred thousand of your military. Enough to crew nearly a hundred Mon Calamari star cruisers. All you need is the ship's location. Or coordinates of abandoned Imperial ships—cruisers, star destroyers, frigates—I'll take them and send you prisoners.

Han sensed he was missing something. Thrawn wanted their scrap metal while strengthening their fleet with skilled personnel. What's the catch? Even with Lusankya or a dozen star destroyers, Thrawn would need years to repair and crew them...

So why, if he's preparing to repel Palpatine's attacks?

Thrawn was planning to deceive them—clear as day on Tatooine. No one acts against their own interests. This was another of Thrawn's manipulations... But to what end?

— You mentioned exchanging our prisoners for Imperials, — Luke reminded.

— That too, — Thrawn confirmed.

— That's off the table, — Leia declared. — Most captured Imperials either joined our forces or received amnesty and went civilian. We have very few prisoners—barely a few hundred. They're likely already on Kessel or in penal colonies.

— Your choice entirely, — Thrawn noted. — I only ask you to act wisely. Time grows short. Problems mount. Keep avoiding the inevitable, and you'll lose.

— Why not propose this to Mon Mothma directly? — Leia asked.

— There's a difference between effect and efficiency, — Thrawn stated. — I need the latter. Negotiating with your government yields nothing. You're different. You've been my captives and seen the Dominion. We took the Empire's best and discarded its worst. If what you've witnessed doesn't convince you, we have nothing more to discuss. I hold great hope you're rational, far-sighted, and ready to make unpopular decisions for your state's survival. I'm rarely wrong, so if this attempt to normalize dialogue fails, I'll have no more to say to the New Republic.

— Why not ally with Coruscant? — Luke asked. — We share goals...

— No, — Thrawn replied. — Your democracy is no better, perhaps worse, than Imperial bureaucracy. Inefficient allies are useless. We have few common interests—you won't listen, and I lack the time or desire to persuade. All here are mature sentients, capable of deciding and facing consequences. If you won't trust me on an issue critical to the New Republic's existence, I'll let you face Palpatine alone while I focus on immediate concerns.

Silence fell over the Millennium Falcon's lounge. Each weighed Thrawn's words, correlating them with their own knowledge...

No one rushed to offer aid to the Dominion.

— Well, — Thrawn said, — I expected no less.

He looked at Han.

— When you made an unspoken deal with the Empire to eliminate Warlord Zsinj, you were more cooperative, General Solo, — he said. Han felt a pang of guilt. Thrawn spoke the truth. Honestly, if it were up to Han, he'd give Lusankya to the Dominion to free the soldiers. But it wasn't his call. Handing over Mon Calamari ships under his command... no way.

— All the best, ladies and gentlemen, — Thrawn said. — I trust you understand your refusal to cooperate against a galactic threat means the war between the Dominion and New Republic continues. Today, you'll leave my ship as per the prisoner exchange agreement. But once I get what I want, we'll remain enemies.

— Sure you can find and capture Lusankya? — Bel Iblis asked. — You've failed for months...

— You fought the Empire for years, Commander, — Thrawn reminded. — No one could defeat you. It took me little time and attention to dismantle your terrorist group. After returning to the New Republic, knocking on every power's door, and facing refusal to free your people from my captivity, you'll see your view of Mon Mothma's policy aligns with reality. But you'll realize it, at best, commanding a backwater fleet.

The Corellian held Thrawn's gaze long, then looked away.

— I'll find a way to free my people, — he vowed. — I'm assured Mon Mothma isn't as I imagined. Anyone can err.

— Try, — Thrawn agreed. — When you fail, consider what you can offer for your people. I hope you and the New Republic reach an agreement with me before your soldiers and officers, seeing their government's callous disregard, choose to switch sides. I'll note, the process has begun, — those present looked at him with surprise and wariness. — You should know, Princess Organa, many Alderaanians view Erik Shohashi as an honorable officer. They also dream of avenging those who abandoned them in captivity.

— Sounds like wordplay, — Lando said. — New Republic soldiers would never betray democracy and freedom.

— Indeed, — Thrawn agreed. — Until, between labor therapy strengthening the Dominion, they question why their government values old Imperial ships and armor over their lives.

No one had a retort for the Grand Admiral.

***

An hour after the incident, Fodeum and Bre'ano Umakk arrived at the field kitchen. Another session on emotional control and meditation had gone well. Say what you will, practicing in crystal caves was a delight. Hard work, yet refreshing.

But the sight of the ravaged mess hall, now being cleared by archaeological staff, stirred conflicting thoughts.

Thanks to the cook for explaining what happened.

— I'll tend to his injuries, — the Mon Calamari said, gesturing to the cook's right arm, blistered from thermal burns.

— What got into Reynar? — Fodeum wondered. — To explode like that... He's volatile, but...

— Rage is his weapon, — Bre'ano Umakk said sagely. — But also his weakness. He has a foul temper. Much pain in his past. And he fears inviting more. So he's always angry—it's easier to keep others at bay.

— Sounds familiar, — Fodeum smirked. — Vex acts the same. Just with jokes, jabs... Wait! — the young Jenssarai exclaimed. — Stop! Master Umakk! I've got a Hutt-sized suspicion you meddled! You told Vex to wait for us here!

— Yep, — the Mon Calamari chuckled cryptically.

— And you told the workers not to rush loading the crystals, — Fodeum narrowed his eyes. — Which pissed off Reynar! And set him on Vex...

— You're thinking right, Padawan, — Bre'ano Umakk chuckled meaningfully.

— You pitted them against each other, didn't you? — Fodeum realized, needing only confirmation...

— Not me, — the Mon Calamari said pointedly, smiling disarming. — The will of the Force.

— Wonderful! — Fodeum wanted to curse coarsely, but his memory failed for the right Hutt curse. — Sure, why not sic my friend on my teacher. They won't kill each other, just cry on each other's shoulders and...

— With this, — the Mon Calamari levitated a small crystal with the Force, — they definitely won't.

The gem, clearly dug from the ground—look at that deep pit—wasn't from a container.

— And... what's this crystal? — Fodeum asked. — How long have you hidden it?

— Not me, — Bre'ano Umakk smiled cryptically again. — The will of the Force.

— May the Sith flay your Jedi backside! — Fodeum grimaced. He hated these cryptic metaphors—enough to turn to the Dark Side!

***

Pellaeon placed an infochip on the Grand Admiral's desk, sliding it toward its owner.

— Intelligence data on New Republic shipments, — he explained.

— Thank you, Captain, — Thrawn replied, eyes fixed on his monitors. If only Pellaeon could glimpse what held such fascination... — Have the New Republic ships departed?

— Affirmative, sir, — Pellaeon confirmed.

— Are signals from Project Morr't buzz-droids stable? — Thrawn asked.

— Affirmative, sir, — Chimaera's commander replied. — Once Republic transports docked with ours, the buzz-droids transferred to their ships. Signals are steady, and navigators are plotting their vectors. Shall I order fleet task forces to prepare for attack?

— Absolutely not, Captain, — Thrawn looked up from his screens at Pellaeon. — Wherever those ships go now, it won't be critical. They'll likely change course multiple times, split up, and reach different destinations. No need to react—until the right moment.

"If only I knew when that is," Pellaeon thought.

— Sir, — he ventured cautiously, — you don't think anyone's foolish enough to give you Lusankya's coordinates?

— Foolish? — Thrawn asked, surprised. — Not at all...

Then why the charade of "befriending and helping" if...

— ...But soon, they'll conclude they can't fully repel attacks without their prisoners, — Thrawn continued casually. — You may find it odd I spent so much time talking, but it was necessary for the second batch of buzz-droids, scattered in Agamar's orbit by our food transports, to attach to General Solo's task force ships.

Well, hello... Could've said so upfront.

— So, you were stalling? — Pellaeon clarified.

— Of course, — Thrawn confirmed. — The New Republic lost Crimson Dawn and the First Line Division of the Fourth Fleet. Lusankya is their last trump card against a strong foe. They're straining to complete and ready her for battle. My calculation is the New Republic won't negotiate with Remnants while they feel strong. Nor with us.

— But there was a precedent—allying against Zsinj, — Pellaeon reminded.

— Yes, — Thrawn agreed. — But then, the New Republic was rising from its knees, lacking significant forces. Recent victories and territorial growth convinced them their troops can repel attacks. They don't grasp the informational war we've waged against them.

They're not the only ones...

— What's its goal, if not the New Republic's collapse? — Pellaeon asked.

— To detach outer sectors, — Thrawn explained. How's that different from collapse? — Here's the thing. Palpatine has a vast fleet—immense, I'd say. To conquer the New Republic, he'll split it into task forces. He can defeat any Republic fleet in battle. But controlling captured territory will weaken his forward units. The deeper he advances, the more forces he'll need to hold it. Given his predicted aggression, conquered systems will face bombardments and violence. Detached sectors will either join Palpatine to avoid forced annexation or maintain independence. After Palpatine's defeat, the New Republic will face chaos and rebuilding. Widespread destruction in former Republic territories versus preserved detached sectors will be a litmus test for the galaxy, showing what happens to Republic allies.

— And then they'll join us, right? — Pellaeon clarified.

— Not immediately, — Thrawn said. — Post-Palpatine, we'll face another Imperial Civil War act, with Imperial units answering only to local commanders. Given Palpatine's call for sadists, repression will be rampant. Our task then is to leverage the Dominion's unoccupied territories. We'll crush these new Remnants and annex their territories. By continuing to seize infrastructure and ships, we'll rapidly bolster our forces. While the New Republic licks its wounds, we'll match them in territory and ships through warfare or negotiation.

— Hence your order to ramp up buzz-droid production? — Pellaeon asked.

— Yes, — Thrawn confirmed. — Admiral Ackbar plans traps for our raiders. Without precise ship locations, we can't bypass them. Also, trap convoys will have many Imperial ships with minimal crews and armament. That plays to our advantage.

— As does showing the galaxy that, despite the New Republic's ingenuity, they keep losing.

— Precisely, — Thrawn confirmed. — You're improving at analysis, Captain.

— I try, sir, — Pellaeon said, embarrassed by the praise. — But... does this mean we won't find Lusankya?

— Why not? — Thrawn seemed surprised. — The enemy will lead us to her—give it time. The combination we're playing is quite intriguing...

No surprise there.

— Issue new orders to our scouts, — Thrawn directed.

— Yes, sir, what orders? — Pellaeon responded eagerly.

— We need more plasma drills, — Thrawn declared.

— Sir? — Pellaeon was taken aback. He thought the "digging" saga was long over.

— They're vital for the third phase of Operation Crimson Dawn, — Thrawn reminded.

— The attack on Sluis Van, — Pellaeon recalled, remembering Thrawn's declared campaign climax for the year.

— And more, — the commander said. — Don't forget, they're primarily geological tools, and we need increasing amounts of metals, including rare ones.

— True, but suppliers are limited, — Pellaeon noted. — Plus, the New Republic's scrutinizing third-party deals lately.

— So be it, — Thrawn agreed, suspiciously readily. — But we need materials—the more, the better. Our new planets in the Nidjun sector hold vast pirate hoards we can sell to buy what's needed. Nearby, Jabim is renowned for rare metal exports.

— They're neutral, — Pellaeon recalled. — They trade with the New Republic too...

— ...and private entities, — Thrawn added. — Captain Hoffner can assist after his current mission.

— What about the asteroids in Lok's belt? — Pellaeon asked, surprised. — They're rich in nearly every known metal.

— After today's talk, the New Republic will monitor our contacts closely, — Thrawn said. — Hence, our strategic reserve must remain secret. Within the Dominion, we have nearly everything for shipbuilding, repairs, and military production. But we're more interested in what we can extract under our enemies' noses, without depleting Dominion reserves, while transporting and delivering to factories we must build and keep running.

— Sir, — Pellaeon frowned, — may I ask what you mean?

— Certainly, Captain, — Thrawn confirmed. — Before departing for cloning, General Veers submitted a fascinating report. Our old Republic tech has advantages but is outdated. We must produce new Imperial-type armaments. This requires factories and resources for walkers, tanks, prefab structures, and more. But first, we must execute Project Nomad.

Pellaeon searched his memory...

— The walking city from Nkllon? — he clarified. Thrawn nodded, and Chimaera's commander asked:

— But we destroyed it...

— Critically damaged it, — Thrawn corrected. — Nomad was destroyed due to evacuation impossibility. But our operative Rederick obtained its technical plans. After Lando Calrissian's ruin, he sold his ekranoplan base and ships. Analytics tracks these ships' deals. They've been resold and are under repair. Prices are at rock bottom but still steep, so we'll soon acquire them via Niles Ferrier's typically illicit methods.

— Meaning we'll steal them, — Pellaeon concluded.

— I won't spend credits on what we can take from enemies for free, — Thrawn declared. Seeing Pellaeon's unspoken question, he elaborated:

— Clearly, the New Republic plans to revive Project Nomad under their banner, — Thrawn said. — A smart move, given Nkllon's vast resources. But they lack funds to build the facility, so Ferrier will steal the ekranoplans for us. We'll construct Nomad and its copies ourselves—where we'll produce walkers and other armor. Nkllon and Nomads will supply the factory with all needed materials.

Ambitious... yet so simple, you wonder why you didn't think of it.

— So, we'll build walker factories under the New Republic's nose? — Pellaeon clarified. — In the Sluissi sector?

— No, — Thrawn replied simply. — On the galaxy's fringes. But in its southern part, you're correct.

— Sir, but the New Republic's presence there is strong, — Pellaeon noted. — Not to mention Imperial warlords near the Morshdine sector...

— Correct, — Thrawn agreed. — But our planet lies elsewhere.

— And...? — Pellaeon opened his mouth to ask how such a planet would be defended and how many ships would be recalled from the Dominion but thought better of it.

— Don't worry about the planet's security, Captain, — Thrawn assured. — Our technicians are studying Yalara's surface cloaking device. By the time we're ready for Nkllon operations, our heavy tech source will remain hidden by a perfect cloaking field.

Thrawn planned to build factories from scratch on Yalara?! That's billions in investments! Had he found a funding source that wouldn't cripple the Dominion's economy?

— Captain, — Thrawn said, studying a monitor's data, — ensure Chimaera sets course for Dantooine. We must arrive a day before Grand Moff Kaine.

— It will be done, sir, — Pellaeon replied automatically, pondering what Thrawn's words about new factories in uncharted territory meant. It had to signify something!

— Also, inform the fleet and auxiliary cruisers with necessary equipment of the rendezvous point, — Thrawn continued. — They've a long journey from Tangrene.

— It will be done, sir, — Pellaeon responded. He couldn't just ask outright—that'd be admitting helplessness...

— Send Commander Rederick the same coordinates, — Thrawn's voice was calm, as if nothing ever fazed him, — but only after Ciutric IV sends the signal "Fluffy in the cage." Let's say... a five-day buffer for rendezvous will suffice.

Now, that was utterly unclear... As if Thrawn was jesting. But Thrawn and humor were incompatible.

Fine, time to confess. Errors were something Thrawn wouldn't forgive.

— Sir, — Pellaeon said softly, — building factories will cost immensely. Our economy's still stabilizing... Have you found Sa Nalaor?

— Not yet, Captain, — Thrawn replied. — Intelligence is working, but we don't have the ship's coordinates or its precious cargo yet.

— But then, factory construction will cost a fortune, — Pellaeon noted.

— No, — Thrawn countered.

— I don't understand, sir, — Pellaeon frowned.

— As I said, — Thrawn spoke slowly, as if to a child, looking at his subordinate, — I see no point in paying for Imperial assets we can seize from our enemy.

And... it seemed clearer, but...

— Not primarily New Republic member planets, — Thrawn said, returning his gaze to the monitors.

No, who was he kidding? It wasn't clearer at all.