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The transparent screen played grainy holo-footage in the dimly lit conference room. Originally the lighting had been out of necessity, but now it had become standard protocol. The low-lighting helped in this scenario: the footage was partially incompatible with their tech, so this kept the words that were flashing along the bottom of the feed from being distorted beyond recognition.
The words were important enough, but not entirely necessary, what with the footage. It might be low-res, but it was plenty obvious what was happening even without the giant text that said—
Grand Admiral Thrawn Recovered
“Multiple sources close to New Republic leadership report that the Grand Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo, known to most as Thrawn, has been recovered from an Imperial cloning facility located in Wild Space. It is unknown as to what his plans had been, but rumors heralding his return as ‘Heir to the Empire’ have been touted in Imperial circles for years. Sources close to the Chancellor’s office who refuse to remain named say—“
The feed clicked off and the man sitting at the conference room table, the man who had summoned Ezra here, set down the small remote. He tilted his head at Ezra, which meant he was inviting him to speak, either because he was curious as to what Ezra’s perspective was or because he was still gathering his own thoughts.
Ezra had found Thrawn absolutely infuriating if only for how similar they were in some ways he really preferred not to think too hard about. Eli Vanto, on the other hand, was someone Ezra actually liked being around.
“Have you already watched the whole thing?”
Eli nodded. His thick brown fingers folded together. “It’s a lot of speculation, but the footage don’t lie. Either they’ve recovered Thrawn, or a clone of him. It’s anyone’s guess.”
So that’s what he wanted, Ezra thought. Figured as much. “And you want me to find out for sure?”
“Technically, it doesn’t really matter whether he’s a clone or not,” he ran a hand through his hair. “As long as he’s not,” he met Ezra’s gaze with a meaningful look of his own, “Altered, we need him.”
“I don’t think you mean that,” Ezra said. Eli shot him a dark look that said this was not the time or place, so he relented, “But I get it.”
Ezra knew it didn’t really matter if he understood, but Eli was pretty good about explaining things anyway. Ezra would even go so far as to consider Eli a friend, in a weird, roundabout way, considering he was Eli’s subordinate (if you wanted to get technical, which most people did, specifically when it suited them). The threads that connected them were way more (and less) complicated, depending on who you asked. So that Eli didn’t explain wasn’t strictly necessary. After all, he was, as a rule, generally unapologetic about his Humanity and his personal feelings. It was something Ezra admired about him. He was a soldier and a commander and a leader, but he made it clear that he was a person. He was far from perfect.
Ezra flushed thinking about the first time Eli had ever admitted that. It had been Ezra’s twenty-fifth birthday and he had gotten exceedingly drunk. Eli had found him, having also been prone to spending Empire Day alone with his thoughts, and Ezra had gotten angry with him for trying to take his bottle of pilot-provided hooch. He didn’t remember all the details, but he did recall making a belligerent comment about Vanto being moof-eyed over the most insufferable man in the galaxy(and spilling the dwindling remains of his bottle in the process), to which Eli had laughed softly and drawled, “Well kid, we can’t all be perfect.”
“Naporar to Bridger, you in there?”
“Huh? I—“
Eli gave him a look that said this wouldn’t fly on the bridge of a warship, but that he didn’t particularly care at present, waving him off with a single hand. “I need you to go to Coruscant,” he said. He paused, anticipating and definitely being rewarded with the shock-confused-panicked look that crossed Ezra’s face. “I know it’s probably going to be difficult, but you can’t tell me you didn’t pick out your friends in that holo.” Ezra winced. Unfortunately, he had. “If anyone is going to stand a chance at convincing the New Republic to release him, it’s you.”
“I don’t know, they could have him executed before we even get there. He was pretty high up.”
The deadpan look on Eli’s face was almost as flat as the tone of his voice. “They could, but they won’t. That’s not what they’re about.”
Ezra’s hands found his hips. “Okay, let’s say I agree with you. I think the New Republic will probably want more than just some missing Jedi who turns up in a foreign military’s uniform negotiating his release,” he reasoned as diplomatically as possible. In a way it was practice. “I assume the Council will at least let us explain some of what’s happening here? At least with the Grysks?”
Eli shrugged.
“Kriff,” he swore, reading that for what it was, both by studying Eli’s face and reading his quiet resolve in the Force. “You don’t care about what they want me to say, do you?”
His hands flattened against the table as he pushed himself up. Brown eyes met Ezra’s blue ones. “Just make it happen.”
✵
Being summoned to Coruscant wasn’t anything new. It had happened enough over the years, even though the war was supposedly over, but it was very rare that Jacen was allowed to accompany his mom to a meeting.
Not that he was allowed in the meeting, because apparently ten years old was too young to sit in on New Republic intelligence meetings, but usually his Uncle Zeb sat with Jacen and told him that he didn’t understand half of the mumbo-jumbo they spouted anyway. But Uncle Zeb had been just as tense as Uncle Kallus when he’d greeted Jacen this morning. Something was going on, and nobody was saying anything.
Mom was good at hiding things, but Jacen knew when she was scared and upset. He didn’t tell her that, though. He’d learned not to tell anyone. It always made Mom and his aunt and uncles upset when he said he could tell how they were feeling. He didn’t like it when they were sad.
Whatever was happening in the room across the hall, it had his family very upset. He could feel the swirling confusion and anger and frustration—Aunt Sabine was always frustrated, it felt like—but also felt lighter feelings like hope and joy and love.
And light. He could feel so much light. It was bright, but not like a sun. It felt like a moon, peaceful and calm and resolute. He prodded at it and got a little wiggle back in response, almost like a wave. Delighted, he poked back again and was rewarded with what felt like a hand on his head, ruffling his hair just a little bit.
Jacen was so distracted by the odd interaction he was having—it had to be a Jedi, he thought, but he had never met a Jedi that wasn’t his Aunt Ahsoka before—that he jumped when a teenage girl lowered herself into the chair next to his.
“Oh!” She blurted, “I’m sorry.” Her words were accented strangely, but Jacen knew there were about a billion languages in the galaxy and he couldn’t name more than ten of them. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
In her defense, there were only two chairs.
“It’s fine,” he told her, kicking his legs a little. “Are you here for the meeting?”
She smiled at him, revealing dimples on her cheeks and the blue skin of her face. She had glowing red eyes, but otherwise looked like the Pantorans he’d met in the past. Maybe the girl had an eye condition? Mom always said it was impolite to ask that kind of stuff, so he decided against it.
“I am,” she answered. “You as well?”
“Yeah,” he said, studying her. Mom always told him to be wary of strangers, but his instincts were pretty good, and the older girl didn’t have any guards or people following her. Considering they were in the middle of the New Republic’s most secure meeting spot, she must be safe enough. Besides, his mom was known by, like, everyone in the galaxy for being a hero of the Rebellion. “I’m Jacen,” he told her.
“Un’hee,” she returned. “Hopefully we won’t be forced to wait here for the next century.”
Jacen squirmed. “Ugh, don’t even say that, you’ll jinx us!”
Un’hee laughed. The sound was clear and light, like the chimes Jacen’s grandpa had hung in the window of the bedroom he used when he stayed with him on Ryloth. It suited her, he decided.
“Do you know what’s going on in there?” He asked her. “Nobody would tell me anything.”
Sparing him an apologetic glance, she sighed. “I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you since you don’t already know.”
“I’m definitely old enough to know,” he blurted, “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It isn’t,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I often felt the same when I was your age. There’s a lot of responsibility put on you to obey, but not a lot of explanations given as to why you must listen. It’s really frustrating.”
He looked down at his feet, swinging his legs some more, even if it drew attention to the fact that he was short and young and not old enough to know anything interesting. “It is,” he agreed morosely. “Are you sure that there’s absolutely nothing you can tell me? Like not even a little bit of something?”
✵
Eli was going to pay for making Ezra the lead negotiator while he kicked back and waited on his cloaked ship in orbit. Ahsoka and Sabine were glaring at him with beady, betrayed looks in their eyes—and since when had they gotten so close?—while Hera, Zeb, and Kallus sat rigidly next to them, looking him over with fluctuating glances of fear and hope. It was more than kind of the worst.
The only upside in the whole thing was that the heavy lifting was mostly over. He’d met with Chancellor Mon Mothma’s secret weapon right out of the gate, so as long as he hadn’t blown things with Ahsoka and Hera in the last twenty minutes, he was pretty sure things would mostly work out in their favor. He appreciated Mothma pulling out all the stops, and even if he didn’t want to disappoint his family—and he was and would continue to do so by nature of his objective—he could respect her for valuing their opinions, too.
When it was over, he threw himself down onto the couches in the lounge they had been led to, flopping with no shortage of exasperation. Un’hee nudged him with the side of her leg as she passed by, heading straight for the expansive windows on the far side of the room.
He let her go. Coruscant was too much for him. It was too loud, full of too many voices, the past and the present warring against itself while the future became more and more shrouded in uncertainty.
“Dad said he always hated it here,” Un’hee told him. “It’s interesting, but—“ she turned back from the windows.
“Yeah,” Ezra agreed. “I’m from the Outer Rim, which is way far away from here.”
“Right.” She smiled at him, but the expression was thin. “Your, uh, Hera didn’t seem to like me very much,” she said.
Ezra threw a hand over his eyes. Sabine had been the one making threats, with Zeb looming behind her to back her up, but Hera’s gaze had been colder than a Csaplar Summer when they exited the meeting room to find Un’hee keeping her son, Jacen, company. It was clear that he didn’t know she was Chiss, and his chest had puffed up while he’d asked mother and uncles what the problem was and why they thought Un’hee was a problem. She had been nice and kept him company even if she hadn’t told him anything about what was happening, which she very clearly knew something about.
It had only gotten worse when she’d gone to Ezra’s side and the movement had drawn attention to the lightsaber dangling delicately from her belt. Ahsoka had raised an eyebrow in his direction, but remained silent, while Sabine had coughed up a bitter laugh, finding the whole thing a ridiculous mockery of everything they’d once stood for.
That had stoked Ezra’s temper, and despite Un’hee’s protest, he’d stood his ground. The Chiss were not the Empire, and their Force sensitives were not traditional Jedi. Un’hee was being trained as such with the endorsement of her family, but to the Chiss, she was more of a trial run than anything.
Which was a whole other stingfly nest that Mothma had then taken the liberty to explain from her position behind the group to Kallus, who had laughed one of those frightening, sanity-stretching laughs and proceeded to turn a little green as the implications set in.
In the end, they had parted ways warily.
Ezra sighed, “I told your dad I’m not the best at negotiations, but he decided to send me anyway.”
“Yeah, but weren’t the Jedi negotiators before the wars and the Empire?” He shrugged. They were, but agreeing was pretty hypocritical considering they were Jedi enlisted in a foreign military. “Besides, if he’d have gone first, wouldn’t they have arrested him?”
“Yeah, probably.” He sighed again, and she laughed at him. “As for Hera, Thrawn and the Empire did a lot of horrible things to our family. I know that’s not fair to you, but—“
“Better for her to hate me from the start than to begin to do so later, when she realizes my father is Thrawn’s… whatever he is.” They shared a commiserating glance.
Her poise and thoughtfulness were two of her greatest gifts. Like Ezra she was drawn to connection, but the Force moved differently through Chiss. Figuring out how to identify the way it connected to her and through her to those around her had been one of Ezra’s toughest challenges, but they had done it.
The rest of the ozlzy-esehembo was a whole other issue with a whole lot of stigma heaped onto it. Un’hee’s challenges would be great, but her goals were admirable. She didn’t want her people to treat more of their children the way they had treated her. She had tackled the grief and anger at her situation head on. It was what had prompted her to remove herself from the hierarchy of the Chiss and integrate herself amongst a Human family. But having the strength to walk away from what is expected of you to face an unrevealed future is a strength that Ezra had always understood.
Which is why he hadn’t been surprised to feel that tug behind his ribs the first time he had met her, nor to find she had also felt the pull of connection.
Thrawn had sacrificed himself to send Ezra to the Ascendancy because he felt that they had needed Ezra more at the time, what with Ezra being able to cut through the noise where the Grysks were concerned.
He wondered if Thrawn had ever expected that to be a teachable skill. Thrawn seemed so lost when it came to the Force, that it seemed like he’d be shocked to find that any of Ezra’s teachings bore fruit. He wondered if he’d actually get a reaction out of the man if and when Thrawn found out. When this was all said and done, maybe he’d arrange some way to show him.
“You have that look on your face that says you’re planning something, Master,” Un’hee told him. She plunked herself onto the floor beside his couch. An invisible finger tweaked his nose. He returned the sentiment with an equally invisible tug on the thick braid that contained the left half of her hair.
“I was thinking,” he explained, “About how freaked out Thrawn will be when he finds out about everything that’s happened.”
Un’hee hummed. “Yeah, Dad used to joke that he’d have whisker cubs when he found out. Or lay an egg, but—“
“Do Chiss lay eggs?” Ezra wondered aloud.
“Ezra, we have blocked our training bond every time you and Vah’nya have a night to yourselves.” She rolled her eyes. “If you don’t know by now, you are not trying hard enough.”
“Watch it, Padawan,” Ezra snapped, but his expression remained playful.
Un’hee laughed. It was a deep belly laugh, exuberant and full and Ezra couldn’t help but join her.
“Ezra,” she said between wheezing, trying to catch her breath, “You’re ridiculous.”
They were still laughing, albeit more quietly than they had started, when the door opened to reveal Hera standing beside Mon Mothma. Un’hee rose to her feet immediately, not standing at attention or anything, but recognizing the need to show respect. Ezra was slower to join her, but he did.
“Miss Vanto, if you would come with me, please,” Mothma began. Her eyebrows were still a little higher than normal, the disbelief that Un’hee’s father had not been killed by Thrawn but rather sent to aid his people still lingering. It probably would until—
Oh, Ezra thought, understanding. Things were moving right along.
“I wish to meet your father,” Mothma continued. “Your master told me he was nearby, aboard your ship.”
Un’hee nodded, shifting her weight from left leg to right. “He is, ma’am. I can summon him, but I feel you should be advised that a guard will likely accompany him. Five warriors, minimum.”
“You talk just like him,” she replied with an almost amused huff. “Very well, he and a small guard of no more than ten, please. I believe your intentions to be good, but we are trying to avoid incident.”
“Right.” Un’hee produced her comm and stepped forward all at once. “I’d be happy to contact him.”
“Excellent. While we await his arrival, would you be so kind as to join me for tea?”
“It would be my pleasure,” she said with a small grin, skipping off after the chancellor. Un’hee loved tea. It was something that had calmed her as a much younger child, and something Vanto had taken to making for her when the stress and trauma had gotten to be too much. He couldn’t fix things, but he could make her a cup of tea and offer to be there, to listen if she’d needed it.
A lot of their more difficult conversations happened over caccoleaf now, what with supply lines being ravaged in the war, but Eli always slipped them a few sachets whenever he could.
He dropped back onto the couch, taking care not to focus too much of his attention on Hera as Un’hee passed her on the way out. His padawan stepped to the side, giving the older woman a respectful nod, but a wide berth. When they were alone and she had nowhere else to look but in his direction, he gestured toward the comfortable chair situated across from him with a wave of the hand.
Hera’s hands found her hips. “I was actually hoping we might get out of here for a bit. Take a walk.”
Well, Ezra thought to himself, that didn’t hark back to some of the more difficult conversations of his youth, not at all.
“Is there something that needs fixing on the Ghost?” He joked lightly.
She smiled, just a little, automatically. It didn’t make it to her eyes though, and Ezra forced himself not to sigh as he rose and met her by the door. This was probably going to hurt, in more ways than one.
✵
His accommodations were spartan and modest. These were not the heavy draperies preferred by the Emperor or those who styled the Imperial palace. The colors were light—whites and creams, starched and worn linens that were both comfortable and unassuming. No one had spoken to him outside of interrogation, but he had been prepared for that eventuality. The agents he had spoken to were decent conversationalists, none of which had ever found themselves in Imperial service. They treated him like a sentient being, and without the overwhelming superiority displayed by those who remained within the dying Empire’s ranks. It was… refreshing.
Or at least, as refreshing as a situation could be when he had such little information available to process what had happened. One minute he had been shoving Bridger into the pilot’s seat of the shuttle, setting coordinates he knew by heart, telling the young Jedi to let his Force guide him, and in the next he had been overtaken and captured.
He had thought he would have the opportunity to escape, but he had not known the Empire’s remnants had taken such a thorough interest in cloning, nor would he have anticipated himself to be a specimen worth exploiting to that end. It had not felt like any time had passed since he’d been sedated and put in cold-sleep to be preserved for cloning, but if he went by the information shared with him, it had been nearly seven years.
The door to his quarters opened and two guards stepped through. He didn’t move from his position sitting on the sparse bed except to hold his hands out in a display of non-aggression. He knew that the Rebellion had won, that it was now the New Republic. He had been told that Mon Mothma had been named chancellor.
He had also spent a great deal of time being interrogated while in the presence of a young Jedi named Luke Skywalker. He highly doubted the name was a second coincidence but rather some twining of fate dictated by the way Thrawn’s lifepath had crossed with his father’s previously. He had the man’s eyes, in a way, his mannerisms, however tempered. Thrawn was not in a place to waste his questions on such trivial things, so he did not bother to ask if the woman he’d known as Padmé was indeed the Jedi’s mother.
“Time to go,” said one of the guards—a pale purple-skinned Mirialan woman with a deep voice and the kind of bulk seen on those who paid great attention to their physique and muscle form. She sized him up when he offered his wrists to be bound. “Think we need to bind your legs as well?”
“If that is your prerogative,” he mused as she clamped the binders on him.
“Sifa—“ the other guard was a slightly less bulky Human. “We should probably just do it,” he said nervously.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” she squinted at him. “But you’re welcome to cuff and drag him to the chamber on your own. I might be strong but the big guy here’s pretty solid.”
The Human sighed. “Fine, he can go unbound, but no funny business.”
Thrawn looked up at him. The man gulped. “I do not plan to try anything.”
“Maker, Akka, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Sifa, you do know who this guy is, right?”
The one called Sifa shrugged. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to, what with the whole ‘lone alien in the Imperial military’ thing and all. But how’d that work out for him?”
“Rather poorly, apparently,” Thrawn deadpanned before the Human could answer.
Sifa laughed. “Well, sounds like they’ve decided what to do with ya—“
“You’re not supposed to tell him th—“
“—so you won’t be our problem much longer.”
Thrawn lifted his bowed head to look at the woman. “Do you know what they intend to do?”
“I don’t,” she said, sizing him up. “Still think I ought not to bind your ankles?”
“I do not plan to run from whatever decision has been made by the New Republic,” Thrawn told her.
Akka crossed his arms. “Even if they plan to execute you?”
Thrawn exhaled a measured breath, slow and even. “I have considered that to be a likely possibility.”
Failure was a part of every warrior’s life. And here, at what may very well be the end, Thrawn would not waver in his convictions. He had done the best he could with what resources he’d had. It would be enough or it wouldn’t.
Perhaps the fate of the Chiss Ascendancy was no longer in his hands, if indeed it ever truly had been to begin with. If this was to be his end, he would face it with dignity.
✵
Mon Mothma’s wan smile was much older than Eli remembered, but then again, his was, too. He was no stranger to the lines around his eyes or the silvery glint in his hair that occasionally caught the light. Time had been hard on them both, he thought.
“Your daughter is lovely,” she offered diplomatically.
“She’s a handful,” Eli responded. He jerked his chin toward the courtyard where Ezra and Un’hee sat in a patch of sunlight. The pair sat across from each other, legs folded beneath them, hands still on their thighs. They looked at ease here in the former palace in a way Eli never had. Even now, he felt the unease of this place in his bones. “He’s good with her, though.”
“They remind me of the Jedi of old,” she said. “Not that I worked extensively with them, but more the stories I’d been told growing up.”
“Ah,” Eli remarked. While he was younger than Mothma, he too recalled the stories of the lightsaber-slinging fighters who stopped bandits and quelled arguments between warring factions on tiny worlds like the one he’d grown up on. “I had expected you to compare them to Skywalker.”
“Luke is a different breed, I think,” She said softly. “His training almost surely has been more unorthodox, even considering Bridger’s master was hardly a master at all.”
“We don’t all walk the same paths,” he mused. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Their footsteps slowed to a stop. “No,” she allowed, “I suppose not. Though I do mourn the loss of those prospective avenues.” She turned to look at him. “I recall specifically pushing a contact of mine, I believe you’d remember him—“
“I remember Neville Cygni,” Eli rasped. “Nightswan, whatever names you people called him. Spent nearly twelve years of my life chasing that man across the galaxy.”
“He always wanted Thrawn, even if he never truly expected Thrawn to join us.” She hummed. “Of course, I knew he had some higher purpose. He presented himself as a foolish genius, but he was never that ignorant or stupid. His reasons to serve the Empire had a root our cause would never have lured him away from.” She began to move again, not looking to see if he would follow simply because she knew he would. “But you,” she sighed. “If only we had gotten to you before Thrawn had won you over, perhaps—“
“It doesn’t do to dwell on what might have been, Chancellor,” Eli told her grimly. “I might spend the rest of my life cleaning up the aftermath of a regime that had no backup plan for the future they so carefully cultivated.”
She blinked at him in quiet disbelief, then resignation. “And so they’ve sent you to undo the harm that has been done in exiling him?”
“In a way,” he supposed. Thrawn would never command a fleet in the way he once had. The Syndicure, despite their commentary on the damage done by exiling him in the first place, would never allow it. Much like they’d never promote Eli beyond Senior Captain, even if he sat on the council amidst a peer group of admirals. Retrieving Thrawn was both deeply personal for Eli as well as all those with whom Eli had thrown in, but also for the betterment of those who would come after them. The Ascendancy needed every protector the galaxy had to offer. “That damage may never truly be undone.”
“I know the feeling,” Mothma offered. Her smile, no less tired, seemed more sincere now. “But we persist, regardless.”
✵
The chamber fell silent as the doors opened, admitting first a Human guard, then Thrawn, and then a woman with skin that was the color of Ool’s inky twilight. He kept his head up, but it was very doubtful that he noticed her, much less her master, who grew more and more restless at her side. They had meditated earlier, but this place was marked by an unending sadness that time could not erase.
Un’hee understood. Some warnings were not meant to be forgotten, even if that endless sadness had seemed slightly less burdened in their shared meditation.
Ezra was not a difficult master, and while she had struggled with that word, she found it to mean less in that he owned her and more in that he owned his wisdom and sought to share it with her. She nudged his arm with her elbow.
“Alright?” She whispered.
“I feel like I should be asking you,” he said with a guilty smile. She hated crowds, after all, and it was standing room only here in the assembly, even if they had come in late and lingered just inside the doorway. But he was struggling even more than she was. Some of his family also stood in the gallery to watch the proceedings. She could feel the bite of their stronger emotions, especially betrayal.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I’m fine, Master,” she murmured. They weren’t great with emotions, not like how Eli always knew just what to say to them both, but she let herself admit, softly, “I know I’m safe with you.”
He linked their fingers and squeezed before letting go.
“I think this is the part where you tell me I’m a wise padawan,” she continued, the words turning into a grumble when she felt an invisible tug on her right braid.
“Quiet, wise one,” he murmured. “It’s starting.”
Un’hee rolled her eyes. “Yes, Master Jabba,” she scoffed lightly, looking up into the very verdant and skeptical gaze of Hera Syndulla. She held the older woman’s gaze. Syndulla didn’t have to like her or her people, nor did she have to be a jerk and act like Un’hee was some threat to her son. But she would show Ezra some respect. Ezra had told Un’hee so much about the love and devotion his family had shown to each other, how it was a choice, having nothing to do with the circumstances of their birth or abilities and everything to do with choice. He had been pulled to his master by the Force, but starting his training and joining his master’s patchwork family had been a decision he had made over and over again.
After enduring a moment of the woman’s calculating stare—complete with raised eyebrow—Syndulla relented with a single nod before returning her attention to the proceedings.
Un’hee sighed. She didn’t understand why it had to be such a big deal. Yes, she was Chiss, but if they had taken the time to understand, to listen, perhaps they’d have learned that she needed Ezra the way Ezra had once needed them.
Meanwhile, the proceedings continued without her. The politics of the thing was, in a word, boring. She didn’t care about which paragraph and subsection of which charters declared what crimes had been committed years earlier, she only cared that they turned him over to them at the end of all their posturing about it.
“It’s almost over,” Ezra said, seeming to sense her impatience. He led them forward through a maze of disgruntled people who balked at the sight of their dark matching uniforms then paled at the sight of the lightsabers that dangled from their belts. “Pay attention.”
Mon Mothma conducted the proceedings herself, a board of military and political officials standing to either side of her. None of them looked happy about this. They looked wary of the man who stood before them, but Thrawn looked nothing like the man she remembered. He seemed less without a military uniform, as though he went without armor. He seemed lanky rather than broad, more like a man who needed protecting than one who could save anyone.
“What say you, Thrawn?” Mothma questioned him.
“It is as you say,” he said slowly. “Of the crimes for which you seek to convict me, I am most certainly guilty.”
It was clear that he either could not or would not save himself.
Maybe that was the point. He had saved so many people who had no idea what he’d done, and he had paid that cost, even if the cost was blood. The eyes of those here, it made him a villain. She wondered if he felt like one. She had never seen him as a hero, because that was not the man she had learned about.
Her father spoke of a flawed, lonely man with an obsessive personality he used like a weapon, but would teach anyone who was willing to truly listen to him. Her aunts spoke of the stories whispered in places people ought not to speak, and her uncle said he was ostracized for his decisions as a commander but every single one of his maneuvers is taught to new officers at Taharim. Her master said that he had been a devastating enemy, but no one is ever truly irredeemable. He also said that sometimes, there really is no greater good or lesser evil, no matter how hard you try to stack the odds in your favor.
Ezra put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, likely sensing the direction of her thoughts through the bond they shared. His smile was gentle and confident, the one he wore when he was summoned to speak before the Syndicure on behalf of the Navigator Program initiatives they, along with Eli and her aunts, were working on.
“Your guards say you have considered execution to be one of the possible sentences this council might mete out.” Chancellor Mothma studied Thrawn with sharp eyes, the way Admiral Ar’alani did when looking for something a person was lying about. “It would be dishonest to say that we have not thought about it.” Her lips pursed. “We have likewise considered exchanging you for political prisoners, however this council is in agreement that you are not an adversary we would like to face in battle.”
“Then death,” Thrawn murmured.
“Should you be so keen to end your life, I do not believe this council would object,” Mothma supposed, the room breaking out in subdued laughter. Thrawn did not react to it, but Un’hee heard Ezra’s unspoken nudge in her mind to dispel her anger. She unclenched her fists. Mothma continued. “There is another option.”
He lifted his head to meet the chancellor’s gaze. Un’hee didn’t sense hope or despair from him. All she could sense was a detached sort of resolve. It was like he had given and given until nothing remained.
“I have been approached,” Mothma told him, “By a Jedi emissary who wishes to see you extradited to the,” she paused, looking down at the notes before her, “Rot’san’esibi.”
That was their cue, Un’hee realized. When they came forward, they did so as one unit.
She stood to Thrawn’s left, and Ezra to his right. Dipping her head and speaking with a gentle deference, Un’hee said in Basic, “With all-due respect Chancellor, it’s pronounced Rot’san’esibi.”
Mothma inclined her head even as Ezra turned to her in shock and outrage. “Padawan,” he murmured in warning.
“Sorry,” she said, bowing to the chancellor and the council both with an appropriate amount of apology etched into her features.
To be honest, however, she wasn’t sorry at all. Thrawn had whirled halfway around to stare at her as though she’d reached out and struck him. Good, she thought, keeping her gaze forward. He had been looking too docile for her liking.
✵
It was cooler aboard the ship, and for a moment, Eli let his shoulders drop in a way he usually didn’t. Ezra had sent confirmation that things were moving along according to plan, but until Thrawn was well and truly secure and that was everything he could have hoped for. Bridger had likewise confirmed that the man he was retrieving was the same man that Eli had once served.
That was also excellent news that Eli was relieved to receive, but things were different now. Eli was different now. He had fought an entire civil war without him. He couldn’t say when it had happened, but he wasn’t the same person. They wouldn’t be on the same footing as they were before.
He wasn’t even certain that what he had once felt with such conviction would stand up to the time and distance that had stretched between them. Thrawn had lost years in stasis. The galaxy had crept on. Eli had raised a child in the throes of war, had bitten off far more than he could chew, had been threatened with death and threatened far worse than in return when his back was against the wall. He had lost battles and subordinates and friends and gained responsibilities he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for.
He had become what he needed to be for the people that were counting on him. He had plenty of regrets, but if he had to go back and do it again, he wouldn’t alter his course.
“Sir?”
Shaking himself from his musings, Eli turned and raised his head to meet the gaze of the young officer sent to retrieve him. “Hello, Junior Commander,” he said, taking a second to check their rank pins before studying their face. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“N-no sir, I—“ they ducked their head, nervous. It was the reaction a commander might have when speaking to someone much higher ranked than a senior captain, if that senior captain was anyone other than Eli. It would have been funny, if not for the fact that it seemed like the tall, lanky officer with short cropped hair was trying to bend themselves in half. “This is my first deep space deployment.”
“Well then,” Eli said, offering a grin and an outstretched hand, “I’m Senior Captain Eli. Welcome aboard my ship.” They clasped forearms, and Eli didn’t comment on the younger officer’s shaking hand.
“Junior Commander Kinu’rui’imelask, sir. It’s a pleasure to be aboard.”
“Nuruii?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded, stepping back. “Excellent. I’m still not perfect at core names so don’t hesitate to correct me if you need to.” They nodded, surprise evident on their face. It wasn’t difficult to understand why. It was unheard of to publicly correct a senior officer, even if the junior officer was indeed correct. “To which meeting have you been sent to drag me to?”
They flushed. “The Council would like an update, sir.”
“I bet,” he said gamely, then added, “On a scale from one to ten, how annoyed was First Officer Lakinsa when she sent you?”
“Senior Captain Lakinsa non-verbally suggested I ought not to comment if asked a variant of this question,” Nuruii answered, swallowing audibly.
“That bad, huh?” He tapped the junior commander on the shoulder in sympathy. “Well, I guess I better not continue to test her expired patience.”
“I think that’s wise, sir,” Nuruii murmured.
“Agreed. Lead the way.”
Whatever was going to happen, would happen, Eli decided. There was simply nothing else to say.
✵
“Welcome to the Dragon’s Maw,” the officer said as Ezra and Un’hee led him off the shuttle and into a very expansive and loud hangar. “It’s the newest iteration of a Nightdragon man-o-war and aptly named.” She smiled when he said nothing, but didn’t drone on with what was clearly a practiced speech given to politicians who chose to shadow the crew on their assignments. Instead she turned her attention to Bridger. “You’re being summoned for debriefing. Best to get it done now so you don’t spend the blackout writing reports.”
“Ugh, probably,” Bridger said. “But I—“
“I’ve got him from here, Ezra,” the woman smiled at him. “The Syndicure has waited long enough already.”
“Yes, Senior Captain,” he said, still managing to groan about the order like he had many of Thrawn’s directives. That was… years ago, now. The man who stood beside him was older and more secure, though he certainly retained his youthful whims, if the shuttle ride here was any indication.
His padawan, however, was a matter of great curiosity. As if sensing his attention, Un’hee turned to him with a contemplative look that was too gentle to be called a smile. “You’ll be in good hands with First Officer Lakinsa,” she said.
“You honor me,” the senior captain replied, “But off you go. Too many of the Syndics know my name now.”
“Yeah, pretty sure that had nothing to do with your assignment,” Bridger said, nudging her shoulder as a friend would. She glared at him and he jumped back with a cheeky grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
“You sure you’re alright, Bridger?”
“What?” He rubbed the back of his head and Un’hee tensed. Not fine, then, Thrawn suspected. “I’m good.”
She glowered at him.
“It’s been a long week,” he murmured, sweeping past her. “Come on Padawan, let’s go talk to the Syndicure. I bet they missed us.”
Un’hee bounced along after him, but stopped just before the hatch that led out of the hangar and pointed up.
Beside him, Senior Captain Lakinsa huffed. “She’s drawing your attention to the Clawcraft,” the woman told him. Thrawn let his head tip back and was rewarded with the sight of rows and rows of cradles that housed tri-pronged ships the color of teeth and bone.
“The dragon’s maw indeed,” Thrawn remarked softly, approval in his tone.
✵
It was only natural that three hours into the quietest three hours of Senior Captain Lakinsa’s time in the tender embrace of Defense Fleet service, every Chaos-damned alarm and summons seemed to go off at once. The bridge alarms had rigged to her questis, a feat of her own engineering implementations, so it was the sound of the proximity, officer, and battle stations that finally snapped the statuesque man she’d escorted all over the ship back to something more organic. Personally she had decided he was in a state of shock, but the medical officer corrected that assumption by declaring him healthy.
She tapped her questis to return acknowledgement to the comms officer issuing the summons before looking up into his eyes. His desire to be curious was clearly warring with the desire to be unobtrusive.
Honestly, he was not at all what she expected. She was expecting to get some combination of Eli and Ezra with a sense of humor drier than Ool’s northern desert. Ezra had warned her before their arrival her that he might need time to adjust to the time he’d lost, but it was either the Imps who were pissed at them for capitalizing on their cluster fuck of a situation, or else those growser-shit eating Grysks that attacking them, which meant Lakinsa no longer had the bandwidth for coddling.
“Alright, playtime is over,” she said, whirling around in the direction of the nearest lift. “We’re going to the bridge.” He stared after her, unmoving, which she tolerated for less than a second. “With me, now, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. You’re cleared for duty. Until we figure out your rank you can shadow me.”
That got him moving and into the lift at a snappy pace. When the doors closed behind them, she yanked her questis free from her belt again, sifting through information even as she briefed him. “Only rules on our bridge are that you don’t withhold a good idea, you trust your navigators implicitly, and if your Family has a problem with how we do our jobs, tell them they can send their fucking fleets to do it better when you file your complaint to the nearest syndic.”
“I see.”
“No you don’t,” Lakinsa said. “Your Family’s a bunch of fuck-ups, just like mine.” She slanted her gaze in his direction, taking in his arched eyebrows and adding, “Trust me. My father is Patriarch Labaki.”
That got his attention like nothing else yet.
She lifted a single eyebrow, forcing herself not to glower or worse, pout in his direction. “Don’t you be looking for him in me.”
“I am not,” he said. The lift doors opened and they were moving again. “I was not expecting a patriarch to allow their blood child to serve.”
“He didn’t. I joined up when I found out his grand plan for surviving the civil war was to wait it out and rule over the remains like it’s the damned Sith Age.” They were nearly through the aft bridge hatch which was open, her domain and the black of space waiting beyond it. She smiled at the back of the command chair, momentarily recalling the incident and its aftermath. “Come on. I’ll give you a history lesson later if you’re up for it.”
There were murmurs as he shadowed her. She was certain they were eyeing the rankless uniform he wore, but more importantly the twin multi-circle patches on his uniform to determine if he could be trusted. They weren’t the norm in other places. On this ship more wore them than anywhere else, but the bias of Family loyalty was a necessary evil they traversed daily.
Ezra and Un’hee lingered at the comms and navigator stations, respectively. She caught the nod Ezra gave her, his blue eyes sparkling in approval. She slipped between two officers standing around the gaps of the central console ring, but he didn’t follow.
“Ugh, get over here,” she said, turning back, grabbing him by the belt that slanted across his chest, and forcibly dragging him toward her. To his credit, he didn’t stumble.
“I see you’ve been properly welcomed to the Maw,” said Chief Weapons Officer Jerib from his station. She rolled her eyes at him and he shifted focus. She only tolerated the ribbing because he had been the one to roll out the same welcome for her years earlier. “Eight destroyers, ma’am. Neither Jedi senses anything out of the ordinary.”
She sighed. “Pellaeon?”
“Pellaeon,” her commanding officer confirmed grimly from his place at the forward viewport.
✵
“The Shadow Council is not your ally, Captain Pellaeon,” Vanto said. His voice was firm. “How long were you waiting for Thrawn’s return while they played stupid? They knew exactly where he was because they were the ones that arranged his capture.”
Pellaeon’s reply was the deep rumble of a seasoned officer. “The council is all that keeps the Remnants together.”
“The Remnants are cannibalizing each other!” The boom of Vanto’s voice echoed throughout the bridge. “You’re an honorable man, Gilead. You’re playing by rules that they’ve cast by the wayside to suit their own best interests. If I were you, I’d go to Mon Mothma and negotiate your surrender.”
“That would be suicide.”
The conversation crawled to a stop. It would indeed be a risk to surrender, but—
“And I will not betray those I serve to keep myself from a life sentence.” Pellaeon paused and the projection of him from the bridge of his star destroyer made a little shrug with his silent sigh. “The amnesty programs are a joke. Propaganda to cover indentured servitude while double agents spout rhetoric all over each other.”
That was true. “I wasn’t suggesting you go that route. You know about the threat that has been present in the Outer Rim since before the war and you know it. I told Mothma the basics. You could help her root it out.”
“That threat is only a threat if your people don’t stop it,” he argued. “And the New Republic supports demilitarization. They’ll never allow an organized military presence to exist and certainly not a presence tied to the Empire.”
Turning his head, Vanto spoke in Cheunh to the person beside him. They shook their head, their face too far back from the sensor to be in focus.
Do you wish to return, Vanto had asked. It was clear that Thrawn had declined the offering.
Maker, he was a real kriffing idiot sometimes.
“I won’t be relinquishing Thrawn,” Vanto said. “And I respect your convictions, though I would prefer to settle this without bloodshed.”
Pellaeon’s expression hardened. “How do you intend to escape us?” He asked. “We have you outnumbered eight to one.”
“To be honest,” Vanto chuckled, throwing a bubbling hiss of static over the transmission, “We don’t.”
“Then I suppose we’re done here,” Pellaeon corrected.
“I guess so,” Vanto agreed. There was no give in his voice. The conversation was over.
Karyn Faro turned her back to the aft bridge holoprojector and strode forward to stand between the darkened crew pits. The projection followed her, displaying the two men in larger than life clarity at the end of the command deck’s walkway. In the crew pits, her people worked diligently. “I want the fleet at full combat readiness in ten seconds.”
It took seven for the Eleventh Fleet to reveal itself from its stealth rigging. At ten, her weapons officer had fired a warning shot just wide of Pellaeon’s ISD, preventing it from establishing a tractor lock on the Chiss warship.
“If you’re looking for a fight, Captain, I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for me as your opponent.” Faro clasped her gloved hands behind her back and looked up at the board before staring back into the recorder lens. “The Ascendancy is happy to let us Imperials self-govern.”
The lack of response was enough to tell her he was issuing orders. He was one of the better ones, and though it would be a pointless loss, she respected him for standing his ground until the bitter end.
It was better to go down fighting than surrender.
✵
As quickly as the chaos began, so too did it end. The Imperial conflict had reached its conclusion. “Thanks for the assist, Faro,” Eli said.
On the bridge monitor, Faro offered a Chiss salute: closed fist over heart, bowing forward slightly. “Always a pleasure to team up with an old friend, Senior Captain.” She offered back, a stern smile twisting her lips. “Give my regards to Thrawn, if you would.”
“Consider it done.” Eli’s eyes flashed to Thrawn and back.
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a uniform to finally incinerate.”
“Warrior’s fortune to you and the Eleventh,” he said, words rounded by the traces of a laugh. “I’ll demote you as soon as I get back.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she replied tersely. “Faro out.”
Un’hee accepted Eli’s unspoken order with a nod of her head, setting the ship on an outgoing trajectory that faced nearly opposite the direction they had been heading as the Eleventh Fleet retreated to the void.
“Alright Padawan,” Ezra said when Un’hee pushed herself back from the nav console with both palms, “Time to get back to our meeting. Should only be another hour or two before we blackout.”
Un’hee grunted acknowledgement. “If we must. Navigator Kef’kei can take it from here.” The taller girl was already flitting through the first row of consoles and smiled at Un’hee as their paths crossed. “Your positioning was really good,” she told Kef’kei. “I didn’t have to do anything on arrival but keep an eye out.”
Kef’kei’s blush was a magnificent purplish color, like the sky before sunrise touched the horizon. “Thanks,” she mumbled back shyly. The younger girl was much quieter than Un’hee had turned out to be, but her skills were nearly unrivaled, even by the likes of more senior navigators like Vah’nya and Un’hee.
“You know the way, Navigator,” Eli said, leaving his position near the forward monitor to reward the girl with a warm smile. “Take us home.”
“Yes, Eli,” Kef’kei agreed, bowing her head as her fingers closed over the controls.
Standard procedure followed. The ebb and flow of protocol all around was soothing. The bridge quieted like a pond that had allowed a ripple to settle, settling to a poised baseline of dimmed lights and dull whispers.
Ezra dragged Un’hee off with a jaunty salute and promised not to mouth off to anyone—including Labaki and Thurfian, both of whom were keenly interested in leading the so-called discussions. If anyone was telling anyone to fuck off they typically got in line behind Eli (unless it was Labaki, in which case everyone knew Lakinsa had first crack by dint of her upbringing).
“Well then,” Eli’s voice cut through the quiet, “Did you get everything done?”
Lakinsa nodded. Her questis had been clipped back to her belt. “Just about.”
“Any issues?”
“No, sir.”
“Excellent.”
Lakinsa went over to check in with the comms officer, directing Thrawn to an unoccupied nav console rather than having him follow. Eli pulled up a report on the forward monitor and studied it before checking something on his questis, tapping pointedly and shifting the monitor to display another screen with a map and indicators. He moved through that intel carefully, keying in notes and moving through his work with an attention to detail that was legendary.
When Lakinsa returned to Eli’s side nearly an hour later, Thrawn did not rise to follow her.
“Sir, should I—“
He cut off her pointed whisper with a glance. “He’s fine. Leave him be. Your shift ended twenty minutes ago.”
“I know, but I don’t mind…”
“I know.” He finished typing a recommendation on the current screen, then tapped over to another window. “We need some time to feel each other out.”
“And you’re doing that by just…” she made a small sweep of her hand in front of herself, trying not to draw anyone’s attention to the conversation they were having. He lifted his eyebrows, inviting her commentary, but she knew him well enough by now. “Sir, just when I think I understand you,” she said, sounding a little wry, “You always change it up on me.”
“I’m told that’s part of my charm, Senior Captain,” he offered her a toothy smile. She returned it with a small salute.
Thrawn looked up at her as she made for the exit. “Senior Captain Lakinsa?” He asked quietly.
“Stay put,” she said, waving him off. “Senior Captain Eli’s orders. I believe he thinks it will aid in your reintegration.”
He cast his eyes to Eli and back. “Understood,” he murmured. “Thank you for taking the time to escort me about.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said, turning away. She took another step aft before turning back around and looking down into his eyes. “I mean that.” She paused before adding a quieter, “Just thought you should know.”
He lifted his chin, studying her. His gaze changed. It grew sharper, but remained seemingly as unknowable as the blank look he’d worn before.
She wasn’t sure why that made her smile. Maybe she welcomed the assessing, calculative scrutiny because it was more genuine than anything else he had offered her. She continued to hold his gaze through it, spine straight. It only lasted a few seconds. Three, maybe, then that glint was lost for something lesser, but not as blank as it had been earlier.
For a moment, she had seen and been seen by the man she knew from the stories.
✵
“Don’t feel obligated to make conversation,” Vanto murmured as he passed, beckoning for Thrawn to join him. The crew was currently rigging the ship for stealth, if Thrawn was understanding correctly. They called it blackout. Vanto continued, “You don’t owe me anything.”
Thrawn nodded solemnly and rose.
Nearby, the comms station made a quiet ping-click as it went offline. The bridge around them carried on as normal, used to the change in operating procedure. Within five minutes, the navigators had traded off mid-jump, and the bridge crew had likewise changed over to secondary command staff. The commander was an older man with hair that was entirely silver. He stole Vanto’s attention for a few moments before continuing his first check-in with the bridge crew.
With his shift concluded, they exited the aft hatch: First Vanto, with Thrawn following.
Thrawn had anticipated the need to slow his steps as he had earlier with Senior Captain Lakinsa, however Vanto walked just as quick and with the same kind of urgency he’d had when he was an aide, trailing along behind Thrawn’s confident stride. Together they strode down the hall, Vanto being greeted respectfully as they went.
When they entered the lift, he waited for the doors to close in front of them, then let his fingers hover over the floor selection. “My plan is to return to my office on the third sublevel; I have some things to do while we can’t be reached. You’re welcome to join me or do your own thing.”
There was a great deal to study in this Eli Vanto. He held himself differently. Age had granted him more patience than he’d had previously, and he conducted himself with more confidence. This was not a young man anticipating Thrawn to be testing him.
Like with Bridger and Un’hee, it made Thrawn feel the cognitive dissonance of his situation rather keenly. Vanto was casual and covert in his study, and had clearly chosen to let Thrawn dictate what he needed. There had not been any debrief or interrogation included in his onboarding, but based on what he’d gleaned from Bridger and the confrontation with the Imperial Remnant, they knew more than he did at this juncture.
When he didn’t answer, Vanto made a decision. He tapped the fourth sublevel, then the third, and stepped back beside Thrawn. “Your biometrics will allow you to access everything the senior staff has access to. Ezra will likely show up to drag you to the mess, but let me or Lakinsa know if you’d prefer some space.”
The lift opened on Vanto’s floor. He turned to face Thrawn, his expression one Thrawn once knew. Except, there were age lines crinkling the corners of his eyes now and the slightly sharper angle of his jaw thinning his cheeks and the subtle glint of grey hair beginning to lighten his dark hair and the stubble of a long day dusted his face.
Last time, Vanto had been so desperate for Thrawn to see him. To validate and acknowledge his efforts.
This man, now, sought nothing. Thrawn felt a warm prickle in his stomach. Pride, perhaps, tempered by a widening chasm of loneliness.
The back of Vanto’s hand brushed against his own. It was warm. Thrawn was not sure if the contact was intentional. “There are at least eighty nine hours before we’ll be out of blackout,” he reminded Thrawn, adding, “You have time to work through things. There’s no need to rush.”
He stepped out of the elevator. The doors closed, and Thrawn was alone. The freedom was as soothing as it was oppressive, but Thrawn ignored it. He stepped out onto the subdeck and finally produced the questis he’d been issued. It had the same basic permissions as any other crew member, and his biometrics gave him access to the same areas as the senior officers aboard ship. That had not been what he was expecting. His room was at the end of the hall, in a quiet alcove at the opposite end of the deck from the rec facilities and lounge.
The hatch to his quarters unfurled and he stepped in. It was familiar in an odd, dreamlike way, yet more advanced than any defense fleet ship he could recall. The space was sparse and perfunctory, save for a tin of Bridger’s favorite tea on the small space passed for a kitchenette and a paper envelope with his name on it. He recognized the writing as Ar’alani’s, elegant and severe like the woman herself.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect from what awaited him inside, but it most certainly had not been for the two small pins to drop into his hands. They were his, Thrawn knew, though he had not worn them in a very long time. There were two pieces of paper included as well. One was a printed copy of his reinstatement to senior captain. The other was similarly official and recalled his sentence of exile, signed personally by Patriarch Mitth’urf’ianico himself and witnessed by now Supreme Admiral Ar’alani and the other three admirals on the council with her.
He traced his fingers over the raised multi-circle seal of the Ascendancy and thought, oddly enough, of Eli Vanto.
Vanto had used his full name with Pellaeon, but the Chiss no longer called him Ivant as Ar’alani had mentioned in their last meeting.
At last, he realized, they were on even footing. It was that sudden clarity that had him leaving the papers on the counter and exiting his quarters, turning back toward the lift. The ride took only a moment, and locating his destination took little effort. He requested entry at the small scanner outside the door and stepped back.
Nothing happened for some time and Thrawn stood outside Vanto’s door in silence. His expectation that the door would unlock for him immediately had him deliberating. Had he misinterpreted things?
Was Vanto not expecting him?
Seconds later the lock flashed a pale teal before the hatch unfurled. There was less light inside the office than out in the hall, leaving Vanto backlit by the projectors that lay deep inside his space.
“Hey,” he said. His posture betrayed some surprise, but it didn’t stop him from welcoming Thrawn in.
So, he had indeed misjudged the situation.
“What’s that look for?”
He met those dark human eyes. They were as warm and expressive as he remembered, and right now, Thrawn noted concern in them.
“It was not my intention to disturb your time,” he said carefully. “I was under the impression you were expecting me.”
“Ah.” Vanto gave Thrawn his back as he headed further inside. The office was a standard commander’s suite with an expansive desk, several projectors, a pair of plush chairs opposite the desk, and several monitors mounted to the walls. On the wall behind the desk was a repeater display that showed the view of space outside, but since they currently moved at lightspeed, the display was dimmed, showing a more subdued version of their hyperspace voyage. “Well, to be fair, I talked myself out of expecting anything.” He shrugged, and a little smile graced his face when he turned back. “Figured it would be easier that way.”
“I see,” Thrawn said, and took the chair Vanto offered him. Over the massive desk, a projector displayed an expansive data matrix with several other screens of information on either side of it. Based on the type of data, Thrawn could tell it was Sky-walker data he’d been studying. “Was it?”
Vanto sidestepped the question smoothly enough, but to Thrawn, his reticence was obvious. “It’s been a lot longer for me than it has for you.”
“It has,” he allowed. “Much has changed since I was captured by the Empire.” He folded his fingers together. “The Command Articles never would have allowed for this sort of undertaking.”
“I’m sure they didn’t.” There was a moment when Vanto’s gaze narrowed slightly. “They don’t now, either, but Ar’alani isn’t Ba’kif and Thurfian, while unendingly petty, selfish, and probably in it for the right reasons, does want to protect the whole Ascendancy.”
“Civil war,” Thrawn commented
“Five years of it,” Vanto agreed. “We’re down to four Ruling Families. Regrettably,” he continued, the lack of said regret obvious in his tone, “The Mitth fell on their swords for exiling a resource the Ascendancy desperately needed when the Grysks inevitably took advantage of their infighting.”
“That is hardly Thurfian’s fault,” Thrawn said. “My exile was fabricated.”
Lips pursing with the effort of a smile withheld, he retorted, “Well, he didn’t know that until afterward, when he’d taken the Irizi down with him in a blaze of glory.”
“Interesting,” Thrawn said. “I take it Zistalmu was in fact the patriarch of the Irizi?”
“Indeed he is,” Leaning back in the second visitor’s chair beside him, Vanto crossed his arms. “Is this really what you want to hear about? Politics?”
Thrawn considered that, but pressed on around Vanto’s prodding. “I can presume the reason you were chosen for this operation easily enough,” he mused. “I likewise assume we are now openly at war with the Grysks, given this ship and its outfitting with multiple fighter wings.” Vanto nodded. “Those factors are enough to determine what my next steps are. As you have not confined me to quarters, I am to be used as a weapon against our enemy. I likewise assume based on our trajectory and your words to Karyn Faro that we are en route to Naporar.”
“We are.” He grinned. “Glad to see you haven’t missed a trick.”
“I was in stasis and uninjured,” Thrawn reminded him plainly. He crossed his right leg over his left. “My mental faculties remain uncompromised.”
“Good to know. We need you and that brilliant mind of yours.” Vanto’s expression clouded for a moment, some brief indecision washing over him. It broke as quickly as it came, the decision made not to remain silent. “I fucking missed you, you know,” he said, just a trace of his former self consciousness returning in the way that he didn’t make eye contact as he said it. He did cast his gaze toward Thrawn afterward, adding, “Could use a friend, if you’re interested.”
It was the way he said it that suggested to Thrawn that the offer was for something more than mere friendship. He felt the echo of memory, of another life when he’d been claimed as another’s family. The root of both scenarios, their foundations and roots, they were incredibly similar, if only that Thrawn knew this was a man in whom he found duality and partnership, rather than a sibling.
There was only one way to answer that insinuation.
“I would like that,” Thrawn told him. “I would like that very much, Eli.”
Eli’s answering grin was like a sunrise, heralding a new day Thrawn found himself ready to begin.