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Given that the Empire frowned upon unauthorized communications in general, to put it mildly, it was not a simple task to periodically retrieve and respond to message drops from the Ascendancy. Often, quite a few accumulated before Thrawn was able to pick them up.
He almost wished he’d never retrieved this batch.
It wasn’t a long message. They never were, but this one was shorter than most. It was sandwiched in amongst three other updates which seemed of little importance in light of three simple lines of Cheunh.
A rank and name: Supreme General Ba’kif.
A single word: Funeral.
And a date.
Thrawn’s throat felt tight, thick and swollen. Even before completing the quick, rote mental calculation to convert the Ascendancy standard date to Imperial stardates, he knew that date had already long since passed.
Ba’kif was dead, and Thrawn had missed his funeral.
Deep, cutting loss swept over Thrawn the moment that thought solidified. Would he have gone, returned to Ascendancy space, had he received the message in time? Could he have? He should have… he should have been there.
Why wasn’t he?
Why was he still here?
Distantly, Thrawn felt a headache begin pulsing dully at his temples. A few months; perhaps a year at most. That was all the time he’d intended to be away, all the time he and Ba’kif had planned for him to spend in Imperial space. He’d told Ar’alani as much before leaving.
He wondered, now, realizing only as he did that he hadn’t in a long time… What had become of the others he’d meant to see again on his return? Not only Ba’kif, but Navigator Che’ri, Thalias. Even, perhaps, Samakro.
And of course, Ar’alani. One of the only true friends he’d ever had back in the Ascendancy, along with Thrass and Ba’kif. Thrass’s loss, so long ago, still ached as it ever did, but that pain suddenly felt bigger again, joined as it was now by a fresh wound.
Thrawn swallowed hard, chest so tight he could hardly breathe. One by one, he was losing them. He was losing them all.
At least he knew Ar’alani still lived; she was the only one exchanging these sporadic, clandestine messages with him across space and time. Though she certainly wasn’t happy with him, Thrawn knew. With him; with his continuing insistence that he remain in the Empire. Where once her messages had included… small things: details, casual reminders and glimpses of home— of his old life— those were gone now. Ar’alani’s messages had gradually become curt, sterile. She had ceased even asking when he planned to return, and Thrawn found now that he couldn’t quite pinpoint when that had happened.
It wasn’t typical for her to include so little detail as this, however. Particularly not for something she knew Thrawn would care so much about. Perhaps she hoped it would draw him back where nothing else had. Ar’alani certainly knew better than most how Thrawn hated to leave questions unanswered.
Thrawn stared at the screen. Those three stark lines of decrypted text stared back at him, harsh and unforgiving.
This news had hit him far, far harder than he would have expected it to, had he thought about it. Which, surprisingly, he never had. It was, perhaps, foolish… But Ba’kif had been something of a constant, a solid presence throughout Thrawn’s entire career with the CEDF. Mentor; sponsor; friend. Not to mention his minder more often than not, Thrawn thought with a pang of wry pain. Something in his mind simply found it… impossible to conceive of the Defense Fleet— the Ascendancy as a whole, for that matter— without Supreme General Ba’kif. It was something that should not be.
Some of the difficulty, Thrawn was sure, was the uncertainty. The lack of knowledge, the absence of facts: What, exactly, had happened? Had it been unavoidable, natural? An accident, perhaps?
Or had it been something else?
Had it been something Thrawn could have prevented, had he only been there?
The cold tightness in Thrawn’s chest seized painfully tighter and the pounding in his head increased.
He should have been there.
Sorrow froze the breath in his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Thrawn stared at the readout, eyes unblinking yet unseeing. Thoughts tumbled through his mind; disjointed and disorderly, they reflected the feeling of directionless… panic… seeping through him in a chill and making his hands quiver.
Why was he still here?
A few months, maybe a year; that was truly all the time he’d intended to be away.
Not… not… How many years had he been gone?
Thrawn was distantly aware of his breathing coming faster and his heart rate increasing along with it as he realized he didn’t have an answer to those questions. To any of them. Though he should.
That strange, aimless panic grew; the thumping headache worsened along with it. A deep, unsettling, nauseating pressure that had been initially subtle, but which kept throbbing and building higher now that he had noticed it. Every heartbeat made it worse; every half-thought that spun through his mind caused a stab of pain, chasing away the answers before he could grasp one and follow it anywhere.
He couldn’t remember.
Why couldn’t he remember?
He remembered his exile— those memories were still perfectly clear and painful, despite the years and distance— and he remembered the events which preceded and followed that exile. He remembered the Strikefast, traveling to Coruscant to meet with the Emperor at the very seat of his power.
He remembered each decision he’d made over that time as well. Every step, every choice had made sense.
But then… What had happened during his audience with Palpatine?
Thrawn frowned, forcibly latching onto that question before he could lose it as well. His headache continued to worsen even as the panic eased and his thoughts grew more focused, less frantic.
Surely he should remember the details of a conversation which had resulted in choosing an entirely new path for himself—
The headache, the pressure in Thrawn’s mind abruptly snapped horrifically sharper. Thrawn cried out in raw, wordless pain as he curled forward in his chair, instinctively clutching his head in both hands ina futile attempt to stave off the sudden spike of pain that felt as though it was about to tear his head apart. Through the unexpected agony, he was aware, somehow, that he had drawn the attention of… of…
Of another mind.
Cruel, vicious, that mind stabbed into his, the touch of it against his thoughts indescribably vile, oily and sickening. The awful pressure grew malevolent and controlling; the pain exploded to excruciating levels. Thrawn fought it with everything he had, with every scrap of will he could bring to bear. He didn’t know what was happening to him or even who he was fighting against, but he knew he couldn’t— he couldn’t let it— His mind…was his—
It wasn’t enough.
The agony became unbearable. Thrawn’s vision went white, then black.
Then nothing.
…
…
Thrawn jerked awake with a sense of utter disorientation, panic, and a pounding headache.
He put a hand to his throbbing head with a wince, blinking and squinting against the light as he looked around. He was… sitting at his desk?
The headache was already receding and Thrawn frowned, absently wiping something damp from his cheeks. To fall asleep at his desk like that… And while reading Ar’alani’s latest reports, it would seem.
A vague uneasiness squirmed uncomfortably in the back of his mind as he gazed down at the unregistered, air-gapped datapad with a frown. It was not at all like him to be so careless. At least there was nothing particularly damning in this batch; only three terse reports on the increasing tension and unrest wracking the Chiss Ascendancy.
Still, with all the precautions he took to keep his continued contact with Ar’alani clandestine, it was entirely unacceptable to doze off with the secure datapad out like that. Fading headache and apparent fatigue notwithstanding. Thrawn shook his head, wiped the memory chip, and tucked the datapad away just as his comlink chirped.
“Admiral Thrawn? Your presence is requested on the bridge, sir.”
“Of course,” Thrawn said, rubbing his temples as he stood.
It was odd; as he made his way to the turbolift, he felt as though his head should still be hurting, for some reason. And yet…
And yet, nothing was left of the headache save for a faint echo.
A faded ghost of pain, readily forgotten.
…