Parck stood rigidly at attention. The room was dead silent except for the soft clicking of the keys of Vice Admiral Thrawn's computer terminal. Parck had been standing there for about three minutes now; he was prepared—resigned, really—to standing there several minutes longer. He took a deep silent breath and let it out as quietly. It was strange, being treated like this. He had experienced this kind of treatment from plenty of superiors in the past, but never before from Thrawn.
After another minute or so, Thrawn raised his head, fixing Parck with a direct gaze.
"Drunk and disorderly conduct. Operation of a vehicle while intoxicated. Facilitation of access to an Imperial base by unauthorized persons. Defacement of Imperial property."
Parck went a bit more rigid, staring intently at the wall behind Thrawn. Seconds ticked away in silence.
"Well? What have you to say for yourself?"
"I have no excuse for my actions, sir."
Finally Thrawn sighed, frustration lining his face. "Even were I the type to give special treatment to those I like, I could not do so in the face of these charges. Protocol is unambiguous in how to deal with this type of situation."
"I understand, sir."
Another sigh. "You are hereby demoted one grade. You will forfeit two months' pay and serve two months of extra duties in your spare time."
"Yes, sir."
Thrawn stood, pacing the few steps behind his desk. "This means you will lose your command, you realize. The Strikefast will have to be assigned a new commander. I believe I can at least keep you as executive officer, but that is the limit of my flexibility in this matter."
"I understand, sir."
There was another heavy silence. "Kriff, Parck," Thrawn bit out, and Parck's eyes snapped to his superior in surprise both at the expletive and the naked anger in his voice. "We are less than three months from being sent to the Unknown Regions. The fictional fiasco is already in the works; the timing cannot be delayed enough for you to regain your rank. I will most likely have to raise my flag on a different ship."
Parck swallowed hard around the lump that had suddenly grown in his throat.
"I have been working for years with the crew of the Strikefast. I have trained the crew to my exacting specifications. They are accustomed to my odd orders; they follow them, they trust me, even when they don't understand. By and large, they have accepted me despite my status as a nonhuman." Thrawn sighed again, and there was no mistaking the vexation in the sound. "I will have to start anew, with a captain that does not understand how I work. A crew that merely meets the Empire's sloppy standards. I will have to fight prejudice and scorn for years before I am fully accepted again." Thrawn's jaw clenched, muscles bunching at its corners. He sat again, still rigid, but Parck knew him well enough to see that he was as close as he ever came to slumping.
"Dismissed," Thrawn said, the word clipped.
"Aye, sir," Parck said, his stance loosening and his shoulders drooping. "I'm sorry," he added softly.
Thrawn glanced back up at him for a bare fraction of a second. He nodded, once, curtly, his lips thin.
Wincing at the cold response, he turned for the door of the office.
"Parck?" Thrawn said wearily, and Parck turned back.
"Yes, sir?"
"Let us never do this again."
Parck bit back a nearly hysterical giggle. "Agreed, sir."