Title: An Artist at Heart
Summary: After Thrawn's death at Bilbringi, the Empire comes up with a desperate plan: Use Thrawn's genetic profile to grow the Grand Admiral's clone. And while Thraawn indeed shares the Grand Admiral's fondness for art, he is not the one the Empire had hoped him to be. A stand-alone fic set in the Legends. GEN. Thrawn. Pellaeon.
Captain Pellaeon mentally braced himself as he entered the doors to Grand Admiral Thrawn's meditation chamber aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera.
Or rather, the late Grand Admiral Thrawn's meditation chamber. Now, it belonged to an entirely different occupant.
Thraawn.
The Grand Admiral's clone brought to life by the one of the last remaining Spaarti clone cylinders in the Empire's possession.
Pellaeon shook his head. He suspected from the very beginning it wouldn't work, but he was in no position to overrule the Moff Council, given it was he who had issued the retreat order at Bilbringi. It had been the only sensible solution to a battle which had been lost once the Grand Admiral's heart stopped beating, but the Moff Council didn't agree with his professional assessment.
He was called a coward, and he was relieved of command of the Imperial Fleet.
You are a mere captain, they had said. Be grateful we haven't demoted you to a lieutenant and taken the Chimaera away from you. At that moment, Pellaeon regretted he hadn't promoted himself to an admiral or proclaimed himself a warlord like many other senior officers had done.
Krennel, for example. Right now, self-proclaimed Prince-Admiral Krennel and Ysanne Isard, the former director of Imperial Intelligence, were waging an independent military campaign against the New Republic, and, if nothing else, at least were providing them with valuable time for the clone to study as much of the original's battle tactics as possible.
Pellaeon still couldn't believe he had actually agreed to this insult to the memory of the Grand Admiral, using his cadaver to have him cloned without his consent.
Thraawn had been taught the basic principles of the New Order and the brief history of the Galactic Empire; and thanks to flash-learning techniques, he had been taught battle tactics, the basics of interstellar economics and trade, and had been fed the complete recordings of the Grand Admiral's campaign against the Rebellion.
And he had been given access to the Grand Admiral's collection of holographic artworks.
If nothing else, it seems the two at least share a fondness for the same hobby, Pellaeon thought with disappointment, looking at the holographic pieces that currently lit up the meditation chamber. He recognized them all; they were the same ones the original had looked at after a successful campaign or a hard-won battle. Contrary to popular opinion, not all pieces in his collections were tools he used to get into the mind of the enemy.
These were the Grand Admiral's favorite pieces.
Breathtaking, certainly, but absolutely useless in the present situation.
Pellaeon's gaze went over the holographic paintings and sculptures one by one. Fortunately, even the Moff Council realized that they couldn't raise a brilliant battle tactician overnight, that even Grand Admiral Thrawn's clone needed at least several weeks to study his opponent carefully before formulating a battle strategy—or, at least, that was what they thought the clone had been doing for the last couple of weeks: browsing through the Grand Admiral's collection to come up with a plan to crush the Rebellion once and for all.
To Pellaeon's trained eye, however, it was clear as the sky of Corellia that he was looking at the pieces for his own enjoyment alone.
"Ah, Captain Pellaeon," the clone called after him in the Grand Admiral's smooth, modulated voice.
While the tone had been the same, the accent was different, an inevitable result of his highly unconventional upbringing. Fortunately for the clone, Thraawn had learned to emulate the Grand Admiral's accent down to the smallest detail when speaking to the Moff Council. But for an inexplicable reason, the clone dropped the pretense when speaking to him.
"What do you think?" Thraawn asked in a dreamy voice, looking at the works of art with near reverence. "I must admit that Grand Admiral Thrawn had exquisite taste."
Pellaeon forced himself to remain calm and composed.
It isn't the clone's fault, he told himself inwardly, cursing the entire Moff Council to the depths of the Nine Hells of Corellia. No. It's my fault. Mine alone. For going along with this insane plan.
It was he who had given the Grand Admiral's body to the scientists who had been able to extract the DNA and find a way to grow a viable clone after several unsuccessful attempts. However, they had been unable to extract the mind imprint from the dying alien brain due to incompatibility issues. The technology was designed for a human mind, and Grand Admiral Thrawn, no matter how much he superficially resembled a human male, was an alien, with alien mind and with alien thoughts.
In other words, they had given birth to an entirely different person who merely shared the same genetic profile. A twin, basically.
A failure.
"These were the Grand Admiral's personal favorites," Pellaeon admitted bitterly. "I have seen them displayed on multiple occasions."
He let out a long, deep exhale.
"Thraawn," he began awkwardly, "perhaps if you could look at Bothan artwork instead? Or Chandrilan? Or Mon Calamarian?" He suggested, pointing him in the direction of the Rebellion's current political and military leaders.
The clone regarded him for a moment. "You are clearly uncomfortable addressing me as Thraawn." He stated the obvious, evading the purpose of his very existence. "Did the original not have any other name?"
Yes, Pellaeon was deeply uncomfortable using such form of address towards the blue-skinned alien who looked exactly alike the Grand Admiral he had served under for the past year, but he was even more uncomfortable with calling him by the original's rank. This wasn't Grand Admiral Thrawn.
But how else he was supposed to address him?
"Not that I know of," Pellaeon confessed in a low tone of voice.
He realized how little he had known about his former commander only now, after the Grand Admiral's death.
They didn't know his species, his planet of origin, his next of kin—Nine Hells, they didn't even know his given name. If he even had a given name to begin with. There were some primitive alien species who had only one name. However, something told Pellaeon that Grand Admiral Thrawn hadn't come from such a primitive race.
And deep down, the realization hurt. It hurt to admit that the commander he had admired, the one he had seen as the new hope of the Empire, had never shared anything about himself. That he had probably never seen Pellaeon as a person he could trust with any secret, military or otherwise, since he had never revealed anything, not even his plans beforehand.
The clone pressed a button on the Grand Admiral's command chair, and the holographic gallery disappeared, the room growing dark for a moment until it brightened up once again to the pre-set standard aboard any Imperial ship.
"Thank you for being honest with me, Captain Pellaeon," the clone said with a faint smile on his face, not so dissimilar to the one he had witnessed on the Grand Admiral's face from time to time.
Pellaeon had wondered many times whether or not the blue-skinned alien possessed an ability to read minds, but the Grand Admiral had repeatedly denied it. Nevertheless, Pellaeon had the uncanny feeling that Thraawn knew exactly what was going inside Pellaeon's mind at the moment.
"Perhaps it is finally time I was honest with you, then," the clone said in a wistful tone, the expression on alien face unreadable.
"I am afraid I do not share the political views and personal beliefs of my predecessor. You wish me to destroy this self-proclaimed New Republic, Captain, but based on the careful study of the opponent and on the information I have been given about the Galactic Empire, it was the Emperor who had ordered construction of not just one but two battle stations capable of destroying whole planets in a matter of seconds. It was the high ranking officials of the Galactic Empire who had committed an inexcusable act of genocide against numerous non-human species."
There was a strange sense of finality to his words, as if the alien had been delivering a verdict in the court room.
"And it was the Galactic Empire which has enslaved entire populations, ruling by fear alone, executing everyone who dared to freely speak their mind. Has it ever occurred to you, Captain, that perhaps these people had a reason to rebel?"
A dagger ripped through Pellaeon's heart.
He dedicated his life to the military, internalizing its values of discipline, order, efficiency, and obedience to authority, and respected the military as a prestigious and honorable institution. He had begun in the Judicial Forces, had captained a Republic assault ship during the Clone Wars, and had continued to serve even after the Separatists had been defeated, joining the ranks of the newly founded Imperial Navy.
He had never seen the Empire as an oppressive regime, even though he had played a part in enslaving Wookiees. They are wild animals that need to be contained in cages , he had told himself when the Chimaera had been ordered to transport Wookiee slaves.
If I was the Death Star's commander, I would have never chosen a civilian target, he had told himself upon the Alderaan's destruction.
The Death Star II is a colossal waste of money, he had told himself above Endor's orbit.
The Emperor must have gone crazy, becoming possessed by the Dark Side of the Force like Joruus C'Baoth, he had told himself once he had seen the Dark Jedi coordinating Grand Admiral Thrawn's forces, once he had finally accepted the ugly truth that the Emperor was a Force User. A Lord of the Sith. Darth Vader's master.
The clone shook his head.
"You seem to be an honorable man, Captain. Surely deep down you must realize that continuing this senseless military conflict would mean nothing else than an unnecessary waste of lives. On both sides."
Pellaeon felt as if the alien had plunged the invisible knife deeper into his chest.
"That it would only lead to further destruction and weaken the galaxy as a whole."
"The Grand Admiral seemed very adamant about crushing the Rebellion," Pellaeon croaked in a hoarse voice. This is a nightmare. It had to be. This was his own personal hell. The punishment for giving birth to this mockery of the brilliant tactician.
Thraawn sighed.
"Yes. I can tell from the way he had lead his campaigns." The glittering eyes stared into a faraway distance. "And I would very much like to know the reasoning behind his actions. I do not believe he acted out of vengeance or because of lust for power," the clone speculated, tilting his head to a side, a gesture Pellaeon had seen the Grand Admiral doing a countless times.
"Everything is so precise. So well planned. So perfectly executed. So … brilliant. It could even be called a work of art, I suppose."
The alien focused his glowing gaze back at Pellaeon, looking him directly in the eyes.
"Unfortunately for you, Captain, while I share Grand Admiral Thrawn's interest in the fine arts, I do not share his interest in the art of war."
Pellaeon closed his eyes. The clone had just signed his own death certificate.
"I am afraid the Moff Council will not agree with your assessment of the Galactic Empire and your proposition of peace with the New Republic," he said diplomatically.
The alien nodded gravely. "They will order my immediate termination." He voiced Pellaeon's thoughts. "However, they need to know, Captain. Otherwise they will try again and again..."
Thraawn fell silent for a while.
"When will they realize, I wonder? At Thraaaaaaawn? Or Thraaaaaaaaaaaaaawn?"
Pellaeon clenched his fists in anger.
It's all my fault. I should have never given the cadaver to the Moff Council. Even if I was to be branded as a traitor. "There has to be another way..." was all what he said aloud, though.
"Perhaps there is," the clone replied, a trace of hope in his voice.
Pellaeon slowly re-opened his eyes. "Explain."
"Let me go to the Unknown Regions, Captain," Thraawn pleaded, a shadow crossing the alien features. "I give you my word that I will not join this self-proclaimed New Republic." He paused. "Let me go to the Unknown Regions," he repeated more firmly. "Let me find out the reasons behind Grand Admiral Thrawn's motivations and his reason for joining the Empire in the first place. I can't imagine he'd… It is said that Grand Admiral Thrawn had been exiled by his own people. Allow me to find out what happened."
Pellaeon stroke his mustache in thought. "What would you do with such knowledge?"
Thraawn let out a small shrug. "I do not know," he admitted.
I do not know. Pellaeon couldn't think of anything more out of character for Grand Admiral Thrawn to say.
"But I have a feeling… that it is important, Captain. That there is more to Grand Admiral Thrawn than meets the eye. This Captain Parck who had discovered him, he has never returned, has he?"
Pellaeon shook his head. "No. The Grand Admiral came to meet me alone in a Lambda shuttle."
"I am Grand Admiral Thrawn," the hologram had informed him. "I have been away, but now I have returned. I know some of what has occurred. You will fill in the details of the rest when I come aboard. Rejoice, Captain, for the Empire will rise again. You will find astrogation coordinates that have been encoded with this transmission. I will await your arrival."
Pellaeon felt a shiver run up his spine as he remembered the fateful exchange which had started the entire chain of events.
"There must be a reason," Thraawn insisted, crossing his arms, a very human gesture.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn never did anything without reason."
"No," Pellaeon affirmed. "He never did."
He came to a decision.
"I will contact the Moff Council and request an official hearing." His face cringed as he imagined the most likely scenario. Even the Grand Admiral had been nothing more to them than an alien. A brilliant alien, perhaps, but still a disgrace to the Imperial uniform. Thraawn with his pacifist views? An abomination.
"And I will request the right to terminate you personally. Given my past association with the Grand Admiral, I have no doubt they will comply with my request. You will be thrown out of the airlock..."
He watched the alien's face. Nothing. Not even a muscle twitch. Did he have so much faith in him? Or did he merely come to the terms with his own death?
"But I will see to it that there will be a VAC suit conveniently placed in the pressure chamber. You will have mere seconds before the hatches opens and ejects you into space, so I suggest you stop admiring the Grand Admiral's collection and learn how to put on the VAC suit instead. There will be a cloaked ship equipped with a hyperdrive standing by. Go to the holosim and learn how to operate a freighter."
Finally, the alien's expression changed, growing visibly moved at Pellaeon's words. "Thank you, Captain Pellaeon," he said with sincere humility in his voice. "And I am sorry for not being the one you wanted me to be."
Pellaeon made an absentminded gesture with his hand. "Do not apologize for being who you are. This is all my fault, Thraawn. I should never have allowed things to progress this far. You don't deserve to be treated like this. And I give you my word to help make things right."
THE END OF PART ONE