Thrass watched as the consular transport approached the patrol carrier's hangar, trying and mostly succeeding to keep his attention on the safe arrival of their important passengers. Not on his brother, who was supervising the tactical station, which at this stage mostly required monitoring the transport's fighter escort until they broke off at the last possible minute. Thrawn looked as impassive as usual, listening without expression to reports from his juniors. His uniform was pristine as always, but no more than always, and he had given no special instructions to those directly under his command. Though it was of course true that standard Defense Force procedures should have been to a standard not even the First Councilor could fault, with this many important visitors a little extra care would not have been unexpected.

Especially, Thrass thought, when the highest-ranking of those visitors was the woman who, it was increasingly apparent, would be his sister-in-law before too much longer. Thrawn himself had not said a word, but by this point Thrass had no doubt there were deep-borderlands patrols who had heard the rumor that the Defense Force's youngest commander in recorded memory was the sworn intended of not just a highborn daughter, but the Aristocra of the Second Family herself. That no one said anything to the contrary was, at least where Thrawn was concerned, hardly indicative. He had never had any real concern for what people thought of him, least of all personally. He was not one to dignify rumors with a response. But unless there had been something Thrass missed, there were no denials forthcoming from the Second Councilor, either. Given the circumstances, he was more anxious than usual for this delegation to arrive.

It was, for anyone responsible for security, something of a nightmare. Four representatives of High Families, three the Councilors themselves, traveling to an asteroid-mining facility . . . the quartering concerns were enough to drive anyone mad, never mind the safety issues transferring from the ship to the mining bases and back. But Thrass had done his best and he thought that the arrangements would suit even the most exacting Councilor's tastes and their personal guards' concerns for their safety. As their ship's ramp lowered and the guards, as much ceremonial as serious, preceded the Councilors into the patrol carrier's hangar, he noted the formal livery and wondered if perhaps he hadn't gone far enough.

On the other hand, as the Councilors descended to the hangar, the most high-ranked among them seemed to have decided the dress of the day was casual. Lady Lisetha had opted once again for a plain, practical outfit, a trim jacket not quite cut like a uniform but close enough and practical trousers tucked into boots, all in gentle shades of green without gold trim. Her hair was braided and coiled up, without any extraneous decorations. Of course, she had no weapons, as that would not be suitable for a Councilor, but there was a confidence in her walk and her stance that made Thrass once again suspect his brother's intended was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Thaenil was beside her, the Eighth's responsibility for the Defense crews giving her precedence here despite the Fourth and Sixth outranking the Eighth in general. They were also talking amiably, and Thrass suspected this was not by accident or coincidence. Behind them were Orkeli, the Sixth Councilor, and Peirik, the first son and heir presumptive of the Fourth Family. Pherek, the Fourth Councilor, had deemed himself too ill to make the journey, but had refused to accept his granddaughter, Lady of the Second Family, as suitable to represent both interests. Lisetha's uncle was, like Orkeli and Thaenil, attired formally, though his long overrobe and sash were appropriately less ornate and suited to a Consular aide.

Thrass came to attention as Lisetha and Thaenil approached. "Councilor Reli'set'harana, Councilor Mitth'aen'ilian, Councilor Geor'kel'ivanet, Council Aide Asp'ier'ikadre. I am pleased to welcome you aboard."

Lisetha, as highest-ranking, spoke for them all. "Syndic Mitth'ras'safis, we are glad to have arrived safely. Our compliments on your escort ships' excellent flying." The words were absolutely appropriate, but he thought he detected just the slightest hint of amusement at the formality of it all. "I hope we can get underway quickly."

"We will be making our jump as soon as you and our other guests are settled in your quarters. I hope they prove adequate." Not luxurious, not by the standards of the High Families, at least, but all of them should be aware of that.

"I'm sure they will serve us perfectly well, Mitth'ras'safis," Thaenil said. "If that is all that is delaying our departure, I suggest we dispense with further welcoming pleasantries. I for one am anxious to be underway."

"While you attend to that, I have to beg your pardons," Lisetha said, and now she gave Thrass a brief conspiratorial smile. "One of your officers, Syndic, is delinquent in his duty and I go to correct him."

Thrass looked over his shoulder. Thrawn was still at the tactical station, his attention apparently still on his duties. That alone made him stand out, as even the crew he was supervising were watching the arrival with dutiful respect. That was until they saw the Second Councilor approaching, her gaze fixed firmly on their Commander. Two crewmen scrambled up out of their seats to attention as she passed, but she barely nodded, instead halting directly before Thrawn, who turned, but did not adopt quite so formal a posture.

"Not able to tear yourself from your duties to properly greet such important passengers, Commander?" Lisetha looked every inch the Aristocra, chin high, eyes fixed without flinching on him.

"I show respect by focusing on my duties, Councilor," and Thrawn was just as proper and reserved. "Even such an unusual event should not disrupt the proper order of a Defense Force vessel. And besides," he continued, cocking his head a bit, "I thought to show consideration for my subordinates by not drawing attention to myself upon your arrival."

Lisetha arched a delicate brow. "I'm afraid I don't follow." Thrass would have bet hard currency that there was an undertone of stifled amusement in her voice.

What Thrawn did then was almost enough to shake Thrass's own steady discipline. His brother reached out and took Lisetha's wrist, pressing her hand to his heart, a gesture so intimate and sentimental Orkeli and Peirik stared openly, and even Thaenil audibly choked down a gasp.

Thrawn's expression didn't so much as waver, though. "If I were to draw attention to my immense good fortune, I might inspire feelings of envy and resentment in my subordinates, and that is never good for military discipline."

Lisetha, for a fraction of a second, looked so genuinely startled Thrass almost thought she wasn't going to play along. He shouldn't have doubted. "Then while I'm here, I will have to make sure they see what a stern, upright High Councilor I am, so they'll realize how unfortunate you really are, nar'ech'yon."

"You would never be convincing," Thrawn countered. "I will simply be content knowing how well-deserved their envy is." He tightened his hand over hers, and looked as if he were even considering pressing her fingers to his lips. "At the moment, I'm afraid I must attend to my duties, however."

"Then I will leave you to them, and you may attend to me later."

Thrass very nearly choked. The words were entirely reasonable, yet something in the way Lisetha leaned into Thrawn's touch and the way she smiled was so flirtatious, so wanton, he could almost think she really did mean what the (unintended?) innuendo promised. His brother was as disgustingly impassive as ever, giving her a faint smile that was slightly more sincere than his usual expression. But Thrass also noticed how, before releasing her hand, Thrawn traced his thumb across her palm and wrist, and if the slight tremor of her frame was counterfeit, she was a consummate actress indeed.

Affianced, that he could believe. Lovers? It seemed irrational, incomprehensible, foolishly self-indulgent–and as Lisetha turned away from Thrawn he saw her gaze pass quickly over her fellow Councilors and her uncle, clearly seeking their reaction. As she met his eyes there was just the tiniest triumphant tightening at the corner of her mouth and he realized he was being let in on the joke. Thrass had to bite down the impolitic smirk. No, not lovers yet, but wishing to seem the kind of besotted fools normally only found in stories told to impress how perfectly-arranged marriages were the key to happiness on children not yet old enough to comprehend the entire reality of the matter.

And perhaps a bit deeper into their roles than they realized themselves. As Lisetha moved to rejoin them, Thrawn's gaze lingered on her in a way Thrass realized he did not recall his brother ever indulging in before where anything other than a work of art was concerned. Almost . . . hungry.

Then again, it was Thrawn, after all. Nothing his brother did lacked calculation. Thrass was starting to suspect that went double for his fiancee.

And I thought I played the political game well.

He realized if she noted the reactions of her two fellow councilors and her uncle the councilor-aide, he ought to do the same. Thaenil was doing an excellent job controlling her astonishment, and Thrass thought he detected a faint hint of satisfaction, too. Orekeli might require a fainting couch and was clearly indignant beyond measure. Peirik . . . his expression was almost as cooly impassive as Thrawn's. There was no hint of any emotional reaction, but he was staring hard at his niece, who met his gaze with equal impassivity.

"I believe, Syndic," Lisetha said, rejoining them, "I should see the quarters where I'll be staying. I hope it's not a major inconvenience to your fleet having so many guests."

"Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo oversaw the arrangements," Thrass said, watching her carefully, but her expression didn't change. "I assure you, the sector fleet is not indisposed by your presence at all."

Lisetha's smile had just the slightest hint of amusement. "Let us hope it continues in that vein, then." She glanced at the coterie of guards and one in green and gold, a tall man with the bearing of a Defense Force veteran but with a wicked scar creasing his face and darkening the light in one eyes, stepped silently to her shoulder. "Ser'halis will see to my personal security and I'm sure he will need to inspect my quarters before I occupy them. If someone could be spared to show us the way . . . ?"

It wasn't a hint. She knew as well as he did Thrawn could not be spared for trivial duty and she would never have asked. Instead Thrass turned and gestured sharply to one of his own security officers. The woman stepped forward, and he saw the briefest flicker of emotion in her expression-skepticism, and perhaps a bit of disdain. He frowned slightly and the look vanished. Whether she disapproved of the Commander's lady, or more likely she was more than a bit skeptical of the Second Councilor's choice as her security officer, it was not a common ensign's place to express the opinion. As they departed, and he turned his attention to the other guests, he couldn't help but notice that Council Aide Peirik was watching his niece until she was out of sight, and when she was, his gaze turned to Thrawn.

What the look in his eyes meant, Thrass was not prepared to say, but something about it lingered, uneasily, long after he'd returned to the bridge to oversee the small fleet's jump.

Lisetha found the quarters small, but adequate. Ser'halis looked less than impressed, but a cool look from her had elicited the assurance there was nothing to threaten her personal security. The bed was not luxurious, the hygiene facilities were not elaborate, but for their mission's purposes, it would do. Her eyes lingered on the lone break from the unrelenting military simplicity-a flat panel, worked in dark paints from deep velvety black to swirls of blues and silvers and greens laid on so thick they glistened. The overall effect was of nebulae, or storm clouds backlit by a full moon. She had a suspicion this was not in the quarters assigned to her by random chance.

After a less-cursory inspection, conducted away from the Eighth-Phalanx ensign's disapproving eyes, assured him that there were no listening or other privacy-compromising devices, Serhal had reluctantly let her sort out her belongings on her own.

"I do wish you had permitted Aleishia to accompany you," he'd said, in the kind of disapproving tone he'd never have used in company. "It's not proper for the Second Councilor to travel with only a personal guard."

"Or for that personal guard to be separated from his paramour?" she asked archly, then smiled. "Aleishia has other matters she's attending to that are more important than keeping my robes from wrinkling. And in any case, even with Thrawn's collusion, trying to keep her hidden on a ship and mining stations is stretching our luck. One person who shouldn't sees her without her veil and we're all done for."

"She hasn't been found out yet," Serhal countered, taking a conversational liberty he would have never dared with his distant cousin had they been in public. "Sometimes I almost feel as if people don't even see her at all."

Lisetha's hand paused a fraction of an instant as she unfolded one of her more formal, but not too-formal-to-move-in robes, and felt for his sense in the Force. Nothing probing or duplicitous behind the question. It was a genuine observation and confusion, then, not suspicion. "So much the better for all concerned. Besides," and she was teasing again, but it would distract him from that train of thought, "you seem to have noticed her, and I suspect that's enough."

Serhal didn't flush with embarrassment, but he looked away. "I hope you do not disapprove."

"Of course not." She left unspoken what they both understood, even if Aleishia might not. There was only so far that matters could go. Aleishia was not Chiss. That was that. Nothing either of them could do would change that. "You are both entitled to be happy."

"And you, cousin?" Now it wasn't just the tone but the dialect and form of address that was casual. "That was a very warm greeting for your fiancé. You're happy as well?"

Never in my life have so many of my relatives been concerned with my happiness. "Mitth'raw'nurodo and I have an understanding." At least, she was fairly sure they did. "While we're here, though, I would appreciate your observations. Not just about him, you've seen him often enough, but–"

"His subordinates," Serhal said, nodding. "If I can ingratiate myself, I will."

"Do so. Now go and get started." She gestured to the cases. "I have things to unpack which are none of your business, and while you're discretely poking around, I'd appreciate your finding out when the mess times are. I will eat then, and whatever is being prepared. We won't inconvenience the crew any more than necessary by our presence."

"Yes, my lady." He gave her quarters one last suspicious look before he withdrew.

Lisetha waited a moment to make sure he wasn't going to return, and then shook out her undershifts, which she did not actually care whether Serhal saw but which concealed some of her packing that he would very much disapprove of. Carefully, she examined the first crew jumpsuit, done in soft charcoal gray of the Eighth and with no obvious giveaways she could find that suggested the wearer did not actually belong. Her hair would be the tricky part, both with this and with a coarser worker's suit, one suited for asteroid mines. Few female officers and crew wore their hair long and none as long as hers, but a little experimenting with braids had let her pin it up enough under a crew hat or a mine-worker's headgear no one would notice the difference.

The gray jumpsuit felt strange, not at all like her ordinary robes or even her own flights suit. The hat was an even stranger feeling, and having her hair crushed under it felt even stranger. Staring into the mirror, she practiced keeping a slight downward tilt to her chin and a levelness to her eyes. She had noted that the crew did not often look down and away as much as they refrained from looking over someone. The way, she was forced to admit, she and others of her birth class had a habit of doing. That would not be appropriate for a very junior crewman.

The only cover she could think of for walking about without really having orders to be anywhere was a data reader, and hopefully the one she'd chivvied Seln into finding her (objecting all the while that he didn't know what his lady needed with such a sad, plain reader anyone could come by) would pass at least a cursory glance. The only way to test it, and she looked anxiously toward the door, was to try. She would stay out no more than an hour–if Ser'halis returned to find her gone he'd turn the ship upside down and alert everyone, which would make her plans for the station that much more difficult. She would make a quick tour, passing among the crew, and return in time for the evening meal with none the wiser. If this worked as she intended.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the passage. It was empty, which was unsurprising, as the quarters here had been given over to the guests and the Councilors and their escorts were within, not wandering the ship. She set off at brisk pace for a few strides before moderating her stride, quick but not firmly. Not the way a Councilor walked, the way someone who knew their own business walked. Someone who knew that their business was following someone else's orders.

She'd memorized the transport's layout from the security document sent to all the passengers' personal guards before they departed, and knew that there were maintenance access ways paralleling the lift shafts. That seemed safer than riding a lift with crew who might quickly recognize that she did not belong. Engineering was down and aft, command was up and forward . . . weapons bays were probably best avoided, as were the hangars as she'd just come from there. Laundry, the mess, waste . . . that would be the easiest to start with, just as a quick experiment.

Ducking into the maintenance passage, she followed it down, then aft, then traversing towards the starboard side. The Force was not giving her any sort of warning of danger, but she reached out anyway, listening for the minds around her. Nothing to alarm her, not yet. The quiet hum of people going about their normal duties, perhaps with a trace more nervous energy than was normal. Bracing herself, and forcing her heart to slow and her breathing to steady, Lisetha opened the access hatch and stepped into a corridor.

She'd had luck–she could hear the clatter of the mess cooks at work, and the indistinct sound of people speaking, but no one was looking directly down the passage. Lowering her eyes to her data reader, she began officiously tapping it, periodically looking up as if checking something, but never too carefully or too sharply. Dutiful, busy, but not noticeably so. She walked along the passage slowly, and as she went a lift opening ahead alerted her to her first test. Forcing any visible tension from her shoulders, she kept walking and let her senses reach out–a group of crewmen, alert but not overly so, a sense of released tension, coming off shift . . . . She kept moving, feeling for the minds as she approached and gently, firmly, nudging them, encouraging that beginning of relaxation. They were off shift, about to eat, there were no senior officers watching them, they could focus on their hunger, how good it would feel to sit for a while and speak of things other than duty . . . .

She passed the first of the group, and in spite of herself she glanced at them. They were in the same sorts of plain jumpsuits she wore, but they were walking with the kind of relaxed aura of the off-duty, clearly en route to the mess. One man glanced absently in her direction and she lowered her eyes to the data pad, sending out a pressure in the Force. I am supposed to be here. You don't notice me. Look away, just another crew member you've passed a thousand times.

Somewhat to her surprise, it worked. She could sense their disinterest as she walked by and she had to fight down an absurd urge to giggle. That would definitely draw attention she'd be unable to divert. Picking up her pace, she continued towards the lift they'd come from at the opposite end of the corridor. If it was going to be this easy, she might even dare using the main lifts. A door to one side opened as she approached and a crewman came out, pushing a cart that appeared to be cleaned laundry, presumably going back up to the barracks deck to be returned to its owners. He called for the lift and she paused behind him, still keeping her eyes on the data pad for the most part. As such, when the lift opened and the crewman with the cart stepped in, she followed before noticing who was already standing inside until the crewman straightened sharply and almost stopped, before a voice said, "Please continue, crewman. We would not wish to interfere with your duties."

Mitth'ras'safis. And beside him, turned slightly away and obviously interrupted mid-conversation, her own fiancé, who gave both her and the crewman with the laundry only a cursory side glance before focusing on his brother again.

Listhea bit the inside of her cheek, careful not to let her expression or her body language show an iota of surprise. The slightest unusual act and he'd look closer, and the jig would be up. Even stepping back out of the lift would be a mistake-no crew would refuse to continue as they were after the Syndic ordered it. Instead she simply stepped in and turned away, as if politely offering them an illusion of privacy while she paid attention to her datapad. Thrawn's presence was not helping her maintain her equilibrium, though. Even without looking his presence in the Force was like a lodestone, drawing her attention to its steady strength and its . . . mild irritation. He was annoyed about something, and she couldn't help eavesdropping as they resumed their conversation.

"It's traditional when there are this many important guests aboard," Thrass was saying. "Thaenil our grandmother will be very unhappy if you avoid dining with them tonight. And in any case," and she had to stifle a laugh at the sudden very-much-older-sibling tone to the Syndic's voice, "you heard your nar'ech'yon, you must attend to her anyway."

"That was . . . ." Was Thrawn embarrassed? As always his emotions were so tightly leashed they were near-impossible to read and she fought the urge to turn and look. "My lady was being facetious. She understands the seriousness of this mission."

"She ought to. According to our grandmother, this is almost entirely her idea. Your lady's been needling Councilor Geor'kel'ivanet about problems with the Stiggond Belt mines for months." Thrass sounded suspicious. "Though I thought I saw a familiar hand behind some of the recommendations for our itinerary. Particularly the work transport we're escorting in our group."

"If that was a pointlessly-indirect way of asking if I made recommendations to her as well as to you, of course I did," Thrawn said. "And her concerns appear to be quite valid. Which is why formalities like dinner seem somewhat misplaced."

Thrass lowered his voice, but Lisetha could still make out his reply. "If the two of you are correct, failing to follow basic protocol will alert anyone with ulterior motives that something is unusual. There are enough potential pitfalls without adding any."

"Fair enough," and once against Lisetha only barely kept from laughing at how much Thrawn sounded like the younger brother he was. "And I appreciate your agreeing to increased personal security. I don't know what she's thinking, only bringing Ser'halis. The man makes devotion into a vice and he's never more than shouting distance from her even in her home. I have no doubt he'd lay down his life for her, but as she is the instigator of this investigation she is also the most likely target of any action to derail it. One private guard, who has to rest sometime, is insufficient."

I am calm, I feel nothing, there is only the Force . . . it worked, but barley, and she kept herself still and relaxed, as if she were ignoring them. Extra security? For her? Ridiculous. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. She hadn't noticed any addition security officers when she'd left her quarters. Were they even now looking for her? Or worse . . . blocking her way back to her own quarters? She steadied herself again, willing her heart to slow.

"I appreciate the desire for caution," and once again Thrass had that amused undertone. "Though do I detect a bit of personal ire about her guard's devotion? Can't find a moment alone?"

Thrawn sounded so icy she was surprised the temperature in the lift didn't drop. "I have told you before," he said, "Lady Lisetha is not a prize and I am not looking for opportunities to . . . indulge base desires. This is a marriage to benefit our Families. The fact she's . . . aesthetically pleasing and intellectually stimulating is merely a bonus that makes the whole business bearable."

"Oh, intellectually?" The manner of Thrass's speech, grammar and tone, now definitely said this was the older brother teasing the younger, but there was a slightly serious undertone. "Brother, you look at her the way I've only ever seen you look at a piece of art you want for that collection of yours. Only with this one, you aren't going to be content with a holo. You want the original where you can lay hands on it whenever you want." Thrawn didn't reply, but Lisetha could feel him struggling with that leashed beast that was his temper again. "And if you weren't paying attention, she may also tell herself she's putting on a display, but she's no more immune than you are." It was her turn to bite down on a tart reply, harder because she could feel the betraying flush creeping up her neck that belied any denial. "Best if you two get the business settled. She suits you, brother, and clearly your inadequacies don't seem to matter."

"Inadequacies?" Thrawn sounded far more the peeved younger brother than genuinely angry.

"I've known you your entire life, little brother. No one knows better than I how stubborn and self-important you can be, and there's that irritating need to be right all the time rather than politic," and Thrass was definitely fighting a laugh. "Your lady is obviously blind to your faults, and as for you–extra protection, pages of pre-mission reports copied to everyone even half concerned with the business, drilling your crews excessively even for you so they'll impress her? You're besotted. No shame in that." And that seemed sincere. "She is lovely."

There was a slight pause and once again the urge to turn and look was overwhelming. Finally, Thrawn said quietly, "I'm not being a fool, am I? She's an Aristocra. Noble by birth and the head of her clan. Not in my wildest ambitions did I imagine someone like her would be . . . ." He stopped himself, almost too quiet to hear.

"Of course you're being a fool," Thrass said. "Lucky you she's clearly too besotted with you to notice. For once, turn off that analytic mind of yours."

"Easy for your to say, especially under the circumstances." The lift stopped and the doors opened, and the crewman with the laundry practically bolted out. Thrawn and Thrass were apparently leaving here as well, and Lisetha stepped out to allow them to pass before returning to the lift. One more level and she'd be back to her own quarters. Neither gave her more than a cursory glance as they passed, and as the lift doors closed, she was seized with a sudden, impish urge she couldn't resist.

"Have a pleasant evening, sirs," she said as the doors started to close.

"And you, crewman," Thrawn said absently, still turned towards his brother, who only nodded. The instant before the doors closed, she saw the sudden hitch in his stride, and he was clearly starting to look back, but the lift doors closed and she was safely away.

True to what she'd overheard, there was a security crewman standing at the end of the passage where her quarters were and she paused, watching carefully around the corner. There was no way to pass this off as routine and he would notice a crew member going into the Lady Lisetha's quarters and not reemerging. Trying to put aside the fluttering in her stomach that had started listening to that conversation, the pleasant rush of warmth that refused to die away, she once again steadied herself in the Force. Manipulating senses was not as easy as wielding a lightsaber or moving objects, but Aleishia had made her practice, sometimes on an unwitting Serhal or Seln, and now she reached for the guard's mind, gently planting the suggestion he heard a noise at the far end of the corridor, something rattling, perhaps, that shouldn't be. Definitely the sort of thing that should be investigated. As he moved away, she made herself wait until he had almost reached the cross-passage, and then moving as quickly as she dared, she made it to the door of her quarters and inside before he turned around.

Serhal was not back, to her relief, but she wasted no time changing into the robes she'd brought for more formal occasions. Dining in the officer's mess with the Syndic was about the only time on this journey that was likely to occur, but of course she had extra reason to look her best. Both to minimize any chance of Thrawn or Thrass connecting the demure crewer who'd shared a lift with them and because apparently she was 'aesthetically pleasing.' By the time Serhal returned, she had released all the braids and was sweeping her hair into what was, for an Aristocra, a relatively simple updo, and by the time Thrawn appeared at the door in formal dress uniform to escort her to dinner, there was nothing for him to see that might have confirmed any suspicions he'd had.

Dinner went as well as Thrawn anticipated it would, which was to say no one was poisoned, the tension between Lisetha and Thaenil on the one side and Orkeli on the other was thick enough to be almost awkward, and Peirik remained unreadable as he had been on arrival. Thrawn remained as quiet as he politely could, observing the almost stilted interaction between the Councilors and the Council Aide, filing away small tells and noting with some relief that his adoptive grandmother and Lisetha did seem genuinely relaxed in each other's company. Lisetha spoke to him only briefly, directing most of her attention as the principle guest to their host, Thrass, but Thrawn noted her frequent glances in his direction. Equally notable was how she looked directly at the stewards serving them, her smile no less gracious for them than to anyone at the table with her, and she never failed to acknowledge a service with thanks. Orkeli, he observed, treated the stewards as invisible. Pierik, though, was as gracious as his niece. Thrawn filed that away for future consideration.

After seeing his lady back to her quarters, where the presence of his own guard and the one-eyed glare from Ser'halis prevented him from having to decide whether he should kiss her hand, he made a final check of the bridge. Normally he'd have spent some time in his ready room, but he'd ceded it to Thrass for the duration, as befit his brother's rank. So instead he retired to his own quarters, and settled into a chair. Studying the holographic art collection he was slowly amassing would be more restful than simply trying to sleep at the moment, and might distract him from that conversation with Thrass. He'd been so distracted by his brother's ridiculous assertions he'd thought for an instant that crewman in the lift sounded like Lisetha. But of course that was absurd. Roughly the same height, perhaps, similar pitch to the voice, but Thrass had been so insistent on the subject it had made the woman seem more like Lisetha than she undoubtedly was.

There were no native inhabitants in the Stiggond Belt or the system it occupied, so instead he had prepared a selection of works he knew the Sixth Family had purchased for the administrative offices and workers' quarters there, and those Orkeli and Pherek had in their own homes. It was not an inspiring selection, mostly abstracts for the mining belt offices in colors or mineral sculps from the ores mined there, and mundane snow and ice scapes for worker quarters. Orkeli's personal tastes spoke more to a desire to impress visitors with expense and ancestors than real discernment, and Pherek . . .rather than art for its own sake, Lisetha's maternal grandfather seemed to favor antiquities such as ancient temple bronze and primitive attempts at representation of forms. Someone so fixated on the most ancient and venerated eras of their history would object to his granddaughter being bound to the newest of new men, he had to admit.

Thrawn didn't realize his mind was drifting at the border between sleep and wakefulness until, instead of bland ancestor portraits from the most dull period of their people's artistic history, he was seeing a much more recent face, a living face, one he was half-certain in the near-dream that he had seen hidden beneath the brim of a crewman's cap today and not just in the flattering low lights of the officer's private mess. In his mind's eye, he pulled the cap away, letting Lisetha's long, beautiful cobalt hair tumble down her back, revealing the charade (though even in a fantasy he knew, logically, she'd have had to braid it or otherwise pin it up to hide it under the cap.) It would feel like combed merssah silk under his fingers, he knew, and she would close her eyes as he caressed it, drew her close and finally bent his mouth to hers–

His eyes snapped open, and he realized he needed to catch his breath. The only light in his quarters came from the soft glow of the holos and he jabbed hard at the control switch, shutting it off so he would not have the lifeless flat red eyes of long-dead nobles staring reproachfully at him. Even now, fully awake, he could feel how it would be, the press of her body against his, his arms around her, the silken hair, the soft skin . . . .

Thrawn gave an exasperated sigh that there was mercifully no one around to hear. "Damn Thrass for always having to be right," he said to the darkness, and then called up the most dull departmental reports he could think of until he'd sufficiently distracted himself to finally sleep.

A/N: Even when he's fantasizing, Thrawn does have to be logical. And Lisetha's little charade and her parting shot are of course inspired by Irene Adler, dressed as a boy, bidding Sherlock Holmes a good evening with him none the wiser until later.