Brief Synopsis: The Grand Admiral enjoys an art exhibition on a planet currently being subdued by the Empire.

XXX

Four Years Before the Battle of Yavin

It was like standing in the middle of a swirling rainbow, the colors around him were so vibrant. He could not have asked for a more perfect opportunity, a more perfect break from the siege. His stormtrooper guards remained stationed at the front of the exhibition, while he entered the marble room, alone.

Very curious, these people, to find time make such works while their very lives are threatened. He got up close to one of the more recent paintings, an oiled work of bright yellow flowers, half of them live and vibrant in the planet's double suns, while the other half was dying under the shadow of what looked like an Imperial Star Destroyer. He put a finger to his chin while red eyes drank in the details of the artwork, from the author's signature scribbled in one of the lively flowers, to the texture of the vase the flowers were in, to the choking darkness of the shadow killing the flowers.

J'dar was a small but rich planet who's purpose had been to refine Tibanna gas for weapon use. It had come to the attention of High Command that a large amount of the gas was, in fact, being sold to insurgent groups running amok in the sector.

He had leaped at the opportunity. The people of J'dar were known for their refineries, yes, but it was also home to something else. Or, someone else. A Lorrus Melyol, an artist who's works even the Emperor Palpatine had hung in his Imperial Palace, despite Melyol being an alien.

Thrawn was himself an alien, of course. Palpatine, however, had deemed certain aliens of use in the Empire. The rest he expressed disdain for, which sometimes made him question his work.

He quietly walked over to another painting, an older one, he could tell. Done by Melyol. Twenty-two years old, he knew it well. Gingerly he bent forward, eyes searching, searching- Ah, yes. This is indeed the original. It showed a much simpler picture than before. Four J'darans, watching the double eclipse of their double suns on a rocky plateau. He had been there only recently, in fact. A camp of the insurgents had planted themselves at the rock's ledge, determined to make a final stand and die. After the ground troops had proven unable to penetrate the stalwart defender's ranks, he had ordered the place to be shelled.

No one would be able to stand on that ledge again. He regretted the action quite heavily now, and he sighed.

Time for one more. He looked out the glass windows of the exhibition; the guards were looking down the street. As he had hypothesized, the insurgents would be unable to resist trying to assassinate the man who had been outwitting them for the past three months.

The third was an art sculpture, that seemed to be alive. It was made of a material he was unfamiliar with; red and white stone blended together into the shape of two J'daran's locked in what they called the "Msstra," or the "Dance of Life." It happened after their wedding ceremonies, in which the dance would happen towards the end, and afterwards the newly wedded would then go about making a child. He could almost see the faces of other Imperial officer's spitting upon such a thing, so quickly. It had happened, all too many times before.

Gently, a hand came up to touch the sculpture, to turn it around slightly to view it from a different. No one was there to stop him; the town had long had its population killed off for trying to house some of the rebels. Another action, he regretted: among those casualties had been Melyol himself.

But war was war. He had learned it always came at a cost, many years ago. He had set about to always strive to keep that cost low. The Empire cared very little for other culture, for art. Where he saw beauty, they saw only tedious obstacles to work around. One of his reasons for joining the Imperial Navy had been to try and be one of the few who tried to stop that.

"Admiral, we need to evacuate you immediately!" His guards had stumbled into the exhibition. He could feel the tension emanating from them. He picked up the sculpture in his hands, cradling it like a small child. "Admiral, quickly! The rebels have entered the town with three heavy tanks-"

"Only three?"

"Wha- yes, Admiral. Do you have orders?"

He held one of his hands open. "Trade me your comlink, trooper." The stormtrooper turned to his friend as if to say "What did he just say?" before cautiously taking out his comlink and taking the sculpture in his hands.

Thrawn's thumb found the activation switch. "Commander, are the three tanks coming down the main street or side?"

"Admiral! They are coming down the main road-"

As he had anticipated, though he had held a reserve plan in case they had decided to indeed come down the side streets to attack the temporary HQ they had set up. They would be gunning for the makeshift base, thinking he would be inside. He could hardly blame them, how could they have anticipated their enemy would be more fascinated with their artwork than planning their utter defeat?

"Are they near the Blue Earth Hotel?"

"Yes, Admiral-"

"Have your turret emplacements fire for the first, third, and seventh pillars of the hotel, Commander, when the tanks are right next to the structure. When you have done so, deploy your ground troops to engage what's left of them."

The comm was silent with bemusement. "I- yes, Admiral. But why?"

"Those are the most unlucky numbers to the J'daran's, Commander," Thrawn said, casually walking towards the windows of the exhibiton. From here, he could see across to the main plaza, and from there the tall structure of the Blue Earth Hotel. "They will have spent greater efforts to strengthen those specific pillars for fear their god of karma will break them himself. With the added reinforcement placed in them gone, the hotel will fall forward."

The Commander didn't try to question him anymore; he had lessened that in the recent months, which he could hardly care less for. The man was brittle, unteachable. He held little appreciation for the finer works in life, simply wanting to sample the local women of whatever town they subjugated next.

He shook his head. Where might they be in this siege were he not here to tell them these things?

His guards stood behind him, having listened to the conversation and now simply gawked as the laser turrets fired upon the hotel while tanks entered the shadow of the structure. Gingerly, he took the sculpture from the stormtrooper's hands as the hotel began to tilt. Wild screams came from plaza that were quickly drowned out by the sound of several tons of marble and plaster crunching and crashing as it fell.

By the time he had walked back into the HQ, the dust had cleared, with only the flattened metal of one of the tanks poking out from beneath a chunk of marble.

"Have this delivered to the Chimerea," he ordered, thrusting the sculpture into the hands of one of the supply pilots. He turned to the Commander, who had a sort of dumbstruck look upon his face as he looked at Thrawn.

"Sir, how do you know these things? Just... how?"

"Learn about art, Commander," he said dreamily, turning heel and walking steadily back to his private tent. "Learn, understand, and enjoy it, and perhaps then you will have an answer to your own question."