Chapter 22: A Heart of Kyber

-.-.-.-

"If our beliefs tell us one thing, and the needs of real people tell us another, can there be any question of which we should listen to?" —Qui-Gon Jinn

"The strongest stars have hearts of kyber." —Chirrut Îmwe

-.-.-.-

The Ghost weaved through hyperspace like an arrow soaring through a cool breeze, its target the secret Rebel base of Yavin IV. Celestial lights peppered the ship's hull with majestic strokes, and Sabine watched the grandeur in comfort from her seat in the forward turret. It was a beautiful sight so often taken for granted among space travelers. Until she finally fell asleep… Even Kallus had succumbed to his exhaustion, snoring softly on the cold floor of the forward cargohold.

The halls of the Ghost were quiet and simulated a dark night. Hera and Chopper were the only ones awake. The lounge reverberated softly to the cadence of the hyperdrive, and gentle tones pulsed along to the rhythm of electronic sensors and data streams akin to synapses and nerves flowing through organic life. It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Chopper's holo emitter graced Hera's face with a soft blue glow, as the last moments of a priority Imperial broadcast displayed. Hera was surprised at the anxiety growing exponentially inside her chest, and Chopper could detect the concern and worry at the scrunch of her brows. Holojournalist Alton Kastle was Imperial propaganda at its finest. He enunciated the last of his broadcast with just the right amount of comfort mixed with emotional horror, every few words hitching as his voice would artificially break.

"As the glorious Empire mourns the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn, one of our finest examples of an officer and a leader…," Holojournalist Alton Kastle's voice lifted in breathy bravado towering toward a bellowing strength. "...His legacy. The mighty Seventh Fleet! Continues the fight in his name! Soon, Lothal, the Outer Rim, and then all remaining systems will be rid of these rebel insurgents, and a new, glorious order of the Empire will reign with peace and security throughout the galaxy! Remember this day citizens. Peace— begins— today!" Kastle paused for dramatic effect and brought his voice down. "No word yet on an official memorial for Grand Admiral Thrawn. Myself and the greater Holo-Net will keep you updated should more information on this developing story surface."

Hera's growing nag of anxiety wouldn't go away after the broadcast. Chopper had since gone back to the cockpit to monitor the Ghost's progress toward Yavin, leaving Hera in the lounge alone with her troubled thoughts.

Well, not entirely alone, but her only companion wasn't able to offer very good company at the moment. Hera leaned her head back as she walked, rubbed at the stress knots in the muscles at the back of her neck and sighed. She had been trying to walk off her anxiety by pacing around the room, but her mind was too unsettled for calm.

Hera stopped where she stood and watched him from the middle of the lounge.

The Empire had crafted a clever bout of Imperial propaganda from its twisted sense of truth and fabrications to encourage citizens of the galaxy toward a fear and acceptance of Emperor Palpatine's harsh rule. The cruel might of the Empire and its military forces would only have more leeway now to punish and subjugate those who would fight and sacrifice for freedom, while others, probably most of the galaxy at this point, would remain unaware, brainwashed to reality.

Hera was afraid about what this would mean for the Rebel Alliance. Senators loyal to the Rebel cause were finding it increasingly more difficult and dangerous to push for legislation that would encourage a peaceful path to more freedoms. Now their efforts would find more resistance. Hera saw the heavy hand of the Emperor bearing down evermore, and the heartstrings of the Rebellion were being stretched thin. But what the Empire lacked, that the Ghost crew had in abundance, was hope.

Hope and truth.

Thrawn was not dead as the Empire so fervently claimed.

Thrawn lay asleep, unconscious on the lounge's curved couch. His body silently fought a mighty war against malicious toxins that coursed through his veins. Kanan said he woke up on their disguised Imperial Shuttle… when Rukh said goodbye to him…, but Thrawn had been unresponsive since.

Hera hugged herself and gnawed at her lip as she focused her gaze upon him. It was if she were standing at the ledge of a deep chasm, her destination on the other side, but she was having to convince her legs of their strength to jump over toward it. Her muscles would flinch and meet an invisible barrier each time she endeavored to step forward, and her heart would race until she stopped the effort. Her boots were magnetized in place.

But she needed to go to him. He needed her to go to him. Damn anxiety.

She pinched her eyes closed and slowly opened them again with a deep breath. She stepped one foot forward. And another step. And then another. Until she found herself halfway across the lounge. Hera was timid in her walk to Thrawn's side, but her shoulders were strong, defiant despite the fear hidden inside her veins. Standing over him, Hera hugged herself a little tighter as she found herself fighting an unexpected bitterness looking down upon him.

-.-

Hera's mind flashed in memory.

Hera was on Atollon again, standing around the main command console, Kanan and Ezra at her side while General Dodonna, Commander Sato and Ryder Azadi were materialized in hologram. The Fulcrum symbol was displayed before them, and Kallus' garbled voice emitted over the comm. "This is Fulcrum with an urgent message. Thrawn knows about—"

The message was cut short.

"Thrawn knows? Knows about what?" Kanan asked, clearly on edge.

"Knows about the attack on Lothal?" Ezra offered.

Ryder Azadi averted his eyes. "Something's happened. Most of the Imperial Fleet left the system. What does it mean?" Ryder probably knew but was perhaps afraid to voice it.

"Thrawn knows we're here," Hera said with dread. She turned to personnel behind her. "All ships, battle stations!"

Everything happened so quickly in the memory. The Empire's Seventh Fleet appeared in orbit overhead, blocking the stars with imposing Star Destroyers and Corvettes. Long range communication was jammed, causinf Ryder to disappear from the conference holocall. Sato and Dodonna also disappeared momentarily to tend to their ships, and then the call to evacuate went over the loudspeaker on-base. Alarms clanging throughout the Rebel base made adrenaline spike up the spine in a horrifying rush. A Rebel Frigate attempted to jump away to Rally Point Nova but was instantly pulled out of hyperspace and destroyed.

The Seventh Fleet had gravity wells in place. They were surrounded. They were trapped.

Hera was frantically studying the battlefield for a solution when the flagship of the Seventh Fleet, the ISD Chimaera, majestically joined the standoff. Grand Admiral Thrawn appeared in holo on the main console, and a hush filled the Rebel Base.

"General Dondonna, Commander Sato, Captain Syndulla," Thrawn said with stoic pragmatism. "At last we meet in this… theatre of war, however briefly. There is no escape, and your forces are badly outnumbered. This… rebellion, ends today."

"We'll never surrender to you, Thrawn," Hera said.

"You misunderstand, Captain. I'm not accepting surrenders at this time. I want you to know failure, utter defeat, and that it is I who delivers it crashing down upon you. Now… let us proceed."

Thrawn's image flashed away, and one of the more fearful moments of her life followed. Hera would never forget the turbo-laser bombardment crashing down upon their weakening shield, nor her worry for Kanan as he tried to make it back to cover.

But the turbo-laser fire stopped. They were nearly captured were it not for the frightening intervention of The Bendu.

-.-

The Force had a funny way of turning perspectives upside down. Hera's bitter gaze morphed into one of empathy as his smooth voice echoed again in her mind.

"I want you to know failure… utter defeat…" —

Thrawn was experiencing the spice of his own words. And it was the former recipient of those words, who now stood over him in pity. Thrawn's body was broken, power stripped away, and plans torn asunder. Certainly, by all definition, the results of utter defeat. Of Vader…

Hera took in a deep breath and sat down on a short stool beside Thrawn. She grimaced at his condition. He looked weak. The grand admiral's plaque on his chest, silver bars on his collar, and gold shoulder plates had little meaning any longer except as a bitter echo of what once was.

"We both know utter defeat now," Hera said softly, her tone almost motherly as she scooted closer to him.

Thrawn's left arm was folded comfortably across his torso while his almost bare right arm rested on the cushions at the edge of the couch. Other than his neck, Thrawn's right arm was also of concern because of the Empire's horrid IV insertion. The doctors were harsh in finding the artery. Hera and Kallus were worried about an infection forming around the IV insertion there at his elbow pit, but they needed to wait until they had access to better medical equipment on Yavin before switching it out.

Until then, Kallus had put an IV drip on Thrawn's hand. Gauze with the help of a little bit of tape secured the tubing in a gentle loop on the top of his hand, just beneath the knuckles of his fingers. Cool vitamin-rich fluids had been flowing into Thrawn's body since being on the Ghost, helping to both strengthen him and to assist in diluting the toxic mixture of skirtopanol and lotiramine.

Hera followed the tubing and wires up to the mechanical ventilator resting over the couch on a shelf now. His vitals were relatively steady considering what they were before, though still critical. Hera would prefer Thrawn's blood pressure to be higher, but what was even considered normal for a Chiss?

Thrawn's face was lax, the oxygen tube secured there with fresh tape and passively protruding from his lips. His chest steadily rose and fell with the ventilator's rhythm. Hera closed her eyes and found an odd sort of comfort there listening to the rhythmic clicks and whooshes of the ventilator breathing on Thrawn's behalf. She focused on the sound, and it helped her squash the spark of anxiety from the Imperial broadcast.

Hera hovered gloved hands over bruises and inflamed cuts on his forearm. Dried blood stuck, dark and crusty, to his blue skin. "Look what they've done to you," she whispered. Imperial medical personnel obviously knew nothing about finding an artery for an arterial catheter insertion on an alien with non-human-standard skin color. But Hera also suspected by their shape that a few of the cuts weren't the result of attempted medical attention… Hera was disgusted at how they treated him.

No one deserved this. No one deserved torture or pain. Even an adversary still deserved an amount of dignity and respect. "Revenge is not the Jedi way" Hera would hear Kanan tell Ezra sometimes.

She gently pressed on a piece of tape securing part of the arterial IV tubing to his arm, and the skin looked skin looked dry. With an angered puff, she slipped off her gloves and put them on the knee-high couch-table slightly behind her, next to three of Thrawn's code cylinders and belt that Rex had taken off earlier. Hera shook her head at the sight of Thrawn's ripped uniform sleeve hanging down from his bicep as she faced him fully. The white fabric was stained with spots of red along with part of his uniform tunic at his right side as a result of the horrible treatment.

Hera carefully picked his right arm up and placed it in her lap for a closer examination. She glanced up to his face, but saw Thrawn didn't react, his face remaining lax and lips unmoving around the oxygen tube.

Thrawn's cerulean skin was smooth to Hera's touch as she more closely examined his arm. The texture differed slightly from what she expected. In her experience, even the most hairless mammalian bipedaled aliens in the galaxy had at least a faint sheen of fine hair covering the surface of their skin that could be spotted upon close inspection, but Thrawn had none. Instead, his blue skin had the texture of a smooth but tough leather, though soft and perhaps deceptively delicate. The hair atop his head however seemed to grow at a faster rate than what would be considered galaxy-standard. He already had a small fringe forming at his forehead though perhaps it helped that his hair was a bit disheveled and no longer holding standard Imperial structure.

Hera could tell he was sick by the way his skin was reacting. It felt, as her mother would sometimes say, clammy.

Suspicious, Hera reached over and felt his cheek with the back of her fingers. "Oh…," she moaned. She did the same to his forehead and then rested her palm there. Fever. Hera's eyebrows arched up in worry. Infection? "You're burning up."

A small bowl of water was on the couch-table, and Hera twisted around and dipped a cloth into the cool liquid. She folded it in a nearly perfect rectangle and placed it there on his forehead.

Imperial uniform tunics were made of a fabric called gaberwool. It was a sturdy material but probably didn't breathe very well, and Thrawn's body needed to dissipate heat. Hera folded back the top left corner and expanded out the area around Thrawn's neck, careful not to touch the injury.

But Hera hesitated at the sight of his neck and shivered. The greenish, purple bruising seemed more pronounced, especially where it was obvious a thumb and fingers had gripped, and the subtle rash of speckled dark green dots was not so subtle any longer. Hera's eyes glistened as she turned back to the couch-table and shuffled around for a bacta patch.

As she tore open the bacta patch, she glanced at her Kalikori and focused on the bauble that represented her little brother. The memory of losing him that day and their dashed hopes for his recovery was beginning to swell in the memory's return. No, stop.

Ezra's panicked words when he fought to separate Force-vision from reality echoed suddenly in her mind.

"His daughter had a necklace just like it… He lost them…" —

Thrawn's presence as a grand admiral of the Empire was fading away. He was simply someone who needed help, and, just like her, was also someone hurt by the collateral of war.

Thrawn's holographic form carrying sadness and worry. Crimson eyes glistening. Burdened.

"My people are dying…"

Crimson eyes haunted.

"May you gain hope…"

Hera breathed a shaky sigh. "Seems like we both lost someone, too," she said softly, lowering the bacta patch onto Thrawn's neck. She was gentle as she extended the four blue, glowing electrodes onto the skin and smoothed the patch over the injury. At the very least, the bacta patch would reduce swelling and pain, perhaps even numb the area, depending on Thrawn's biology.

Hera wiped at an eye and sniffed through moist nostrils, as she reached for a tube of bacta ointment and another wet cloth. But before she could start cleaning his arm resting lax over her knees and applying the bacta to his cuts and bruises, a child's pleading voice she didn't recognize nor understand flashed to her perception…

"Tis'mi?" … "Vav rot'sah." «Daddy? …Wake up.»

The voice was both echoey and distant yet nearby at the same time. Hera's heart skittered as she flinched and danced her eyes over the lounge behind her. But no one was there, and the ambient hums and clicks of the Ghost continued on, uninterrupted in the quiet lounge. A small child's pleading voice surely came from behind her though.

Wide, hesitant eyes scanned the lounge one last time before turning back to Thrawn. "Starting to hear things now," Hera murmured, trying to deny what she knew she heard. She gingerly dabbed at Thrawn's arm with the damp cloth. Tubing and wires were taped around his lean limb in such a way that she had to carefully pat at the caked and sticky spots until they lifted away. It concerned Hera to move his arm too much, but she needed to clean underneath where blood had dripped and dried. With a caring touch she gingerly rolled it over, grimacing when she saw the tape tug and stretch at the movement. Were he awake, it might have been painful.

Swirlings in the Force— despair—anxiety—

Two calm beeps sounded from the mechanical ventilator. Hera missed the small twitch of Thrawn's fingers as she glanced up to the ventilator.

"Oh good, your numbers are improving," Hera said, relieved. She touched Thrawn's cheek again with the back of her fingers and patted around his forehead. "Still feverish to me though," she said. The damp cloth on his forehead should be flipped over so the cooler side would touch his skin.

A spark— unfocused turmoil—

Hera saw his reaction this time as she picked up the cloth. Thrawn's eyebrows scrunched together as if in a frown, and his head pressed toward her with a flinch.

"Thrawn?" Hera whispered. Startled, she placed the cloth back down on his forehead and rested her palm there. No response. She moved her palm to caress slightly over his soft hair. "Can you hear me?"

But Thrawn didn't react anymore, his face lax and unresponsive again. Couldn't react. Only soft clicks and whooshes from the ventilator permeated the room. Hera leaned back and glanced at the readout on the ventilator once more before returning her attention to his arm on her lap.

Hera began to apply small dabs of bacta ointment to inflamed cuts and bruises. But then she placed her hand underneath his right palm and gingerly lifted it to examine his hand more closely. Careful about the IV drip that Kallus inserted there, she made sure the tubing had enough slack in the line, only lifting slightly and leaning over to look. Unconscious, his hand offered no resistance to her movement and felt deceptively delicate to her touch. Hera recognized Thrawn to be a warrior though by the flexible musculature there and the nearly healed scars around his knuckles that were common results of sparring.

At the sight of his nails though, Hera held her breath. She set the tube of bacta ointment down and extended his fingers with a hush. Underneath his nails, extending into some of the nail beds, was a black substance appearing to be a mixture of fiber and paint. Hera's heart dropped. Evidence of his fight and struggle to survive. Part of Vader's gloves or armor. Hera reverently wiped at the material caught there under his nails with the damp cloth from her lap.

Swirlings in the Force— a sudden twist— CRACK—

-.-

An unusual burst in the Force radiated through the Ghost and tore Kanan away from his meditation. Kanan flinched where he sat on the floor in Ezra's cabin, and Ezra shuffled in his sleep, moaning as he too felt the ripple in the Force. But it wasn't enough to wake the exhausted Padawan.

Despair turning to pain— twisting in alien forms and patterns—

Kanan reached out in his perception and recognized Hera's muffled voice from down the metallic corridor. "No, no, no Thrawn, listen to me, you have to relax."

Kanan leaned forward to get up, but Ezra's hand squeezed his shoulder. He looked back and found Ezra still asleep, but face scrunched with unconscious turmoil. Ezra seemed to be reacting to the flow of the Force coming from Thrawn. Then Kanan realized… The vision.

Just as Ezra had trouble emerging from the Force-vision, if Thrawn was truly there with Ezra, he might be experiencing a similar chaos. And Kanan recognized that the chaos could be dangerous in Thrawn's medical condition.

Kanan remembered Ezra's panicked eyes.

Ezra lamenting in his arms. Kanan hugging him tight.

"He died in my arms, Kanan" … "I couldn't stop it." …

What was Thrawn waking up from? He didn't get the story of the Force-vision yet from Ezra. Would Thrawn remember dying? What did they experience together?

Whatever they experienced together, Kanan felt the traumatic echoes. He needed to help.

But Kanan realized he might be able help more from where he already was instead of leaving Ezra. His time at the temple wasn't long enough to be formally trained in the art, but Kanan remembered Jedi Masters talking about a technique that used meditation to influence the flow and outcome of battle. Perhaps he could do something similar on the Ghost and influence a call to serenity.

Kanan took a deep breath and focused inward, lowering his heartbeat as his mind prepared to drift and reach out.

"I walk alone, beside myself
Nowhere to go
My flesh and bone
This part of me
The seeds I've sewn"
- Flesh and Bone by Black Math