"Citizens of the Imperium, today we lay to rest a comrade who fought and died with valor few Imperial commanders, be it in the old Empire, the Remnant, or this new Empire, can claim. Captain Thompson lived and layed down his life valiantly, with undying courage and dedication to the Empire, and the New Order." Thrawn paused briefly as he continued to mentally stab with his glare into the holographic camera.
"Captain Thompson lost his life two weeks ago, during the second battle for Almania. Faced with terrible odds, he did not shrink even from the ultimate sacrifice, as he fired one last, devastating shot, a shot which echoed the secret fire that burns in all Imperial officers, even at the cost of his own life. His parting shot overloaded the generators of the newly comissioned model of our new Imperial III - Star Destroyer prototype, the 'Lord Vader'. The overload short-circuited most systems on board, including the ones which brought the captain's fate to an end, the gravity and life support system. over thirty thousand Imperial officers layed down their lives for the Empire just aboard the 'Lord Vader', three hundred died in starfighter, over six hundred were lost with the 'Halberd', the 'Phobos', and the 'Deimos', another sixteen thousand were lost with the 'Mars'." Thrawn paused again, for increased dramatic effect.
"The captains sacrifice has saved the day for the Empire, preserving Almania's shipyards to a ninety eight percent capacity. Today, the Empire lies to rest a hero, a hero whose fall will herald the ultimate rise of the long-promised New Order of the Empire!" Thrawn said, and relaxed in his chair, knowing that his part was over. The techs would modify the recording for smooth transmission between the speech and the formal funeral they recorded a week ago, in the aftermath and the unavoidable clean-up job after the battle. No, not battle. A debacle. He should have forseen it. He knew they would attack... he was mistaken where. He slapped the comlink on his chair, opening the transmission to intel department, and ordered a batch of new samples of Yuuzhan Vong art, though it was rather morbid, as Yuuzhan Vong art was mainly their bodies. Such artistical mutilations, they were an intriguing species. One he would learn how to counter. He swore it once he encountered their scouts in the Unknown Regions, but now, he was awakened from suspended animation a decade later then programmed.
He would find their weakness. Like he found the Republics. They would fall.
He sighed and went to his quaters.
* * *
A long time ago, someone said that all great things require a few martyrs. The factories, cloning facilities, and shipyards of Crimson Prime were working at full capacity, and beyond that. He turned away from the window and gazed back into the throne room, encompassing the crown of spikes, looking beyond with the Force, he saw his palace. His. Bastions of durasteel and duracrete, spike crowns atop the towers, such was the palace of the Imperium. foundries, mines, factories, shipyards, mech assembly bays, and cloning tanks where his clones toiled day and night with little or no rest, he arrived on Crimson Prime several months ago, with barely a thousand techs, five hundred stormtroopers, and a hundred cloning tanks. Now, he had ten thousand cloning tanks at his disposal, countless workers, stormtroopers which were cloned like flies, a production facility that rivaled the greatest. He gazed upwards, torwards the unfinished three Imperial III - class Star Destroyers and two more Shadowfox - class Carriers.
He was not a Dark Lord of the Sith... yet. He observed the so-called Sith who wandered the galaxy after the defeat of the Empire, and somehow knew that the ancient Sith Lords had probably turned in their tombs.
* * *
"Another casualty of the war." Luke said as he watched the new channel of the HoloNet, RIN, Reborn Imperial News. He had no idea how Thrawn set it up, but it clearly announced to the galaxy his intentions, and he knew he would be buried under a pile of pleas to dispose of Thrawn.
"If only it was so easy Skywalker." a femine voice spoke from behind him and a smile crept onto Luke's face as he turned to look at the most beautiful woman in the galaxy... In his humble opinion ofcourse, as she settled into the sofa.
"Yes dearest... We fought so long and hard, only to be caught between promises."
"You dont have to honour yours." Mara mentioned.
"No, but I wouldnt like the person I would become if I dont honour my word." Luke said as a frown crept back onto his forehead.
"We should at least call him." He said and Mara nodded with agreement. Luke typed in the comconsole number Thrawn gave him to contact him, and waited as the machine hooked him through. Half a minute passed in silence until the pale blue face appeared... But the glow of his eyes wasnt what it usually was, menacing, cold, calculating. It was more like... a deep sadness in Thrawn's eyes.
"Master Skywalker." Thrawn said without any show of emotion.
"Grand Admiral, myself, my wife, and the Jedi Order would like to extend our consolation for your losses at Almania. I realize the late captain was a friend of yours, and we mourn his loss, as well as the loss of all those who died at Almania."
"Your compassion is appriciated master Skywalker. Tragedy happens during war - sometimes we cannot prevent it, regardless of our efforts." Thrawn said gravely, dropping the hint that the conversation wasnt happening in the right place nor in the right time.
"Indeed Admiral. Sorry to disturb you. Skywalker out." Luke said and cut the transmission. After meditating on what he had seen for a brief second, he turned to his wife, Mara Jade Skywalker, and said:
"Thrawn's not so unemotional after all."
"Hmmm?" Mara asked absently.
"He cried." Luke concluded with a sigh.
* * *
The door opened with a soft hiss, and the smell of fresh forvish ale welcomed Cayel as he entered the room.
"Admiral?" He cautiously asked as he approached the command chair in a similiar cautious fashion. The chair rotated, revealing Thrawn laid back as usual, though with his collar undone and a half-empty bottle of forvish ale in his right hand dangling dangerously over the armchair.
"They say alcohol helps you forget captain." Thrawn said in a cool voice as if it were any ordinary work day on the bridge.
"Sir?" Cayel asked, confused beyond measure.
"Alcohol makes things only worse. It hurts worse." Thrawn said and as his voice broke near the end causing streams of tears to run down his pale blue cheeks, he hurled the bottle into the wall behind Cayel, watching it sparkle into a shower of drops of whiskey and glass. Cayel moved in as he saw his opportunity when Thrawn disarmed himself of the bottle projectile, and gently tried to rise Thrawn from his chair. No such luck... He slapped his comlink through to Lomeir's frequency, and quickly explained the situation to him. Lomeir arrived within a minute.
Within another three, maybe five minutes they tucked Thrawn into his bed, in the spartan room besides the room containing the commanding chair and advanced holographic equipment.
As the door of the Grand Admiral's quaters closed, Cayel turned to Lomeir.
"The Admiral lost a friend Lomeir, dont look down at him. That could have happened to any of us, and he would have mourned us in the same way. Do you see my point?"
"I saw nothing out of order in that room. Only a superior officer mourning a dead comrade the same way the two of us mourned him last week." Lomeir said as Cayel's face reddened with embarassment at the mention of their little mourning party last saturday... If he remembered correctly, he had to erase the cleaning droid's memory of the part where he cleaned the vomit on the walls, beds and floor. The room still reeked of vomit. It was all Vorkosigans fault though, he brough the wine.
"Glad we see things in common." Cayel nodded as they parted ways, each to their own quaters, each down their own path.
"Captain Thompson lost his life two weeks ago, during the second battle for Almania. Faced with terrible odds, he did not shrink even from the ultimate sacrifice, as he fired one last, devastating shot, a shot which echoed the secret fire that burns in all Imperial officers, even at the cost of his own life. His parting shot overloaded the generators of the newly comissioned model of our new Imperial III - Star Destroyer prototype, the 'Lord Vader'. The overload short-circuited most systems on board, including the ones which brought the captain's fate to an end, the gravity and life support system. over thirty thousand Imperial officers layed down their lives for the Empire just aboard the 'Lord Vader', three hundred died in starfighter, over six hundred were lost with the 'Halberd', the 'Phobos', and the 'Deimos', another sixteen thousand were lost with the 'Mars'." Thrawn paused again, for increased dramatic effect.
"The captains sacrifice has saved the day for the Empire, preserving Almania's shipyards to a ninety eight percent capacity. Today, the Empire lies to rest a hero, a hero whose fall will herald the ultimate rise of the long-promised New Order of the Empire!" Thrawn said, and relaxed in his chair, knowing that his part was over. The techs would modify the recording for smooth transmission between the speech and the formal funeral they recorded a week ago, in the aftermath and the unavoidable clean-up job after the battle. No, not battle. A debacle. He should have forseen it. He knew they would attack... he was mistaken where. He slapped the comlink on his chair, opening the transmission to intel department, and ordered a batch of new samples of Yuuzhan Vong art, though it was rather morbid, as Yuuzhan Vong art was mainly their bodies. Such artistical mutilations, they were an intriguing species. One he would learn how to counter. He swore it once he encountered their scouts in the Unknown Regions, but now, he was awakened from suspended animation a decade later then programmed.
He would find their weakness. Like he found the Republics. They would fall.
He sighed and went to his quaters.
* * *
A long time ago, someone said that all great things require a few martyrs. The factories, cloning facilities, and shipyards of Crimson Prime were working at full capacity, and beyond that. He turned away from the window and gazed back into the throne room, encompassing the crown of spikes, looking beyond with the Force, he saw his palace. His. Bastions of durasteel and duracrete, spike crowns atop the towers, such was the palace of the Imperium. foundries, mines, factories, shipyards, mech assembly bays, and cloning tanks where his clones toiled day and night with little or no rest, he arrived on Crimson Prime several months ago, with barely a thousand techs, five hundred stormtroopers, and a hundred cloning tanks. Now, he had ten thousand cloning tanks at his disposal, countless workers, stormtroopers which were cloned like flies, a production facility that rivaled the greatest. He gazed upwards, torwards the unfinished three Imperial III - class Star Destroyers and two more Shadowfox - class Carriers.
He was not a Dark Lord of the Sith... yet. He observed the so-called Sith who wandered the galaxy after the defeat of the Empire, and somehow knew that the ancient Sith Lords had probably turned in their tombs.
* * *
"Another casualty of the war." Luke said as he watched the new channel of the HoloNet, RIN, Reborn Imperial News. He had no idea how Thrawn set it up, but it clearly announced to the galaxy his intentions, and he knew he would be buried under a pile of pleas to dispose of Thrawn.
"If only it was so easy Skywalker." a femine voice spoke from behind him and a smile crept onto Luke's face as he turned to look at the most beautiful woman in the galaxy... In his humble opinion ofcourse, as she settled into the sofa.
"Yes dearest... We fought so long and hard, only to be caught between promises."
"You dont have to honour yours." Mara mentioned.
"No, but I wouldnt like the person I would become if I dont honour my word." Luke said as a frown crept back onto his forehead.
"We should at least call him." He said and Mara nodded with agreement. Luke typed in the comconsole number Thrawn gave him to contact him, and waited as the machine hooked him through. Half a minute passed in silence until the pale blue face appeared... But the glow of his eyes wasnt what it usually was, menacing, cold, calculating. It was more like... a deep sadness in Thrawn's eyes.
"Master Skywalker." Thrawn said without any show of emotion.
"Grand Admiral, myself, my wife, and the Jedi Order would like to extend our consolation for your losses at Almania. I realize the late captain was a friend of yours, and we mourn his loss, as well as the loss of all those who died at Almania."
"Your compassion is appriciated master Skywalker. Tragedy happens during war - sometimes we cannot prevent it, regardless of our efforts." Thrawn said gravely, dropping the hint that the conversation wasnt happening in the right place nor in the right time.
"Indeed Admiral. Sorry to disturb you. Skywalker out." Luke said and cut the transmission. After meditating on what he had seen for a brief second, he turned to his wife, Mara Jade Skywalker, and said:
"Thrawn's not so unemotional after all."
"Hmmm?" Mara asked absently.
"He cried." Luke concluded with a sigh.
* * *
The door opened with a soft hiss, and the smell of fresh forvish ale welcomed Cayel as he entered the room.
"Admiral?" He cautiously asked as he approached the command chair in a similiar cautious fashion. The chair rotated, revealing Thrawn laid back as usual, though with his collar undone and a half-empty bottle of forvish ale in his right hand dangling dangerously over the armchair.
"They say alcohol helps you forget captain." Thrawn said in a cool voice as if it were any ordinary work day on the bridge.
"Sir?" Cayel asked, confused beyond measure.
"Alcohol makes things only worse. It hurts worse." Thrawn said and as his voice broke near the end causing streams of tears to run down his pale blue cheeks, he hurled the bottle into the wall behind Cayel, watching it sparkle into a shower of drops of whiskey and glass. Cayel moved in as he saw his opportunity when Thrawn disarmed himself of the bottle projectile, and gently tried to rise Thrawn from his chair. No such luck... He slapped his comlink through to Lomeir's frequency, and quickly explained the situation to him. Lomeir arrived within a minute.
Within another three, maybe five minutes they tucked Thrawn into his bed, in the spartan room besides the room containing the commanding chair and advanced holographic equipment.
As the door of the Grand Admiral's quaters closed, Cayel turned to Lomeir.
"The Admiral lost a friend Lomeir, dont look down at him. That could have happened to any of us, and he would have mourned us in the same way. Do you see my point?"
"I saw nothing out of order in that room. Only a superior officer mourning a dead comrade the same way the two of us mourned him last week." Lomeir said as Cayel's face reddened with embarassment at the mention of their little mourning party last saturday... If he remembered correctly, he had to erase the cleaning droid's memory of the part where he cleaned the vomit on the walls, beds and floor. The room still reeked of vomit. It was all Vorkosigans fault though, he brough the wine.
"Glad we see things in common." Cayel nodded as they parted ways, each to their own quaters, each down their own path.
