Chapter 18
Corran could feel a slow pulsing as of blood in his temple, but he didn't think he was cut. His eyes were either unable to open or temporarily blinded, as blackness filled the space around him. Something, rather, somethings down in his abdomen felt either fractured or severely stressed, and he could still taste the iron tang of his own blood.
A weak attempt to raise himself into a sitting position resulted in an exhausted collapse back to the hard, cold surface of wherever he was being kept. He coughed tiredly and tried to force himself to think.
He remembered the harrowing infiltration of the Star Destroyer and the entrance into the armory chamber...
That was it. He could vaguely recall one of the In'ca Din'ca Jedi thrusting hands outwards to throw sizzling lightning bolts at him and the rest of the team. He remembered throwing himself and his lightsaber in front of some of the bolts to protect Wedge from the assault, but his mind blanked soon after.
Light flooded into the cell, and Corran winced. It was just like being back in Lusankya after his capture by Ysanne Isard during the early stages of the war. She, too, had kept him in a black cell, cold and...
He realized then that just like that previous time, he was once again naked.
Blurry vision only allowed him to glimpse the intruder who suddenly entered as a tall, black form with glinting eyes. The shape of his captor halted, haloed in a nimbus of artificially bright light, and seemed to look down at him.
"Corran Horn," a throbbing voice spoke. Corran remembered it, but couldn't place it in his still-fractured memories. "You are a fortunate man."
Licking his lips, Corran tried to grunt out a response.
"Rot...in...Hutt slime," he gargled, and then coughed heavily, feeling something tear inside of him.
"I must admit," the voice continued, "that having a new species of prisoner to turn is entertaining. The insults and defiant clichés grow so weary when one hears the same ones."
Corran took a deep breath and reached out to the Force.
"Oh, good, you are yet intelligent enough to know when to resist and when not to," the voice rambled on, and, almost carelessly, a heavy slap came out of nowhere to land on the side of his head, banishing both coherency and the Force with a single ringing blow.
When his head cleared of static again, Corran discerned that the figure was again talking.
"-will make a wonderful ally."
He fought for strength. "For... you?" he croaked. "Not likely." Another cough.
The voice tutted gently. "Oh, falling into the pattern already? Come now, I know you have been interrogated by Isard. You must know how it goes: I promise, you resist, I break you."
"Isard... is dead," Corran got out defiantly. "If the Force... is with me... you will... be as well... soon."
"Aha, now there is where you are wrong, Force-sensitive man," the voice shot back. "You cannot possibly defeat me. I have it within my power to lift you up or destroy you."
A wash of Force energy flowed out from the figure, and Corran could feel the healing rush blow through his body, mending the badly injured portions of his anatomy and clearing his brain for thinking.
Blinking to clear his eyes of the crust of long sleep, he looked up at his captor, K'talla M'niisonn, Jedi Master.
The last of the Rebel and unallied In'ca Din'ca craft vanished with a flicker into hyperspace, and the commander of the lead battleship turned to his second-in-command.
"Order all ships to stand down," he hissed. "Inform the Master that the Coruscant system is now ours."
This was by far the worst debacle yet, Pellaeon despaired. A sudden turnabout in the decks of his own Star Destroyer, and the Fleet was forced to flee for their lives from the combined power of the aliens and the Rebels. Reports from other sectors indicated that sudden revolts by Noghri – damn them all!- had taken out many of the prime commanders, and many of the battle groups were being routed by smaller Rebel and alien forces.
"Do not worry, Captain," Thrawn's smooth voice came from his command chair, once again seeming to read Pellaeon's thoughts. "The battle is far from over."
He turned to the helm officer. "Tell the Fleet to realign course when we drop out of hyperspace," he ordered.
"Where to, Admiral?" Pellaeon asked, a stirring of hope alive suddenly in his breast.
Thrawn's eyes glittered. "The Unknown Regions," he said softly, in that oh-so-confident tone of voice that had told Pellaeon less than a year previous that this man, this genius, held the key to the domination of the galaxy.
The battle for the galaxy has just begun.
Thanks for reading this Fanfic, everyone! I apologize for a huge delay on the last couple of chapters, but a bunch of school trips and studying ruined my schedule. Look for a second part to this story coming soon, entitled: Fading Embers.
May the Force be with you!
-Sci-Fi Nerd