(A/N)- Hello readers! It has been busy out in realspace for me with all the preparations for our move under way, so I struggled to find the time and motivation to work on fic for a while. But bit by bit I cracked this chapter out and I'm really happy with the result! Hope you all enjoy it too!
Let's check in with our favorite blue bastard.
Disclaimer: *looks around* Well drat, looks like I'm still not filthy rich and able to buy Star Wars from Disney. Drat.
Ponderous
The strain in his eyes from looking at so many datapad screens and holoprojections was starting to become painful.
Thrawn closed them for a moment, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment, it wasn't enough to contain his agitated energy, so he rose from his seat and paced along the sides of the room.
Up and down, one end to another. He passed by the pedestal that displayed Hera Syndulla's family kalikori and paused, staring down at it with a sharp gaze.
He had a quivering, intense urge to seize the offending piece and hurl it with force against the opposite wall.
He stepped away from the pedestal and resumed pacing, even more agitatedly. These unnatural violent impulses were becoming... alarmingly more frequent. There was a constant stress and pressure seemingly pressing down on his joints, and his mental clarity had been fragmenting, disrupted more than usual, though he couldn't say by what.
No... that wasn't quite true. He did know what was causing this... tension inside him.
His teeth clenched inside his head involuntarily.
That boy.
The anomaly. Ezra Bridger. A factor in his games that refused to be defined. There had never been anything Thrawn's sharp, analytic mind had been unable to figure out and yet there he was, infuriatingly a mystery.
It did not make sense.
Ezra Bridger did not make sense.
Thrawn stopped his pacing, mashing his fingers against his temple and forehead. He controlled his breathing, standing in place and trying to concentrate.
His ears caught the fluttering hiss! of his office door sliding open, and the footsteps that crossed their way down the hall towards him.
He glanced up to see Pryce approaching, and managed a tired upwards quirk of his mouth for her.
She was looking around at the haphazardly organized holoprojections shimmering about the room and the stacks of un-neat data pads piling up on his desk.
"Did you sleep at all last night?" she accused, tone scolding and slightly concerned.
He sniffed with some weary amusement. "An insufficient amount I am afraid," he confessed. Dropping his hand, he straightened and assumed a professional air. "I assume you have a report for me?" he prompted her.
She nodded. "Imperial troopers just located the Rebel hideout, about thirty clicks out from Capitol City. They captured plenty of insurgents but Ryder and several of his higher-ups were not at the encampment when the squadron made their raid. They're waiting to see if he comes back."
"But it is likely by now that Azadi knows the base is compromised," Thrawn concluded.
Pryce nodded again. "Very likely," she agreed. "We have patrols searching the surrounding areas and we've tightened security at the landing field where we have the TIE Defender Advanced prototype."
"Very good, Governor," Thrawn complimented idly, picking up one of the datapads from his desk and studying it. "Was that all?"
She hesitated to speak at first, an uncomfortable look on her face. Thrawn lowered the datapad slightly, looking up with a raised eyebrow at her.
"Was that all, Governor?" he asked, a slightly harder edge to his voice.
The woman visibly swallowed. Her eyes wouldn't meet his. There seemed to be a slight shake to her hands as she clasped them by her sides.
"Yes, Grand Admiral," she said. "That was all."
Thrawn's eyes narrowed, lines creasing in-between his brows. "Are you certain?" he asked her, his voice icy and chilling.
"There was nothing else," Pryce lied, the crack of her voice betraying her.
He took an ominous step towards her, making her flinch back.
"I am not a fool, Governor," he warned her. There was a silent promise in his body language, something almost feral and dangerous that clearly frightened the woman, who took a slow deep inhale to steady herself.
At length, she seemed to move past her reluctance.
"We have... unconfirmed eyewitness reports that... there may have been Jedi among the insurgents who escaped the raid on Old Jho's establishment," she relayed, every word pulling from her slowly, her face wincing and bracing for his reaction.
Thrawn's eyes lit up with keen interest. His expression seemed feverishly vindicated.
"So," he said, putting the datapad down on his desk. "The anomaly has returned."
"We don't know for certain it was Bridger," Pryce pointed out hastily.
He gave a dismissive wave. "Who else would it be? The young Jedi and his master are the only ones with strong enough connections to Lothal to care about its occupation." One hand ran along the smooth edge of his desk. "There are so few Force users remaining, after all."
Pryce recovered her composure, straightening her back, squaring her shoulders bravely. "I will expend every effort to root them out, Grand Admiral," she promised.
"There will be no need for great effort, Governor," he told her, some malicious glint in his red eyes. "Simply threaten the lives of the people of Lothal and they will come to you," he said.
Her eyes widened slightly as she absorbed that. "You believe that will work?" she asked, breathlessly.
Her nervousness had been replaced and now there was a hint of excitement in her voice. Thrawn gave a faint smirk; her thirst for brutality could be so very effective sometimes.
"If there is one thing I have learned about the Jedi," he said, "it is that they are cripplingly altruistic. Given the choice between harm to innocents and their own survival, they will forfeit their lives, every time." His hand raised, a finger pressing to his chin in consideration. "That is something we can take advantage of."
Pryce looked eager to chime in, but a beep from his desk drew Thrawn's attention. He crossed over to the console and pressed the button to open the comm channel.
"Yes, what is it?" he asked.
"Governor Tarkin is on the line for you, Grand Admiral," the communications officer transmitted.
Thrawn's mouth pursed into a frown. He glanced up at Pryce, who was fidgeting a little, now.
"Should I go?" she asked.
Thrawn shook his head. "I may require your support," he told her, pulling out his seat and taking it as he gave instruction for the Outer Rim Moff to be put through. "Relay the transmission to my office," he told the bridge technician.
He did so.
Tarkin's visage shimmered into life in front of them.
"Grand Admiral," the Moff acknowledged, in his short, clipped accent.
"Governor Tarkin," Thrawn said, nodding back. "To what do I owe this... unexpected pleasure?"
"Rather a considerable amount less pleasurable than I think either of us would prefer, I'm afraid," Tarkin sniffed, by way of preemptive apology. "You're being summoned to Coruscant."
Thrawn's shoulders stiffened slightly. His mouth pinched into a disturbed frown. "At such a critical junction for the planned mass-production of the TIE Defender?" he questioned. "For what purpose?"
"For a budgetary meeting of sorts," Tarkin explained, sounding witheringly unhappy about it, "between various project heads, set to settle the direction of the Emperor's strategy for putting down the Rebel Alliance and bringing order once again to the galaxy."
Thrawn felt a vague irritation pulling at his hairline, and grit his teeth slightly before responding, very carefully, "The Emperor has assured me that he supports my project."
"I know what promises the Emperor has made you," Tarkin said. "However I also know that he has been listening recently to Orson Krennic, who has been doing a great deal of talking up his own project, Stardust."
Thrawn's hands clenched on the desk, nails scraping the surface just slightly.
"The Death Star—" he spat, using its secret code name instead of its public label, "—is a bloated, inefficient, and expensive waste of resources that could be put to far better use building up and fortifying the Imperial navy." Pryce was shuffling nervously at his open calling out of the project's failings but Thrawn only continued his impromptu tirade. "You will only create Rebels faster than you can kill them, should you use its supposed..." His eyes narrowed in skepticism. "...planet-destroying power."
"Until it delivers on its promised results, I'm inclined to agree with you," Tarkin told him, nodding. "However, that decision is not mine to make. The Emperor expects you within the next couple rotations. I have already arranged an audience so you can plead your case for the TIE Defender directly."
"The Emperor might be keen to know," Thrawn suggested, an icy tone in his voice, "that I have reasonable evidence to believe that Ezra Bridger has returned to Lothal, and is likely coordinating with the wider Alliance for a strike on the planet's shipbuilding factories."
There was no reaction from Tarkin, his face an immovable placid stone.
"He is aware," the man said.
"Then it should be evident to His Excellency how much I am needed here," Thrawn argued, "to stave off the Rebels' inevitable strike."
In the corner of his vision, Thrawn saw Pryce stir and move forward hastily.
"What the Grand Admiral means to say," she covered, leaning forward into the range of the holocamera, "is that the Emperor might appreciate the Admiral's efforts to protect His Excellency's assets and interests in Lothal."
"The Emperor has every confidence that you will be able to manage without the Grand Admiral's direct command and involvement, Governor," Tarkin told her, glancing briefly in her direction.
She grimaced with chagrin, not quite so confident. Thrawn piped up once more to protest.
"It's a matter of importance that—"
"Let me ask you this, Grand Admiral," Tarkin interrupted. Cold eyes leveled on the Chiss, with a look of severe scrutiny and judgment. "Do you believe, at this moment, that the Rebels can defeat your forces?" he asked pointedly.
Thrawn hesitated, reluctant to give the answer. Tensions warred on his face, flickers of conflict beneath the stoic surface.
At length, he admitted honestly, "...No."
Tarkin straightened. "Then there should be no issue." He assumed an air of professional formality. "You shall leave immediately," he relayed.
Thrawn's hands slowly relaxed on the desk. "Understood, Governor," he acknowledged, his voice a crisp, formal monotone again.
The transmission flickered out.
The Grand Admiral sat for a moment, his face impassive and undreadable.
Then he stood, and Pryce quickly came to attention as he paced around the side of the desk. He didn't look at her, staring off towards the monolith of Sabine's graffiti, one wrist clasped in the other hand behind his back.
He could feel the strain in her as she waited for him to speak.
"You know the general plan of defense I have made for when the Rebels' sortie attacks?" he asked her.
A flush of relief. Only the smallest of nervous wavers in her voice as she replied, "Of course, Grand Admiral. The fleet will face outwards towards the threat, light cruisers ahead of Star Destroyers. We deploy fighters to scatter them and steer them into the crossfire from our batteries," she recited. "And should any ships manage to slip through, a second wave of TIE fighters hidden in the cloud cover will ambush them."
He nodded. "Very good," he determined. He was pleased she had listened when he'd explained to her the strategy. He unclasped his wrist, bringing one hand up underneath his chin in consideration. For a long moment he thought through different possible outcomes for the as-of-yet unfought battle ahead, a battle that he would unfortunately not bear witness to or direct, but must assure the outcome even so.
A thought flickered through his head.
"I'm sending an associate of mine to assist you," he determined, pulling his hand down from his chin. "A Noghri assassin, very highly skilled in tracking." Satisfaction pooled through him as he spoke. "He will aid you in tracking down the remaining escapees from the Rebel encampment."
Pryce stiffened indignantly. "I hardly require any help," she grumbled.
"That you allowed Ezra Bridger and his friends to slip by our forces suggests otherwise," he clipped back with a biting edge to his monotone, glancing over his shoulder at her.
She looked appropriately shame-faced.
"I suggest you return to the Capitol, Governor," he said casually, clasping his hands behind him again. "Await my agent's arrival and remember what I have told you about Jedi altruism. The Chimaera will depart as soon as you leave."
She hastened to nod. "At once, Grand Admiral."
The woman dismissed herself, her footsteps trailing off back into the access hallway, the hiss of the door sounding and leaving his office quiet once more.
Thrawn seethed in the direction of one of the holoprojections; an image of a young Bridger, dressed in a white cadet's uniform. His gaze bore into the image as if he could inflict psychic damage on it just by staring.
It was irritating to have to leave right when his prize had made itself known. But the Rebels would not leave Lothal again, of that he was certain.
They would stay. They would fight.
And Lothal would be their tomb.
He would make sure of it.
(A/N)- Mwah-ha-ha, have some chapter notes, my gremlins.
1. Thrawn's slow villainous breakdown continues! It is a delight to write him slowly fraying out and losing his cool, let me tell you. But of course I wanted to balance that against his usual stoic calm and clinical logic because he's not at the breaking point... yet.
He might need to check himself on that obsession with Ezra though, that can't be good for him.
2. A major deviation from canon this time—Thrawn will be absent for the planned Rebel assault. I can only say that I am looking very forward to those chapters (because I have a feeling it's going to take at least two to cover all the action).
3. I love Rogue One but I also still have a soft spot for the original way they learned about the Death Star, as per the Star Wars radio drama, with "Death Star" being its secret code name that wasn't supposed to be known to anyone, well, not in the know. Leia accidentally gives herself away at a private dinner with her father and a major high-up Imperial officer when she calls it by name in the middle of an angry rant against its existence (aforementioned Imperial officer had decided to brag about it). So I kept that, in a way. The public project name is still "Stardust" (and even that's pretty secretive), but the name it goes by behind closed doors is "Death Star". Best of both worlds.
And exit stage left Thrawn, with Ruhk coming in to cause problems on purpose I'm sure. I hope to get the next chapters out quickly. Things are going to be really moving soon.