AN: Thank you so very much for the reviews, folks! Always nice to know that there are people yes, serenity8118, I couldn't get that image out, either, which was one of the pokes to get this story written.
Here, again, we catch up to Thrawn. I let him sleep in a while, so that's why you've not seen him since Chap.2 :)
Chapter 4: What we have here is a Failure to Communicate
Two stormtroopers held his arms tightly. The stormtrooper in front of him held his DC rifle at the ready, and no doubt so did his rear escort. He felt the barrel prod him forward every few feet, even when he was managing to keep up. With his hands cuffed behind him, Thrawn felt the four guard escort was ridiculous overkill, especially for a prisoner who had had trouble getting to his feet after several days of imprisonment, with little food or water. His legs steadied the longer he was forced to be on them, but the troopers had already had to bear his weight once when a particularly hard jerk of the turbolift almost sent him to the floor.
The lift door opened and his left and right guards tightened their holds on his arms, pulling him forward only after the front guard checked for any would-be targets. None presented themselves, judging by the distinct lack of blaster fire.
They were in one of the comm rooms deep in the Palace. Thrawn didn't recognize the pattern of décor in the room. Each level of the Imperial Palace had its own unique design and theme, down to the carpet used on the floors; Thrawn didn't recognize any of the key features. It struck him as old, and from a less military time, with the swirls on the walls that spoke of Nubian art forms. Perhaps the room was pre-Empire, which, after taking a brief glance around the room, would explain the clash of modern equipment with some truly antiquated relay stations.
The main holo-projector was empty of movement, but lit. The blue glow from the holo was the only source of light; the better, Thrawn supposed, to pick up details from a distant and unstable holo transmissions. Dramatic overkill, a cynical voice muttered in his head, which, while he agreed with it, he nevertheless ignored the sentiment. As they walked closer, Thrawn could see a uniformed officer standing at attention in the holo field, his face frozen in mid-word.
"Leave us," the shadow settled on the only visible chair instructed, voice cold.
With field precision, the four guards turned and marched out of the room, leaving the exhausted Chiss with the shadow in the chair.
"I gave your fleet to Vice-Admiral Barclin."
Thrawn forbade comment, but raised an eyebrow slightly, ever polite.
"He assured me," the shadow continued, voice flat, "that this minor rebellion on this insignificant planet would be crushed in less than six standard hours, with minimal damage and loss of Imperial man power."
Thrawn said nothing, continuing to stand at ease, hands manacled at his back. His face gave away none of his feelings, or the fact that in his tiredness he was having difficulty focusing his vision on the Emperor's pale face, or his opinion of the Vice-Admiral, either personally or his professional optimism.
Suddenly the hologram began to move. The male in the holofield wasn't Barclin; if his tired memory served, the man was the third officer of Barclin's choice captain, Dixney.
"—ur Majesty, I regret to inform you of the loss of Vice-Admiral Barclin's command ship, the Errantry, with all hands. The secondary command ship, Thunderous, was also destroyed in the battle, with a seventy-eight percent casualty rate. The Lacerator sustained the least damage, at less than forty percent. I estimate a return to the fleet in twelve stand-" With a click the holopad turned itself off.
The air itself was crackling with the Emperor's fury, no less than when he had first viewed the transmission in real time. The anger wasn't completely directed at the Chiss prisoner; a good deal of it still was, only now it was mixed with disdain for the incompetence of the late Vice-Admiral. Idly Thrawn wondered if that officer still breathed, but he highly doubted it. Messengers had a habit of not breathing that long in either Sith Lords' presence.
"They failed," the shadow hissed.
Thrawn stayed still, hardly blinking as he locked gazes with the Emperor, forcing his eyes to focus for the moment.
"It was almost," the Emperor continued, "as if they knew he was coming."
Thrawn remained completely still, but he could feel his expression hardening just the slightest.
"Your officers are loyal to you, alien. Almost too loyal. Would they betray the Empire for their former commander, I wonder?"
"My men are loyal to their oaths, to the Fleet and to the Empire, your Majesty," the Chiss exile said slowly, enunciating each word with deliberate care. "They will follow orders, even those that are not well planned, without question." Strictly true, he thought. No other commander encourages his officers to think for themselves, or voice an opinion. Too many rule like Lord Vader, albeit with less fatalities. He has a singular talent, thankfully.
"Then perhaps it is you who is the traitor! They knew, alien! They knew their opponent's strength, formations, critical information. You must have passed on that data!"
Thrawn waited, eyebrow raised slightly, for one deep, steady breath for anymore accusations. When none were forthcoming, he said coldly, "My oath was to the Empire. I vowed to serve in your Fleet, and take the orders given to me by my superior officers. I would never betray my oath to give a group of self-proclaimed criminals information that would lead to the deaths of loyal Imperial officers and crew."
One pale skeletal hand thrust out from the robes that had hidden it. "You were exiled because of a broken oath! You -"
"I was exiled," Thrawn broke in, voice as cold as Csilla's surface, "because I protected my people from external threats."
"By breaking your sworn oaths!"
"By being thorough and willing to employ whatever it took to see my oaths fulfilled." How had Thrass described it? Or had it been Car'das that said he had excesses of zeal and ability? "Those in the admiralty did not agree with me in what constituted a threat to my people."
The Emperor locked gazes with the Chiss admiral, face hidden for the most part in the deep shadows of his hood. "You knew that he would fail, didn't you?" he said, voice suddenly calm and still.
"I told your Majesty that when we last met," Thrawn said warily, eyes losing focus once more, despite his efforts.
"You foresaw it?"
Dangerous ground, a voice whispered in his mind. Thrawn said carefully, "I foresee nothing, your Majesty. Only through logical analysis did I determine that the chances of successfully completing this mission was slim."
"Every report received by Imperial Intelligence spoke of their unprepared state. Vice-Admiral Barclin was fully convinced it would be a simple rout!" The temper was oozing back into the Sith Lord's voice.
Obviously he was wrong, wasn't he? a snide voice muttered in Thrawn's head. "I had studied the leaders of this group extensively, and concluded that when they appear at their most chaotic, it is, in fact, when they are at their peak of effectiveness and morale. However, there is a clear lunar-inspired pattern to the activity levels of the main part of his fighting forces." He drew in a deep breath, tried not to sway on his feet, and continued. "It is – had been," he corrected smoothly, "my plan to attack and destroy the group while their lethargy is at its deepest."
The Emperor said nothing at this. Despite the admittedly low voltage of the alien's punishment, the Emperor was impressed that the Vice-Admiral was able to hold a coherent conversation, let alone stand under his own power. There had been Jedi the Sith Lord had questioned at the beginning of the Purge that had been unable stand up after he was done with them. And yet, there was no Force-sensitivity to the alien. Intriguing, as so much wasn't now.
It was several minutes until the supreme ruler of the known galaxy said anything at all. Thrawn waited, still standing at ease within the binders around his wrists. Keeping still was taking a great deal of concentration. He'd given up on keeping the Emperor in focus. The double vision he had been experiencing was, no doubt, from lack of restful sleep and enough food. There hadn't been nearly enough water, either, to keep him hydrated. At least now he was able to stand on his own. A day or two ago and he hadn't even been able to do that much. What little sleep that he'd been able to snatch had helped heal of the effects of the lightning, he believed. Now, all he believed he needed was to avoid anymore bolts of lightning and restore his energy levels with sustenance.
There was a click, and a rattle behind him of metal on carpet; the cuffs had release his wrists and dropped themselves to the floor. Giving his wrists one cursory rub to help restore circulation, Thrawn waited for the next pronouncement.
"You will be given another chance to prove your loyalty to the Empire, Vice-Admiral," the Emperor proclaimed. "You will take command of the 18th Fleet and destroy this rebellion with two weeks. Succeed and you will have proven yourself a loyal officer of my Fleet. Failure will not be tolerated, alien," he snarled at the last.
"Your Majesty," Thrawn said, bowing. Turning slowly, he made his way smoothly out of the room to the turbolift, which opened immediately for him. He waited until the car's door had closed completely, sealing him away from prying eyes before leaning on the wall for support. First and foremost, he would make finding a decent meal and a large stim caf his first goal once back on his own ship.
Captain Voss Parck's comlink chirped, jerking his thoughts from the unofficial report on his datapad. The news of the Fleet's near disaster dealing with this little group of self-proclaimed rebels was spreading faster than a bad batch of conduit worms, as depressing news often did. Three ships, two of which command ships, taken out in less than ten minutes, with nearly all hands still aboard, it made him wonder what the idiot Barclin was thinking when he landed in-system.
"Captain, we have movement on the target," Crewman Divins' voice said over the link.
Instantly alert, Voss nodded. "Where?"
"He's being escorted by four guards to a comm-room in the lower East Wing's eighth floor," she replied promptly. "I have a visual security black out in that entire section, but it doesn't extend into the lift itself; odds are that he's meeting with the Emperor, sir."
"Excellent work," Parck said, smiling. "One more piece of data – where does that turbolift first let out if you were leaving the room?" She gave him the room and floor numbers, which he was quick to write down on the pad. "Monitor the car. I want to know the instant he gets back in there. I will be at that door, so when he's in that car, page me so I can catch him."
"Yes, sir."
Tucking the pad under one arm, Voss quickly strode through the corridors, barely noticing anyone in his haste. Just now was not the time to get drawn into an argument on policy and Fleet movements, especially not when that meeting could take hours or minutes.