AN: The 18th Fleet is my invention, just for the little poke. If there is another fleet with that designation, well, it isn't supposed to be them. I figure as Fleets were assigned, re-assigned, destroyed and rebuilt, there must have been the reject pile of ships that no one really wanted on their roster, and there were a couple of duplicate Star Destroyers, so why not Fleets?

Chissscientist: The Emperor doesn't really care that Thrawn has told him that it won't happen. The general idea is that 'I am Emperor, I spared your blue hide, you will do this'. Also, there was a small typo in one chapter. It was supposed to say, "within two weeks", not "with two weeks" so I will be going back and fixing that little error. I hope that Voss, in about three lines, will be able to clear up the time line order for you. If not, let me know, and I can always reload if it isn't clear enough. I have a rough timeline in front of me while typing, and forget that I don't post them in the story. :D

Thanks to V0id Drag0n, dark kronus, Schehezerade, and Twin Tails Speed for the favorites and alerts. It is much appreciated! And Aryna I hope this meets with your approval for continuing.

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Chapter 5: Dinner Consultations

The lift slowed to a halt nearly instantly after starting to move. Stifling a non-military but heartfelt groan at whomever was about to board, Thrawn pulled himself up to a shadow of military precision and cleared his expression just as the doors parted.

Captain Parck stood, with datapad tucked up under one arm, just outside the door, smiling slightly. Stepping into the lift, he pressed the shuttle bay floor button and gave Thrawn a once over. "You look terrible, you know," he said with a straight face. "For someone who managed to get away from it all for over a standard week, you are not the picture of rest and relaxation that one would expect."

Thrawn shook his head, bemused at the presence of the one officer (and admittedly, friendly face) he needed to see right away. "Shouldn't you be on the Vengeance, overseeing supplies and whatever else it is that you do to avoid meetings in the palace?" he asked.

Parck smiled and keyed in a few items on the pad. "No, I finished all of that hours ago. A little avian whispered to me that you might be looking for a ride back to our ship."

Thrawn raised a tired eyebrow. "Indeed; I would also be needing assistance in bringing our new Fleet into line."

"Oh?" Parck said, his interest piqued. "Which Fleet, dare I ask?"

"The 18th."

Parck winced. "Wonderful, the misfit Fleet." At Thrawn's puzzled look, Parck explained. "The 18th is the one Fleet that is always made up of remains of defeated Fleets that are missing key components, like command ships or fully stocked TIE complements."

"Ah, how appropriate, then." Thrawn shook his head, amazed at the subtlety and the obviousness of the Emperor's reasoning. The lift doors opened on the shuttle bays. They stepped out, Thrawn looking carefully for anyone close enough to overhear, then said quietly, "I have been given a second chance at defeating that little rebellion that Barclin so utterly failed at."

Parck nodded once more. "I see. How long is his Majesty giving us?"

"Two weeks, less a day to prepare."

Parck winced, and stepped up his pace, Thrawn following suit after a moment's hesitation.

The day had been long enough before the Emperor had seen fit to drag him into that little used comm room. Now, nearly a full shift later, Thrawn was seriously considering finishing this preparation work in the morning, perhaps even late morning, and taking a much needed lie-in. Duty, however, nagged at his tired mind until, at nearly midnight, he called a halt to the evening's work and insisted on sitting down for a decent dinner, which Voss readily agreed. While there may not be a 'night' per se on a Star Destroyer, still the crew needed one shift that was considered a 'graveyard' shift.

Tonight, finally, Thrawn understood down to his bones what that meant.

The dinner, light enough that his stomach didn't protest to the sudden filling, was nearly over when the inevitable page came through for him. Putting down the forkful of lightly frosted Felbar cake, Thrawn turned sharply in his seat and rose to his feet in the same motion – then had to grip the table's edge as the officer's dining room swirled once on its axis. Blinking twice, he managed to straighten before, he believed, Voss noticed anything amiss. Reaching the intercom, he keyed in his security code.

"Vice-Admiral Thrawn here," he said crisply.

"Vice-Admiral, Communications. We've just received confirmation on the scheduling of all restocking and supply shipments to the Fleet, and clearance from the space yards for departure on your preferred deployment time. We are still awaiting the last confirmations and shipments of the replacement TIE fighters and two shuttles," the voice reported.

"Excellent. Inform me when those come through. Thrawn out."

Once settled back at the table, he was lifting his wine glass when Voss looked up from his dessert. "Didn't get a lot of sleep as his Majesty's guest, did you?" he asked, running an appraising eye over his superior officer.

Thrawn took a long sip from the dessert wine before replying. So he had noticed the stumble after all. Shaking his head slightly, a faint smile just flirting around his mouth, he said, "No. The palace detention levels do not lend themselves to sleep or relaxation. I wouldn't recommend it for shore leave."

Parck smirked and slid a datapad over to him. "No, I doubt anyone would. That's the final specs for the shuttle you requested. Tanglebox will be ready in 32 hours, 30 if you lean on the chief engineer a little."

Thrawn absently reached for the datapad. His fingers closed on empty air two inches away from the pad, paused in midair, before finally managing to grasp the object and lift it off the table. "He always pads his estimations, at least by an hour or two. We won't need it for several days, so he'll have the time to pick at it and perfect it."

"The guards didn't mess you around much, did they?" Parck asked, frowning slightly, fingers idly playing with his napkin.

"No, they remained quite cordial, for prison guards," Thrawn replied vaguely, eyes straining to read the pad. "He's putting in a class-5 hyperdrive casing on a class-6a engine?"

"They are interchangeable, as the class 6a was discontinued. Perhaps they weren't sure of the protocol of a disgraced Vice-Admiral that was still alive. So, no drug therapy or the standard interrogation techniques?"

"Apart from light starvation and de-hydration? No," Thrawn said, voice quiet.

Parck nodded, watching the Vice Admiral closely for several minutes as the Chiss squinted at the small screen. "And no electroshock therapy, either, even on the passive side?"

Thrawn's eyes stilled on the pad. "None, Captain," he said tonelessly.

Parck narrowed his eyes. "Really?" he asked.

Looking over the pad at Parck's lined face, Thrawn tilted his head. "You sound disappointed."

"That you would lie to me? Yes, I suppose I am."

There was a brittle silence as they locked gazes. The Chiss broke the exchange first. "From the moment I was unceremoniously tossed into that brig to the moment they called me out to see the Emperor, there was no harassment, interrogation, or roughing up as per normal prison or holding cell procedure. Other than a few glasses of water and one small meal at, I estimate, the mid-way point of my stay, there was no one in the cell with me."

As the Chiss reached out a hand to take one last draft from the glass in front of him, Parck lunged forward and grabbed the blue wrist with a firm grip. "Then tell me, sir, why it is that you are shaking like a baby bantha in its first windstorm," he said tightly, watching the blue hand shake and twitch, despite, he knew, Thrawn's attempt to still the shivering muscles. "That has all the classic symptoms of electrical shock."

The brittle silence returned with full force as the two of them locked gazes. For a moment, Voss was convinced that the Chiss would order the matter dropped and yank his hand away; the Chiss disliked physical contact of any kind. After a long moment, though, the Chiss's shoulders sagged. "I came in contact with an arch of live current in the throne room," Thrawn admitted softly, eyes closing to slits in his exhaustion. "It is possible that, coupled with the lack of sleep and sustenance, I am more exhausted than I realized. Uninterrupted sleep and a few decent meals will remedy the situation."

Parck released the wrist that he was holding out and abruptly stood up. "Fine. We'll see if the CMO agrees with you."

"I am not going to bother them for something that they will tell me the same as I already know," Thrawn began, but Voss cut him off.

"You are going down there, of your own volition," he said, leaning across the table to stare right into those glowing red eyes, voice steely, "or I will be forced to write you up as being unfit for duty and resisting medical assistance. Last I checked, that's a permanent mark on your record. It's your choice, Thrawn." He waited, eyes locked with the Vice-Admiral's.

The Captain won the staring contest. Stifling a sigh, Thrawn slowly stood up, letting the table support some of his weight as he did so. Only once, on the way to the turbolift, did he stop and lean one hand on the wall, eyes closed against a wave of dizziness. When he glanced at Voss after resuming his slower pace, there was a renewed look of fortitude and stubbornness about the human that made him very glad that Thrass had never had the chance to team up with this Captain against him.