Eternity in a Box
By Ladyravena
Chapter One: Contemplations
His fingers traced the silver bars, following the intricate lines of rank with practiced ease. Each line was built upon the first, an interwoven knot of duty and obligation….
A duty his no longer.
With a deep sigh, Thrawn laid the bars in their box, closed the lid upon what should have been. They'd taken one set of bars at yesterday's ceremony; he'd kept secret the spare set in his drawers at home.
He snorted. Home, that ethereal place that he was being evicted from with the casualness of a rousted scavenger in one's attic, burrowed amongst old boxes.
Which in turn lead his gaze to the crate that sat in the middle of the foyer, four by two by two feet, sixteen cubic feet to survive on, no electronic items, no foodstuffs, no automatic weapons, everything under fifty pounds.
My life, reduced to a sociology exam question, he thought morbidly. The one class I managed to test out of.
He'd already found a few things around the place he could take with him: monofilament line, a pouch of small tools, an old durasteel mess kit with eating utensils and collapsible mug along with his most durable clothing he owned. It was a pitiful pile of fabric; he no longer had the privilege of wearing uniforms, and his civilian wear was woefully scant. He had looked over the list of items allowed. Most of it he had no chance of acquiring. He simply didn't stock the necessary items in his home. He'd counted on having, if not access to various shops, at least a runner who could make any purchases he might need. As a CEDF officer, he wasn't permitted to own secondary weapons like hunting knifes or non-automated weaponry. Knowledge was at his fingertips, yet he wasn't allowed a datapad to read the cards.
He knew that everything else he would need would be supplied to him at the drop-off point. Everything that the courts would deem necessary for his prison with no walls, only gravity and the inability to make a starship out of wood holding him to an uninhabited planet.
There had been those who thought that even that might not hold him. There had been much debate about reinstating old laws older than the ice that covered Csilla, laws that would have seen him killed in short order. Although, he had mused when his legal representative had informed him of the debates, they would probably just have had a firing squad, rather than stoning him to death in the market square.
Probably.
A faint knock sounded from his kitchen, shaking him from his morbid thoughts; he ignored it, slowly rising to his feet, even more slowly placing the bars inside a few pieces of cloth, wrapping them tightly. Another faint set of knocking came from the darkened room. Sighing, he straightened up and walked down the three steps into the room, leaving the main light off. Enough ambient light seeped into the room for him to see by.
The pots and pans sparkled in the low light, and the cleanliness of the place revealed nothing of the noisy intruder. He moved farther into the corners, and peered into the darkened shadows, narrowed eyes just wide enough to see by, not enough to give away his position. But there was nothing….
The noise had abated for the moment. He had the distinct impression that if he went upstairs into the main room, it would start up again. "Wonderful," he muttered under his breath, "delusional knocking."
"Hardly."
He spun quickly, hand darting futilely for the blaster he wasn't allowed to wear anymore.
She sat on the top step into the kitchen, large canvas bag nearly as big as she was beside her on the landing. Dressed in dark casual clothing, dark hair tied back with the usual puff at the back, she looked up and down his tensed form and laughed a little. "Jumpy, aren't you?"
He snorted, and leaned against the counter, relaxing. "How'd you get in?"
She smirked at him.
He sighed. "Trili," he said, "those guards are there for a reason, not a challenge."
Int'rili'csapla smirked again, shaking her head. "My friend," she said, rising to her feet, "I don't believe it right to sequester you from your own people on your last night here."
"Trili…."
"Relax," she admonished. "You'll start getting worry lines." She hoisted her pack and continued down the switchback stairs into the basement den. "I work in Intel, remember? I know how to break and enter."
"Comforting insight into our government, my dear," he groused, but a smile had twitched one side of his mouth. What was done was done… and he would rather not turn a friendly face away tonight. The hardest part, he knew, would come when he fully realized that he would never see those he trusted again….
He followed her down the half dozen steps into the den. Three walls were covered in paintings and low bookcases. The fourth wall held a view screen for communications, under which hung a series of artist's sketches. Thrawn often rotated the collection, so one was never quite sure which artist was up at any given time. Two sofas were arranged around a low table scattered with datacards and datapads.
One of which was being studied by a young Chiss sprawled across the arm and the whole of the seating area of the larger sofa. Rumpled uniform pants and civilian top that had probably been in a ball together not half an hour ago were draped over his lanky form. It went well, Thrawn reflected, with his ruffled hair and ruffled manners.
"You know," the young Chiss said, "if they could have found a way for you to leave being a Chiss behind, they would have."
"Perhaps they'll bleach me before I leave," Thrawn replied, leaning over the back of the sofa to pluck the pad from the other's grip. "How did you get in, Saalin?"
Yrs'aali'nuruodo let Thrawn snitch the pad. It gave him a free hand to jingle a set of key cards. "You're not even allowed to take your keys with you, so…" At his old friend's sigh, he laughed. "What do they expect, you to slip back and start living in your old quarters again?"
"I stopped attempting to understand their logic during the second week of my trial," Thrawn admitted, tone darkening, tossing the datapad onto the table with the others, where it was promptly picked back up by Saalin. Trili put a hand on his arm, drawing his gaze down to hers.
"Not every single Chiss feels like as the Ruling Families do," she said quietly. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be here."
My army of two, he thought morbidly, but kept the comment to himself. Heavy footsteps sounded from upstairs, drawing Thrawn's attention back to the stairwell. Properly shined boots with perfectly aligned fasteners lead the way down the steps, the crisp uniform with laser straight creases, only marred by the box he was carrying, the one that Thrawn had been issued for his personal belongings. The newest visitor's gaunt face betrayed no emotion, his body language completely neutral. "Thrawn," he greeted without emotion, nodding his head once.
"Frixs," Thrawn replied with answering dip. "I must admit, I am surprised that you are here tonight."
Ar'frix'sabosen placed the box to one side of the table, lined it perfectly against the side of the sofa. "Int'rili'csapla suggested I participate in tonight's reconnaissance. She failed to specify, until just prior to this afternoon's meeting, the location."
Saalin dropped the pad down onto the table with a clatter. "Only you could make a party sound like picket duty."
"We are violating five direct edicts, two laws, and at least three conditions of the banishment in simply being in this building. The Ruling Families were quite specific and succinct in their conditions."
Thrawn smiled with a trace of wistfulness. Despite the other's rule bound demeanour, he knew he would miss debating policy with Frixs. The young Chiss encyclopaedic memory was a delight in tweaking, for Thrawn always found one case where a ruling was completely opposite, thus proving his own point. When Frixs retreated into statistical averages, it was almost an admission of defeat.
Saalin, meanwhile, was starting to debate the banishment when he fell silent, smiling at someone behind Thrawn.
A soft hand settled on Thrawn's cheek, gently turning his head away from the bickering Chiss. Standing behind him, she just came to his ear. Just that little bit smaller than him, she none the less could hold her own on the bridge, in the boardroom, and in the bedroom. They'd celebrated his promotion to second officer at her apartments; they'd dined and danced to her promotion in this very room. A few more wrinkles around her eyes, a few too many ranks between them now to continue. A pool of understanding ablaze in her gaze met his eyes.
"You didn't think that we'd let you disappear without one last goodbye, did you?" Yav'lyn'nuruodo whispered against his skin.
When all he could do was swallow, unable to tear his eyes from hers, she drew him into tight embrace. She felt him melt a little, arms wrapping around her, his head resting on hers. She felt the smallest of shudders from stifled breaths, and tightened her hold on him.