Hyperspace approaching Honoghr, 9 ABY
Commodore Brandt stood at the observation deck of the Chimaera, staring blankly into the void as the ship hurtled through hyperspace. After days of sifting through rivers of data on what had happened in the nine years since the Chimaera, the Commodore found it increasingly difficult to remain grounded to any semblance of purpose or clarity. The men around him all conveyed a dazed, dissociated demeanor, and Brandt suspected that it was only the rigor and discipline of their training that helped them navigate the oceanic changes that had befallen the galaxy.
Brandt's mind drifted past his disorientation and onto the report that the Grand Admiral had provided about their destination, Honoghr. The planet's condition was not dissimilar to many other planets ravaged over the course of the Clone Wars, but in this case, Honoghr had managed to evade discovery and awareness from both the Republic and the Empire until Grand Admiral Thrawn introduced the planet's mysterious apex predator as bodyguards and aids during the Civil War. Brandt had some familiarity with one of their species, a mysterious, menacing presence called Rukh who lingered in the shadows, preying on officers for sport due to his desire to "keep his hunting instincts sharp." Brandt had always dismissed this as an excuse to terrorize Imperial command, a whim indulged by the Grand Admiral. Yet as Brandt recalled the data from the file, Rukh's behavior made more sense in context.
Honoghr had been devastated following a massive space battle, during which chemicals and debris rained down for several weeks. The planet's expansive, lush jungles had died as the chemicals scoured the atmosphere, and the Noghri had retreated below ground to avoid mass extinction. The catastrophe took 80% of the planet's population by the Grand Admiral's estimates, and the Noghri languished as the Republic and the Confederation both moved on. How Grand Admiral Thrawn had rediscovered the planet remained a mystery to Brandt, but per the report, the Grand Admiral had arrived shortly after joining the Empire, bringing aid to the planet and helping to establish a tentative foothold for the dying species. Thrawn, never one to eschew a valuable resource, had bartered the species' survival against their aid in hunting down Rebel cells and officers, and per Thrawn's report, the Noghri had clung to their marginal existence, making nominal headway until Thrawn's disappearance, after which no further data about life on Honoghr existed.
Approaching footsteps jarred Brandt out of his rumination, and he turned sharply to salute the approaching Grand Admiral. Grand Admiral Thrawn nodded to Brandt, and called out to the other officers standing at attention, "As you were."
Thrawn paused beside the Commodore, and both men stood silently, waiting for the ensign to call out the pending arrival to Honoghr. As the countdown timer showed 30 seconds, Thrawn spoke softly to Brandt, too low for the crew to hear, "I have selected a compliment of troops to escort us upon our arrival. Take care, Commodore. The Noghri do not abide shows of weakness, and even though our numbers and technology are superior, they are still a fierce adversary when provoked."
"Sir, are we wise to come before them in this way? It has been nine years, after all," Brandt asked quietly, matching the Grand Admiral's tone.
"By my calculations, they will again be on the verge of starvation and extinction. We represent their salvation, provided we do not betray ourselves by showing our fears," Thrawn explained. "Remember, a hungry parent will go to any length to spare his child. Fierce though they are, the Noghri are no different."
"Yes, sir," Brandt said.
The timer reached zero, and the Chimaera dropped out of hyperspace, and Brandt's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the planet. Brandt had developed an image of a lush, tropical world rife with jungles – an environment perfectly suited to a dexterous, sentient apex predator. The barren, red world below therefore came as a shock. Even from space, Brandt could see the countless channels and canyons that must have formerly conveyed rivers and lakes, now barren and dry save for a handful of faded green patches within canyon bottoms.
"The Noghri have parlayed the technology they inherited into a marginal agricultural system," Thrawn observed, and Brandt wondered if the Grand Admiral referred to the green patches. "They survive, but to what extent?"
Brandt did not have an answer for the Grand Admiral, and instead of elaborating further, the Grand Admiral asked, "Do you harbor concerns, Commodore?"
Brandt exhaled, but knowing that the men were nearby and would notice his apprehension, he said quietly, "No, Sir."
"It would be fair to harbor them, Commodore," Thrawn assured. "But rest assured that I would not lead my men into a situation that would result in unnecessary casualties."
Thrawn turned away, concluding the discussion. Brandt willed his nerves into submission and followed the Grand Admiral as he briskly crossed the catwalk between the command wells of the Star Destroyer's bridge and out to the lift that would convey them down to the hangar bay. A silent descent later, Brandt followed the Grand Admiral across the hangar, and the assembled troops fell into line with synchronous precision, each filing expediently into the awaiting shuttles. As Brandt and the Grand Admiral settled into their chairs within the cabin of their shuttle, the ship lifted off of the hangar's surface, rising into the air in unison with five other shuttles and two squadrons of TIE fighters. Brandt felt a tendril of pride flit through his mind as he regarded the efficient display of discipline, but his pride devolved back to uncertainty as he watched Honoghr grow larger in the cockpit's field of vision.
The shuttle shuddered slightly as it passed through the atmospheric boundary, and as it descended through a paltry haze of high, crystalline clouds, the surface of the planet's details fell into focus. The canyons and valleys were more immense than Brandt had suspected, and the valleys contained vast fields of massive boulders in bewildering, impenetrable mazes. A bright, milky sun promised heat and dust at the surface, and even from a high altitude, Brandt could identify dust clouds moving across the surface. A fleeting memory of Zelphi passed through his mind, and Brandt struggled to banish the dispiriting notion that they had gone from one hellish desert to another.
As the shuttle approached, Brandt made out the dilapidated structures of an adobe village, largely camouflaged against the red wastes save for the contours of a large, open pit surrounded by ramshackle huts composed of baked, hardened mud. The shuttle slowed to a flat just outside the village, and the repulsorlifts of the assorted ships kicked up a prodigious cloud of fine, red dust. After settling to a bump within the cloud of dust, Grand Admiral Thrawn rose from his seat wordlessly and turned to the back of the shuttle, waiting by the exit alongside a dozen death troopers for the dust to settle. Thirty seconds later, the ramp descended, and red dust drifted into the shuttle's pristine holds. Thrawn glanced at his right shoulder, noticing the thin layer of dust settling onto the sparkling white fabric of his uniform. He brushed the dust away, then turned to the ramp, stepping out into the arid red wastes outside of the shuttle.
Brandt emerged from the shuttle behind the Grand Admiral, and he followed his commander to the already-formed line of stormtroopers and death troopers standing before a convocation of gray-skinned beings. The beings all had heavy brows above bulbous eyes with gaping mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth. The spindly limbs bent toward large, clawed hands. They wore dusty, shredded clothing hanging loosely over their frames, and the only distinction Brandt could identify between male and female was that the males all had a bumpy ridge running along their foreheads to the back of their heads. The assemblage of Noghri gazed at them inscrutably, watching their every move and maintaining a statuesque stillness despite a dry wind blowing drifts of fine red sand across the flat outside the village.
Thrawn assumed his position at the front of the Imperial formation, and he stood silently, waiting for the Noghri to respond to their appearance. Silence settled between the two groups, interrupted only by the whistling of the wind as it blew small currents of dust across the ground. As the seconds stretched on, movement at the back of the group drew Brandt's attention, and he watched as the center of the group of Noghri parted. An aged Noghri, heavily tattooed and wearing tattered robes that might have once been ornate and beautiful stepped forward from the parted assembly. He limped noticeably, but despite the hints of infirmity, Brandt still suspected great speed and strength in the elder.
The elder stood across from the Grand Admiral and scrutinized him. After holding his gaze for several moments, the elder scanned the assembled troopers and paused at Brandt, his eyes narrowing slightly. He turned back to Thrawn and spoke in a gravelly voice halfway between a loth cat's mew and a gundark's growl, "Where is son?"
"Your son, Rukh, died in service to the Empire," Thrawn said, his red eyes glinting in the milky sunshine. "He conquered many enemies before falling in combat."
The elder's eyes narrowed, and Brandt suspected anger. "Ten years, you leave. Forgot Noghri."
"Not by choice," Thrawn affirmed. "The same enemies who defeated your son banished me from the galaxy. We have only now returned."
"Ngingtush defeated," the elder grunted as his eyes narrowed. "Doubt strength. Promised Noghri, sons would return."
"No promises are made in war, Elder Vruzh," Thrawn said appraisingly. "Surely, your clan understands that better than most."
Vruzh's nose wrinkled and the corners of his mouth turned downward in a controlled snarl, but he refrained from attacking. "What does Ngingtush want? You return, we did not ask," he declared in broken Basic.
"Years before, the Empire provided you sustenance, technology, and more to sustain recovery from the great battle nearly 30 years ago. In exchange, you aided our effort to conquer the Rebellion," Thrawn said. "I come to renew that agreement."
"Rebellion not defeated?" Vruzh asked, his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed. Brandt shifted uncomfortably, and the elder noticed the gesture. His eyes narrowed further as he awaited Thrawn's response.
"No, the Rebellion remains. In my absence, they have won many victories," Thrawn admitted.
A younger Noghri, this one female with a gaunt, haunted expression, growled something unintelligible in their native tongue. Vruzh growled back, and Brandt did not mistake the tone of reprimand in his response.
"She asks what bargain we come to present," Thrawn said quietly as an aside to Brandt. He nodded deferentially to the female Noghri, then turned back to Vruzh and added, "Perhaps she is hoping for food to sustain the lives of her children."
Vruzh appeared momentarily taken aback, and Brandt suspected that he did not expect Thrawn to understand their language. "Ngingtush remain clever. She asks this."
"Then allow me to present my terms," Thrawn replied. "In exchange for renewing the old agreement, we will provide the resources needed to sustain your people while also offering our best technology to restore your agricultural production back to what it was prior to my absence."
Brandt suppressed a wince at the patronization in Thrawn's tone, and he saw Vruzh chafing against it visibly. The Noghri growled, "Trade for more dead sons."
"Your sons will die without our aid," Thrawn said quietly.
"Die free," Vruzh retorted.
"Yet, die all the same," Thrawn affirmed.
A male Noghri behind Vruzh stepped forward and launched into a torrent of vicious-sounding growling. Vruzh turned to him, tensing at the uninvited intrusion. Brandt quickly lost the thread of the conversation, but Thrawn muttered quietly, "The younger is on the verge of challenging the elder's authority. He questions the hesitancy on accepting aid."
Vruzh turned to Thrawn and snarled viciously, and as the elder tensed, several stormtroopers lifted their weapons. The gesture was not lost on the Noghri, all of whom mirrored the tension. The movement quelled the argument between Vruzh and the younger Noghri, and the tension deepened as the Noghri tensed for attack.
"We do not intend violence upon the Noghri," Thrawn said. "We come to you because we value your skill, your courage, your valor." He raised his hand, and the Imperial soldiers lowered their weapons. Gradually, the tense, poised posture of the Noghri lessened, and Thrawn waited an extra beat before adding, "We make our offer. Do you accept, Elder Vruzh?"
Vruzh turned away from the younger Noghri, and, his eyes still narrowed, squinted at Thrawn. "No. Noghri do not accept. Dead sons not acceptable."
The younger Noghri snarled, and to Brandt's surprise, drew a knife. Vruzh whirled around with surprising speed, drawing his own long, wicked-looking knife. The Noghri stepped back, creating a circle within which the two would fight. The younger Noghri snarled viciously as he circled the elder, and Vruzh remained tense, but poised. The younger sprang forward, slashing at the elder, who aimed a kick at the younger Noghri's solar plexus as he rolled to the ground, sending the younger past him, stumbling into the dirt. The younger Noghri's knife nicked Vruzh's shoulder, and the surrounding Noghri hissed in unison as the fight emerged.
Brandt heard Thrawn murmur quietly, and a thundering crack resonated within the atmosphere, echoing across the valley. The Noghri instantly abandoned their combat, and many within the crowd cowered at the unexpected sound. A brilliant line of green fire shot through the atmosphere and slammed into a mountaintop several kilometers away, sending a cascade of rubble and smoke tumbling down the mountain's flank.
As the echoing thunder trailed away, silence fell again, into which Thrawn said, "Respect the old rituals though I do, I will not abide the shedding of Noghri blood. Not under my patronage."
"Do not accept patronage," Vruzh snarled. The younger Noghri hissed, rising to his feet and hoisting his knife.
"Your people differ, Elder," Thrawn said. "My patronage sustains your livelihood."
"Son gone," Vruzh spat. "Life empty."
"Very well," Thrawn said, and the younger Noghri growled viciously. He leapt toward Vruzh, who despite his age, anticipated the attack and dodged it. The younger Noghri overshot, and Vruzh was upon him immediately with his knife unsheathed. The Noghri hissed again, and another younger Noghri rushed Vruzh, who spun around before he could gut his attacker. The second attacker slashed at Vruzh, and the first Noghri rose to his feet, prepared to join the fray. Vruzh landed a blow to the second attacker's face, but recognizing that others in the crowd were stepping forward to join the challenge, Vruzh backed away, cornered.
He turned to Grand Admiral Thrawn and snarled, then made to flee. The stormtroopers all raised their blasters to fire on him, but Thrawn called out, "Hold your fire. Let the Noghri resolve this."
Several of the younger Noghri tore off after Vruzh, but the first Noghri who stepped forward, a younger, but larger male, remained. The other Noghri appeared to respect him and afford him authority, and he turned to Thrawn, a savage expression on his face.
"Trade food," the Noghri said.
"Grizh vaz ko. Ish ko val," Thrawn replied in the Noghri tongue. The younger Noghri nodded, and a woman joined him, a young child cradled in her arms. In the distance, they heard a shrieking cry, followed by an eerie, howling wail. Brandt suspected that Vruzh had not gotten far, and the battle cry of the Noghri sent a chill down his spine.
"Commodore," Thrawn said quietly as the Noghri began to recede from the convocation. "I am placing you in command of providing provision and aid to the Noghri. Offer them whatever we have, and know that we will soon have others to reinforce our aid. Act with the utmost expediency to capitalize upon this agreement."
"As you wish, Sir," Commodore Brandt affirmed, and he watched the Noghri trail away as the new leader strode across the sands toward them, the elder's head hanging loosely from his clawed hands. The Noghri paused before Thrawn, tossing the elder's head in the sand. Red blood spilled into the red sand, and the Noghri saluted Thrawn, holding his knife across his forehead, perpendicular across his ridged brows. Thrawn nodded stoically, accepting the tribute. Brandt turned away, hiding his disgust as he set about issuing the Grand Admiral's commands.
Mara Jade leaned forward between the pinched crack between the massive red boulders, adjusting her binoculars to follow the exchange between Thrawn and the Noghri. They were too far to read lips, but from what she could deduce from the Noghri's body language, he was not pleased with Thrawn's arrival, and did not want what Thrawn was offering. She watched the younger Noghri engage the elder, and she flinched as the thunderclap rocked the atmosphere. The green line of turbolaser fire slammed into the mountain a half-kilometer behind her, and she curled into herself to shield herself from the wave of dust and debris that washed over her shortly afterward. As the debris settled, she returned to her perch, watching as the younger Noghri saluted Thrawn. The elder's head was detached from his body, lying dead in the sand.
Mara swiveled her binoculars toward the sky toward the Star Destroyer that had appeared shortly after she had. Several shuttles and freighters emerged from the ship's belly, and recognizing that the Noghri were now agreeable to Thrawn's deal, she settled into an overhanging outcrop creating a partial cave to contemplate what she had watched. She was familiar with the Noghri, just as she was familiar with Thrawn, having watched the Emperor plot and collaborate with Thrawn over numerous pressing issues. She had never entirely trusted him; it was not because of his blue skin or his unfamiliar race. She never had a sense of his thoughts or emotions, and without such obvious signals, she never felt certain what he stood for.
She followed the shuttles down to the ground and watched as crews began unloading provisions and what appeared to be a makeshift command center with admirable expediency. Mara concluded that Thrawn was setting up shop as far from scrutiny as he could, and she had an image of him, standing with his hands behind his back, scrutinizing some obscure piece of art and asking insufferable questions of her when she went to him on errand by the Emperor. She saw no other sign of any other Imperial here, and she wondered to herself where Gideon might be. She had neglected the black box upon finding Thrawn's message, assuming that Gideon, too, would be eager to rejoin Thrawn, thus emerging as a target for her. But without Gideon here, she recalled the tension between the two of old. Perhaps Gideon would not be so eager.
Recognizing that night would soon fall, Mara pulled her pack toward herself and laid out a thin blanket over the sand. A busy night awaited, and she settled into a fitful doze, the echo of the Emperor's laughter still echoing through her mind as she drifted off.
Commodore Brandt strolled through the Imperial encampment on the outskirts of the Noghri village, feeling an eerie feeling of familiarity as he recalled Zelphi. His men had performed expeditiously per the Admiral's orders, and the Noghri were sequestered within their village, puzzling over the gifts the Grand Admiral had provided. Seeing that all was in order, the Commodore strode toward the command center, which the technicians had erected as efficiently as the soldiers had erected their barracks. The life of a nomad, Brandt mused to himself before entering the dust-free, air-conditioned shelter of the new command center.
Brandt approached the corridor to Thrawn's new chamber, and the two death troopers guarding the door stepped aside for him to enter. Brandt passed through the door and found Thrawn in his customary spot before a holoprojector displaying several pieces of crude artwork. Brandt reached the Admiral and waited to be addressed.
"Thoughts, Commodore?" Grand Admiral Thrawn asked.
"Sir," Brandt said, finding his distaste for the art insurmountable. "It appears crude, and, if I may be honest, I don't care for it."
"I will not contradict your aesthetic sense, Commodore," Thrawn said quietly, "But viewing a culture through the lens of sentiment invites misunderstanding – at best."
"And which culture are we viewing, Sir?" Brandt asked, masking an inner impatience at the Grand Admiral's lecture on sentiment.
"A remote planet whose people died long before the Rebellion began. The planet was Mentrel," Thrawn said. "There was little technology; a primitive people. Family, belonging, unity, and a deep conviction in spiritual matters related to the Force were hallmarks of their culture. They were not unlike many pre-space flight cultures."
"Sir," Commodore Brandt said, hoping it would serve as enough of an acknowledgement to turn Thrawn to more pressing issues.
"But I see you wish to report on more tangible concerns," the Grand Admiral sighed, and Brandt had a fleeting sense of Brandt's disappointment.
"Sir," Brandt said. "We have completed the establishment of the barracks, and the command center. The Noghri have received the first 17 pallets, and they are currently preparing to distribute them to neighboring tribes."
"Well done, Commodore," Thrawn said. Brandt did not move immediately, and when Thrawn recognized that the Commodore had not requested to be dismissed, he asked, "Questions?"
"If I may speak freely, Sir?" Brandt said, wondering if he was pressing too hard against Imperial protocol.
"You may," Thrawn said, although there was an undercurrent of apprehension in his voice.
"To this point, we have only receive confirmation from Vorst Myntal and Morgan Elsbeth. We concluded that many are dead or imprisoned. But we did not hear from Hinx, Bolsko, or Gideon."
"Well, I did not expect them to call all at once," Thrawn admitted. "Though I admit that I am quite curious about Moff Gideon."
"If all we hear from is Myntal, Sir," Brandt said, and he hesitated before finishing his question, "How can we hope to confront the Republic?"
"Ahh," Thrawn said, recognizing that Brandt had finally begun to hint at his real concerns. Thrawn gestured toward chairs encircling a circular tactical display and said, "Please, sit."
Brandt followed Thrawn to the chairs and settled himself before the display. Thrawn sat opposite the display, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers. "Tell me, Commodore. Are you familiar with the tragedy of Luthen Rael?"
"Sir?" Brandt asked. "The war criminal?"
"The very same," Thrawn acknowledged. "But he was much more than a war criminal." Thrawn appeared distant for a moment, then his voice almost wistful, added, "So much more."
Brandt frowned skeptically, and Thrawn smiled cryptically. "Luthen Rael was one of the foremost experts in art not just on Coruscant, but throughout the Core. His knowledge of galactic cultures and his curation of artwork was unparalleled. Naturally, I gravitated toward him, and for years, he curated many of the pieces in my collection, which sadly have now been lost."
Brandt remained silent, his skepticism still smoldering. "Rael maintained a network of agents, acting against the Empire. They would strike, and the Empire would react, always with greater and greater force. I advised against it, but I was. . . disregarded. The tighter the Imperial command structure clung to control, the stronger the Rebellion became. And Luthen played the Empire's inflexibility and rigidity against itself until there was no way for the Empire to recover," Thrawn said, his voice brimming with respect. "That is, until I figured out what he was doing and had him executed."
"Sir. . ." Brandt murmured, still unsure of Thrawn's intention.
"Luthen taught me many valuable lessons," Thrawn said. "Lessons which our dear Chancellor – a friend and conspirator of Luthen's, by the way - seems to have forgotten."
"What do you intend, sir?" Gideon asked, his skepticism beginning to ebb,
"All in good time, my friend," Thrawn said. "But for now, think of it like this: Luthen Rael, a modestly brilliant intellect with a passion for art orchestrated the early stages of the Empire's downfall from an artifact shop on Coruscant."
"But now," Thrawn added, and a genuine smile creased his lips. "I am the Rebellion."