Halfway to Martyrdom
Chapter Twenty-One
"...And we hope that on the behalf of the entire Paccian Governance, you will accept our sincerest apology for the way you, your troops, and your translator were treated by our rebels. So that we may smooth things over between our peoples, allow us to personally welcome your battleship onto our best facility for repairs. By the honor of our clans, we will have you travel-ready before molting season."
Thrawn leaned forward to whisper translations into Hammerly's ear. Ever since Uingali had returned them to the custody of the Paccian Governance that morning, Thrawn had resumed his charade as Vuando, a mere translator. Commodore Hammerly once again held the appearance of power in their delegation before the Clan Hall.
"When is molting season?" Hammerly whispered back. "Is the repair facility easily accessible for our ship?
Thrawn recited her questions to the aliens. As he did, Hammerly studied the Paccian delegation before them. Many politicians sat on elaborately carved seats in vibrantly colored robes, but their feathers were muted in hue. Females. Unlike the soldiers Hammerly had seen before, these aliens wore no shoes on their clawed feet. Instead, they had colored strips of fabric tied around their ankles, not unlike the tags researchers put on birds to track their behaviors.
Did the representative they were speaking to know she was part of a ruse? If she did, her sabacc face was immaculate. Not a ruffled feather in sight. Her answers came smoothly… well. As smoothly as they could with such a braying voice.
In fact, the Clan Hall looked spotless, all high ceilings and woven tapestries descending unbroken from above. Not at all like a society experiencing civil war. Clearly, the Paccosh were not trying very hard to sell the illusion to outsiders.
Hammerly turned back to her "translator" when he had an answer to her questions. "Molting season begins in their next month, which is in about sixteen of our standard days. Their top browndocks station for spacefaring craft is located on the nearest moon; while it is not currently in use, it can be returned to operational within two of their cycles, or one of ours. It would be simple to guide the ship there from its current place in orbit. The moon's atmosphere is weak and will not damage the Chimaera on entry the way on-world repair stations might."
The Paccosh representative added to her answer when Thrawn paused. She folded her hands in front of her such that her robe covered her chest. The bright orange robe was in garish contrast to her light brown feathers. Paccian fashion bore no resemblance to what Hammerly was used to.
"Laxann says that while she will need the members of our crew actively involved in repairs to stay on the browndocks, there are only accommodations for about five hundred workers at the station. That figure is for Paccosh and humans combined.
"Everyone else is welcome to stay on-world for the duration of the repair process. The Paccosh have hosted refugees outside of this city before; they will be able to accommodate us."
"That's awfully generous of them," Hammerly mused. "And all they expect in return is that the Empire leaves them in peace?" She wasn't sure she bought it.
"'For as long as the Paccian clans flock together, may peace between our people stay strong. …And may your Galactic Empire know the value of its word better than the people of your translator,'" Thrawn recited with a stony face. "'That is what the Paccosh request in exchange for our aid to your ship and crew. Do we have a deal, Commodore Hammerly?'"
Hammerly knew not every crew person would be thrilled with a stay in a refugee camp. That said, a brief planetside leave could be just what some of them needed. A reminder that there was still life out there beyond the shattered viewports. It would get the less mechanically-inclined crew members out of the way when repairs ramped up on the Chimaera.
"I accept these terms. For as long as I live and serve the Empire, I shall remember the kindness of the Paccian Governance." Hammerly did her best not to wince at the flowery words that poured out of her mouth. Diplomacy was not her strong suit. Least of all diplomacy with aliens. "For our injured crew, we may need assistance transferring them off the ship. Do the Paccosh have specially designated medical ships?"
"They do," Thrawn answered before translating anything Hammerly said. "I will ask them to send a few to the ship. We do not have enough fully functional transports to bring most of the crew on-planet in an efficient manner."
That was true. Too many smaller ships got scrapped for parts to support the Chimaera during their asteroid field days. Hammerly didn't understand what parts a troop transport had in common with a Star Destroyer, but she had entrusted the maintenance crew with their mission. The techs had kept them all alive with their ingenuity.
Hammerly waited while Thrawn conveyed "her" wishes to the Paccosh representative. To play at power while wielding none was a strange experience for Hammerly. She had all the visibility of a person in charge, yet she suspected Thrawn would not translate her response faithfully if she disagreed with his course of action. Even under a false name, Thrawn remained the most powerful person in the room.
She made her face blank when Thrawn turned back to her. "The Paccosh express their sympathy and understanding for your crew. They ask if you will return to your ship to convey the terms of their deal in person."
"I certainly will." Hammerly was eager to see her crew again. She wanted to convey to them what good news this deal was. It would be as though most of the crew got to take shore leave before returning to the Empire. Wherever Bridger had run off to, he was no longer a thorn in their side. Certainly not even the mutinous officers could object to that.
"I assumed you would say as much. I suggest we fly up to the Chimaera this evening and spend the night on the ship. We will guide the ship to the browndock tomorrow while the Paccosh bring their station back into operation. Their delay will give us time to organize the division of our crew. Chief Engineer Condor will most certainly stay aboard, as will at least two hundred assistants of his choosing."
"Are the Paccosh who began assisting us yesterday still aboard?" Hammerly asked.
"They are," Thrawn answered. "I look forward to speaking with them on how cooperation between our peoples has progressed."
"As do I." Here's to hoping it hadn't turned into an incomprehensible screaming match. It was hard to trust people one couldn't speak with, but so far, the Paccosh did seem to be helping them. Hammerly would play their political games if it meant her people left the system alive.
Through Thrawn, Hammerly said her farewells to the politicians of the Clan Hall. She followed a guide and her escort back to their transport. Outside was another vibrant day with two suns blazing in the sky. Borapacc was a bustling metropolis with technology that, while not rivaling the marvels of Coruscant, was too advanced to merit the label of primitive. Hammerly could not remember the last time she'd walked the streets of a world dominated by aliens. She was pleasantly surprised by how similar it was to her home world.
Their short night under the sea as Uingali's "captives" seemed like it had happened on another world. In all, the Imperial delegation had been held "hostage" for about ten standard hours. Hammerly had been given time to sleep for six of them, and two more hours had been spent in transit. The whole adventure could be summed up as one fever dream of a shift.
Naylaub sighed with relief when they returned to the transport's hangar. "Are we and the aliens all good, ma'am?"
Hammerly kept a smile off her face. "We have reached an understanding with the Paccian Governance. You will hear more about it with the rest of the Chimaera."
As the transport took off, Hammerly let the familiar surge of liftoff shove her back into her seat. She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose, enjoying the shifts in pressure as the craft became spacebound. It was like the pressure of inertia and gravity became more, more, more… then nothing at all. Small transport craft like these didn't engage artificial gravity right away, so for a moment, everyone was weightless.
Hammerly's moment of relaxation came to an end when the transport landed in the Chimaera's hangar. She straightened, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation with Lieutenant Xoxtin.
It never came. As Hammerly, Thrawn, and the rest of the delegation spilled out into the hangar, they were greeted by Ensign Zlocke, the interim second-in-command of hangar operations. Odd. Xoxtin should have been on shift at this time.
Before Hammerly could ask, Thrawn gave the ensign an order. "Divert fuel to as many transport craft as possible. Take from the Chimaera as needed."
Zlocke was too inexperienced an officer to hide his surprise. "Sir?"
"Do as you're told, Ensign. You will be briefed on the rationale with the rest of the crew." Hammerly backed Thrawn up.
Once Zlocke took off to communicate the new orders, Hammerly set about gathering the whole crew together. While most fit in the hangar, there were crew members listening from the bridge, medbay, and engine room as well. As Hammerly gazed out into the crowd, she could see feathers sticking out against the caps and helmets of the human crew. Their Paccosh helpers. While she could not scrutinize them from a distance, Hammerly saw no sign of injury among them. They were clustered together on one side of the hangar, and humans behind them moved aside for a better view.
Thrawn addressed the crew as one entity. "The Commodore and I have been successful in our negotiations with the Paccian Governance. I must thank them for their generosity and hospitality in spite of internal strife." He switched briefly to Taarja, turning to the Paccosh enclave as he did.
When Thrawn resumed his speech in Basic, he laid out the terms the Paccian Governance had offered them. Hammerly scanned the crowd for signs of objection or discontent. Instead, she found pockets of relief mixed with exhaustion and indifference. No overt defiance.
She furrowed her brow. Grateful as she was for the lack of resistance, Hammerly had come to expect pushback on everything she and Thrawn did lately. Where were the officers who had attempted mutiny just a day before? She couldn't see Xoxtin or Jeffries anywhere.
Had they joined Commander Barron in the brig? Hammerly would discuss the matter with Woldar once the briefing concluded. They would have to discuss where to keep prisoners moving forward. Hammerly didn't like the idea of leaving them on the ship, but she wasn't sure the refugee camp would be arranged to hold mutineers pending trial.
Sure enough, there was work to be done. Hammerly was glad to be working towards a tangible goal. Collaborating with the Paccosh gave Hammerly hope that they would make it back to the Empire one day. She didn't have to rely on faith or desperation the way she had in the asteroid field.
Alas, the path ahead was not a straight one. Hammerly didn't look forward to smuggling Uingali and his rebels off Rapacc and into Chiss space. It rankled her pride that backroom dealing was necessary to ensure their security in the Unknown Regions. It spoke of weakness to always watch over her shoulder for a Grysk threat.
In the Empire, the Imperial starfleet was the biggest around. They instilled fear in enemy ships, not the other way around. But scattered and battered as they were, the Seventh Fleet couldn't intimidate anyone. Hammerly would accept humility if it meant their lives were spared.
In time, their crew would come to feel the same way. Perhaps some already did.
Ezra thought he and Qilori felt the same way about Thrawn. That was why he had agreed to join forces with Qilori to warn people about the danger Thrawn posed to the Unknown Regions. So why had he slept worse in Qilori's hotel room than he had aboard the Chimaera? Why had he dreamed about yet another orbital bombardment?
…No, Ezra shouldn't overthink it. He hadn't slept well because this planet rotated faster than he was used to, leading to shorter nighttimes. He'd had a nightmare about orbital bombardment because his mind was only beginning to process the trauma of fighting Thrawn over Lothal. There had been no chances to decompress when Ezra was surrounded by enemies. Now that he was with someone who could be a friend, Ezra was safe enough to face his fears.
The past half day had been an adventure in alien society. For one, Paccosh beds were circular, with a ringed pillow on the outer edge. Ezra laid with his head on the pillow and feet in the middle while Qilori curled up on the opposite end. It was then that Ezra learned Qilori had a tail underneath his robes that stuck out in his nightclothes.
When Qilori returned with breakfast for the two of them, Ezra got his first taste of edible food on Rapacc. It seemed all Paccosh food was sour in some capacity. He and Qilori commiserated together on the state of the planet's offerings. He learned new words in Qilori's language from the experience.
Now it was mid-morning. Qilori was setting up some strange triangular device that Ezra deduced was a comm. He had pulled the curtains closed, blocking the light of Rapacc's suns from peering in. Or making sure the holograms were fully visible.
Suddenly nervous once more, Ezra reached out to Qilori for reassurance. Qilori hesitated, then sent optimistic feelings back. "Thrawn is weak from your battle. The Grysk are strong. They will be able to deal with him for all our sakes."
The Grysk? "Who are the Grysk? Is that who you're calling right now?"
Like Ezra, Qilori spoke alongside telepathy in his own language. "The Grysk are the most powerful race of warriors in the Chaos. They are allies with many other worlds, including my own. They are old enemies of Thrawn's."
Qilori showed Ezra a memory of Thrawn facing a giant spaceship. Qilori quivered as he listened to Thrawn's voice over the comm. A second later, laserfire erupted from Thrawn's ship, followed by retaliation from the other ship. A space battle.
Ezra couldn't follow the battle's progress from the memory alone. It was too disjointed, too marred by years of gathering mental dust. "Who won?"
"Thrawn humiliated the Grysk, then disappeared from the Chaos. The Grysk will be pleased to know you have offered them a chance at vengeance, Ezra of Bridger."
Ezra swallowed. Even though he disliked Thrawn, revenge wasn't the Jedi way. Ezra had realized that not too long ago. "I'm not here to give anyone vengeance. I just wanted to protect my home planet. I want to go home."
Qilori flicked his cheek winglets. He sensed his message hadn't had the desired effect. "Forgive my wording, Ezra of Bridger. Precise communication is hard without a common language. I only mean that the Grysk will be happy to know a threat to the Chaos is vanquished. The Grysk are very concerned with the safety of the Chaos."
"Oh. Okay." That made the Grysk sound a lot less menacing. Qilori's explanation made the Grysk sound like protectors of the Unknown Regions. Like the Jedi had been before the Empire. "What do you want me to do while you call them?"
"Stand in the back. I will speak for both of us." Qilori gently shoved Ezra away from the comm he called a hiru'tea. A triad.
Ezra left the area in which he and Qilori ate. He sat on a couch several meters away. From there, he could watch the conversation unfold without appearing on any hologram of the room. It occurred to him that this was the same device he had eavesdropped on Qilori using before they met. Who had Qilori been speaking to then?
He stayed silent as the hiru'tea turned on. Qilori dialed the Grysk with practiced ease, suggesting this was a destination he called frequently. How often did Qilori report threats to the Chaos in this manner?
An image appeared in the center of the hiru'tea. Ezra squinted to make the details out. The Grysk were veiled creatures. He couldn't make out any details or features of their body from here. It reminded him of how the Emperor dressed. The comparison made Ezra shudder.
Ezra zeroed in on Qilori's thoughts and emotions as he spoke. Qilori sensed him doing so, but didn't turn his way. He kept his focus on the robed figure.
Qilori's words were practiced, deliberate. He was used to talking to these people. He knew what to say to encourage them to act. Despite that, Qilori had an undercurrent of anxiety running through his every word. He knew the power of the Grysk and, despite his reassurances to the contrary, didn't always trust them to act benevolently.
Still, Qilori's cautiousness with the Grysk was nothing compared to his explosive reaction to Thrawn. Compared to Thrawn, the Grysk were the lesser evil, as Qilori saw it.
Ezra shifted in his seat. It occurred to him that things out here might be more complicated than he'd originally thought. Was he doing a bad thing by working with Qilori right now? Did he have a choice to work with someone else? Ezra wanted to go home and fight the Empire. He didn't want to get roped into whatever conflict the aliens of the Unknown Regions were having out here.
Qilori was a fellow Force sensitive. A professional Navigator. Ezra felt a kinship with Qilori, like they were on their way to becoming friends. It had been nearly a month since Ezra felt that way about someone.
Not only was Qilori a friend, but he could be a teacher too. His own type of master in a world without the Jedi order. He could teach Ezra how to travel without a navicomputer. How to go anywhere in the galaxy, even places he'd never seen before. Once Ezra knew how to do that, he would never be stranded again. It wasn't the sort of power Ezra used to dream of, but the last few weeks had shown him just how useful navigation could be.
Qilori was Ezra's best bet for achieving his own goals. Unless and until Ezra had proof Qilori was evil, he would keep his concerns to himself. Weeks with Thrawn had left him paranoid, after all. Non-Imperials deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Lost as he was in his own thoughts, Ezra hadn't been following the progression of the call. So when the hologram abruptly disappeared, Ezra jumped. Instead of telling Ezra what had happened, Qilori disassembled his hiru'tea and shoved it into a bag. He began throwing other belongings into his bag, as if preparing to leave.
Ezra ran up to him and caught the Pathfinder's arm. "Wait! What's going on? What did the Grysk say?"
"The tikoaks and I are leaving the planet today. You should come with us, Ezra of Bridger."
Now? "What about Thrawn? Are the Grysk going to do something about him?"
"Don't worry about that, Ezra of Bridger. Thrawn will be taken care of while we are gone.
"Come to my ship." Pause. A smile. "I will begin your Pathfinding instructions."
A/N's: Long time no see, folks. What have been up to since I last updated? Well, I... 1) got a Big Girl Job, 2) moved out my dad's house to be closer to said job, 3) fulfilled my years-long dream of adopting a puppy dog, 4) turned 23 years old.
Lots going on, but still. I feel bad leaving y'all hanging for so long. I hope the wait for chapter 22 is shorter. Until then, enjoy chapter 21! This is more of a setup chapter for what's coming. I liked the parallels between Hammerly and Ezra both not knowing what Thrawn and Qilori are saying, but trusting that it's in their best interest. And Ezra's about to become apprentice to a new master! We'll see how long that lasts.
I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter! If you have any thoughts or constructive criticism, feel free to let me know below! Happy early Chissmas, and until next time!