Chapter 30: Borrowed Time
To be honest, the place is dreadful, greenery of the jungle around it notwithstanding. To be fair, Leia has seen enough Imperial military bases to know that's exactly what they are intended to be. Intimidating and impenetrable. Even if the Empire didn't design it originally, the choice is fitting. All empires are built on fear, after all.
"At the time the fortress was designed," Thrawn seems to read her mind, "ingenious species lived in huts, so just walking into a space vastly larger than what they were habituated to, lit by stained glass windows, striking in a sharp contrast to the fortress' black stone, was awe-inspiring. An exercise in the art of power, if you will."
There is merit to his words, as always. Diminutive effect is still an effective tool of power, millennia later. She probably should be thinking about the Imperial palace on Coruscant, imposing even on the city-planet littered with skyscrapers, or about the late Emperor's penchant for holding most taxing audiences in the Pinnacle room – an epitome of a gilded cage, a rancor in form of his blasted majesty included. Yet, Leia's mind travels to a completely different time and place, back when the diminutive effect didn't taste bitter.
The royal family is gathered in the reception hall next to an open balcony, so the sounds of music and fanfare from far below are mixing with monotonous hum of gossiping courtiers. It's impossible to see anything from here, which seems like such a waste, but, as her mother gently reminds her, on the Founding Day, the anniversary of the Royal house Organa, they have to greet the dignitaries first, before they will be able to go outside to observe the fireworks and festivities at the Plaza below. Still, with all determination of a curious four-year-old, Leia believes it's a stupid rule, so catches a moment when the nanny is not watching and runs out on the balcony, pretending not to hear hushed gasps in her wake.
"Why do these towers have to be so tall?" She mutters, jumping up. The balustrade is too tall as well, obscuring her view of the plaza below - whoever decided that railings had to be this tall clearly didn't care about four-year-olds. Leia tries to swing her leg to climb on top of the balustrade, but this very minute her father catches up with her.
"To reach for the stars and touch the moon," he promptly scoops Leia up to stop to her reckless acrobatics, then puts her on his shoulders. "We need to finally get one here on Alderaan, don't you think?"
The view from his shoulders, not obscured by the railing, is so much better: she can see the plaza downstairs as well as the skies above: midnight blue, criss-crossed by shimmering lights of fireworks, not a cloud obscuring her sight. Of course, no cloud would be stupid enough to appear on the Founding Day. But the moon? Yes, they could use the moon, decides Leia. Mirrorbright, like in mom's lullaby.
"Someday, I will do it."
"Of course you will. Don't ever climb on balustrade again, though."
Sometimes Leia wonders if, somehow, she did it. Brought Tarkin's blasted moon to Alderaan, that is. As much as she blames him for ordering the kriffing shot, sometimes she blames herself for getting caught by Vader even more.
"Today, we're not so easily impressed, I fear..." Thrawn's voice brings her back to reality, and she jumps on a chance to tease him to chase away the memories. There is a soothing quality to their banter, and he gives her an opening anyways.
On the inside, it gets marginally better. She instantly hates the black walls, even if they feel oddly airy, the only redeeming feature of the first hall that they enter being stained glass windows. Something transparisteel can never be – an iridescent rainbow of colors catching and reflecting sunlight.
"There are at least three styles of architecture merged in the fortress. It's not often you see such diversity in the same planetary region, let alone side by side in the same place. It's a living amalgamation of layers, which makes a fascinating object of study."
"So you created the base… as an experiment?"
"I created the base out of strategic expediency," Thrawn corrects and adds with quiet satisfaction, "the experiment… created itself."
Leia just shakes her head in mock exasperation. The man couldn't resist chasing down enigmas and looking for puzzles even if his life depended on it. Yet, the moment they're greeted by the inhabitants of the fortress, it dawns on her: he's right, this impossible man is right again.
They're met by a man who appears to be the head of the garrison, given the uniform and insignia of an Imperial Admiral, his black hair turning gray on the temples, eyes alert and shrewd. Behind him, at the respectable distance, she notices Human and Chiss attendants, wearing what appears to be a mix of Imperial and Chiss uniforms, if the crew she saw at Admiral Ar'alani's ship was any indication of the latter. Only these officers all spot Imperial ranking bars on their chests, as well as intricate burgundy patchwork on their sleeves.
"At ease, Admiral Parck." Thrawn greets the man, and while his tone is measured and polite as always, Leia has learned it well enough to catch a sense of familiarity and trust.
"Glad to have you back, Supreme Commander."
"Councilor Organa, please allow me to introduce you to Admiral Voss Parck, commander of our regional forces in the sector."
Regional forces and the sector seem a bit too generous for a third-rate planet, but Leia keeps her opinions to herself.
"Admiral Parck, meet Councilor Organa, she will be our main liaison with the New Republic, should the need arise."
"Nice to meet you, Admiral."
"Welcome to The Hand of Thrawn, Councilor."
Stars help and forgive her!
Leia masks her instinctive laughter as a cough. She won't let Thrawn live this one down, never in a million years. Still, after her initial amusement dies down, she does her best to keep the expression of polite nonchalance on her face, while Thrawn pretends oblivious to the incident and carries on giving orders.
"For future reference, Councilor should have access to the fortress at any time, whether with or without my escort. We can schedule a proper debriefing for tomorrow. In the meantime, I will download new reports myself, you can move on to logistics for the rest of the day."
"Yessir!" If the Admiral is surprised, he does his best not to show it. "We've got quite a few updates mapped out."
Thrawn nods, clearly satisfied with the news.
"Incidentally, Councilor, Admiral Parck served as a captain on the ship that found me and brought me to the Imperial court, so one could say he excels in unexpected discoveries."
Now, that's a new bit of knowledge, she has yet to hear this particular tale.
"Imagine the galaxy is split between those who want to thank and those who want to curse you for that particular discovery, Admiral."
"True, although I hope the former sentiment will prevail, eventually. The task ahead all of us is far too serious to waste time on anything as petty as politics, old scores or personal gain."
Thrawn makes a subtle gesture indicating that the Admiral is dismissed, the other man bows his head briefly before turning around and rejoining his attendants.
"Blessed be naive, for they shall inherit Aldera." Leia mutters, careful to keep her voice low so that the retreating man won't hear her. After all, her cynicism is directed towards politicians and high command on both sides rather than one of a few actually reasonable beings putting duty above everything else.
"Now you see why I prefer military matters to politics," Thrawn adds.
Instead of answering, for there is no need to state the obvious, Leia gestures to the group following Admiral Parck out of the hall.
"So, imagine Admiral Ar'alani is behind the presence of the Chiss officers here?"
"She's the one sending select recruits, yes. The growing chaos in the Ascendancy made it surprisingly easy."
She hears bitterness in his voice and sees skin in the corners of his eyes tensing a bit while he continues.
"A well-timed coincidence if there ever was one, yet…"
Sometimes, he tries to post-rationalise way too much when the answer is plain and simple.
"The root cause and effect, this time you care, that's the difference."
They have too much to hide from the rest of the galaxy, so Leia sees no reason to try hiding things from each other, no matter how disconcerting and mortifying this level of mutual vulnerability can be. Thrawn opens his mouth as if to answer, yet no words come. Instead, he just subtly inclines his head, watching her like some sort of an intricate puzzle, familiar flame of his penetrating gaze filled with an undercurrent of surprise and affection.
Judging by the way he brushes her knuckles as he leads her out of the hall, she guessed right.
Whomever designed this place, clearly had an unhealthy obsession with spiral stairs, Leia reckons. After a few more turns they enter a yet another large hall, set up as a command center. Or, to be precise, like a crew pit of a Star Destroyer. Two circles of command consoles, the boards and displays winking status lights toward the chairs in front of them. To one side, a larger and more elaborate chair ringed by its own status boards is set up on a meter-high platform where it can overlook the entire space. And in the center of it all, like a web cast over the hall, she sees a holographic map of the galaxy, marked out in a bewildering array of different colors that glitter like precious stones against the backdrop of gray consoles and black stone walls.
"As Imperial as it gets," Leia doesn't bother hiding sarcasm. She may have gotten used to the sight but doesn't have to like it.
"A common cultural pattern species resort to when faced with uncertainty," Thrawn says while moving closer to the command console to download something. Reports, she presumes. "A degree of comforting familiarity this far into what is believed to be the Unknown regions is necessary for the morale, as well as convenient: less time is likely to be wasted on set-up and training."
Comforting? Familiarity? She never thought of it this way, granted, up until recently, anything and everything reminiscent of an Imperial Star Destroyer spelled nothing but danger in her book.
"Speaking of cultural patterns. The Hand of Thrawn, really?"
"A byproduct of military discipline, Imperial hierarchy and siege mentality, if I were to hazard a guess." His voice is serious and thoughtful, as if he's explaining a yet another theory to her.
Leia rolls her eyes because she didn't really expect the answer, but Thrawn will be Thrawn.
"If that's what gives them a level of confidence, a strategic concession is the lesser evil…"
"That sounds more like a cult of personality to me."
"I would've thought we've moved past putting labels on things."
"Don't count on it, I'm just getting started."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." He raises his hands in mock surrender, wry smile playing on his lips. "Although, if I were you, I would not get distracted by semantics, there are other, more interesting discoveries mapped out in this room."
Thrawn gestures around them, but the moment he opens his mouth to continue, Leia shushes him. She won't give him the satisfaction of having an upper hand, it's the matter of principle to figure it out on her own. She frowns, focusing on their surroundings: Imperial status and computer-access boards, chairs, the galactic spiral. What, in the name of Stars?
And then, her breath hitches. Here it is! At the edge of the known galaxy, in the vast nothing of the Unknown Regions… a few sparkles, stretching from Nirauan, faint yet unmistakable against the vacuum of darkness, they weren't here the last time they looked at the map together. She traces the pattern, trying to make sense of it - any random dots can be connected by a net, just like in Alderaanian embroidery her mother taught her. You just need to find a right pattern to weave.
Regional forcesandthe sector...
"You're setting it up! A bridge to move forces to the Chiss space..." The image of the Ascendancy is still protected by a cloud of white masking the names of stars there, but the destination is unmistakable. "To react faster when the Grysk attack."
"The art of war is the art of deception. When a warrior is able to attack, he must seem unable; when he is near, he must appear far away…"
"A fleet movement of any reasonable size would surely be noticed."
"If it happens at once, and if the said fleet is accounted for, yes." His impossible eyes glow with what she would've called mirth coming from anyone else. "Luckily, I've been quite committed to preserving your crowning achievement."
She raises her eyebrows in silent question.
"You'd be pleased to know we've started the effort of cleaning up the first galactic wildlife reserve in Queluhan Nebula… to make space the said wildlife."
"You're moving TIE-defenders out…"
"Indeed."
The plan is somewhere between dangerously inspired, reckless, brilliant and insane in equal measure, like all things Thrawn.
"You should've been discovered by the Rebellion first, really," Leia mutters.
A few hours later, once her private tour of the fortress, coupled with his painstakingly detailed descriptions of various arts fused in this place, comes to a close, Leia concedes: the place is not completely dreadful. If it were up to her, she'd never select it as a refuge, but beggars, choosers…
Once they settle in his private quarters in one of the towers – at the respectable distance from the rest of the garrison to secure privacy – Leia finally allows herself to relax.
Of course, he has holo-projection of painting and sculptures in his private quarters here. Still faint in daylight, artefacts are lining the walls in holographic niches, twirl in the corners of the room in hazy globes of light, stemming from ornate pedestals on the floor.
She lets out a little puff of air upon sinking into a chair, – spiral stairs of this place are definitely a health hazard – then promptly goes about taking her shoes off and throwing them to the side. They land somewhere in the middle of the room, and if a sharp thud is any indication, she may've hit something. Surprised, Leia turns around. Halfway across the room, her shoe is lying next to one of the sculptures. Sitting all alone in its globe of light, it slowly writhes on its pedestal like a wave in some bizarre alien ocean.
"Forget stalling excuses, I think I've finally discovered a way you win political arguments," Thrawn's lip twitches in half a smile. "Although, if you insist on target practice, may I suggest starting from anything expendable? This one," he gestures to the sculpture, "is indeed real and irreplaceable."
"Why?" She wonders if there is sentimental value behind it, well, knowing Thrawn, artistic value, rather. The sculpture is hypnotic, although Leia still cannot phantom what it means.
"It was my one failure, out on the Fringes. The one time when understanding a race's art gave me no insight at all into its psyche. At least not at the time. Now, I believe I'm finally beginning to understand them." His voice sounds almost wistful.
"You think it may be helpful in future?"
"I doubt it," he pauses for a minute, as if thinking or recalling something, then adds calmly. "I wound up destroying their world. More of a reminder."
The sculpture keeps rotating, a wave in some bizarre alien ocean, mocking her with each ebb and flow. Hypotonic. Mysterious. Gone forever. Leia bites down hard against her cheek.
He may've kept it as a reminder of his own, but it works for her in equal measure.
Sometimes, she forgets.
Between their late-night comms, secret rendezvous, shared responsibility and plans, she somehow forgets. She's gotten so used to Thrawn – brilliant, perceptive, insufferable, caring - that she has almost forgotten the Imperial Grand Admiral, the last great warlord of the Empire, frighteningly effective and ruthless. She's gotten so used to seeing past the facade, that she has somehow forgotten that it is still pretty much real. It's been there long before she glimpsed inside. It will be here long after.
So, here it is, staring back at her in a globe of light: a reminder and a reason.
The reminder of who they still are, no matter how far they've come together.
The reason why whatever it is between them is secret and secret it must remain.
For the remainder of three days they spend together, Leia is all to conscious that they're living on borrowed time. Though, stolen may be a more fitting term. As a girl, she used to sneak out of the palace before sunrise, a few hours before her teachers, nannies, and aunts would come demanding her, or, rather, Princess Organa's attention. Now, she feels it again - that forbidden thrill, liberating if a bit bitter on the edges. Whatever time she can steal, she takes, tucks away with a fervour and abandon… knowing full well that reality is bound to unceremoniously shutter her make-believe sooner or later. She tries not to think about the future, locks those words in the furthest corner of her mind, forbids herself to question or worse yet - imagine.
The galaxy needs, demands even Councilor Organa. The hero of the rebellion, the face of the New Republic, the symbol of Alderaan, the head of one of the Elder houses… a dozen of other titles follow depending on a day.
These stolen nights and early mornings get Leia: the one who is emotional, irrational, tired, a bit scared too, though she'll never admit it. The one who is all too happy to get lost in the impossible penetrating red gaze that lights up a thousand flames inside, to forget time in the maze of passion, mixed with unexpected tenderness, to wake up in the middle of the night wrapped in a familiar embrace and feel the sense of calm filling every fibre of her being.
During their last evening in the fortress, Thrawn mentions his private, secret office. At the level below the core, no less. Needless to say, even if it wasn't meant as an invitation, she makes sure it becomes one, innate curiosity leaves her no other choice, really.
He keys in a code – a confusing and unfamiliar word that reads R-e-n-t-o-r – and she has half the mind to call him out on his flair for cloak and dagger but gets distracted by the sight that greets them.
The chamber is roughly circular, dome-shaped at the top and unexpectedly spacious: sixty meters across at the base, and a good ten high at the center, all carved out of solid stone. On the main floor to their far right is a more modest version of the command center she saw on arrival. This one has a single ring of consoles and one chair – clearly a private space created for one person only. The main floor is framed by a balcony deeply indented into the rock. An impressive sight at any other time, it barely registers now, for the most remarkable thing about this place is… databases, thousands and thousands of them, coupled with a wide, squat cylinder that looks like superstorage library-computer, lining up the inner walls of the balcony from top to bottom.
"Why am I not surprised?" Leia mutters under her breath.
"Perhaps, you're far too perceptive?" his deep, captivating voice, laced with a touch of irony, startles her. Should've known he wouldn't be able to resist answering a clearly rhetorical question.
"Either that, or you're getting far too easy to predict."
"Let's hope for both of our sakes that it's the former." Thrawn leads her into the chamber and waves a hand around them. "The databases here are possibly the most extensive in the galaxy."
She could askhowbut that much is obvious – chances are, files are stolen or duplicated from Palpatine's Imperial archives, public and secret. Information was one of late Emperors few obsessions. Moreover,howis not relevant in the grand scheme of things. A much better question is…
"Why? What are you trying to gain?"
"Nothing at the moment. Protect and prevent rather." He tilts his head slightly, watching her reaction with familiar intensity. "Information may not be knowledge, but it's power. Power, in essence, is a weapon. As any weapon, it can become destructive in wrong hands."
"So, keeping it secret is a sensible precaution," Leia finishes for him, studying the databases that surround them.
Never mind the diminutive effect of heights, an enormous potential of what's in his room truly steals her breath away. For once she is grateful that Thrawn prefers military strategy to politics - few sentients would have avoided the temptation to use this kind of power for personal gain. Leave it to Thrawn set up a secret base inside a secret base, though.
"Given the pattern…" - starting from his command control datapad on Chimera and all the way here… and Luke has the audacity to call her paranoid - "the next thing I know, you'll end up unveiling a clone stashed away somewhere just in case."
She says in jest without giving it too much of a thought. Possibly, that's why his answer - too serious for a joke, too thoughtful and measured for a theoretical remark - does surprise her.
"While I've considered this particular course of action, I've come to the conclusion that it would be counterproductive."
"Wait, what?" her tutors would be appalled at such unrefined turn of phrase, but she has long since passed the point of caring about formalities around him. "I was joking."
"I wasn't. In any case, as I said, it would be counterproductive."
"I'm sure I will regret giving you an opening for a lecture, but… why?"
Not that it's her ideal scenario for their last evening together, she could've come up with a dozen of more pleasant and mutually rewarding pass-times, but curiosity gets the better of her. Again.
"Leadership and obedience are the two legs on which a warrior's life is balanced, both equally critical for victory. However, as you've recently pointed out, there comes a time when obedience stifles leadership."
"So, you have noticed the cult of personality."
She inwardly heaves a sigh of relief. She was only half joking when she made the jab before. She saw the signs, and whileLeiacould've just laughed them off,the New Republic Councilorcouldn't allow herself to disregard those small warning bells, not with his new position of Supreme Commander undisputed in the military. Eli Vanto's half joke about God. Grand Admiral Palleon's reluctance to leave Chimaera. The garrison's insistence to call this place the kriffing Hand of Thrawn.
"While I wouldn't go that far…. Reliance wholly and exclusively on one person defies the purpose of fostering independent thinking, and hence, undermines people's ability to act, should anything happen."
Somehow, over the course of this surreal conversation, she has missed the premise. A hypothetical what-if they both have been tiptoeing around.
"Do you expect anything to happen?"
Leia hates the way her own voice sounds. Tentative, wary. As if it's her first battle, as if it wasn't one of the first things she learned in the Rebellion: every single life is expendable, including her own. No one is more important than the cause one serves.
"Not necessarily, but we are at war." His expression remains calm, voice measured and impassive as if he's reciting a list of routine fleet manoeuvres. "There is only one kind of shock worse than the totally unexpected: the expected for which one has refused to prepare."
"Sometimes, I wish I had your ability to remain calm in all circumstances."
"Stars forbid," he chuckles, then inches closer and carefully tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. It's easy to get lost in his eyes, the flame all too familiar by now. Thrawn caresses her cheek with his thumb and continues, "Like I said before, the art of war is the art of deception. On that note, don't mistake confidence for calmness, or for indifference."
It's their last evening together on Nirauan, their last stolen moment, and here they are, wasting it on what-ifs. Tomorrow will be here soon enough, she'll have time to think, plan and plot how she can use the databases here to their advantage, should the need arise. For now, though, she'll soak up the moment: wrapped in a tight embrace, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, feeling his breath tickle her skin. Leia opts to chase away the spectres of tomorrow with a brush of her lips on his. A yet another familiar flame, irresistible and thrilling.
When they finally break for a breath, something, a barely noticeablesound, almost indiscernible amidst the hum of consoles and computers, catches her attention.
"What's the sound?"
"There is an underground lake nearby."
"Why would you risk storing databases so close to water?"
Thrawn stirs a little, breaking their embrace, and extends his hand to her.
"I intended to explain the moment we entered the chamber, but you have a peculiar tendency to upend all most carefully constructed plans," Thrawn drawls his voice, a hint of teasing in his tone, and leads her to what appears to be an hidden alcove on the rock balcony.
Time stills.
She doesn't hear the hum of consoles, or crystalline cadence of running water. Doesn't see the black stone walls. Doesn't even feel the ground, even though, presumably, she must be firmly standing on it.
Here it is, close enough to touch.
A sight that greeted her in a hall every single time she left her childhood bedchamber.
Stormy skies sweeping over high mountains. Enigmatic figures turning to look back at the approaching darkness. Foreboding, some said. Defiance, she liked to believe. For hope is like sun, if you believe in it only when you see it, you'll never make it through the night. Subtle hues, precise yet soft lines, both velvety and rough becausethismoss usually is. Leia extends her hand, as if in a trace, and feels a soft prickling in fingertips, a peculiar sensation, as if a dozen of soft but pointy whiskers are touching her in return. She'll recognize it anywhere…
Killik Twilight.
Constantly watered – and now the crystalline sound makes total sense - so that Alderaanian moss remains intact and survives long after the planet turned into ashes.
A perfect, achingly perfect companion to the Appenza Peak painting she asked Mon to commission for the Alderaan Memorial Hall, pretending that even after the Death Star, in some other universe, in some other galaxy, there would be a morning after.
Yet, day is impossible without night and night is impossible without day. So here it is, her night. Familiar, real, finally real, after all those years when she believed it to be lost forever, passing into the hands of endless smugglers, Imperial spies and bounty hunters. Somehow, even after she guessed that Thrawn saw Killik Twilight, she never actually thought to ask him, if…
"I presumed you may want to see it," Thrawn whispers from behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders.
See, it's moments like this when she forgets… about the facade.