FIC (SW): "Subtle Designs" (Thrawn, PG)
Title: Subtle Designs
Author: pen_and_umbra
Fandom: Star Wars
Character(s): Thrawn genfic (or Thrawn/Pellaeon preslash, if you squint that way)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, all George's.
Word count: 7,802, complete
Summary: Captain Pellaeon believed only in himself and the Empire. It took a miracle for him to start trusting legends, too.
Notes: Many thank-yous and much love to my incomparable beta, imadra_blue. Grand Admiral Thrawn and Captain Pellaeon are from Timothy Zahn's excellent Thrawn trilogy -- the cream of the EU crop, IMHO. This story takes place before the trilogy, about five years after the Battle of Endor.
SUBTLE DESIGNS
* * *
Every new planet was alien in a new and unexpected way. This one, Captain Gilad Pellaeon decided, smelled like ripening cheese and hoi grass -- strong, solid smells, both welcome and unusual to someone who spent all of his time in the sterile environs of a Star Destroyer.
He glanced up into the night sky with its alien star patterns, half hidden by red-black clouds. The Chimaera was somewhere up there, on a high orbit, and once again Pellaeon questioned the wisdom of him personally accompanying the stormtrooper detachment to the planet. It was against protocol, and most likely the whole affair would be a wild bantha chase.
The comlink in his hand crackled. "Building secured, sir," said the monotonous voice of the troop leader. "One prisoner, an unarmed alien. We're bringing him out now."
"Acknowledged," said Pellaeon and put the comlink away. He straightened and ran two fingers alongside his collar to make sure it was in perfect military order. If this really was--- but no. He shouldn't get ahead of things.
Pellaeon stared at the dilapidated building, its walls stained and worn smooth by the alkaline rains of the planet. It was a brooding silhouette in the night, with not a light visible except the twin moons peeking over the bowed roof. A strange refuge on a peculiar planet for a Grand Admiral, Pellaeon had to surmise -- but then again, it was a most peculiar Grand Admiral that had invited him there.
It had taken the Chimaera's crack communications team five hours to decode the message, and two minutes for Pellaeon to make the decision. The trip had taken another six days, which he had spent pacing the Chimaera's deck, not knowing whether he should hope or dread the false promises of that hope. He had settled on not dwelling on it at all; as far as he was concerned, hope had died a fiery, terrible death on Endor.
The Emperor. Vader. The Executor, plunging into the Death Star like an arrowhead of divine proportions -- these were all thoughts he had also decided he wouldn't dwell on.
Five years after that disastrous day, the Galactic Empire was in dire straits: diminished, cankered with arguing warlords, and in desperate need of the sort of unifying leader a former dictatorship clearly needed. But now, perhaps--
Pellaeon's wandering thoughts were interrupted by the door. Four stormtroopers and their commander emerged, followed by a cloaked man in restraints, and another four troopers, their weapons all trained on the prisoner.
"Report."
The troop leader, a painfully young officer in a crisp olive uniform, stepped forward and handed over two datacards. "This is all he had on him, sir. Nothing of interest in the building, no weapons, nothing. Just him and his belongings," he said and nodded back towards the cloaked man. "Your orders, sir?"
Pellaeon pocketed the datacards and stepped closer. Even in the dark, he could see the prisoner's cloak was old and tattered. The hood was pulled over his face and his hands were half-hidden in his ragged sleeves... yet, he calmly stood in military parade rest, as if he had all the time in the world. There was something about him, something familiar in the stance and the straight set of his shoulders.
Pellaeon made a decision to follow his instinct. "Take off the restraints."
"Sir?"
"You heard me," said Pellaeon, giving the troop leader a cold glance. "Right now."
One of the stormtroopers unlocked the restraints and the man rubbed his wrists for a moment before reaching up to push his hood back.
"Good evening, Captain Pellaeon."
With supreme effort, Pellaeon held the man's gaze. Those eyes, glowing red like two pieces of superheated durasteel, had been famous -- or perhaps infamous -- in the Imperial Court. The men around them were too young to remember such things, but Pellaeon still remembered the ugly words and the discomfort with which Thrawn's name had always been mentioned. He had heard the stories and seen pictures but until now, he had never come under the scrutiny of that luminous, razor-sharp gaze.
Suddenly, Pellaeon found that he sincerely believed all the legends about this strangest of Grand Admirals.
"Good evening, sir," Pellaeon said. At his address, he could sense the surprise of the troopers and their leader; their incomprehension was almost palpable in the tense air. "I must apologise for the circumstances of our encounter."
The man waved his hand; in the dark, his skin was indigo, like expensive ink. "Your precautions are perfectly understandable," he said, his voice smooth and insouciant. "I assume you have a test to do?"
"Yes, sir. This will take only a moment."
The genetic imprint scan took mere seconds, but it was enough time for Pellaeon's palms to start sweating. When the device beeped and he glanced down at the viewscreen, Pellaeon felt lightheaded. He'd believed it all along -- had hoped so fervently that he had convinced himself to believe -- and here was finally proof.
"Well?"
Pellaeon looked up into Grand Admiral Thrawn's lean, calm face, carefully avoiding the unnerving eyes, and felt a thrill skitter up his spine. He pocketed the scanner and drew to attention, hand touching the brim of his cap. "Sir. The Fleet awaits you." He paused for an amused glance at the astonished men around them. "Welcome back, Admiral."
"Thank you," Thrawn said and cocked his head. "Tell me, is the Chimaera still your flagship?"
Pellaeon frowned. "Yes, sir. How did you--"
"Excellent," Thrawn said. He smiled, and it was an expression almost as unnerving as his eyes were. "I rather like that name. Please, lead the way, Captain."
* * * * *
"Admiral on deck!"
Lieutenant Tschel's voice was an octave higher than usual and contained so much disbelief that Pellaeon was surprised the man had managed to utter the words at all.
When he turned away from the viewport, Pellaeon suppressed a smile; he could easily see the rest of the bridge shared Tschel's sentiment. All work in the crew pits had paused as the men had jumped to attention. Now, they all stared slack-jawed at Thrawn. Dressed in the white uniform of a Grand Admiral, his blue-black hair in perfect order and a small, tranquil smile playing about his lips, Thrawn finally resembled the man of legends Pellaeon had imagined: tall, immaculate, and with an aura of natural authority.
"Admiral," Pellaeon said and saluted. His chest felt tight, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in his lungs. It had been so long since he'd felt it that it took Pellaeon a moment to recognise what it was: it was anticipation. "Welcome to the bridge, sir."
In the harsh light of the bridge, Thrawn's face was all shadows and hard, smooth planes of livid blue. He looked around and then at Pellaeon. "I take it you haven't announced the news?" He sounded almost amused.
"No, sir," Pellaeon said and felt his eyes water as he stared back, unblinking. Getting used to those red eyes was going to take some time. "The captains of my assault squadron -- the Death's Head, the Bellicose, the Judicator, the Relentless -- know where I am, but they don't know of the particulars. I assumed you would like to make the announcements yourself, sir."
"The genetic imprint scan didn't convince you, then?" Thrawn asked. His tone was conversational, but with a flinty edge.
Pellaeon cleared his throat, discomfited; Thrawn had seen through his prevarication. He felt cold sweat bead at the back of his neck. "Of course it did, sir," he temporised.
"Yet you did not make the announcement," Thrawn said and eyed Pellaeon in a most disconcerting manner for one long, deathly quiet moment. "As inconvenient as it is, I do applaud your caution. It appears I chose well."
"Chose what, sir?"
Thrawn offered him a small smile and then turned to the command console. He pressed a switch and calmly said, "Grand Admiral Thrawn, assuming Fleet command on this date. Identification code Wesk-three-one-space-Qek, identify."
Immediately, the computer beeped in approval. Pellaeon leaned forward, studying the readout. Thrawn had passed his final test and once again, there was a Grand Admiral in command of the Imperial fleet. Through secure relays, the information would be automatically propagated to the other ships in the fleet; Pellaeon gave it ten minutes before the confirmation queries and messages of outrage, incredulity, and enthusiasm would start pouring in.
"That was quick." Thrawn cocked an eyebrow at Pellaeon. "Admiralty command codes are identified and deciphered on a need-to-know basis. I assume I don't need to tell you how deep in the Outer Rim we are, do I?"
For the first time, Pellaeon relaxed. "No, sir. And I'm sure you would agree that I needed to know." He congratulated himself on his foresight in ordering the code verification download before he had departed for the trip. "Your manner of contact was... most unusual."
"These are most unusual times, Captain. Walk with me, if you please."
With alacrity, Pellaeon took a place at Thrawn's side, matching the admiral's long, measured strides. As they walked along the outer walkway, he could feel all eyes on them; still, the bridge was silent around them, as if they were all holding their breaths.
"I trust you kept the datacards your troopers confiscated from me?"
Pellaeon took out the two datacards. "Here, sir."
"Thank you." Thrawn held the datacards between two fingers and gazed at them thoughtfully. He paused at the side viewport and turned to Pellaeon. "Do you know why I chose this planet for our rendezvous? This specific one?" he asked, gesturing at the planet they were still orbiting.
Pellaeon frowned. "I'm not certain I understand, sir. As far as I know, the planet has no specific significance. It doesn't even have a name on our maps." He had thought the location to be entirely random; apparently, that was not the case. Pellaeon was beginning to have the feeling that few details were random when it came to Thrawn.
"It'll come to you, Captain, I have no doubt. While we wait for that revelation, however, we do have more pressing business."
Pellaeon glanced around and caught Lieutenant Tschel's eye. The man nodded and made his way to where he and Thrawn were standing. "The Fleet is at your command. Where to, sir?"
"Back into Imperial space." Thrawn smiled and tapped his chin with the datacards. He glanced at Tschel, who was keeping a respectful -- or perhaps a cautious -- distance. "Once there, we will stop at a planet called Honoghr. The nav computer should have its coordinates."
Pellaeon nodded to Tschel. "Make it so, Lieutenant."
When the man saluted and hurried back towards the conn station, Pellaeon stepped closer to Thrawn and clasped his hands behind his back. Underneath his feet, the deck vibrated; it was the familiar thrum of the hyperspace engines coming on-line. Behind Thrawn, the unnamed planet rotated slowly away.
"I must say I've never heard of Honoghr, sir."
"That doesn't surprise me -- it's a remote planet of little interest to most people. However, it holds a resource I should find rather invaluable to my plan."
Again, Pellaeon frowned. "Which plan would that be, sir?"
"I thought it obvious. A plan long overdue, I would say," Thrawn said. The tight, wolfish smile on his lips made a hot flash of dread pool in the pit of Pellaeon's stomach. "No less than the downfall of the Rebellion, Captain Pellaeon."
* * * * *
Pellaeon whirled around and before he could catch himself, he snapped, "Absolutely not! It's suicide!"
Once again, the bridge fell deathly silent around them. Pellaeon felt his heart skip a beat, first when he realised what tone he had used, and then again when Thrawn turned to him. The admiral's eyes were incandescent, glowing like coals, yet the look in them was suddenly glacial; he said nothing, merely clasped his hands behind his back and... waited.
Pellaeon took a deep breath and resigned himself to his undoubtedly gruesome fate. "My apologies, sir. I spoke out of turn."
Thrawn kept the brittle silence for a moment and then cocked his head. When he spoke, his voice was hard. "Yes, you did. It also appears you are mistaking me for Lord Vader."
"Sir?"
"Were I Vader, you would indeed be dead where you stand." He paused for a significant glance towards the back of the bridge. "One way or another."
Pellaeon followed his gaze and schooled his face to perfect neutrality. Near the auxiliary controls stood five small, grey figures -- Thrawn's Noghri guards. Pellaeon did not question their skills -- he had seen them in action during their stopover on Honoghr -- only the necessity of their presence. More than once, they had approached so silently that Pellaeon hadn't heard them until they had breathed into his ear. He was being watched and he did not like that feeling, especially not on his bridge, on his ship.
"However," Thrawn continued in a more normal tone, "I am not Lord Vader. So fear not, and please explain your objections. In volumes more suitable for the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer, if you would."
With one final glare at the Noghri, Pellaeon turned back to the tactical display. "Sir, what you are proposing goes against decades of military tactics, conventional wisdom, and my experience."
"In what ways?"
Pellaeon called up the mid-range display, where the two blue wedges marking Star Destroyers circled around a spacedock. The more he looked at Thrawn's plan, the less sense it made. "Because we don't have this many TIE fighters, and because this is simply not how Star Destroyers should be used, sir. I understand that unconventional tactics are needed in our situation," he said, leaving unsaid the obvious point about the situation being that they were the less-equipped force, "and that conventional wisdom is not always right, but I can't help thinking it's a waste of our resources. It's wrong. It's insane. Sir."
Pellaeon feared he had crossed the line again, but when he hazarded a glance at Thrawn, the admiral's expression was perfectly neutral, his eyes almost closed as he gazed at the display.
"May I make a suggestion?" Thrawn placed a peculiar stress on the last word.
"Certainly, sir."
As Pellaeon watched, Thrawn reached out to touch one of the hovering TIE fighter clusters. His gesture was lissome and languid, like a caress; the pale blue hue of his skin, made brighter still by the display lights, looked so very alien on his otherwise so human hands.
"This one time, Captain, don't think too much."
Pellaeon frowned. "Sir?"
When Thrawn turned, he came so close that Pellaeon could feel his proximity. It was... body heat and something electric in the air around them, and Pellaeon had to suppress his instinct to step back. He could see the fine creases on Thrawn's uniform, hear the leather of his boots creak, and smell the faint scent of something dark and sweet coming off Thrawn. Apparently, the admiral had no concept of personal space, and that thought unnerved Pellaeon even more than the eyes did.
"I am asking you to trust me," said Thrawn in a low voice that was all smoke and molasses. He held Pellaeon's gaze. "Or, if you are unable to do so, I am asking you to make a leap of faith. Whichever you find more palatable."
Pellaeon worked his jaw. Thrawn's tone had clearly conveyed that what he was now asking, he would make a command if necessary; this was merely Pellaeon's last chance to save face in front of his bridge crew. That didn't mean the words came easily to him.
"Yes, sir. I defer to your judgement."
"As you should. Estimated time until the Relentless arrives?"
Pellaeon stepped back, feeling absurdly relieved of the change in topic. He checked his log. "Three hours, sir. Also, engineering reports a full complement of probe droid pods." He turned a questioning look at Thrawn. "Probe droids, sir?"
"Those probe droid pods, not TIE fighters will be our attack fleet."
Pellaeon opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Yes, sir," he finally said. "Very good, sir."
When Thrawn moved to hover over the hapless tractor beam crew, Pellaeon gave the tactical display one last glance and then turned towards the central catwalk. There, two crewmen were busy re-installing the command chair and the banks of equipment around it. It had been taken off the bridge because it was a luxury with which Pellaeon had felt uncomfortable, but apparently Thrawn had no such reservations.
Watching the crewmen work, Pellaeon fervently wished that this plan was indeed a manifestation of Thrawn's rumoured tactical genius and not the suicide plan of a man who had spent too many years in the Outer Rim. Unfortunately, at the moment, the latter option seemed the more plausible one.
* * * * *
Swallowing his invective, Pellaeon pulled his cap straight and willed away the cold sweat that had sprung on his back. He gave the wiry Noghri, half-hidden in shadows, another murderous look before activating the door.
"Captain Pellaeon. Come in," said Thrawn's smooth voice.
Pellaeon squinted into the darkness. "Sir?"
"In the back."
When Pellaeon had asked the computer of Grand Admiral Thrawn's location, it had told him that the admiral could be found in the former commander's entertainment suite. Pellaeon had been surprised that though it was the middle of the night watch, Thrawn had not retired to his quarters.
With a deep breath, Pellaeon entered. The suite, now used for storage, was dimly lit, with only the emergency strips casting their feeble splotches of light. The room had been gutted of equipment and furniture long ago; now, amidst towers of supply crates, only scattered chairs remained. The admiral was sitting in one of the chairs, his eyes closed and his booted feet propped up on another chair. The collar of his uniform jacket was undone and on the table at his elbow was a glass of something that had a sharp, tangy smell.
"Have a seat, Captain."
Pellaeon took a chair across the table, feeling vaguely uneasy. "Thank you, sir."
A touch of smile came to Thrawn's lips and he opened his eyes, just enough for a thin sliver of red to show. "I take it you have made Rukh's acquaintance."
"Quite so," Pellaeon said and grimaced. In the foyer, the blasted creature had snuck up on him and if Pellaeon hadn't been wide awake before, he certainly were now. He was liking the Noghri less and less.
"Don't take it personally. He means well."
"Well, yes, sir." Pellaeon cleared his throat. "Engineering reports that the probe pod modifications are proceeding as planned and will be completed before we reach the Sluis sector."
He refrained from asking about the probe pods again, but only barely so. Pellaeon had decided he would give Thrawn this one chance, as insane as it seemed to him; though he did not yet know Thrawn well enough and thus did not trust him, the white uniform he wore deserved at least the courtesy of an occasion of blind faith.
"Thank you." Thrawn straightened and, eyes still only half-open, turned to Pellaeon. "Would you care for a drink?"
Pellaeon glanced at Thrawn's glass. Forvish ale, from the looks of it; his stomach rebelled at the very thought. "No, thank you, sir."
Thrawn made an amused face and took a sip of his ale; when he licked the foam off his upper lip, Pellaeon noticed how red and pointed his tongue was. A frisson skittered along Pellaeon's spine, but it wasn't necessarily an unpleasant feeling as such things had been when serving under Lord Vader. No, this one was born merely out of the unfamiliar.
"After we are done with Sluis Khem, I think I shall take this space back into use. Not as an entertainment suite, mind you. I have other plans," Thrawn said, his words slow and contemplative. He opened his eyes and looked around, and then at Pellaeon. "I'm sure there are rumours already."
Pellaeon offered a crooked smile and held Thrawn's gaze as long as he could. The admiral had been spending a lot of his free time in the suite, and nobody knew why. By now, the betting pools were reaching very high stakes. "Of course, sir," Pellaeon said. "One more outlandish than the other."
"Of course," Thrawn murmured and set his glass down. "However, if I ever were to cultivate an aura of mystique, it would be for the benefit of the Rebellion, not for the people I'm counting to stand at my side."
"Pardon me, Admiral, but I do think your attack plan is precision-engineered to generate mystique."
At that, Thrawn smiled; even in the wan light, Pellaeon could see that his teeth were very white and slightly sharper than what was comfortable. It was just one more thing that was subtly alien about the admiral, he decided. This juxtaposition of these strange unknowns with the mundane, hard, human aspects of him fascinated Pellaeon. With a start, he realised he did not even know what species Thrawn was.
"Oh, far from it. Apart from the destruction of the drydocks at the Sluis Khem facility, the first campaign has three very simple and obvious objectives." Thrawn paused, tilting his head to look at Pellaeon, his expression expectant.
"To... test the Chimaera?" Pellaeon hazarded. "Or me?"
Again, Thrawn smiled. It was an expression that fascinated Pellaeon, as if the full measure of Thrawn's genius were held in that single unguarded moment. "Hardly," Thrawn said. "I will be aboard the Chimaera myself, and regardless of what you think of me, I am most certainly not suicidal."
The oblique show of trust warmed Pellaeon and he relaxed. He thought of Thrawn's plan for a moment, all of its insane, impossible glory. "You're putting on a show," he said and in a sudden flash of insight, added, "Not just for the Rebellion, but for the Empire as well. Aren't you, sir?"
"Very good. I'm sure I don't need to lecture you about the state of the Fleet."
Pellaeon grimaced. "No, sir."
"Mark my words, Captain. After Sluis Khem, all these captains of yours, as independent as they are now, will understand that the stakes have changed. This indecision and disarray that now marks the Imperial Navy will be over."
Pellaeon exhaled, feeling that flutter of anticipation in his chest again. Once again, there was hope for the Empire -- even if that hope was a blue-skinned alien with a deranged plan -- and the thought made Pellaeon feel decades younger, once again enthusiastic.
"Yes, sir," he said. "Quite so."
Now, it all hinged on Sluis Khem and those blasted probe droid pods.
* * * * *
It was a three-day hyperspace journey to the Sluis sector. Pellaeon was glad to have it over; when the striated sky shifted to a starfield, he sighed in relief. He had never liked hyperspace travel.
"Distance to Sluis Khem?"
"Two thousandths of a light year, sir," replied the navigation officer. "The Relentless reports successful entry into normal space as well."
Pellaeon glanced towards the starboard viewports and indeed, there was another Star Destroyer at their side. "At Captain Dorja's convenience, begin the transfer of the probe pods."
"Yes, sir."
Pellaeon shook his head and turned to stare forward again. He could see their target, a yellow pinprick slightly larger than the surrounding stars -- and they were going to attack it with probe droid pods. He understood not a thing.
"A question, perhaps?" asked Thrawn's cool, cultured voice, as if he had read Pellaeon's thoughts.
Pellaeon turned and approached the admiral's chair; it was elevated so that though Thrawn was sitting, they were at eye level. "I could understand the probe pods if they contained explosives, but... chaff, sir?" The most they could hope was moderate scanner signal dispersion, which in Pellaeon's experience would be of little help.
"In that case, you should watch and learn," Thrawn said and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "You'll understand soon enough."
"Captain Dorja reports that the transfer is complete," said the comm officer, as if on cue. "The Relentless awaits your orders, sir."
The officer turned to look at Thrawn expectantly, as did most of the bridge crew. Pellaeon did not doubt that during the days of their journey here, every Thrawn legend the crew could dig up had been told and told again in the mess halls. There was a palpable sense of excitement in the air; here, finally, was their chance to see Thrawn in action.
"Is my flagship ready, Captain?"
"The Chimaera is fully at your command, Admiral," replied Pellaeon, in the formal tradition that protocol demanded. Regardless of his misgivings about the mission, saying the long-remembered words brought new steel to his spine.
"Good. Signal the Relentless to begin. We will follow in exactly six minutes."
Pellaeon watched the Relentless flicker with pseudovelocity as it jumped into hyperspace, and set his watch timer. "Mark, six minutes."
A silence fell on the bridge as every man straightened at their stations, keeping an eye on both their displays and the timer countdown. Pellaeon fought the urge to fidget and had just settled on reciting TIE fighter statistics in his head when Thrawn leaned his way.
"Am I to understand you object to the presence of the Noghri?"
That threw Pellaeon off for a moment. "Uh, yes, sir," he said and recovered. "Or rather, I feel that their presence on the bridge is detrimental to the overall effectiveness of the bridge crew."
"Really?" said Thrawn, his tone conversational.
"Having them here creates an atmosphere of distrust and a feeling of being constantly watched. These are my people that man the crew pits, and all supervisors are hand-picked for this task. They don't deserve such scrutiny." Pellaeon turned and, bracing himself, he met Thrawn's disquieting red gaze. "Though you are in command, the Chimaera is still my ship to run, sir. If you do not trust my judgement when it comes to my bridge crew, I simply wish to know it in an unequivocal manner."
Once again, Pellaeon feared he might have overstepped his boundaries, but Thrawn didn't seem angry, merely thoughtful. "I see your point, Captain, and I will take the matter under consideration. Twenty seconds."
Pellaeon glanced at his watch and indeed, it was mere seconds until their departure. He returned to his station and said, "Navigation, lightspeed in ten seconds. Five... two, one. Mark."
The jump to Sluis Khem took all of thirty-eight seconds, and therein was its inherent danger: with ships the size of Star Destroyers, such microjumps were extremely hazardous and in the past, more than one ship had entered normal space inside a sun instead of on an orbit around it.
However, as stars normalised around them, Pellaeon saw that they were right on the mark. A few thousand kilometres in front of them were the Sluis Khem drydocks, home to one of the Rebellion's minor research compounds. Between the Chimaera and the docks was the Relentless, and all around it were exploding probe pods and TIE fighters. The space was filled with streams and clouds of the electrostatic chaff, glinting bright yellow in the Sluis Khem sunlight.
Pellaeon leaned forward. More and more probe pods kept zooming out and exploding, and soon, the drydocks themselves were hidden behind the chaff cloud. It was an intended chaos, but still chaos.
"Helm, come about. Launch portside TIE fighter squadrons," said Thrawn. "Status of the infiltrators?"
Pellaeon glanced at his log. "They report full readiness, sir. Portside TIE fighters deploying now."
"Good." Thrawn paused, his eyes on the tactical display, which showed an impressive holographic projection of the battle situation. According to it, the two Star Destroyers were heading towards the drydocks inside the ever-expanding chaff cloud. The Relentless had also launched its TIE fighters. "Wait until at five hundred kilometres, then target that defence tower."
Pellaeon narrowed his eyes and painted the tower. "Five hundred kilometres in three seconds. Turbolaser batteries confirm target lock."
"Fire at will."
At Thrawn's words, the deck thrummed as the starboard turbolasers unleashed a full barrage. Space was suddenly thick with not just the chaff but also with red and green energy bolts. Pellaeon frowned and glanced at the tactical, feeling that there was something wrong about the way things looked. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him, though.
"Incoming fighters!" said the scanner officer, his voice higher than usual. "Three-- no, four squadrons of A-wings, and they're scrambling that Corellian frigate, too. Estimated contact in thirty seconds!"
"Cease turbolaser fire, advise TIE fighter squadrons to engage the A-wings, but only inside the perimeter of the cloud. The infiltrators may also launch at their convenience. And please calm yourself, Lieutenant Nevell."
The scanner officer gave Thrawn a quick, nervous glance and turned to his station. Pellaeon approached Thrawn's chair, his eyes still on the tactical display. The enemy fighters met the edge of the chaff cloud and--
"What in Vader's name are they doing?"
Just as Pellaeon voiced his disbelief, two of the A-wings intersected paths and winked off the display. The rest of the enemy fighters lost all formation, flying here and there, shooting seemingly at random. Though the TIE squads also had limited visibility inside the cloud, they were aided by their instruments and were soon making a quick work of the A-wings.
"Mounting the best defence they can, of course."
Pellaeon tore his eyes away from the display and stared at Thrawn. "In that case, have they gone mad?"
Thrawn smiled and touched Pellaeon's shoulder. "Later. Helm, come about, ahead two-thirds," he said, his voice as calm as ever. "Captain, tell the Relentless to take care that frigate, while we will focus on laying cover fire for the infiltrators -- Meghr convex pattern. Portside turbolasers are to target the remaining defence tower."
As Pellaeon delivered the orders, he watched the battle unfold on the display. All the while, he had the distinct impression that the universe had gone mad. The majority of the installation's turbolasers were just sitting there and those that were firing were taking seemingly random pot-shots at the cloud; the A-wing fighters looked as if they had lost both their sights and their wits.
"Infiltrators one, two, and three have signalled successful breach and have a return ETA of eight minutes," Pellaeon said; he kept glancing at the display, still monumentally confused. "Portside turbolasers report target lock."
Thrawn leaned forward; there was a cool, cruel expression on his face. "Fire when in range. Navigation, pre-calculate our exit course. We depart as soon as the infiltrators return."
In ten minutes, it was all over. When they jumped into hyperspace, the Star Destroyers left behind a cloud of chaff, now blackened with the carcasses of all the A-wing fighters. When reinforcements from nearby systems arrived, fifteen minutes too late, they found that the Sluis Khem drydocks had been reduced to smoking husks.
It wasn't a battle -- it was a slaughter.
* * * * *
Once they were safely out of hyperspace again, Pellaeon relinquished the conn. He found Thrawn on the secondary bridge, studying the holoprojection of a system that Pellaeon found vaguely familiar. Save for the ubiquitous pair of Noghri lurking in the shadows, the admiral was alone.
"Good evening, Admiral. We are on high orbit around Tollan 4, and the Relentless sends her congratulations. They will be departing in an hour." Pellaeon smiled. When he had spoken to Captain Dorja, the man had jumped at the chance to go and spread the word of their success; the Chimaera would join them in the core systems as soon as they were finished with repairs.
"Thank you," Thrawn said, not taking his eyes off the display. His hands were folded together and his chin rested on them. "Status?"
"All systems optimal. Maintenance reports that TIE fighter repairs will be complete in two days and at that point. As for the crew, the junior officers are having an impromptu celebration in the crew mess." Pellaeon took a deep breath, letting the meaning of the words sink into his brain, too. He hadn't seen so many proud smiles and straight backs on his bridge since the glory days of the Empire. "We haven't had a victory like this since... well, sir, I can't remember when."
"Since you ambushed that Mon Calamari task force." Thrawn nodded at a datapad on the console. "I've taken the time to catch up with the exploits of your assault squadron. Given your resources, you have done well."
Pellaeon glanced at the glass at the admiral's elbow; it was forvish ale again, and he made a mental note to have ship's supplies keep it in stock. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He paused for a moment and, bracing himself, said, "I feel I owe you an apology, sir."
"You do?"
"Yes, sir. I was wrong to doubt your plan or your judgement in these matters, and for that I apologise."
"Oh, no, you have it all wrong," Thrawn said and switched the display off. He turned the command chair to face Pellaeon and nodded at the auxiliary tactical station. "Have a seat."
Pellaeon sat down and rested his hands on his thighs. As he watched, Thrawn sat back and took a deep breath, the leather of the chair creaking at his movements. He undid his high collar and the first catch of his jacket, revealing the pale, leonine column of his neck and the top edge of his white body armour.
"You served under Lord Vader, did you not?" Thrawn asked.
"Yes, aboard the Executor as a bridge officer." Those had been the longest, most frightening eight months of Pellaeon's life. "It was a remarkable learning experience, sir."
Thrawn smiled. "I'm sure. A remarkable man, the Dark Lord."
"You could say that, sir, yes."
"The reason I mention Vader is that though he and I had what one could call an acknowledged disagreement on methodology," he said and cocked his eyebrow sardonically, "we both agreed that the guiding principle of any army should not be maximal efficiency."
Pellaeon's brows knitted. "I'm not sure I understand."
"Lord Vader might have had his flaws as a strategist, but no-one can deny his military genius when it came to tactics. This is because he clearly understood that there is no point in efficiency if what you are doing will not have the desired effect." Thrawn leaned forward; the intensity of his lambent gaze made Pellaeon instantly uncomfortable.
"The only thing that matters is effectiveness, Captain," Thrawn said after a moment of charged silence. "What we accomplish is important, not how we do it or how long it takes us to do it. We will use subterfuge and every underhanded, controversial tactic ever invented, and we will do this for as many years as it takes until the Rebellion has been crushed. However, we will avoid Vader's egregious errors of judgement -- reason, not vengeance, is the dictate of our strategy." Thrawn paused and one of his blue-black eyebrows rose. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said. He suppressed his excited shiver. "Crystal clear."
"Before Sluis Khem, you weren't wrong to doubt my plan or judgement -- you did not know me and you were hampered by an understandable over-reliance on past experience. I trust we have worked past that now?"
Pellaeon closed his eyes and thought back, recalling the buoyant, invincible feeling he had had on the bridge, during that moment when he had realised they were not just going to win -- they were going to absolutely devastate their enemy.
When he opened his eyes, Pellaeon found that he was smiling, and so was Thrawn. "Yes, sir. We have."
"Good. However, I am not here merely to command, Captain, but to lead as well. By necessity, it means that in the future, I encourage learning and still expect you to question my judgement." He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. The red tip of his tongue traced the curve of his lower lip. "Up to a point, at least."
"Understood, sir," Pellaeon said and nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He had no trouble grasping the subtext of Thrawn's words. "In this spirit of learning, may I be permitted to ask a question, sir?"
"Might it have something to do with the probe pods and the stupendous effectiveness of the chaff trap?"
Pellaeon smiled crookedly. "Exactly, sir."
Thrawn cocked his head, obviously thinking. For a long, quiet moment, he sat there, running the tips of his fingers up and down the curve of his neck, his mind obviously elsewhere. Pellaeon watched his hand as if hypnotised, for the first time really becoming aware of the fact that Thrawn was as much flesh and blood as he was.
Though intellectually he knew it shouldn't have, the realisation startled Pellaeon. During the battle, that Thrawn's patience and foresight had seemed positively inhuman; moreover, his presence always gave the impression of something fearsome and godlike in perfection having descended into their midst -- much like the effect Vader had had on people, really. But unlike Vader, Thrawn was wholly and obviously human, in his very own, alien way.
Pellaeon watched the pulsepoint on Thrawn neck throb under his skin, and he idly eyed the line of Thrawn's collarbone and the darker blue curve of his pectoral muscles as they disappeared under the white jacket and armour. He wondered how it would feel under--
"Tell me, Captain," said Thrawn, his voice interrupting Pellaeon's meandering thoughts. "Would it enlighten you if I mentioned that both the defence forces and the research staff at Sluis Khem are almost exclusively Sullustan, subcontracted from the SoroSuub corporation?"
Now even more confused, Pellaeon frowned. "I'm afraid I don't see the connection, sir."
Once again, Thrawn steepled his hands in front of him. "I can also tell you that the Sullustan physiology is most curious. Of particular interest are their senses, which are interlinked in some very unique ways. This condition has some side effects, such as an aversion to the colour yellow and an inability to perceive and complete patterns." He cocked an eyebrow in a wordless question.
"Well, I now understand the significance of having yellow chaff but still, their reaction seems disproportionate, sir."
"Quite so, until you understand the effect of the electrostatic chaff on their sense of gestalt. The chaff disturbs not only the visual cohesion of an object in a most disturbing manner, but it also confuses the sensors just enough to provide unclear perimeters and ghost images. Sullustans, by their very nature, are unable to cope with this sort of signal noise."
Pellaeon felt his jaw go slack. Normally, through experience and good hunches, a targeting operator could estimate the placement and size of a ship even through interference, but... "Are saying that the Sullustans can't guess?"
Thrawn smiled and sat up. "Indeed, not only can they not make such educated guesses, but being forced to a situation when such a talent is called distresses them greatly." He paused and took a sip from his ale before continuing in his conversational tone. "I'm sure you know how highly esteemed SoroSuub navigation and targeting equipment are, mostly for their exceptional image clarity. However, few people are aware of what has necessitated the Sullustans' extraordinary technological prowess in this area."
"I... I would imagine they prefer to keep such things secret, sir," said Pellaeon, for want of something better to say. His mind was busy going through the particulars of the battle. "What effect does the colour yellow have, then?"
"The particular shade of yellow the chaff had has an auditory effect, a low-pitched sound in their inner ear. The noise is as unnerving to a Sullustan as the hull breach klaxon is to any TIE fighter pilot."
"Wouldn't it make sense for them to use optical filters against these colours?"
"Yes, quite so. Sullustans prefer to use automatically adjusting intraocular filters to shield themselves from unwanted colours. However, such implants are exceedingly expensive and are thus used mostly by the moderately well to do and those living outside the Sullust systems. The inexpensive alternative is fixed filter implants, but they are unsuitable for space combat because they reduce contrast." Thrawn blinked, slowly, and glanced towards the tactical display. "So, in lieu of implants, Sullustan fighter pilots rely on optical filters built into their cockpit viewports. Now, what effect do you think charged objects, such as our chaff particles, would have on the systems of a starfighter upon contact?"
Understanding, Pellaeon smiled. "Primary systems are shielded from interference, but unshielded secondary electrical systems would definitely be affected by the chaff."
"Quite so. Secondary systems, like cockpit optical filters on A-wing fighters."
Pellaeon rubbed his jaw, amused despite himself. "Well. No wonder the fighters looked as if they suddenly went mad." He paused to choose his next words. "May I ask something, sir?"
"How I happen to know all this?" At Pellaeon's nod, Thrawn took out the two datacards. "Remember these? Amongst data on some interesting technologies we shall be looking into in the near future, the first one has detailed information about the daily operation of Sluis Khem. Hence, the SoroSuub connection. The other one contains all that I need to know of Sullustans."
"Deep-cover reports?" Pellaeon guessed. "Or gene dumps?"
"No," said Thrawn. He looked away with a dreamy expression. "Civilisation, Captain Pellaeon. Statues, flats, Pre-Empire water sculptures, architecture, theatre, design -- the art history of Sullust. It clearly shows all Sullustan creations share fundamentals: aversion to intersecting lines, preference for unequivocal demarcations, and a notable lack of the colour yellow. I'm sure you see the connection."
"I risked my ship based on tactical inferences from-- from a statue?"
Thrawn held a datacard up between two fingers. "No, Captain. I risked my ships on inferences from a statue. You, on the other hand, risked everything on my word." He paused for a cold smile. "I do consider my choice to be the more educated one."
Pellaeon opened his mouth to express his outrage, but something in Thrawn's hard look warned him that he was approaching those limits that he should not cross. Also, he had to admit to himself that no matter how specious he took the proof to be, the plan had worked -- spectacularly so, in fact. He closed his mouth and merely stared at Thrawn, not knowing what to make of the man.
Thrawn allowed him a generous five seconds of open staring before he cocked his head and said, "Do you like what you see?"
Pellaeon snapped out of his trance, startled. He didn't quite know what to make of that question, either. "Sir?"
"You were looking at me as if evaluating my worth."
"With your permission, sir, your worth is not for me to decide," Pellaeon said and forced himself to relax. Really, it did not matter whether Thrawn inferred crucial details from mynock entrails or star patterns or from his forvish ale. The plan had been efficacious to the extreme, and that was all that mattered to Pellaeon. "I must say that I find your methodologies... unusual, sir."
"I have faith that one day, you will find them most natural, Captain," Thrawn said and put the datacards away. "Now, back to Sluis Khem. You recall I mentioned I had three very straightforward objectives for the mission?"
"Yes. A show of force for the benefit of the Empire, for one," Pellaeon said, remembering their pre-battle discussion. "The destruction of one of Rebellion's key research facilities?"
Thrawn waved his hand dismissively. "Incidental."
With a grimace, Pellaeon looked at the ceiling and tried to wrap his mind around the whole matter. "Not to test me or my ship. Test something else? Rebellion capabilities?" Remembering the infiltration squad, Pellaeon glanced at Thrawn. "Or simply information retrieval?"
"Yes, both the verification of existing data and acquiring new information." Thrawn lifted two fingers. "Show of strength, and information. What would the third be?"
"Was that what you were studying when I came in? The new information?" Pellaeon asked, mostly to stall. "The system was very familiar, somehow."
"It should be -- it was the Sluis Van shipyards."
Pellaeon's breath caught in his throat. "Sluis Van?" One of the Republic's main sources of ships and weaponry, the Sluis Van complex was a prime target -- and an impossible one, at that, for it was as heavily fortified as a Death Star. "But that's--"
"You're getting ahead of things," Thrawn interrupted. "We will worry about Sluis Van later. For now, you're still missing the third reason."
Suddenly tired of this game, Pellaeon said, "I'm sorry, sir, but I have no idea."
"Come now. You are too modest a man," replied Thrawn. He did up his collar, his eyes never leaving Pellaeon, and stood.
"Sir?" Pellaeon asked, also rising from his chair.
"I thought it most obvious, because it is the most important one." Thrawn stepped down from the command chair dais and touched Pellaeon's arm. "My last objective was to gain your trust, Captain Pellaeon. I cannot function without it."
Pellaeon opened his mouth to voice his disbelief, when another thought struck him. "When we brought you aboard, Admiral," he said slowly, "you mentioned you had chosen us. That planet, we were the closest Imperial ship to it, weren't we?"
Thrawn nodded. "Simplest plans are often the most effective. I wanted the Chimaera, and you came."
For a moment, Pellaeon was silent and merely stared at Thrawn. "If I may be so bold, sir," he finally said, feeling slightly breathless, "I'm glad I did."
Thrawn's smile was full of sharp teeth. "Indeed, Captain. Now, I do believe it is time for you to make your appearance at the victory celebrations." He glanced back at the now-dark tactical display. "Tomorrow, we begin."
"Good night, sir."
Thrawn nodded and left and long after the door had closed behind him, Pellaeon still stared at it. He knew that in the future, while he might question Thrawn's methods, he would never doubt the veracity of his vision -- not after this. He knew equally well that once the stories would get around, neither would any other Imperial captain with half a brain.
Pellaeon smiled, and finally allowed the full, electric thrill of anticipation blossom in his chest. He wanted to preserve this moment in his memory: Thrawn's trust, his quiet words and his complicated genius; the sight of his bare throat and the fierce warrior in his voice and in his glowing, hard eyes. All of it.
For the first time in years, Pellaeon was looking at his future with hope.
"Yes, sir," he said to the quiet shadows. "Tomorrow."
* * *
End.
In completely unrelated news, my old-new addiction is Charlotte Martin. OMG. Her CD On Your Shore has been on constant play here.
Author: pen_and_umbra
Fandom: Star Wars
Character(s): Thrawn genfic (or Thrawn/Pellaeon preslash, if you squint that way)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, all George's.
Word count: 7,802, complete
Summary: Captain Pellaeon believed only in himself and the Empire. It took a miracle for him to start trusting legends, too.
Notes: Many thank-yous and much love to my incomparable beta, imadra_blue. Grand Admiral Thrawn and Captain Pellaeon are from Timothy Zahn's excellent Thrawn trilogy -- the cream of the EU crop, IMHO. This story takes place before the trilogy, about five years after the Battle of Endor.
SUBTLE DESIGNS
* * *
Every new planet was alien in a new and unexpected way. This one, Captain Gilad Pellaeon decided, smelled like ripening cheese and hoi grass -- strong, solid smells, both welcome and unusual to someone who spent all of his time in the sterile environs of a Star Destroyer.
He glanced up into the night sky with its alien star patterns, half hidden by red-black clouds. The Chimaera was somewhere up there, on a high orbit, and once again Pellaeon questioned the wisdom of him personally accompanying the stormtrooper detachment to the planet. It was against protocol, and most likely the whole affair would be a wild bantha chase.
The comlink in his hand crackled. "Building secured, sir," said the monotonous voice of the troop leader. "One prisoner, an unarmed alien. We're bringing him out now."
"Acknowledged," said Pellaeon and put the comlink away. He straightened and ran two fingers alongside his collar to make sure it was in perfect military order. If this really was--- but no. He shouldn't get ahead of things.
Pellaeon stared at the dilapidated building, its walls stained and worn smooth by the alkaline rains of the planet. It was a brooding silhouette in the night, with not a light visible except the twin moons peeking over the bowed roof. A strange refuge on a peculiar planet for a Grand Admiral, Pellaeon had to surmise -- but then again, it was a most peculiar Grand Admiral that had invited him there.
It had taken the Chimaera's crack communications team five hours to decode the message, and two minutes for Pellaeon to make the decision. The trip had taken another six days, which he had spent pacing the Chimaera's deck, not knowing whether he should hope or dread the false promises of that hope. He had settled on not dwelling on it at all; as far as he was concerned, hope had died a fiery, terrible death on Endor.
The Emperor. Vader. The Executor, plunging into the Death Star like an arrowhead of divine proportions -- these were all thoughts he had also decided he wouldn't dwell on.
Five years after that disastrous day, the Galactic Empire was in dire straits: diminished, cankered with arguing warlords, and in desperate need of the sort of unifying leader a former dictatorship clearly needed. But now, perhaps--
Pellaeon's wandering thoughts were interrupted by the door. Four stormtroopers and their commander emerged, followed by a cloaked man in restraints, and another four troopers, their weapons all trained on the prisoner.
"Report."
The troop leader, a painfully young officer in a crisp olive uniform, stepped forward and handed over two datacards. "This is all he had on him, sir. Nothing of interest in the building, no weapons, nothing. Just him and his belongings," he said and nodded back towards the cloaked man. "Your orders, sir?"
Pellaeon pocketed the datacards and stepped closer. Even in the dark, he could see the prisoner's cloak was old and tattered. The hood was pulled over his face and his hands were half-hidden in his ragged sleeves... yet, he calmly stood in military parade rest, as if he had all the time in the world. There was something about him, something familiar in the stance and the straight set of his shoulders.
Pellaeon made a decision to follow his instinct. "Take off the restraints."
"Sir?"
"You heard me," said Pellaeon, giving the troop leader a cold glance. "Right now."
One of the stormtroopers unlocked the restraints and the man rubbed his wrists for a moment before reaching up to push his hood back.
"Good evening, Captain Pellaeon."
With supreme effort, Pellaeon held the man's gaze. Those eyes, glowing red like two pieces of superheated durasteel, had been famous -- or perhaps infamous -- in the Imperial Court. The men around them were too young to remember such things, but Pellaeon still remembered the ugly words and the discomfort with which Thrawn's name had always been mentioned. He had heard the stories and seen pictures but until now, he had never come under the scrutiny of that luminous, razor-sharp gaze.
Suddenly, Pellaeon found that he sincerely believed all the legends about this strangest of Grand Admirals.
"Good evening, sir," Pellaeon said. At his address, he could sense the surprise of the troopers and their leader; their incomprehension was almost palpable in the tense air. "I must apologise for the circumstances of our encounter."
The man waved his hand; in the dark, his skin was indigo, like expensive ink. "Your precautions are perfectly understandable," he said, his voice smooth and insouciant. "I assume you have a test to do?"
"Yes, sir. This will take only a moment."
The genetic imprint scan took mere seconds, but it was enough time for Pellaeon's palms to start sweating. When the device beeped and he glanced down at the viewscreen, Pellaeon felt lightheaded. He'd believed it all along -- had hoped so fervently that he had convinced himself to believe -- and here was finally proof.
"Well?"
Pellaeon looked up into Grand Admiral Thrawn's lean, calm face, carefully avoiding the unnerving eyes, and felt a thrill skitter up his spine. He pocketed the scanner and drew to attention, hand touching the brim of his cap. "Sir. The Fleet awaits you." He paused for an amused glance at the astonished men around them. "Welcome back, Admiral."
"Thank you," Thrawn said and cocked his head. "Tell me, is the Chimaera still your flagship?"
Pellaeon frowned. "Yes, sir. How did you--"
"Excellent," Thrawn said. He smiled, and it was an expression almost as unnerving as his eyes were. "I rather like that name. Please, lead the way, Captain."
* * * * *
"Admiral on deck!"
Lieutenant Tschel's voice was an octave higher than usual and contained so much disbelief that Pellaeon was surprised the man had managed to utter the words at all.
When he turned away from the viewport, Pellaeon suppressed a smile; he could easily see the rest of the bridge shared Tschel's sentiment. All work in the crew pits had paused as the men had jumped to attention. Now, they all stared slack-jawed at Thrawn. Dressed in the white uniform of a Grand Admiral, his blue-black hair in perfect order and a small, tranquil smile playing about his lips, Thrawn finally resembled the man of legends Pellaeon had imagined: tall, immaculate, and with an aura of natural authority.
"Admiral," Pellaeon said and saluted. His chest felt tight, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in his lungs. It had been so long since he'd felt it that it took Pellaeon a moment to recognise what it was: it was anticipation. "Welcome to the bridge, sir."
In the harsh light of the bridge, Thrawn's face was all shadows and hard, smooth planes of livid blue. He looked around and then at Pellaeon. "I take it you haven't announced the news?" He sounded almost amused.
"No, sir," Pellaeon said and felt his eyes water as he stared back, unblinking. Getting used to those red eyes was going to take some time. "The captains of my assault squadron -- the Death's Head, the Bellicose, the Judicator, the Relentless -- know where I am, but they don't know of the particulars. I assumed you would like to make the announcements yourself, sir."
"The genetic imprint scan didn't convince you, then?" Thrawn asked. His tone was conversational, but with a flinty edge.
Pellaeon cleared his throat, discomfited; Thrawn had seen through his prevarication. He felt cold sweat bead at the back of his neck. "Of course it did, sir," he temporised.
"Yet you did not make the announcement," Thrawn said and eyed Pellaeon in a most disconcerting manner for one long, deathly quiet moment. "As inconvenient as it is, I do applaud your caution. It appears I chose well."
"Chose what, sir?"
Thrawn offered him a small smile and then turned to the command console. He pressed a switch and calmly said, "Grand Admiral Thrawn, assuming Fleet command on this date. Identification code Wesk-three-one-space-Qek, identify."
Immediately, the computer beeped in approval. Pellaeon leaned forward, studying the readout. Thrawn had passed his final test and once again, there was a Grand Admiral in command of the Imperial fleet. Through secure relays, the information would be automatically propagated to the other ships in the fleet; Pellaeon gave it ten minutes before the confirmation queries and messages of outrage, incredulity, and enthusiasm would start pouring in.
"That was quick." Thrawn cocked an eyebrow at Pellaeon. "Admiralty command codes are identified and deciphered on a need-to-know basis. I assume I don't need to tell you how deep in the Outer Rim we are, do I?"
For the first time, Pellaeon relaxed. "No, sir. And I'm sure you would agree that I needed to know." He congratulated himself on his foresight in ordering the code verification download before he had departed for the trip. "Your manner of contact was... most unusual."
"These are most unusual times, Captain. Walk with me, if you please."
With alacrity, Pellaeon took a place at Thrawn's side, matching the admiral's long, measured strides. As they walked along the outer walkway, he could feel all eyes on them; still, the bridge was silent around them, as if they were all holding their breaths.
"I trust you kept the datacards your troopers confiscated from me?"
Pellaeon took out the two datacards. "Here, sir."
"Thank you." Thrawn held the datacards between two fingers and gazed at them thoughtfully. He paused at the side viewport and turned to Pellaeon. "Do you know why I chose this planet for our rendezvous? This specific one?" he asked, gesturing at the planet they were still orbiting.
Pellaeon frowned. "I'm not certain I understand, sir. As far as I know, the planet has no specific significance. It doesn't even have a name on our maps." He had thought the location to be entirely random; apparently, that was not the case. Pellaeon was beginning to have the feeling that few details were random when it came to Thrawn.
"It'll come to you, Captain, I have no doubt. While we wait for that revelation, however, we do have more pressing business."
Pellaeon glanced around and caught Lieutenant Tschel's eye. The man nodded and made his way to where he and Thrawn were standing. "The Fleet is at your command. Where to, sir?"
"Back into Imperial space." Thrawn smiled and tapped his chin with the datacards. He glanced at Tschel, who was keeping a respectful -- or perhaps a cautious -- distance. "Once there, we will stop at a planet called Honoghr. The nav computer should have its coordinates."
Pellaeon nodded to Tschel. "Make it so, Lieutenant."
When the man saluted and hurried back towards the conn station, Pellaeon stepped closer to Thrawn and clasped his hands behind his back. Underneath his feet, the deck vibrated; it was the familiar thrum of the hyperspace engines coming on-line. Behind Thrawn, the unnamed planet rotated slowly away.
"I must say I've never heard of Honoghr, sir."
"That doesn't surprise me -- it's a remote planet of little interest to most people. However, it holds a resource I should find rather invaluable to my plan."
Again, Pellaeon frowned. "Which plan would that be, sir?"
"I thought it obvious. A plan long overdue, I would say," Thrawn said. The tight, wolfish smile on his lips made a hot flash of dread pool in the pit of Pellaeon's stomach. "No less than the downfall of the Rebellion, Captain Pellaeon."
* * * * *
Pellaeon whirled around and before he could catch himself, he snapped, "Absolutely not! It's suicide!"
Once again, the bridge fell deathly silent around them. Pellaeon felt his heart skip a beat, first when he realised what tone he had used, and then again when Thrawn turned to him. The admiral's eyes were incandescent, glowing like coals, yet the look in them was suddenly glacial; he said nothing, merely clasped his hands behind his back and... waited.
Pellaeon took a deep breath and resigned himself to his undoubtedly gruesome fate. "My apologies, sir. I spoke out of turn."
Thrawn kept the brittle silence for a moment and then cocked his head. When he spoke, his voice was hard. "Yes, you did. It also appears you are mistaking me for Lord Vader."
"Sir?"
"Were I Vader, you would indeed be dead where you stand." He paused for a significant glance towards the back of the bridge. "One way or another."
Pellaeon followed his gaze and schooled his face to perfect neutrality. Near the auxiliary controls stood five small, grey figures -- Thrawn's Noghri guards. Pellaeon did not question their skills -- he had seen them in action during their stopover on Honoghr -- only the necessity of their presence. More than once, they had approached so silently that Pellaeon hadn't heard them until they had breathed into his ear. He was being watched and he did not like that feeling, especially not on his bridge, on his ship.
"However," Thrawn continued in a more normal tone, "I am not Lord Vader. So fear not, and please explain your objections. In volumes more suitable for the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer, if you would."
With one final glare at the Noghri, Pellaeon turned back to the tactical display. "Sir, what you are proposing goes against decades of military tactics, conventional wisdom, and my experience."
"In what ways?"
Pellaeon called up the mid-range display, where the two blue wedges marking Star Destroyers circled around a spacedock. The more he looked at Thrawn's plan, the less sense it made. "Because we don't have this many TIE fighters, and because this is simply not how Star Destroyers should be used, sir. I understand that unconventional tactics are needed in our situation," he said, leaving unsaid the obvious point about the situation being that they were the less-equipped force, "and that conventional wisdom is not always right, but I can't help thinking it's a waste of our resources. It's wrong. It's insane. Sir."
Pellaeon feared he had crossed the line again, but when he hazarded a glance at Thrawn, the admiral's expression was perfectly neutral, his eyes almost closed as he gazed at the display.
"May I make a suggestion?" Thrawn placed a peculiar stress on the last word.
"Certainly, sir."
As Pellaeon watched, Thrawn reached out to touch one of the hovering TIE fighter clusters. His gesture was lissome and languid, like a caress; the pale blue hue of his skin, made brighter still by the display lights, looked so very alien on his otherwise so human hands.
"This one time, Captain, don't think too much."
Pellaeon frowned. "Sir?"
When Thrawn turned, he came so close that Pellaeon could feel his proximity. It was... body heat and something electric in the air around them, and Pellaeon had to suppress his instinct to step back. He could see the fine creases on Thrawn's uniform, hear the leather of his boots creak, and smell the faint scent of something dark and sweet coming off Thrawn. Apparently, the admiral had no concept of personal space, and that thought unnerved Pellaeon even more than the eyes did.
"I am asking you to trust me," said Thrawn in a low voice that was all smoke and molasses. He held Pellaeon's gaze. "Or, if you are unable to do so, I am asking you to make a leap of faith. Whichever you find more palatable."
Pellaeon worked his jaw. Thrawn's tone had clearly conveyed that what he was now asking, he would make a command if necessary; this was merely Pellaeon's last chance to save face in front of his bridge crew. That didn't mean the words came easily to him.
"Yes, sir. I defer to your judgement."
"As you should. Estimated time until the Relentless arrives?"
Pellaeon stepped back, feeling absurdly relieved of the change in topic. He checked his log. "Three hours, sir. Also, engineering reports a full complement of probe droid pods." He turned a questioning look at Thrawn. "Probe droids, sir?"
"Those probe droid pods, not TIE fighters will be our attack fleet."
Pellaeon opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Yes, sir," he finally said. "Very good, sir."
When Thrawn moved to hover over the hapless tractor beam crew, Pellaeon gave the tactical display one last glance and then turned towards the central catwalk. There, two crewmen were busy re-installing the command chair and the banks of equipment around it. It had been taken off the bridge because it was a luxury with which Pellaeon had felt uncomfortable, but apparently Thrawn had no such reservations.
Watching the crewmen work, Pellaeon fervently wished that this plan was indeed a manifestation of Thrawn's rumoured tactical genius and not the suicide plan of a man who had spent too many years in the Outer Rim. Unfortunately, at the moment, the latter option seemed the more plausible one.
* * * * *
Swallowing his invective, Pellaeon pulled his cap straight and willed away the cold sweat that had sprung on his back. He gave the wiry Noghri, half-hidden in shadows, another murderous look before activating the door.
"Captain Pellaeon. Come in," said Thrawn's smooth voice.
Pellaeon squinted into the darkness. "Sir?"
"In the back."
When Pellaeon had asked the computer of Grand Admiral Thrawn's location, it had told him that the admiral could be found in the former commander's entertainment suite. Pellaeon had been surprised that though it was the middle of the night watch, Thrawn had not retired to his quarters.
With a deep breath, Pellaeon entered. The suite, now used for storage, was dimly lit, with only the emergency strips casting their feeble splotches of light. The room had been gutted of equipment and furniture long ago; now, amidst towers of supply crates, only scattered chairs remained. The admiral was sitting in one of the chairs, his eyes closed and his booted feet propped up on another chair. The collar of his uniform jacket was undone and on the table at his elbow was a glass of something that had a sharp, tangy smell.
"Have a seat, Captain."
Pellaeon took a chair across the table, feeling vaguely uneasy. "Thank you, sir."
A touch of smile came to Thrawn's lips and he opened his eyes, just enough for a thin sliver of red to show. "I take it you have made Rukh's acquaintance."
"Quite so," Pellaeon said and grimaced. In the foyer, the blasted creature had snuck up on him and if Pellaeon hadn't been wide awake before, he certainly were now. He was liking the Noghri less and less.
"Don't take it personally. He means well."
"Well, yes, sir." Pellaeon cleared his throat. "Engineering reports that the probe pod modifications are proceeding as planned and will be completed before we reach the Sluis sector."
He refrained from asking about the probe pods again, but only barely so. Pellaeon had decided he would give Thrawn this one chance, as insane as it seemed to him; though he did not yet know Thrawn well enough and thus did not trust him, the white uniform he wore deserved at least the courtesy of an occasion of blind faith.
"Thank you." Thrawn straightened and, eyes still only half-open, turned to Pellaeon. "Would you care for a drink?"
Pellaeon glanced at Thrawn's glass. Forvish ale, from the looks of it; his stomach rebelled at the very thought. "No, thank you, sir."
Thrawn made an amused face and took a sip of his ale; when he licked the foam off his upper lip, Pellaeon noticed how red and pointed his tongue was. A frisson skittered along Pellaeon's spine, but it wasn't necessarily an unpleasant feeling as such things had been when serving under Lord Vader. No, this one was born merely out of the unfamiliar.
"After we are done with Sluis Khem, I think I shall take this space back into use. Not as an entertainment suite, mind you. I have other plans," Thrawn said, his words slow and contemplative. He opened his eyes and looked around, and then at Pellaeon. "I'm sure there are rumours already."
Pellaeon offered a crooked smile and held Thrawn's gaze as long as he could. The admiral had been spending a lot of his free time in the suite, and nobody knew why. By now, the betting pools were reaching very high stakes. "Of course, sir," Pellaeon said. "One more outlandish than the other."
"Of course," Thrawn murmured and set his glass down. "However, if I ever were to cultivate an aura of mystique, it would be for the benefit of the Rebellion, not for the people I'm counting to stand at my side."
"Pardon me, Admiral, but I do think your attack plan is precision-engineered to generate mystique."
At that, Thrawn smiled; even in the wan light, Pellaeon could see that his teeth were very white and slightly sharper than what was comfortable. It was just one more thing that was subtly alien about the admiral, he decided. This juxtaposition of these strange unknowns with the mundane, hard, human aspects of him fascinated Pellaeon. With a start, he realised he did not even know what species Thrawn was.
"Oh, far from it. Apart from the destruction of the drydocks at the Sluis Khem facility, the first campaign has three very simple and obvious objectives." Thrawn paused, tilting his head to look at Pellaeon, his expression expectant.
"To... test the Chimaera?" Pellaeon hazarded. "Or me?"
Again, Thrawn smiled. It was an expression that fascinated Pellaeon, as if the full measure of Thrawn's genius were held in that single unguarded moment. "Hardly," Thrawn said. "I will be aboard the Chimaera myself, and regardless of what you think of me, I am most certainly not suicidal."
The oblique show of trust warmed Pellaeon and he relaxed. He thought of Thrawn's plan for a moment, all of its insane, impossible glory. "You're putting on a show," he said and in a sudden flash of insight, added, "Not just for the Rebellion, but for the Empire as well. Aren't you, sir?"
"Very good. I'm sure I don't need to lecture you about the state of the Fleet."
Pellaeon grimaced. "No, sir."
"Mark my words, Captain. After Sluis Khem, all these captains of yours, as independent as they are now, will understand that the stakes have changed. This indecision and disarray that now marks the Imperial Navy will be over."
Pellaeon exhaled, feeling that flutter of anticipation in his chest again. Once again, there was hope for the Empire -- even if that hope was a blue-skinned alien with a deranged plan -- and the thought made Pellaeon feel decades younger, once again enthusiastic.
"Yes, sir," he said. "Quite so."
Now, it all hinged on Sluis Khem and those blasted probe droid pods.
* * * * *
It was a three-day hyperspace journey to the Sluis sector. Pellaeon was glad to have it over; when the striated sky shifted to a starfield, he sighed in relief. He had never liked hyperspace travel.
"Distance to Sluis Khem?"
"Two thousandths of a light year, sir," replied the navigation officer. "The Relentless reports successful entry into normal space as well."
Pellaeon glanced towards the starboard viewports and indeed, there was another Star Destroyer at their side. "At Captain Dorja's convenience, begin the transfer of the probe pods."
"Yes, sir."
Pellaeon shook his head and turned to stare forward again. He could see their target, a yellow pinprick slightly larger than the surrounding stars -- and they were going to attack it with probe droid pods. He understood not a thing.
"A question, perhaps?" asked Thrawn's cool, cultured voice, as if he had read Pellaeon's thoughts.
Pellaeon turned and approached the admiral's chair; it was elevated so that though Thrawn was sitting, they were at eye level. "I could understand the probe pods if they contained explosives, but... chaff, sir?" The most they could hope was moderate scanner signal dispersion, which in Pellaeon's experience would be of little help.
"In that case, you should watch and learn," Thrawn said and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "You'll understand soon enough."
"Captain Dorja reports that the transfer is complete," said the comm officer, as if on cue. "The Relentless awaits your orders, sir."
The officer turned to look at Thrawn expectantly, as did most of the bridge crew. Pellaeon did not doubt that during the days of their journey here, every Thrawn legend the crew could dig up had been told and told again in the mess halls. There was a palpable sense of excitement in the air; here, finally, was their chance to see Thrawn in action.
"Is my flagship ready, Captain?"
"The Chimaera is fully at your command, Admiral," replied Pellaeon, in the formal tradition that protocol demanded. Regardless of his misgivings about the mission, saying the long-remembered words brought new steel to his spine.
"Good. Signal the Relentless to begin. We will follow in exactly six minutes."
Pellaeon watched the Relentless flicker with pseudovelocity as it jumped into hyperspace, and set his watch timer. "Mark, six minutes."
A silence fell on the bridge as every man straightened at their stations, keeping an eye on both their displays and the timer countdown. Pellaeon fought the urge to fidget and had just settled on reciting TIE fighter statistics in his head when Thrawn leaned his way.
"Am I to understand you object to the presence of the Noghri?"
That threw Pellaeon off for a moment. "Uh, yes, sir," he said and recovered. "Or rather, I feel that their presence on the bridge is detrimental to the overall effectiveness of the bridge crew."
"Really?" said Thrawn, his tone conversational.
"Having them here creates an atmosphere of distrust and a feeling of being constantly watched. These are my people that man the crew pits, and all supervisors are hand-picked for this task. They don't deserve such scrutiny." Pellaeon turned and, bracing himself, he met Thrawn's disquieting red gaze. "Though you are in command, the Chimaera is still my ship to run, sir. If you do not trust my judgement when it comes to my bridge crew, I simply wish to know it in an unequivocal manner."
Once again, Pellaeon feared he might have overstepped his boundaries, but Thrawn didn't seem angry, merely thoughtful. "I see your point, Captain, and I will take the matter under consideration. Twenty seconds."
Pellaeon glanced at his watch and indeed, it was mere seconds until their departure. He returned to his station and said, "Navigation, lightspeed in ten seconds. Five... two, one. Mark."
The jump to Sluis Khem took all of thirty-eight seconds, and therein was its inherent danger: with ships the size of Star Destroyers, such microjumps were extremely hazardous and in the past, more than one ship had entered normal space inside a sun instead of on an orbit around it.
However, as stars normalised around them, Pellaeon saw that they were right on the mark. A few thousand kilometres in front of them were the Sluis Khem drydocks, home to one of the Rebellion's minor research compounds. Between the Chimaera and the docks was the Relentless, and all around it were exploding probe pods and TIE fighters. The space was filled with streams and clouds of the electrostatic chaff, glinting bright yellow in the Sluis Khem sunlight.
Pellaeon leaned forward. More and more probe pods kept zooming out and exploding, and soon, the drydocks themselves were hidden behind the chaff cloud. It was an intended chaos, but still chaos.
"Helm, come about. Launch portside TIE fighter squadrons," said Thrawn. "Status of the infiltrators?"
Pellaeon glanced at his log. "They report full readiness, sir. Portside TIE fighters deploying now."
"Good." Thrawn paused, his eyes on the tactical display, which showed an impressive holographic projection of the battle situation. According to it, the two Star Destroyers were heading towards the drydocks inside the ever-expanding chaff cloud. The Relentless had also launched its TIE fighters. "Wait until at five hundred kilometres, then target that defence tower."
Pellaeon narrowed his eyes and painted the tower. "Five hundred kilometres in three seconds. Turbolaser batteries confirm target lock."
"Fire at will."
At Thrawn's words, the deck thrummed as the starboard turbolasers unleashed a full barrage. Space was suddenly thick with not just the chaff but also with red and green energy bolts. Pellaeon frowned and glanced at the tactical, feeling that there was something wrong about the way things looked. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him, though.
"Incoming fighters!" said the scanner officer, his voice higher than usual. "Three-- no, four squadrons of A-wings, and they're scrambling that Corellian frigate, too. Estimated contact in thirty seconds!"
"Cease turbolaser fire, advise TIE fighter squadrons to engage the A-wings, but only inside the perimeter of the cloud. The infiltrators may also launch at their convenience. And please calm yourself, Lieutenant Nevell."
The scanner officer gave Thrawn a quick, nervous glance and turned to his station. Pellaeon approached Thrawn's chair, his eyes still on the tactical display. The enemy fighters met the edge of the chaff cloud and--
"What in Vader's name are they doing?"
Just as Pellaeon voiced his disbelief, two of the A-wings intersected paths and winked off the display. The rest of the enemy fighters lost all formation, flying here and there, shooting seemingly at random. Though the TIE squads also had limited visibility inside the cloud, they were aided by their instruments and were soon making a quick work of the A-wings.
"Mounting the best defence they can, of course."
Pellaeon tore his eyes away from the display and stared at Thrawn. "In that case, have they gone mad?"
Thrawn smiled and touched Pellaeon's shoulder. "Later. Helm, come about, ahead two-thirds," he said, his voice as calm as ever. "Captain, tell the Relentless to take care that frigate, while we will focus on laying cover fire for the infiltrators -- Meghr convex pattern. Portside turbolasers are to target the remaining defence tower."
As Pellaeon delivered the orders, he watched the battle unfold on the display. All the while, he had the distinct impression that the universe had gone mad. The majority of the installation's turbolasers were just sitting there and those that were firing were taking seemingly random pot-shots at the cloud; the A-wing fighters looked as if they had lost both their sights and their wits.
"Infiltrators one, two, and three have signalled successful breach and have a return ETA of eight minutes," Pellaeon said; he kept glancing at the display, still monumentally confused. "Portside turbolasers report target lock."
Thrawn leaned forward; there was a cool, cruel expression on his face. "Fire when in range. Navigation, pre-calculate our exit course. We depart as soon as the infiltrators return."
In ten minutes, it was all over. When they jumped into hyperspace, the Star Destroyers left behind a cloud of chaff, now blackened with the carcasses of all the A-wing fighters. When reinforcements from nearby systems arrived, fifteen minutes too late, they found that the Sluis Khem drydocks had been reduced to smoking husks.
It wasn't a battle -- it was a slaughter.
* * * * *
Once they were safely out of hyperspace again, Pellaeon relinquished the conn. He found Thrawn on the secondary bridge, studying the holoprojection of a system that Pellaeon found vaguely familiar. Save for the ubiquitous pair of Noghri lurking in the shadows, the admiral was alone.
"Good evening, Admiral. We are on high orbit around Tollan 4, and the Relentless sends her congratulations. They will be departing in an hour." Pellaeon smiled. When he had spoken to Captain Dorja, the man had jumped at the chance to go and spread the word of their success; the Chimaera would join them in the core systems as soon as they were finished with repairs.
"Thank you," Thrawn said, not taking his eyes off the display. His hands were folded together and his chin rested on them. "Status?"
"All systems optimal. Maintenance reports that TIE fighter repairs will be complete in two days and at that point. As for the crew, the junior officers are having an impromptu celebration in the crew mess." Pellaeon took a deep breath, letting the meaning of the words sink into his brain, too. He hadn't seen so many proud smiles and straight backs on his bridge since the glory days of the Empire. "We haven't had a victory like this since... well, sir, I can't remember when."
"Since you ambushed that Mon Calamari task force." Thrawn nodded at a datapad on the console. "I've taken the time to catch up with the exploits of your assault squadron. Given your resources, you have done well."
Pellaeon glanced at the glass at the admiral's elbow; it was forvish ale again, and he made a mental note to have ship's supplies keep it in stock. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He paused for a moment and, bracing himself, said, "I feel I owe you an apology, sir."
"You do?"
"Yes, sir. I was wrong to doubt your plan or your judgement in these matters, and for that I apologise."
"Oh, no, you have it all wrong," Thrawn said and switched the display off. He turned the command chair to face Pellaeon and nodded at the auxiliary tactical station. "Have a seat."
Pellaeon sat down and rested his hands on his thighs. As he watched, Thrawn sat back and took a deep breath, the leather of the chair creaking at his movements. He undid his high collar and the first catch of his jacket, revealing the pale, leonine column of his neck and the top edge of his white body armour.
"You served under Lord Vader, did you not?" Thrawn asked.
"Yes, aboard the Executor as a bridge officer." Those had been the longest, most frightening eight months of Pellaeon's life. "It was a remarkable learning experience, sir."
Thrawn smiled. "I'm sure. A remarkable man, the Dark Lord."
"You could say that, sir, yes."
"The reason I mention Vader is that though he and I had what one could call an acknowledged disagreement on methodology," he said and cocked his eyebrow sardonically, "we both agreed that the guiding principle of any army should not be maximal efficiency."
Pellaeon's brows knitted. "I'm not sure I understand."
"Lord Vader might have had his flaws as a strategist, but no-one can deny his military genius when it came to tactics. This is because he clearly understood that there is no point in efficiency if what you are doing will not have the desired effect." Thrawn leaned forward; the intensity of his lambent gaze made Pellaeon instantly uncomfortable.
"The only thing that matters is effectiveness, Captain," Thrawn said after a moment of charged silence. "What we accomplish is important, not how we do it or how long it takes us to do it. We will use subterfuge and every underhanded, controversial tactic ever invented, and we will do this for as many years as it takes until the Rebellion has been crushed. However, we will avoid Vader's egregious errors of judgement -- reason, not vengeance, is the dictate of our strategy." Thrawn paused and one of his blue-black eyebrows rose. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said. He suppressed his excited shiver. "Crystal clear."
"Before Sluis Khem, you weren't wrong to doubt my plan or judgement -- you did not know me and you were hampered by an understandable over-reliance on past experience. I trust we have worked past that now?"
Pellaeon closed his eyes and thought back, recalling the buoyant, invincible feeling he had had on the bridge, during that moment when he had realised they were not just going to win -- they were going to absolutely devastate their enemy.
When he opened his eyes, Pellaeon found that he was smiling, and so was Thrawn. "Yes, sir. We have."
"Good. However, I am not here merely to command, Captain, but to lead as well. By necessity, it means that in the future, I encourage learning and still expect you to question my judgement." He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. The red tip of his tongue traced the curve of his lower lip. "Up to a point, at least."
"Understood, sir," Pellaeon said and nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He had no trouble grasping the subtext of Thrawn's words. "In this spirit of learning, may I be permitted to ask a question, sir?"
"Might it have something to do with the probe pods and the stupendous effectiveness of the chaff trap?"
Pellaeon smiled crookedly. "Exactly, sir."
Thrawn cocked his head, obviously thinking. For a long, quiet moment, he sat there, running the tips of his fingers up and down the curve of his neck, his mind obviously elsewhere. Pellaeon watched his hand as if hypnotised, for the first time really becoming aware of the fact that Thrawn was as much flesh and blood as he was.
Though intellectually he knew it shouldn't have, the realisation startled Pellaeon. During the battle, that Thrawn's patience and foresight had seemed positively inhuman; moreover, his presence always gave the impression of something fearsome and godlike in perfection having descended into their midst -- much like the effect Vader had had on people, really. But unlike Vader, Thrawn was wholly and obviously human, in his very own, alien way.
Pellaeon watched the pulsepoint on Thrawn neck throb under his skin, and he idly eyed the line of Thrawn's collarbone and the darker blue curve of his pectoral muscles as they disappeared under the white jacket and armour. He wondered how it would feel under--
"Tell me, Captain," said Thrawn, his voice interrupting Pellaeon's meandering thoughts. "Would it enlighten you if I mentioned that both the defence forces and the research staff at Sluis Khem are almost exclusively Sullustan, subcontracted from the SoroSuub corporation?"
Now even more confused, Pellaeon frowned. "I'm afraid I don't see the connection, sir."
Once again, Thrawn steepled his hands in front of him. "I can also tell you that the Sullustan physiology is most curious. Of particular interest are their senses, which are interlinked in some very unique ways. This condition has some side effects, such as an aversion to the colour yellow and an inability to perceive and complete patterns." He cocked an eyebrow in a wordless question.
"Well, I now understand the significance of having yellow chaff but still, their reaction seems disproportionate, sir."
"Quite so, until you understand the effect of the electrostatic chaff on their sense of gestalt. The chaff disturbs not only the visual cohesion of an object in a most disturbing manner, but it also confuses the sensors just enough to provide unclear perimeters and ghost images. Sullustans, by their very nature, are unable to cope with this sort of signal noise."
Pellaeon felt his jaw go slack. Normally, through experience and good hunches, a targeting operator could estimate the placement and size of a ship even through interference, but... "Are saying that the Sullustans can't guess?"
Thrawn smiled and sat up. "Indeed, not only can they not make such educated guesses, but being forced to a situation when such a talent is called distresses them greatly." He paused and took a sip from his ale before continuing in his conversational tone. "I'm sure you know how highly esteemed SoroSuub navigation and targeting equipment are, mostly for their exceptional image clarity. However, few people are aware of what has necessitated the Sullustans' extraordinary technological prowess in this area."
"I... I would imagine they prefer to keep such things secret, sir," said Pellaeon, for want of something better to say. His mind was busy going through the particulars of the battle. "What effect does the colour yellow have, then?"
"The particular shade of yellow the chaff had has an auditory effect, a low-pitched sound in their inner ear. The noise is as unnerving to a Sullustan as the hull breach klaxon is to any TIE fighter pilot."
"Wouldn't it make sense for them to use optical filters against these colours?"
"Yes, quite so. Sullustans prefer to use automatically adjusting intraocular filters to shield themselves from unwanted colours. However, such implants are exceedingly expensive and are thus used mostly by the moderately well to do and those living outside the Sullust systems. The inexpensive alternative is fixed filter implants, but they are unsuitable for space combat because they reduce contrast." Thrawn blinked, slowly, and glanced towards the tactical display. "So, in lieu of implants, Sullustan fighter pilots rely on optical filters built into their cockpit viewports. Now, what effect do you think charged objects, such as our chaff particles, would have on the systems of a starfighter upon contact?"
Understanding, Pellaeon smiled. "Primary systems are shielded from interference, but unshielded secondary electrical systems would definitely be affected by the chaff."
"Quite so. Secondary systems, like cockpit optical filters on A-wing fighters."
Pellaeon rubbed his jaw, amused despite himself. "Well. No wonder the fighters looked as if they suddenly went mad." He paused to choose his next words. "May I ask something, sir?"
"How I happen to know all this?" At Pellaeon's nod, Thrawn took out the two datacards. "Remember these? Amongst data on some interesting technologies we shall be looking into in the near future, the first one has detailed information about the daily operation of Sluis Khem. Hence, the SoroSuub connection. The other one contains all that I need to know of Sullustans."
"Deep-cover reports?" Pellaeon guessed. "Or gene dumps?"
"No," said Thrawn. He looked away with a dreamy expression. "Civilisation, Captain Pellaeon. Statues, flats, Pre-Empire water sculptures, architecture, theatre, design -- the art history of Sullust. It clearly shows all Sullustan creations share fundamentals: aversion to intersecting lines, preference for unequivocal demarcations, and a notable lack of the colour yellow. I'm sure you see the connection."
"I risked my ship based on tactical inferences from-- from a statue?"
Thrawn held a datacard up between two fingers. "No, Captain. I risked my ships on inferences from a statue. You, on the other hand, risked everything on my word." He paused for a cold smile. "I do consider my choice to be the more educated one."
Pellaeon opened his mouth to express his outrage, but something in Thrawn's hard look warned him that he was approaching those limits that he should not cross. Also, he had to admit to himself that no matter how specious he took the proof to be, the plan had worked -- spectacularly so, in fact. He closed his mouth and merely stared at Thrawn, not knowing what to make of the man.
Thrawn allowed him a generous five seconds of open staring before he cocked his head and said, "Do you like what you see?"
Pellaeon snapped out of his trance, startled. He didn't quite know what to make of that question, either. "Sir?"
"You were looking at me as if evaluating my worth."
"With your permission, sir, your worth is not for me to decide," Pellaeon said and forced himself to relax. Really, it did not matter whether Thrawn inferred crucial details from mynock entrails or star patterns or from his forvish ale. The plan had been efficacious to the extreme, and that was all that mattered to Pellaeon. "I must say that I find your methodologies... unusual, sir."
"I have faith that one day, you will find them most natural, Captain," Thrawn said and put the datacards away. "Now, back to Sluis Khem. You recall I mentioned I had three very straightforward objectives for the mission?"
"Yes. A show of force for the benefit of the Empire, for one," Pellaeon said, remembering their pre-battle discussion. "The destruction of one of Rebellion's key research facilities?"
Thrawn waved his hand dismissively. "Incidental."
With a grimace, Pellaeon looked at the ceiling and tried to wrap his mind around the whole matter. "Not to test me or my ship. Test something else? Rebellion capabilities?" Remembering the infiltration squad, Pellaeon glanced at Thrawn. "Or simply information retrieval?"
"Yes, both the verification of existing data and acquiring new information." Thrawn lifted two fingers. "Show of strength, and information. What would the third be?"
"Was that what you were studying when I came in? The new information?" Pellaeon asked, mostly to stall. "The system was very familiar, somehow."
"It should be -- it was the Sluis Van shipyards."
Pellaeon's breath caught in his throat. "Sluis Van?" One of the Republic's main sources of ships and weaponry, the Sluis Van complex was a prime target -- and an impossible one, at that, for it was as heavily fortified as a Death Star. "But that's--"
"You're getting ahead of things," Thrawn interrupted. "We will worry about Sluis Van later. For now, you're still missing the third reason."
Suddenly tired of this game, Pellaeon said, "I'm sorry, sir, but I have no idea."
"Come now. You are too modest a man," replied Thrawn. He did up his collar, his eyes never leaving Pellaeon, and stood.
"Sir?" Pellaeon asked, also rising from his chair.
"I thought it most obvious, because it is the most important one." Thrawn stepped down from the command chair dais and touched Pellaeon's arm. "My last objective was to gain your trust, Captain Pellaeon. I cannot function without it."
Pellaeon opened his mouth to voice his disbelief, when another thought struck him. "When we brought you aboard, Admiral," he said slowly, "you mentioned you had chosen us. That planet, we were the closest Imperial ship to it, weren't we?"
Thrawn nodded. "Simplest plans are often the most effective. I wanted the Chimaera, and you came."
For a moment, Pellaeon was silent and merely stared at Thrawn. "If I may be so bold, sir," he finally said, feeling slightly breathless, "I'm glad I did."
Thrawn's smile was full of sharp teeth. "Indeed, Captain. Now, I do believe it is time for you to make your appearance at the victory celebrations." He glanced back at the now-dark tactical display. "Tomorrow, we begin."
"Good night, sir."
Thrawn nodded and left and long after the door had closed behind him, Pellaeon still stared at it. He knew that in the future, while he might question Thrawn's methods, he would never doubt the veracity of his vision -- not after this. He knew equally well that once the stories would get around, neither would any other Imperial captain with half a brain.
Pellaeon smiled, and finally allowed the full, electric thrill of anticipation blossom in his chest. He wanted to preserve this moment in his memory: Thrawn's trust, his quiet words and his complicated genius; the sight of his bare throat and the fierce warrior in his voice and in his glowing, hard eyes. All of it.
For the first time in years, Pellaeon was looking at his future with hope.
"Yes, sir," he said to the quiet shadows. "Tomorrow."
* * *
End.
In completely unrelated news, my old-new addiction is Charlotte Martin. OMG. Her CD On Your Shore has been on constant play here.