Beyond - Legends An Artist at Heart (Thrawn, Pellaeon, Parck) GEN fic

Summary:
After Grand Admiral Thrawn’s death at Bilbringi, the Empire comes up with a desperate plan: Use the dead body to grow the Grand Admiral’s clone. And while Thraawn indeed shares the Grand Admiral’s fondness for art, he is not the one the Empire had hoped him to be. A stand-alone fic set in Legends. GEN. Words: 7,700

PART ONE - PART TWO
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Captain Pellaeon mentally braced himself as he entered the doors to Grand Admiral Thrawn’s meditation chamber aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera.

Or rather, the late Grand Admiral Thrawn’s meditation chamber. Now, it belonged to an entirely different occupant.

Thraawn.

The Grand Admiral’s clone brought to life by the one of the last remaining Spaarti clone cylinders in the Empire’s possession.

Pellaeon shook his head. He suspected from the very beginning it wouldn’t work, but he was in no position to overrule the Moff Council, given it was he who had issued the retreat order at Bilbringi. It had been the only sensible solution to a battle which had been lost once the Grand Admiral’s heart stopped beating, but the Moff Council didn’t agree with his professional assessment.

He was called a coward, and he was relieved of command of the Imperial Fleet.

You are a mere captain, they had said. Be grateful we haven’t demoted you to a lieutenant and taken the Chimaera away from you. At that moment, Pellaeon regretted he hadn’t promoted himself to an admiral or proclaimed himself a warlord like many other senior officers had done.

Krennel, for example. Right now, self-proclaimed Prince-Admiral Krennel and Ysanne Isard, the former director of Imperial Intelligence, were waging an independent military campaign against the New Republic, and, if nothing else, at least were providing them with valuable time for the clone to study as much of the original’s battle tactics as possible.

Pellaeon still couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to this insult to the memory of the Grand Admiral, using his cadaver to have him cloned without his consent.

Thraawn had been taught the basic principles of the New Order and the brief history of the Galactic Empire; and thanks to flash-learning techniques, he had been taught battle tactics, the basics of interstellar economics and trade, and had been fed the complete recordings of the Grand Admiral’s campaign against the Rebellion.

And he had been given access to the Grand Admiral’s collection of holographic artworks.

If nothing else, it seems the two at least share a fondness for the same hobby, Pellaeon thought with disappointment, looking at the holographic pieces that currently lit up the meditation chamber. He recognized them all; they were the same ones the original had looked at after a successful campaign or a hard-won battle. Contrary to popular opinion, not all pieces in his collections were tools he used to get into the mind of the enemy.

These were the Grand Admiral’s favorite pieces.

Breathtaking, certainly, but absolutely useless in the present situation.

Pellaeon’s gaze went over the holographic paintings and sculptures one by one. Fortunately, even the Moff Council realized that they couldn’t raise a brilliant battle tactician overnight, that even Grand Admiral Thrawn’s clone needed at least several weeks to study his opponent carefully before formulating a battle strategy—or, at least, that was what they thought the clone had been doing for the last couple of weeks: browsing through the Grand Admiral’s collection to come up with a plan to crush the Rebellion once and for all.

To Pellaeon’s trained eye, however, it was clear as the sky of Corellia that he was looking at the pieces for his own enjoyment alone.

“Ah, Captain Pellaeon,” the clone called after him in the Grand Admiral’s smooth, modulated voice.

While the tone had been the same, the accent was different, an inevitable result of his highly unconventional upbringing. Fortunately for the clone, Thraawn had learned to emulate the Grand Admiral’s accent down to the smallest detail when speaking to the Moff Council. But for an inexplicable reason, the clone dropped the pretense when speaking to him.

“What do you think?” Thraawn asked in a dreamy voice, looking at the works of art with near reverence. “I must admit that Grand Admiral Thrawn had exquisite taste.”

Pellaeon forced himself to remain calm and composed.

It isn’t the clone’s fault, he told himself inwardly, cursing the entire Moff Council to the depths of the Nine Hells of Corellia. No. It’s my fault. Mine alone. For going along with this insane plan.

It was he who had given the Grand Admiral’s body to the scientists who had been able to extract the DNA and find a way to grow a viable clone after several unsuccessful attempts. However, they had been unable to extract the mind imprint from the dying alien brain due to incompatibility issues. The technology was designed for a human mind, and Grand Admiral Thrawn, no matter how much he superficially resembled a human male, was an alien, with alien mind and with alien thoughts.

In other words, they had given birth to an entirely different person who merely shared the same genetic profile. A twin, basically.

A failure.

“These were the Grand Admiral’s personal favorites,” Pellaeon admitted bitterly. “I have seen them displayed on multiple occasions.”

He let out a long, deep exhale.

“Thraawn,” he began awkwardly, “perhaps if you could look at Bothan artwork instead? Or Chandrilan? Or Mon Calamarian?” He suggested, pointing him in the direction of the Rebellion’s current political and military leaders.

The clone regarded him for a moment. “You are clearly uncomfortable addressing me as Thraawn.” He stated the obvious, evading the purpose of his very existence. “Did the original not have any other name?”

Yes, Pellaeon was deeply uncomfortable using such form of address towards the blue-skinned alien who looked exactly alike the Grand Admiral he had served under for the past year, but he was even more uncomfortable with calling him by the original’s rank. This wasn’t Grand Admiral Thrawn.

But how else he was supposed to address him?

“Not that I know of,” Pellaeon confessed in a low tone of voice.

He realized how little he had known about his former commander only now, after the Grand Admiral’s death.

They didn’t know his species, his planet of origin, his next of kin—Nine Hells, they didn’t even know his given name. If he even had a given name to begin with. There were some primitive alien species who had only one name. However, something told Pellaeon that Grand Admiral Thrawn hadn’t come from such a primitive race.

And deep down, the realization hurt. It hurt to admit that the commander he had admired, the one he had seen as the new hope of the Empire, had never shared anything about himself. That he had probably never seen Pellaeon as a person he could trust with any secret, military or otherwise, since he had never revealed anything, not even his plans beforehand.

The clone pressed a button on the Grand Admiral’s command chair, and the holographic gallery disappeared, the room growing dark for a moment until it brightened up once again to the pre-set standard aboard any Imperial ship.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Captain Pellaeon,” the clone said with a faint smile on his face, not so dissimilar to the one he had witnessed on the Grand Admiral’s face from time to time.

Pellaeon had wondered many times whether or not the blue-skinned alien possessed an ability to read minds, but the Grand Admiral had repeatedly denied it. Nevertheless, Pellaeon had the uncanny feeling that Thraawn knew exactly what was going inside Pellaeon’s mind at the moment.

“Perhaps it is finally time I was honest with you, then,” the clone said in a wistful tone, the expression on alien face unreadable.

“I am afraid I do not share the political views and personal beliefs of my predecessor. You wish me to destroy this self-proclaimed New Republic, Captain, but based on the careful study of the opponent and on the information I have been given about the Galactic Empire, it was the Emperor who had ordered construction of not just one but two battle stations capable of destroying whole planets in a matter of seconds. It was the high ranking officials of the Galactic Empire who had committed an inexcusable act of genocide against numerous non-human species.”

There was a strange sense of finality to his words, as if the alien had been delivering a verdict in the court room.

“And it was the Galactic Empire which has enslaved entire populations, ruling by fear alone, executing everyone who dared to freely speak their mind. Has it ever occurred to you, Captain, that perhaps these people had a reason to rebel?”

A dagger ripped through Pellaeon’s heart.

He dedicated his life to the military, internalizing its values of discipline, order, efficiency, and obedience to authority, and respected the military as a prestigious and honorable institution. He had begun in the Judicial Forces, had captained a Republic assault ship during the Clone Wars, and had continued to serve even after the Separatists had been defeated, joining the ranks of the newly founded Imperial Navy.

He had never seen the Empire as an oppressive regime, even though he had played a part in enslaving Wookiees. They are wild animals that need to be contained in cages , he had told himself when the Chimaera had been ordered to transport Wookiee slaves.

If I was the Death Star’s commander, I would have never chosen a civilian target, he had told himself upon the Alderaan’s destruction.

The Death Star II is a colossal waste of money, he had told himself above Endor’s orbit.

The Emperor must have gone crazy, becoming possessed by the Dark Side of the Force like Joruus C’Baoth, he had told himself once he had seen the Dark Jedi coordinating Grand Admiral Thrawn’s forces, once he had finally accepted the ugly truth that the Emperor was a Force User. A Lord of the Sith. Darth Vader’s master.

The clone shook his head.

“You seem to be an honorable man, Captain. Surely deep down you must realize that continuing this senseless military conflict would mean nothing else than an unnecessary waste of lives. On both sides.”

Pellaeon felt as if the alien had plunged the invisible knife deeper into his chest.

“That it would only lead to further destruction and weaken the galaxy as a whole.”

“The Grand Admiral seemed very adamant about crushing the Rebellion,” Pellaeon croaked in a hoarse voice. This is a nightmare. It had to be. This was his own personal hell. The punishment for giving birth to this mockery of the brilliant tactician.

Thraawn sighed.

“Yes. I can tell from the way he had lead his campaigns.” The glittering eyes stared into a faraway distance. “And I would very much like to know the reasoning behind his actions. I do not believe he acted out of vengeance or because of lust for power,” the clone speculated, tilting his head to a side, a gesture Pellaeon had seen the Grand Admiral doing a countless times.

“Everything is so precise. So well planned. So perfectly executed. So … brilliant. It could even be called a work of art, I suppose.”

The alien focused his glowing gaze back at Pellaeon, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Unfortunately for you, Captain, while I share Grand Admiral Thrawn’s interest in the fine arts, I do not share his interest in the art of war.”

Pellaeon closed his eyes. The clone had just signed his own death certificate.

“I am afraid the Moff Council will not agree with your assessment of the Galactic Empire and your proposition of peace with the New Republic,” he said diplomatically.

The alien nodded gravely. “They will order my immediate termination.” He voiced Pellaeon’s thoughts. “However, they need to know, Captain. Otherwise they will try again and again...”

Thraawn fell silent for a while.

“When will they realize, I wonder? At Thraaaaaaawn? Or Thraaaaaaaaaaaaaawn?”

Pellaeon clenched his fists in anger.

It’s all my fault. I should have never given the cadaver to the Moff Council. Even if I was to be branded as a traitor. “There has to be another way...” was all what he said aloud, though.

“Perhaps there is,” the clone replied, a trace of hope in his voice.

Pellaeon slowly re-opened his eyes. “Explain.”

“Let me go to the Unknown Regions, Captain,” Thraawn pleaded, a shadow crossing the alien features. “I give you my word that I will not join this self-proclaimed New Republic.” He paused. “Let me go to the Unknown Regions,” he repeated more firmly. “Let me find out the reasons behind Grand Admiral Thrawn’s motivations and his reason for joining the Empire in the first place. I can’t imagine he’d… It is said that Grand Admiral Thrawn had been exiled by his own people. Allow me to find out what happened.”

Pellaeon stroke his mustache in thought. “What would you do with such knowledge?”

Thraawn let out a small shrug. “I do not know,” he admitted.

I do not know. Pellaeon couldn’t think of anything more out of character for Grand Admiral Thrawn to say.

“But I have a feeling… that it is important, Captain. That there is more to Grand Admiral Thrawn than meets the eye. This Captain Parck who had discovered him, he has never returned, has he?”

Pellaeon shook his head. “No. The Grand Admiral came to meet me alone in a Lambda shuttle.”

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn,” the hologram had informed him. “I have been away, but now I have returned. I know some of what has occurred. You will fill in the details of the rest when I come aboard. Rejoice, Captain, for the Empire will rise again. You will find astrogation coordinates that have been encoded with this transmission. I will await your arrival.”

Pellaeon felt a shiver run up his spine as he remembered the fateful exchange which had started the entire chain of events.

“There must be a reason,” Thraawn insisted, crossing his arms, a very human gesture.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn never did anything without reason.”

“No,” Pellaeon affirmed. “He never did.”

He came to a decision.

“I will contact the Moff Council and request an official hearing.” His face cringed as he imagined the most likely scenario. Even the Grand Admiral had been nothing more to them than an alien. A brilliant alien, perhaps, but still a disgrace to the Imperial uniform. Thraawn with his pacifist views? An abomination.

“And I will request the right to terminate you personally. Given my past association with the Grand Admiral, I have no doubt they will comply with my request. You will be thrown out of the airlock...”

He watched the alien’s face. Nothing. Not even a muscle twitch. Did he have so much faith in him? Or did he merely come to the terms with his own death?

“But I will see to it that there will be a VAC suit conveniently placed in the pressure chamber. You will have mere seconds before the hatches opens and ejects you into space, so I suggest you stop admiring the Grand Admiral’s collection and learn how to put on the VAC suit instead. There will be a cloaked ship equipped with a hyperdrive standing by. Go to the holosim and learn how to operate a freighter.”

Finally, the alien’s expression changed, growing visibly moved at Pellaeon’s words. “Thank you, Captain Pellaeon,” he said with sincere humility in his voice. “And I am sorry for not being the one you wanted me to be.”

Pellaeon made an absentminded gesture with his hand. “Do not apologize for being who you are. This is all my fault, Thraawn. I should never have allowed things to progress this far. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. And I give you my word to help make things right.”



THE END OF PART ONE

PART TWO

 

This is well done; however it would be much easier on the reader if you had posted it as a two-parter instead of parts 1 and 2 together. It’s too long to read at one sitting.

To comment on part 1, I like the way Pellaeon has a conscience here, not only about what he did to his comrade Thrawn, with this ghoulish resurrection as a clone, but also regarding the excesses of the Empire. Pellaeon is by no means an innocent man but he is a reasonable one. I also liked the idea of the cloning being flawed because Thrawn is at the end of the day still an alien, no matter how human you come to think of him. I want to come back and read more because I am intrigued to see if their plan works.

 

PART TWO



Captain Pellaeon did far more than merely providing him with a VAC suit and a cloaked ship equipped with hyperdrive; once Thraawn had found himself aboard the small freighter he discovered that the good old captain included enough ration bars to last for months, glittering gem stones that could be converted into currency, several pairs of non-descriptive civilian clothes, and most importantly, an imperial grand admiral’s uniform.

Captain Pellaeon must have correctly assumed that Thraawn wouldn’t want to announce his true identity immediately upon making contact with ISD Admonitor, the ship which had been Grand Admiral Thrawn’s flagship in the Unknown Regions, and which had never returned to the active service alongside with its commanders, Captain Niriz and Commander Parck. If he ever managed to find them. The two could have been dead, and the ship could have been destroyed or simply decommissioned.

While the Unknown Regions remained unknown to the Galactic Empire, they were not entirely unknown to the local crime syndicates and space smugglers operating in the area; Thraawn had given the glittering gemstones in exchange for locations of the main interstellar routes and hyperspace junctions, narrowing it down to a handful of worlds equipped with shipyards capable of repairing and supplying such a giant vessel thanks to his flash-taught knowledge of interstellar trade.

And today, finally, a dagger-shaped, more than one kilometer long white ship registered on the freighter’s sensors. Thraawn had donned on the pristine white uniform and combed his hair, making sure it matched the Grand Admiral’s preferred hairstyle he had seen on the holo-recordings (even it if was perhaps a few millimeters longer). Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Thraawn announced himself as Grand Admiral Thrawn to the flight control, requesting a priority docking.

He had prepared countless scenarios explaining his supposed death and resurrection, memorizing them down to the smallest detail, practicing the dialogue in front of a mirror; however, to his utter astonishment, the crew behaved as if the news of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s death hadn’t yet reached them. But then, perhaps it didn’t. There was no universal communication network in the Unknown Regions. They immediately cleared him for landing, and gave him the standard welcome for a visiting flag officer; with the captain personally coming to the docking bay to give Thraawn a most perfunctory salute.

The silver-haired man who he assumed to be Dagon Niriz based on the similarities with the captain's old official portrait behaved as if Grand Admiral Thrawn suddenly appearing out of the blue in a cloaked-freighter had been an everyday occurrence aboard the Admonitor; and Thraawn had nearly blown his cover right there because this was the only single scenario he had not expected.

Fortunately, Thraawn recovered quickly and it looked as if the human captain didn’t even register the brief momentary lapse, looking at him with near reverence. As did the rest of his welcoming committee; they all saluted to him like one man, and continued standing there with their arm raised until Thraawn told them “at ease, gentlemen,” in the Grand Admiral’s typical smooth, modulated voice. At that, the silver-haired captain smiled fondly and finally lowered his arm, the expression on his wrinkled face clearly saying, “welcome back, sir.”

And then he had nearly blown his cover for the second time by asking to see Parck immediately, discreetly if possible; fortunately, he had said Parck, not Commander Parck, because the old captain nodded in acknowledgment.

“Of course, sir. I will set course for Nirauan at the best possible speed and inform Admiral Parck of your preference.”

Admiral Parck?

It looked as if Captain Voss Parck, demoted down to Commander by Emperor Palpatine himself, had received a promotion.

Thraawn nodded, unsure as to what to say, and asked Captain Niriz to accompany him to his quarters, politely declining the offered refreshment and deflecting the captain’s concerns about his wellbeing, telling Captain Niriz that he wished to meditate in private and familiarize himself with the things which had occurred in his absence. Only after the silver haired man took him to the suite that must have belonged to his predecessor in the past based on the cabin’s layout, he had allowed himself a long, deep exhale, basically sagging down to the floor in relief.

So, the Imperial Star Destroyer indeed turned out to be the Admonitor. And the captain turned out to be Dagon Niriz as he had hoped. And Voss Parck was still alive. He didn’t dare to turn on the main computer for the fear he could have typed a wrong password which would have alerted the ship’s security.

And then, mere hours later, he had nearly blown his cover for the third time, because what awaited him on this so-called Nirauan had taken his breath away.

Captain Niriz fulfilled his promise and let him go down alone without fanfares and a military parade, with only two people awaiting him in the hangar bay. One was a human male with gray hair and skin lined with age, but his eyes were alert and shrewd, his back straight and proud. Admiral Parck, presumably, given the insignia of an Imperial admiral on his chest.

The other was a blue-skinned alien with shimmering blue-black hair and pupil-less, glittering golden-red eyes, wearing a tight-fitting, burgundy colored, patchwork-designed uniform with a high-topped black collar, belonging to the same species as Grand Admiral Thrawn.

And himself.

It took all Thraawn’s self-control to remain outwardly calm and composed. This is it! He thought triumphantly. I’ve come to the right place! These people must have the answers I am looking for!

Thraawn’s brain still couldn’t comprehend that he wasn’t the only member of his species anymore. What’s his name? He wondered. Could he be related to Grand Admiral Thrawn somehow? There were thousands of possible questions suddenly popping up in his mind, and he had to bite his tongue from asking the alien’s name aloud.

“Welcome back, Grand Admiral Thrawn.” Parck said with a warm smile on his lips, giving him the same perfunctory salute as Captain Niriz had done, looking up to him with the same near reverence.

“Kray’zahn sier ditt, miss’on’rahir, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” the blue-skinned alien said in an unfamiliar language, bowing low, placing his right arm against his left shoulder in an unfamiliar gesture.

Thraawn froze. He had no idea how to reply, but more importantly, he had no idea whether he should reciprocate the gesture. It could have been a standard greeting among his kind, but it also could have been a gesture reserved only for servants. He came to a decision; he returned Parck’s salute, and said in a grave tone of voice: “There has been an unforeseen complication.” His eyes flickered between the human admiral and the blue-skinned alien. Recognition. The alien understood Galactic Basic then. Unfortunately, Thraawn didn’t know his name or his rank so he didn’t dare to address him.

“Let’s go to your office, Admiral Parck. We need adjust the campaign accordingly.”

Parck and the alien exchanged a deep frown.

“Of course, sir.” Parck said crisply, and lead the way through the fortress. Thraawn tried his best to look preoccupied in a hope it would discourage the blue-skinned alien from speaking in the unknown language. He didn’t want to blow his cover in the middle of a corridor, that could have had potentially catastrophic results.

The alien followed them. What is his position? Thraawn wondered. He’s moving with the grace of a warrior. Could it have been a shared command?

Only a couple more minutes… Thraawn mentally counted every step, every second, until they reached the admiral’s office, silently praying he had not misjudged the situation. Otherwise, he would either be executed on the spot, or worse.

Once they reached the admiral’s office, Parck had offered him a seat and decided to come straight to the point.

“Is it the Ssi-Ruuk again, sir?” Parck asked in a worried tone, and since Thraawn had not taken the seat, he too remained standing. Just like the blue-skinned alien, who assumed a position to the admiral’s right.

“It would explain General Fel’s latest report.” Parck continued, now speculating. He crossed his hands and stroked his chin in thought. “The Baron mentioned the Ssi-Ruuk presence on Lwhekk was suspiciously small, and wondered perhaps if they hadn’t relocated deeper into the Borderlands, closer to Chiss Ascendancy’s territory. They could have gone the opposite direction though. Have they reappeared over at Bakura?”

Thraawn took a deep breath to steel himself.

“Unfortunately, I have no idea what you are talking about, Admiral Parck, for the very reason that I am not the one you think me to be.” He confessed, finally dropping the Grand Admiral’s accent.

The wrinkles around Parck’s eyes deepened.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” He asked in a baffled tone.

The tall, blue-skinned alien standing next to him tilted his head to a side, the glittering eyes watching him more intently.

“Then who are you, if you are not Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo?” He asked in an accented Galactic Basic.

Thraawn swallowed.

“Admiral Parck...” His voice faltered. “I am not the one you called Grand Admiral Thrawn or the one you called Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

He tried to repeat the unfamiliar name and title; from the sudden flash in the glowing eyes, he could tell he had failed miserably. The blue-skinned alien narrowed his eyes and immediately reached for his sidearm, watching Thraawn like an extremely dangerous predator, ready to draw the gun within mere fractions of a second and shoot him down at the slightest provocation.

“I am his clone.” Thraawn admitted, looking them directly in the eyes.

Silence.

Thraawn waited, standing completely still without a single movement, not daring to even raise his hands in surrender for it could have triggered the blue-skinned alien who now looked like the very embodiment of death. The expression on his face grew cold, harsh, and unapproachable, the most indifferent face he had ever seen in his short lifespan.

He had seen disgust, contempt, rage, fury, mockery, and loathing in faces of the Moffs. Pity, in Captain Pellaeon’s face. However, this was the first time he had seen true indifference. Thraawn had little doubt that if he had been given a slightest excuse, the blue-skinned alien would have mercilessly pulled the trigger, and then calmly comm the sanitation droids to clean the mess in the admiral’s office.

“I am his clone,” Thraawn repeated, trying hard to keep his voice calm and steady. “Grand Admiral Thrawn was killed five months ago over Bilbringi by the hand of his Noghri bodyguard, Rukh.”

His eyes darted between the human and the alien.

“The Moff Council ordered to have him cloned without anyone’s knowledge but due to human-alien incompatibility issues they were unable to obtain the mind imprint from the cadaver which had been held in statis.” His voice shook ever so slightly. “The experiment resulted in a failure. They hoped to resurrect the Grand Admiral and instead they gave a birth to an entirely new, very different person with the same genetic background.”

There it was. He said the words and now there was nothing else than to await the others’ condemnation.

“What have they done to you...” Admiral Parck said softly. Pain, immense pain showed openly on the expressive, human features.

“It cannot even pronounce the Syndic’s full name correctly.” The blue-skinned alien growled out, the glowing eyes blazing with infernal fires, his blue face darkening. “I shall take the Phalanx and personally slit the throats of the ignorant fools who had the audacity to defile Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo's remains!” He thundered, exploding in rage, first making a deep, guttural sound, then hissing, then clenching his fists in anger, and finally banging his right hand against the durasteel wall which resulted in an impressive dent.

“Stent.”

The one word—An order? His name? Thraawn briefly wondered. Surely he cannot mean the metal tube inserted into a blood vessel?—said with such intensity was enough to make the alien flinch and freeze; he must have realized he had lost it, and while Thraawn couldn’t have known for sure, from the combination of shame and self-loathing openly displayed on the blue alien’s face Thraawn suspected that self-control mattered a great deal to these people.

This Stent, presumably, looked as if he wanted to run away and lock himself up somewhere in private where he could take out his frustrations in the open, destroying whatever stood in his way.

“Commander Kres’ten’tarthi,” Parck addressed Stent again, this time in a much kinder tone, his expression softening, “why don’t you go and check whether there has been an update from General Fel?” Parck offered, giving him an excuse to save his face.

Commander Kres’ten’tarthi. Stent. Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Thrawn. So that’s how their names work, Thraawn couldn’t help noticing.

“It will be done, Admiral,” Stent said in a pure clinical, emotionless tone, and marched out of the room in long, carefully measured strides, but not without wincing as he passed Thraawn.

A long, awkward silence followed until Thraawn released the breath he had no idea he had been holding.

“I thought he was going to shoot me...” He murmured, his voice barely above whisper, unable to suppress an involuntary shudder.

From the shadow which passed over the admiral’s face, Parck must have noticed his momentary lapse. “You must excuse him...”

“Thraawn.”

The human flinched.

“You must excuse him, Thraawn,” he repeated in an apologetic tone, looking at the dent the alien had made in the durasteel wall. Thraawn suspected that Stent must have broken his hand from the impact.

“Commander Kres’ten’tarthi sacrificed everything when he chose to abandon the Chiss Ascendancy in order to follow Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Stent, he...” Parck voice faltered. “It is difficult to explain. The Chiss do not even use droids. The concept of cloning… Or rather, the concept of cloning a Chiss...”

He let out a sound that could have been whimper.

“He will apologize.” He said resolutely, his tone one of an utter conviction. “I am certain of it. He merely needs more time.”

Thraawn nodded, saying, “It is of no consequence. I’ve been treated far worse.”

Parck regarded him for a moment.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I believe you have.”

He shook his head, and slowly, stiffly, as if every movement had hurt him, walked over to his command chair, basically sagging down, gesturing Thraawn to take a seat opposite to him.

When both of them were seated down, Parck tapped his fingers nervously against the table.

“And now, if you will, could you please repeat what you said earlier, Thraawn,” he asked in a hoarse voice. “I am afraid...” He gulped. “I am afraid that I stopped paying attention at…” He ran his hand over his face and through his hair. “Grand Admiral Thrawn is … It cannot be… How did that happen?” He said in a broken, shattered voice.

Thraawn closed his eyes, partially for the admiral’s benefit but mainly for his own, and started a long monologue, summarizing the Grand Admiral’s entire campaign against the New Republic until he finally got to the fateful battle of Bilbringi, explaining to Admiral Parck the Noghri’s motivation for turning against their master. Or at least, the Noghri’s supposed motivation, it could have been a fabricated lie of the New Republic, but after analyzing the situation Thraawn came to the conclusion that the Empire had truly poisoned the Noghri’s homeworld, and that the Grand Admiral did nothing to stop the practice. Why, Thraawn didn’t know, in his personal opinion it would have been much more effective at least try to restore Honoghr’s ecosystem, even if the attempt had proved to be futile.

But then, there were more decisions his predecessor had made and which Thraawn found immoral. Such as the decision to kidnap Leia Organa Solo’s children. He could only assume that his predecessor had not planned to give the children to the mad Jedi clone but even if it was meant to be a mere distraction, it still felt so … wrong.

Thraawn could not imagine coming to the same decision himself. He wished he had a chance to meet his predecessor and ask him what was the reasoning behind his actions. There had to be. Everything else made perfect sense. Except when it came to the Noghri. And to the Jedi.

Especially Jedi Master C’Baoth.

“Noghri.” Admiral Parck broke his line of thoughts, causing Thraawn to open his eyes. The human was staring blankly ahead, the expression on his face one of a regret.

“Noghri.” He repeated cryptically, and then he finally brought himself back to the present situation.

“Thraawn.” Parck addressed him in a strange, impersonal tone. “Could you please do me a favor and bring me the bottle from the cabinet on your left?” He let out a small chuckle. “I need a drink.” He declared boldly. “But I am afraid my knees will give out from under me if I try to stand up.”

Thraawn blinked at the strange, conflicting behavior but nodded and walked over to the left side of the room and opened the cabinet. There were several bottles, in fact, now which one…

“The green one.”

Thraawn reached for the green bottle and for a glass, briefly wondering whether Parck expected him to take part in the human custom or whether he intended to drink the entire bottle by himself. Thraawn had never had a chance to taste an alcoholic drink in his brief existence so he had no idea how it would affect his brain. In fact, he found the concept of intentionally lowering one’s inhibition and self-control downright repulsive.

Parck let out a small chuckle.

“The ethanol does not interfere with Chiss brain, at least not to the extent it does with human. You can try if you feel thirsty, though it will probably taste just bitter.”

Thraawn blinked, turning his head. “Am I so easy to read?”

Parck gave him a bittersweet smile. “No. It’s just you are staring at the bottle in the very same manner Commander Kres’ten’tarthi and his Chiss warriors had when they had been offered a drink from their human colleagues for the first time.” He sighed softly. “Or Grand Admiral Thrawn for that matter.”

Thraawn slowly inclined his head and returned with two glasses, not one, and once he was comfortably seated, he opened the bottle and sniffed—

His face cringed at the smell.

Parck let out another small chuckle.

“Smells foul, tastes awful. The courtesy of the Admonitor’s chief engineer, the most volatile syrspirit he had ever made, distilled from the ship’s reactor coolant behind Captain Niriz’s back, the one which is to be opened only in the dire straits.”

He poured a full glass for himself and just a little for Thraawn.

“Cheers.” He said and drowned the glass at one go.

Thraawn stared.

Parck poured himself another full glass of the foul-smelling green liquid and repeated the action. And then again.

Thraawn hesitantly raised the glass to his lips and gave it a tentative sip, forcing himself to swallow. The human was serious when he had said the drink tasted awful. Why in the universe would anyone want to spend credits on alcohol?! Thraawn felt as if it slowly burned down its way through his esophagus.

“It’s an acquired taste.” Parck said sympathetically, pouring himself yet another full glass. Surely, he couldn’t have planned to drink the entire bottle, could he? Human behavior made no sense to Thraawn.

“Now where were we…” Parck fell silent, slowly sipping his drink.

This was getting absurd.

“Noghri,” Thraawn reminded him.

“Noghri...” Parck repeated in a dull tone. Thraawn noted with interest the human was playing with the glass, gently swirling the greenish liquid.

“Do you know who captained Lord Vader’s ship which crashed over the Honoghr?”

Thraawn frowned. “No.”

Parck took a deep sip before answering.

“My cousin.” He said solemnly. “He had been promoted to the rank of a vice admiral for returning with such valuable prize, and bringing Mitth’raw’nuruodo to the Emperor was supposed to be my way of evening the score.”

His eyes fell down on the full admiral’s rank plates. “The cunning alien was supposed to be my ticket to the Admiralty. And now he is dead,” he added bitterly.

Thraawn tilted his head to a side. The man’s reasoning made absolutely no sense. It was the cousin, not him, who had returned with the Noghri. And what was the connection between his cousin and the Grand Admiral being dead in the first place? It mattered a little who had captained the ship; it was Lord Vader who had given the command of the Noghri Death Commandos to the Grand Admiral. So why was the human abusing his body in such self-destructive manner, drinking the foul-smelling green liquid in a clear attempt to overwrite the sense of guilt?

Parck, finally, put away the glass for a while, regarding him with a curious expression.

“I suppose you have come to learn more about Grand Admiral Thrawn.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “And I promise to answer your questions to the best to my knowledge but I would prefer if we could postpone the conversation until day after tomorrow because my plan for tonight is to drink myself into oblivion. And tomorrow I’ll be suffering from a colossal headache.”

The corners of his lips twitched.

“I’ve been told by Captain Niriz that I am a sore sight when drunk so I will kindly ask you to leave,” he said, giving him a smile empty of all amusement. “I wouldn’t want to set the bar even lower for the humanity, would I?”

He shook his head in disappointment.

“But first,” he cleared his throat, sitting a little straighter, “I would like to ask you a couple of things of my own.”

Thraawn hesitantly nodded.

“Thank you,” Parck said with a genuine humility. “Very well then. I’m sorry for being perhaps too direct but I need to know the truth. Can you tell anything from the art, Thraawn?”

Art.

It always came to art. He had been asked countless times from whether he could formulate a strategy from the artworks he had been given and he had always said that he needed time to study the opponent more carefully.

“I do not know.” Thraawn admitted in a low tone of voice. “I’ve been afraid to try.”

He lowered his eyes in embarrassment.

“I’ve refrained from formulating any strategy for the fear it would be immediately used against the New Republic leading to an unnecessary waste of lives.” He confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I succeeded, it would lead to death and suffering on the New Republic’s side. If I failed, it would lead to death and suffering on the Imperial side. In my personal opinion, the war with the New Republic is pointless.”

“I see.”

A long, awkward silence followed, the exact opposite of what had followed the other day. Upon hearing his peace proposal to the New Republic, the room had erupted into a gale of laughter and then the Moffs started shouting racial slurs at his alien heritage. He had felt so much embarrassment, so much self-loathing that day.

“How much do you have in common with Grand Admiral Thrawn, then?” Came the next question.

Thraawn still kept his gaze lowered, staring at the bottom of the glass. There appeared to be an engraving but he couldn’t have known for sure without looking at it from the other side.

“I...” He hesitated. “I share his fondness for the visual arts but after the hearing with the Moff Council...”

He finally dared to raise his eyes and face the admiral.

Parck leaned forward, resting his elbows against the table.

“I’d been a similar son of a Hutt in the past. An arrogant, wealthy Core Worlder convinced of the human race’s superiority above all others, desperate for recognition and seeking his own advancement in rank,” he admitted grudgingly.

Thraawn tilted his head to a side.

“What caused the change?” It’d been on his tongue from the very moment he came here; this wasn’t the Galactic Empire anymore, the human admiral and the Chiss commander were working side by side.

“I stumbled upon a hutt of a certain blue-skinned alien warrior.”

Parck poured himself yet another glass of the foul-smelling green liquid.

“I’ve come a long way, certainly. But then, so has Commander Kres’ten’tarthi.” Here, Parck sighed. “Stent and his warriors were as convinced of their own superiority as the Imperials were, and perhaps even more so because the Chiss truly are the most technologically advanced, the most civilized species around here.”

He ran a finger over the glass’s surface.

“It was very difficult in the beginning,” he said almost introspectively.

Thraawn contemplated the implications for a while.

“There is still hope for the Imperial Remnant then. Captain Pellaeon seems like an open-minded man. If he succeeded in subduing the self-proclaimed warlords and finished the reforms the Grand Admiral had started...” He swallowed hard. “I only wish he would consider my peace proposal to the New Republic. Deep down he realizes the Galactic Empire committed unspeakable atrocities but he is unwilling to admit that he himself has helped to make the atrocities happen. The New Republic only wants all of them to apologize. Is it truly that difficult?”

Parck steepled his fingers around the glass.

“Yes.” He said in a grave tone. “Yes, it is, at least for us humans.”

He leaned back, and rested his back against the padding.

“I suspect you’re headed for the Chiss Ascendancy but after seeing Stent’s reaction I strongly advise against it, or at least postpone the trip until you learn to speak Cheunh.” He paused. “Until you are fluent in the language, you may stay here. I will tell you about the Empire of the Hand, and I give you my word that even if you still refuse to join our cause, the basic necessities will be provided free of charge.”

He stroked his chin in thought as he continued: “However, if you happened to change your mind, the Empire of the Hand is in a desperate need of administrative aides, technicians, scientists, damn, if you have the tenth of the Grand Admiral’s intellect you could become a doctor in no time.”

Thraawn blinked.

Medicine? Of all the possibilities, it had never occurred to him to practice the art of medicine. He had been flash-taught battle tactics, technical handbooks, basics of interstellar economics and trade, but his knowledge of biology and chemistry was next to none. The only thing he was familiar with were the deadly chemical agents which could be used for biological warfare.

But now that the admiral suggested it … Spending the rest of his days preserving lives instead of taking them did not seem like a bad idea. Not at all.

Parck snorted, his eyes having the strange, drunken gleam he had seen in others before.

“I see I managed at least to plant a seed in your head. You have the same look Grand Admiral Thrawn used to have when faced a particularly unpredictable opponent at the battlefield.”

He shook his head.

“And now I will kindly ask you to take your leave.” He said in a tone which brooked no argument.

Thraawn contemplated whether he should try to talk the admiral out of the senseless, self-destructive behavior but he decided against it; the man clearly intended to finish the entire bottle. At any rate, there was no use to talking to humans once they’d made up their minds. As he rose, bidding the admiral a good-bye, the man had called after him:

“And Thraawn, never again think of yourself as a failure. Right on the contrary. I think the scientists have succeeded in more than they could have possibly imagined. They managed to preserve his essence. After all, Grand Admiral Thrawn had always been an artist at heart.”


THE END

 

You did an excellent job, finding the voices for all the main characters.

This Stent, sacrificing all to follow Thrawn; surely he had to realise that Thrawn had to die sometime. Clone or no, this moment was inevitable.

Well done for listening to @divapilot , and splitting the chapters.

Oh yes, what does GEN mean?

 

@Sith-I-5 Thank you!

I'm sure Stent realized that Thrawn would die sooner or later but to die by the hand of his own bodyguard and then be cloned without consent must have seemed like a spit on Thrawn's grave.

I stick to dialogue-driven fics with little description since English is not my first language, so I'm happy to hear that people like my narration.

GEN stands for General, as in no slash, no pairing(s). What terms you guys use around here?

 

The only terms that I know are:

Ship - romantic pairings

OTP - one true pairing

There is an FAQ around here somewhere, that I expect will elaborate on terms used here.

Edit: we don't have slash here anyway, outside of vibroshiv juggling; the whole Boards are meant to be family friendly.

 

I'm extremely, extremely late to this party but this fic has been on my list of stories to read and review for literally years and I loved every single word of it. You created such an interesting character with Thraawn, and what is most impressive is that you managed to do it in such a way that he is Thrawn but isn't, and his interlocutors need at times to make a conscious effort to see that he's an entirely different person, yet at other times the differences stick out a mile. I also really enjoyed that you chose to write the first part from Pellaeon's POV, but then the second part from Thraawn's POV, and thus to highlight how Pellaeon discovers Thraawn, and Thraawn in turn discovers Thrawn.

Beyond Thrawn/Thraawn, I particularly liked the elements you presented about the Empire of the Hand in the second part. Things have happened, clearly, in this world unknown to the known Galaxy, and things have happened in particular among the crew that built the Empire of the Hand – they have grown to know and appreciate each other, and they understand each other's culture and values, which is something Thraawn hasn't seen in the "regular" Empire. One bit that stood out to me was your portrayal of Stent; from skimming some of your other stories I saw that you've created quite a personality for him, and I can't wait to dive in and read more.

Apologies for taking so long to read and review, and brava for a wonderful story!