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Hera really hadn't missed battle droids. She's not sure whether they could be worse than Stormtroopers, but if it's possible, she's sure the Empire has found a way. Stormtroopers, on occasion, had rumblings of a conscience under their buckets. That could be programmed out of droids. So the Empire's announcement that it would be commissioning new droid armies to help it maintain order on Mid- and Outer Rim worlds was far from welcome. Apparently the Emperor's new incursions in to the Unknown Regions and Wild Space were requiring more and more troops, leaving fewer available to police its assets closer to home. It had been a dearly needed boon to the Rebellion.

They'll see how long that lasts.

But once they'd heard reports that the Empire was planning a ceremony for a new, enormous droid factory on Arkanis, passed only among Imperial channels rather than broadcast publicly, Phoenix Squadron couldn't pass it up. That news of the ceremony was only passed through private Imperial channels meant it was likely to be attended by several high-ranking Empire officials. Most knew better than to publicly announce their whereabouts these days.

There was enough discontent with the Empress that the Rebellion had long-established contacts on the Regency Worlds, including Arkanis. It was easy enough to acquire spies among those constructing the new factories, and over a matter of months, through very careful steps, to acquire blueprints for the final facility. With this, the rebels could formulate the mission they were currently carrying out – setting explosives to destroy the facility, while the Imperials were inside.

The ceremony, as the rebels had anticipated, means that any remaining construction workers or factory staff have been cleared from the building. Only a handful of event staff are permitted to enter the factory, and even they are kept off the factory floor. The ceremony is largely attended to by droids, who serve the food and drink the Imperials enjoy while watching the newly minted factory lines roll out trooper droids – they're broad-shouldered, steel-plated, supposedly much sturdier and stronger than the old Separatist droids.

Hera knows she likely shouldn't have come in person. But even after all these years, Imperials rarely recognize her. A Twi'lek service worker is not out of place, and the troopers who check her credentials barely flicker a second glance to her before permitting her inside. From there, she mopped floors and checked light bulbs long enough to review the spots they'd set out, the rotation of the server droids, before cornering one such droid in a side hall. If all went according to plan, Hera and four other compatriots, two with reprogrammed droid accomplices, would set charges within and just outside the main factory floor, where the Imperials were gathered.

She finishes her work without incident, then taps her comm once to signal the others, before passing the doors to the main floor, not throwing even a glance through the windows to catch a glimpse of the party as she heads to a side hall that she knows eventually leads to an exit.

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Hera might not have Chiss vision, but she has a Twi'lek's sense of motion. She can feel Thrawn's movement along the floor, though for the moment, she stays where she is.

Her laughter hasn't died down yet, but she catches her breath long enough to speak.

"It's funny, isn't it? Everything you build's just waiting to be turned on you."

Thrawn does not, at this specific moment, bother with a response. It is not that he is unnerved, understand, merely that speaking would give his position away even more clearly, and he has no desire at all to do that.

His hand closes around the toolkit and he lifts it cautiously, wary of any clanking of pieces coming from within it. It's certaly lighter than he might have hoped for, and yet --

Hera, meanwhile, rises to her feet. She still keeps the droid head tucked against her, blocking out its light. With her free hand, she brushes her fingers against the closest rack of droids.

Her footsteps are very, very soft, as though there were no real weight to them.

Thrawn's footsteps, too, are softer than one might expect of a man of his size --

But it has been a long, long time since he played games in the wilderness against soldiers of the Empire. And his dress uniform was not designed with this sort of work in mind.

Damn.

He manages to open the toolkit, however, and slides out a rather hefty hydrospanner.

That will do. For now.

After a few more seconds, Hera's footsteps cease altogether.

There is, however, a quiet creak. Possibly from one of the droid racks.

Edited 2018-06-23 19:59 (UTC)

Thrawn uses the spanner to quickly unhook the droid nearest to him, then shoves it over before darting toward the opposite side of the room --

At least he'll go as far as he might get before the sound dies down again.

Hera does turn sharply at the sound, but doesn't move toward it. She hangs loosely from an upper rack of the droids, fingers hooked to the rack frame, droid head still tucked against her chest, her free hand moving slowly over droid paneling, over any buttons or controls she can find.

She still doesn't let any light peek out. But there's another sound, a soft clack of paneling being pulled open.

What one can do, another can do. Thrawn's not so good at reprogramming droids, but he is skilled at improvising explosives from power sources.

So once he's away from his previous position, he starts hunting down the ports on the particular droid he's standing next to, physically climbing on the thing if he must, aiming to dig deep into his guts for all the components he needs.

He does not suspect he has a great deal of time for leisure. Somehow.

Handling weapons, and potential explosives, isn't something that Hera likes to do in the dark, let alone in a hurry. She carefully shifts the droid head against her ever so slightly, hoping her body will still block the light, so that she can use it to see the droid's innards.

This speeds up her work considerably. Which is lucky for Hera, as within a few minutes, footsteps can dimly be heard somewhere beyond the room.

Somewhere in the dark, Thrawn smiles. He does not stop his work in disassembling a droid and extracting a power pack, certainly, but his pulse rate begins, fractionally, to slow.

And he taps his comms in a quick, methodical code. Hopefully the squadron commander is one of those that is quicker on the uptake than most of the infantry.

There's very little sound as the footsteps grow louder. As the footsteps are joined by shouting, distinctly just on the other side of the wall.

And then, there's an enormous crash. It may not have been the wisest choice to enter, but spots of bright light flare up in the darkness, shining over the racks of droids, the control panels -

"Announce yourselves!"

The troopers' flashlights don't find any intruders. But they do come upon a droid that has fallen from the racks. And then another.

"Be alert, troopers," Thrawn says, emerging -- limping -- from the shadows, hands carefully held open-palmed at his sides.

"I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I was -- on the walkway when the explosions occurred. And one of the Rebels responsible was just in this room."

It's about all he can say, before there's another explosion, this one from one of the fallen droids.

There's flame, and flash, though it's a considerably weaker blast. Still, it's enough to send sharp and heavy droid pieces hurling throughout the room, and rattle the droid racks around them.

Thrawn dives behind one of said droids, curling up and protecting his head from any shrapnel coming his way.

It's not very dignified, but sometimes survival is paramount.

Most of the troopers are blown off their feet, and the smell of blood begins to fill the room.

And now, Thrawn thinks, because there's really no point in speaking aloud, she's gone.

It was her only sensible option.

He's not wrong.

There's no point sticking around now. She has more explosives, and if he manages to survive her parting gift, she'll have no chance of taking him out in a room full of troopers.

They were, at least, kind enough to make an exit for her.

He'll muster the remaining mobile troopers anyway, because there's no sense in assuming nothing will trip Syndulla up.

But Thrawn believes it's wildly unlikely. And, indeed, no trace of her in this facility is found.