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The advantage of Hera's typical technique is that it's controlled, and understated. She draws as little attention as possible to the act while she's carrying it out, giving her time to plant evidence and leave the area before most have even realized what has happened. But, once in a while, a particular job calls for a little more showmanship than this. Her work is never supposed to leave any uncertainty as to what it means, and who is behind it. But sometimes, there can also be value in sheer brazenness.

Which means that Hera's most recent target, Captain Orfanidis, was stabbed in the chest in his own quarters aboard the ISS Laran. At least the follow-up requires slightly less work – Hera doesn't even bother hiding her weapon. She hopes they find it. She hopes they find her DNA on it. She hopes they know exactly who did this, and that they walk in fear of when she'll do it again.

But if she plans to do it again, it also means she has to get away. Which is why she waits just long enough to ensure Orfanidis is dead before she drops her blade, and checks her time, before she steps back out into the hall. The moment she does is just as the ship's assigned cleaning "staff" is passing through. They're all wearing shock collars, so that they don't need a monitor, and are dutifully keeping their eyes down. Already disguised accordingly, it's easy enough for Hera to step in among them, and walk with them as they pass through the staff quarters.

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Hera doesn't lower the phaser. But her thumb slides down along the side of the weapon, dialing down its settings.

"I can't half-kill you."

"I'd like to see you try," Kanan returns. It's nonsensical in the extreme, but at the same time her attempt would at least be a different sort of torment than the booth.

She doesn't have time for this. Hera pulls the trigger, and watches as he falls, stunned. Even still, she's careful as she approaches him, even kicking him again to make sure he's unconscious.

Then she pulls him back over her shoulder, and drags him back among the crates with her. There's no more time to waste here, and not too far among those stacks is the blind spot. She'd memorized the pattern, the markings, the lighting when she'd first beamed aboard, not to mention the path leading back to it, and though the lieutenant's weight slows her down somewhat, she pushes through.

When they reach the blind spot, she spare just a few seconds to check and ensure she's in the right place, and then holds the lieutenant's body firmly against hers, ensuring the transporter will pick up both of their patterns as she signals to be beamed out again.

There's a flash of spiraling light, and they both disappear from the Laran.

Thrawn is waiting for them in his ready room, not seated behind his desk as is usual, but standing next to one particular painting, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

He was told of Hera's unexpected guest, of course, and he has . . . questions.

He has also sent an ensign to help carry the unconscious visitor, so that Hera will be free to more easily handle him when he wakes.

Hera, meanwhile, walks behind the Klingon carrying the still-unconscious lieutenant, her hands folded behind her back, and an unfamiliar tingling feeling growing in her stomach. It takes her some time to recognize it as dread. She had never strayed from her orders before. Well, not since she was a child, in any case. She doesn't fear any kind of penalty, just as she hadn't feared it when she was a child.

But now there's the matter of respect. And that does make her nervous.

Yet without hesitation, she steps in front of the ensign when they reach the ready room, and knocks on the door.

"Come in."

Thrawn's voice is no more cool than usual, and he has moved very slightly from his position by the painting, standing behind the least comfortable chair in his office. He gestures for the Klingon ensign to drop the Terran officer in said chair, and looks down at the man's slack face, studying it intently.

After a moment he leans forward and pulls up one eyelid, peering at the almost-black iris hidden beneath it.

"Ah," he says. And then --

"Leave us."

The ensign nods sharply, turns, and exits the room post-haste. Then Thrawn waits, to see how Hera will choose to begin her report.

Hera also waits, at first, to see whether Thrawn will ask her anything, order her to speak, or even admonish her. But when he doesn't -

"Captain Orfanidis is dead. I worked within the mission parameters. During my escape I was also forced to kill a Terran guard in the Laran's cargo bay, but I believe our method of transport is still concealed."

Thrawn raises his eyebrows, but his voice is still mild when he speaks.

"If we can manage to use it twice more, I'll be pleased with our success. However, you appear to have not killed this current guest of ours, who is a Betazoid, if I am not mistaken? At least in part. Were he a full one, doubtless you would have had more trouble in subduing him. Their telepathic gifts are . . . strong."

"Half-Betazoid."

She doesn't glance at the unconscious lieutenant.

"He confronted me outside the officers' quarters. His telepathic senses must have tipped him off. I thought he was Terran, and I left him alive as a witness. I assumed when he realized his position, he would make a futile attempt to flee the ship. When he pursued me to the cargo bay, I -"

Well, then she'd had a choice. But leaving him as a witness had no longer been an option.

She still doesn't glance away. But Hera takes a deep breath, and then, simply, "He's not Terran."

Thrawn merely inclines his head, studying the slumped body of the half-Betazoid, for a long moment.

That moment stretches to two, then three, then --

"Do you think we could turn him? His skills would be very useful for our endeavors. Providing he has control of them, of course. Not all do."

"I don't know."

Now, she also glances to the lieutenant.

"He appeared devoted to the Empire. Arrogant and cruel, even before he knew what I was. But he didn't show the cowardice typical of the Terrans."

She's not sure whether that would help or hurt.

"Hmm."

Thrawn steeples his fingers in front of his face, considering the unexpected potential gift.

"The worst that will happen if we try is that we fail, and he will still be simple enough to dispose of. But every asset acquired is a risk, and if we were not prepared to take such things on, we would have no business being here. So."

She turns her eyes back to Thrawn.

"Yes, sir."

The corner of Thrawn's mouth twitches, and he moves toward his desk, lifting a small medscanner from it.

"Should you like to do the honor of waking him? Or shall I?"

Edited 2018-07-17 17:17 (UTC)

Hera doesn't speak.

But she unfolds her hands from behind her back, and reaches out, to accept the object from him.

Thrawn passes it over, moving to stand just in front of his desk, scarlet eyes fixed on the half-Betazoid as he waits for Hera to do her work.

Hera approaches the lieutenant, her stance taut even as she leans over him, keeping herself read to move or strike if she needs to.

She holds the object under the man's nose, and flicks a latch on its side, before quickly straightening and taking a step back again.

Kanan hisses in a sharp breath as he comes to, body already bracing for the pain of the agony booth, because clearly he failed at --

Wait.

"What did you do?" He tries struggling to his feet through the lingering pain of the stun and its removal.

"I can't be here."

Hera steps forward again, careful with her footing, ready for him to charge or attack her.

"Sit down." She doesn't move to force him down, yet, but it's also not a request.

Kanan snarls up at her, then attempts to leap to his feet, charging at her in a wild attempt to get past her to the door.

Anticipating this, she hooks her leg around and twists out of his way, shoving at his shoulder as she does to use his momentum to topple him forward.

In the same flat tone, "That's a waste of time."

Thrawn is standing next to him a moment later, grip hard and firm as he twists the man's arm behind his back and returns him to te chair.

"Do you enjoy futility? Certainly your Empire seems to, time and time again."

His voice, it must be said, is very dry.

Kanan doesn't bother wincing, even though the fall and the twisted arm hurt. It's nothing next to what's coming, he can tell.

(He thinks he can tell, anyway. It's what he'd do.)

"You can't be stupid enough to think I make a good bargaining chip."

Hera steps out of the way, waiting to speak until the man is back in the chair.

"We don't bargain with Terrans."

Kanan spits, sneer still curling his expression. Disdain drips from every syllable out of his mouth. Or he tries to make it sound that way, at least. Mostly he just wants them to get to it.

"You think you can torture information out of me? Please."