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Hera had only traveled to Batuu a handful of times, and had never particularly liked it. Tucked just beyond the edge of the Outer Rim, it was far from anything else of interest. The outpost itself had its uses, especially as a launch point farther into the Unknown Regions, but there was nothing more interesting about it than any of the hundreds, maybe thousands of outposts and waystations she'd passed through in her life.

The planet itself had its charms, especially the petrified forests, and the towering stone spires that burst up among the trees. It wasn't enough to make the trip worth it.

But having Jacen along this time was also improving things.

They'd left Chopper with the ship, hidden among the trees not far from the spot along a wide river where they've chosen to settle for the moment. They'll head along to Black Spire soon, but there was no rush. They'd brought food – a few meeilooruns, cured and spiced nerf strips, kibla greens and fried walda blossoms. All a better meal than what they could get at the local cantina, Hera's sure.

Hera had helped Jacen through the challenging landing among the trees and high stone spires. In a way, she hopes, was helpful, and not irritating. Since he'd starting joining her in the cockpit, Hera had felt Jacen had some of her instincts for flight, her same curiosity and yearning toward the ship's controls. But this was a landing even most well-experienced pilots couldn't have made, one Hera chose in part because it was so unlikely anyone would bother scanning for ships in such a difficult spot.

And as long as she had known him, Jacen had been quiet, and resistant to telling her when, maybe, she was being irritating.

They'd made it through the landing. He'd helped her pack the food. But when they reached the river, he'd pulled off his shirt, and dived straight into the water.

It's a wide, black river, with a fast current that ripples the water's surface, speeds along the stones at the river's edge. But Hera doesn't call out to him, doesn't pester him to be careful. She just smiles, and starts setting out the food they'd brought.

She knows well enough that, out here, he can take care of himself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

When one is making one's way back from the farther edges of the galaxy -- or somewhere else altogether -- one does not get to choose the appearance on one's vehicles. So it is that Thrawn's cobbled-together freighter has been docked at Black Spire for a week now, as he attempts to gather together enough disparate parts to make the requisite repairs to each individual system. A Chiss-scavenged life support unit, a Mon Cal hyperspace drive, and a shuttle and weapons system pulled out of decade-old Grysk wreckage -- taken together, these all add up to a very disparate set of repair requirements.

It cannot be helped, though Thrawn finds himself wishing it might be when his casual visual scan of recent arrivals to the system reveals the presence of a . . . very old acquaintance. Or her ship, at any rate.

Surely she doesn't know --

Hmm.

Perhaps it will be interesting to load up the shuttle and take an innocent gander at the General, and what interest the Republic might have with the Unknown Regions.

At the very least it might provide some intel he might use for leverage, something which has been in short supply of late.

Edited 2018-10-13 22:33 (UTC)

Jacen calls at her, in Twi'leki, to join him in the river.

"Not a chance," she calls back. "Get out and eat."

He dives back under the surface of the water. Hera turns to their bag, looking through it for a few seconds. And then, she reluctantly moves to pull off her boots, only intending to dip her feet in.

Thrawn ponders his choice of flight path, deciding that swinging around to the south before approaching directly might be the . . . call it the least threatening choice.

He does set his shuttle down near the Ghost, at much the same distance a formal dock would place between such ships of differing size.

Then, of course, he lowers the ramp and steps out. It is doubtful General Syndulla has ever seen Thrawn in anything but his Grand Admiral whites, but those most certainly didn't survive his trip with the purrgil. He's wearing various shades of brown and cream, instead, and some hastily cobbled-together body armor. Aside from the bright scarlet eyes, he might almost be mistaken for a Pantoran smuggler.

But only almost.

Back on the Ghost, Chopper notices the shuttle land in such close proximity. They'd chosen their landing spot to avoid others, and even without seeing who has joined them, he sends a message along to Hera.

Hera frowns, her eyes flickering back up to the river.

"Jacen, come on."

It might be entirely coincidental that the hatch of the shuttle is on the far side from the Ghost, and thus only the rear of Thrawn's body is in view once he passes the nose of his own ship.

His slight slouch is studied, as a deliberate way to avoid his unconsciously military posture -- that was a lesson he only needed to learn once.

If he also has a limp, when his left leg comes down, well -- bacta is in short supply out where there are no sentient humanoids.

He walks quietly, but not silently, and he is careful to keep his hands at his sides. (His blaster is small, and tucked into a hidden ankle holster at the moment.) The sound of the river is unmistakable, and unfortunately goes some way on its own to obscure the sound of his footsteps.

Jacen recognizes the change in her tone, and now does begin to swim toward the river's edge. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." But she's quickly pulling her boots back on. "Chopper says someone's landed near the Ghost. We might need to leave in a hurry."

Thrawn continues moving, down a barely-there path toward the water. The rushing sound is quite loud, and he pauses to observe the scene.

Though that might perhaps be misconstrued, he is aware. And so, after a moment's searching around his feet, he finds a small but solid stone and kicks it in the direction of Hera and her . . . smaller companion.

(How interesting.)

By this point, Jacen has pulled his shirt back on, and begun to help Hera pack up their things.

And just seconds before Thrawn kicks the stone, the boy looks up. Eyes straight to the spot among the trees where Thrawn is standing.

At the sound, Hera draws her blaster.

There it is, then.

Thrawn does not quite emerge from the trees, but he does pitch his voice to be clearly heard.

"Oh, please, General Syndulla. As if I were in possession of anything to be at odds with you about, at this precise moment in time."

The boy's hand jerks toward the bag, but Hera puts her left hand over his, her right still holding the blaster on Thrawn.

"What are you doing here?"

"What most people are doing near Black Spire, I should think."

He smiles, just the barest curve of his mouth, and steps just past the treeline.

"Repair and resupply. I've been a long time making my way back."

"Black Spire's that way," the boy says, nodding toward the river as it heads north.

"Five kliks, you can't miss it."

"Indeed."

Thrawn's voice is very dry.

"But perhaps I wanted to pay a call on an . . . old acquaintance. To get the lay of the land, as it were."

Hera keeps her blaster raised.

"There's nothing you need from us."

"Not need, no," Thrawn agrees, very mildly.

"Though this is a rather unexpected version of 'us', I will admit."

Jacen leans a little closer to Hera, and whispers, "En vra nizja?"

She shakes her head, and whispers back, "Riloka eu wachader."

Thrawn merely smiles.

"Have you found Bridger yet? The answer must be yes, otherwise you would have asked after his fate by now. Or so I should have thought."

Jacen makes another grab for the bag. Hera catches his wrist, looking from Thrawn to him now, her lekku curling back into a tight twist. Don't.

"On etre," he murmurs to her.

Hera takes a breath, and looks back to Thrawn. "I have no reason to believe anything you'd tell me."

"So you've heard nothing from him."

He is still smiling.

"Interesting."

She could go now, fly out of this place. Or she could attack, and threaten, and try to get what, if anything, Thrawn actually does know about Ezra.

But she doesn't want to do either of those, at least not in front of Jacen. And so after a few seconds, she resigns herself to a third option.

Slowly, she lowers the blaster.

Thrawn keeps his hands steadily at his sides, because that seems the wisest course of action, now that he's less likely to die immediately.

His smile goes faintly crooked.

"Very well, then," he says, inclining his head, while at the same time refraining from moving closer.

"On-" Jacen starts, but Hera speaks again before he can finish -

"What do you want, Thrawn?"

"Hmm," Thrawn says, refraining from lifting his hands to steeple his fingers in front of his mouth, as he might prefer.

"Information, on the whole. I have been . . . away from these corners of the galaxy for quite some time, and I should hate to -- "

How to put this?

" -- fatally misstep. I'm also curious as to how you and your former rebellion have fared, given this new Republic several people are talking about."

"What do you want, Thrawn."

Her voice is even less patient this time. He's going to have to be more specific.

"How stable is this Republic of yours?"

It's not only for himself that he asks, though at the same time he is not prone to sharing that information.

Nor does he truly expect an answer. And yet --

"And who is your young gentleman companion?"