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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.

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"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?"

Hera finally holsters her lowered blaster, and folds her arms. "As far as I know, the Republic's fine."

She doesn't answer the second question. Jacen blinks between them, but doesn't speak.

Thrawn raises an eyebrow.

"Are you not a part of it, then? I confess myself surprised."

He seems willing to let his second question lie, for now. Let's see how long that lasts!

"I had other things to do."

She may be devising her answers to use as few words as possible.

"Like training up a new crew?"

He doesn't bother turning to look back toward the Ghost.

"That necessity seems rather unfortunate."

"Why do you care?"

That comes from Jacen. Hera bites down an urge to hush him - she couldn't really expect him to just stay silent.

"Distance has an odd way of focusing one's interests," Thrawn says, keeping his gaze on Hera as he does so.

"As well as shaping one's memory of . . . old acquaintances."

"Is that what it is, then?" she asks, her voice going low.

"You blame me for what happened?"

"Rather say, I respect the success of your strategic decisions. They were very well-done."

His smile is thin, but present.

"Painful, but well-done. So it often is, when warriors both come prepared for battle."

Hera takes a deep breath, as she feels Jacen's eyes flicker back to her. She doesn't look away from Thrawn.

"Where is he?"

"Alive," Thrawn says mildly.

"Searching for uses for his particular talents. During the time we . . . traveled in company, he occasionally seemed interested in passing on what he had learned from your . . . second-in-command."

None of it of use to the Chiss, certainly, but so run the mysteries of the Force. Not that Thrawn knows much of it, even now.

"I might have thought he would make his way to Mandalore, but we parted ways quite some time ago."

Hera's hand, still on Jacen's wrist, grasps it a little tighter.

"How did you get back?"

"Luck, light mercenary work, and an ability to do my own ship repairs certainly played a large role. As for how I was able to extract myself from the purrgil -- they did rather a larger part of the work. We were only fortunate that the system they chose to migrate to had a reasonably habitable planet, and their chosen breeding ground was close enough for us to reach it in time."

Again, his mouth quirks at one corner.

"That Bridger of yours has some minor skill in engineering, which also helped."

"And that's it, then."

If any of it was true. But somehow, Hera doubts he's lying.

"As far as the general shape goes," Thrawn says dryly. "Yes."

"There are, of course, specifics."

She takes another breath.

"It doesn't sound like more that would be useful to me."

"No? Then this Republic of yours cares so little for what lies beyond its borders? Hmm."

Short-sighted of them, but it's also likely that there is still a great deal of unrest inside its own borders.

Such as they are.

"Do you expect that situation to last much longer?"

Another attempt to bait her, and one she doesn't have to take this time.

"I already told you," she answers. "I'm not with the Republic."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Are things so dire, then, that you find the fringes a safer place to be?"

Sadly, this is not at all unexpected. Or perhaps not sadly at all.

"That's not why we're here," Jacen snaps. Hera squeezes his wrist again, and he turns back to her.

"What?" he asks, his voice sharp. "He's one of them, isn't he?"

"A greater precision in terms might be appreciated, but -- if you mean the former Empire, yes. If you mean the Chiss, also yes. If you mean something else . . . I'm afraid I have no idea to what you are referring."

What's incredibly unfortunate is that this is the truth. And that fact makes Thrawn very, very uncomfortable.

"The Empire," he answers.

Even ten years out from the Battle of Yavin, it's not easy for either Jacen or Hera to remember to put the 'former' in front of it.

"It would be largely pointless to deny it, so. As I said, yes. I am a former Grand Admiral, if that adjusts your anger to a suitable level."

His voice remains mild.

For Hera, at least, this is probably not a surprise.

"Very former," Hera says, her voice quiet.

"And I don't think you have anything more to say to us."