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For a few seconds, Hera had been sure the shouting and blasterfire they had heard echoing through the base were her crew trying to find her. Reckless, single-minded, fighting their way through these unfamiliar beings. The girls had held close to her, asking what was happening, and Hera hadn't dared answer. But then as the blastefire died down, as the voices grew quieter, she heard something else. Smooth, steady paces, the tap of boots. It was just before the cell door opened that Hera knew what was going to be on the other side of it.

And there was no escape. Three Stormtoopers stepped into the cell at once, moving to surround Hera and the two Chiss girls. The girls didn't keep asking questions, though they followed the Troopers with their eyes, and huddled behind Hera, trying to use her as a shield. The troopers were followed by an officer. Hera kept her eyes on the floor at first, but she looked up in surprise as the officer knelt down, and slowly approached her and the girls.

Hera realized then that the Empire knew what they'd find here. Or at least, they'd known part of it. When the girl closest to the officer flinched back, burying her face in Hera's shoulder, the officer looked at her.

"Who are you?"

She was wearing a rough-woven skirt and tunic, boots and a simple cap. Yet for a few seconds, Hera had forgotten that she might look different. That more likely than not, the Imps weren't going to recognize her. She closed her eyes, and took a moment to be grateful that the officer had spoken first. And then, to come up with a story.

A name. Nyn. A story. Captured by pirates, who traveled out into the far reaches, bordering the Unknown Regions, and sold her to these beings – the Grysk, the Imperials called them – who used her to watch over their stolen children. She used her Ryloth accent, spoke in halting sentences, kept her eyes on the floor, only stealing quick, frightened glances at her questioner. The girls wouldn't leave her, so the Imps had taken them all together, first into a shuttle from which Hera and the girls watched as it flew up into a Star Destroyer, then within that, an empty room that looked like it might be used as low-ranking officers' quarters. That surprised her, as did the fact that they brought water for her and the girls to drink, and even a few protein bars.

But whatever the Empire wants with these girls, she can't imagine it's anything better than the Grysk did. Sooner or later, she'll have to act. Even as she's far from her crew, with two children to take with her, and no hope of fighting an entire Star Destroyer alone.

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"Provided that everyone goes quickly to the correct posts, yes," Thrawn says.

"But with a significant portion of recent recruits within our forces, as well as the mix between my own people and Lord Vader's, there can be no guarantee."

Unfortunately.

"Do not be afraid to anticipate the need for the cloaking device, swift here will be much better than missing the cue. Perhaps you might wish to look alarmed, Captain, at the prospect of an emergency in a location such as this."

Hera's practiced at the 'subservient Twi'lek' look. Having to act panicked at an emergency aboard a ship is much more grating to her.

But she just turns her head back to the girls, and nods silently again, affirming Thrawn's instructions.

And then, she takes the opportunity to look up, toward the flashing lights, down the hall, as her lekku twist as they would in fright.

This hallway is certainly more strategically relevant. There are safety lockers lining the hallway, filled with emergency supplies and vac-suits for the officers. Several of the doors are marked with symbols for live munitions, while others hold terminals that interact with non-essential ship systems.

Thrawn refrains from saying 'well done' to Hera's frightened posture, because some lines it is better not to push across, instead choosing to turn and smile reassuringly at the girls.

"We're closer, now. Do not be afraid."

And then he moves down the corridor with brisk strides, hands clasped behind his back, not even waiting for Hera to catch up.

Hera makes a mental note of every symbol, every terminal. To know where she could find ammunition, weapons, medpaks and vac-suits on a Star Destroyer - it could all come in handy one day.

But she doesn't let this slow her strides - and the girls would hardly let her, as they tug her along, their own bright red eyes only flashing between her and Thrawn.

Edited 2019-04-05 01:39 (UTC)

They're moving toward an area of greater activity just now, and Thrawn tilts his head as if listening, taking deep, even breaths for a few long moments.

"I miscalculated the speed of those stationed on this deck, unfortunately. And it will be . . . suspicious to have a prisoner along during a drill."

The cloaking device will not cover three of them, alas.

"I do not intend to sound mistrustful, Captain, but please refrain from touching anything in munitions storage that would give the game away. And make sure the girls don't touch anything, either."

He's already opening the nearest door and gesturing for her and the children to get inside.

In another situation, Hera might say something biting back. But she's not going to let that put her or the girls at risk.

So she only shoots him a glance before she quickly, and gently, places her hands on the girls' shoulders and moves them into the closet alongside her. She holds them until they reach a spot safely between the shelves of munitions, then steps back to shut the door behind them.

It's entirely dark - she doesn't need to be told not to turn on a light. She can feel the clink of blaster packs and disabled grenades lining the shelves around them, the footsteps getting closer outside.

"Can you see?" she asks the girls in a whisper.

The younger one answers, "Blasters and bombs."

Edited 2019-04-05 06:11 (UTC)

Out in the corridor the sound of booted feet marching in step is quite clear, as is their sudden and unified stop.

"Sir," says a voice that is manifestly not tinged with a great deal of respect or discomfort. "You are not authorized to be here during this exercise."

Thrawn's thin lips twist in what might be wry acknowledgment, but may also be mild irritation.

"Commander Kimmund. Your grasp of a situation never fails to impress."

If only Rukh were here. That would make this interaction almost entertaining, rather than tedious.

The girls stay silent, but lean closer to Hera when the voices sounds on the other side of the door.

Hera, meanwhile, wonders what Commander would lecture Admiral Thrawn on where he was 'authorized' to be.

"Did the Lord Vader send you to observe my men's current exercise? I would not have thought your own performance to be so poor that you required instruction."

Now he does sound amused, if only faintly.

Kimmund snorts.

"Lord Vader wants us to make sure that your drill adheres to Imperial standards for after action activity. You're known for veering from the norm, Admiral, as this last mission can so easily attest to."

The other troopers are too disciplined to snicker, but none of them are uncomfortable enough to not be taking joy in someone putting the alien Admiral in his place, even if only in the smallest of ways.

This doesn't sound like it's going well, but at least no one seems interested in accessing the munitions closet.

Really, if it weren't for the girls, she would be trying to take as much as she could from here. But she can't risk them, or their reaction, or that they might even possibly tell Thrawn. So for now, she keeps her eyes on little of them she can make out in the darkness.

She wonders if it's her imagination, or if their scarlet eyes really do seem to glow, very, very faintly.

"Then observe, Commander Kimmund," Thrawn says mildly.

"You may have better luck on C deck, as that is where actual battle stations are being taken up. You might find it enlightening."

He keeps his hands clasped behind his back, watching Kimmund with a careless ease that is only partially studied.

Kimmund looks him up and down for a long moment, then shrugs.

"C deck it is. Lord Vader will be hearing my report this evening."

And with that . . . threat firmly in place, Kimmund and his troop about-face and return the way they came.

It is a long few moments later -- when their footsteps are long gone, and Thrawn is reasonably sure they won't turn back -- before he opens the munitions locker back up.

"You've all survived, I hope," he says, as Hera and the children come into view.

"We're all right," the older girl whispers, in Meese Caulf.

Hera doesn't say anything. She gets to her feet, and the girls follow as she steps back out of the munitions locker and into the hallway.

"Where now," she says, her voice rather flat.

"One deck up," Thrawn says dryly, also in Meese Cauf.

"So it's very fortunate that I sent Commander Kimmund down. Though we will be best served in not taking a lift, which is why I have been taking us toward a set of service stairs."

Said stairs will be at the second cross-corridor that they pass.

He looks at the girls for a moment.

"You weren't too uncomfortable in there, I hope?"

The littlest one shakes her head very slowly, while the older girl squares her shoulders and straightens her spine.

"We were okay. Hera was with us."

Edited 2019-04-06 02:37 (UTC)

Her stomach tightens.

A natural response, even now, to the Empire learning what she might care for.

Hera only looks to Thrawn, meeting his eyes with obvious impatience.

Thrawn merely meets her gaze, raising one eyebrow in return. After a moment he breaks that gaze, turning away and striding rapidly toward the stairs.

He holds them open for both Hera and the girls, gesturing them through.

"Pause before opening the exit door, if you please," he says to the children. "It would be best if myself and the Captain were to go through first."

They look back at Hera at that, as if to check that she agrees. Then they start climbing slowly, trying to cover over hesitance with deliberate steps. Thrawn cannot say he disapproves.

Hera give the girls a small nod before they start to climb, and she keeps close behind them. Mostly, she keeps listening up and down the stairwell, listening for any voices, anticipating vibrations in the walls and in the staircase that would let her know that a door had been opened above or below her.

"How far are we going?" she murmurs.

"Six cross-corridors, a right, and then the third bay down," Thrawn responds, keeping pace with Syndulla as they make their way up.

"On the off chance we are separated, it might be wise for you have the current codes for the shuttle I would suggest you take."

He pauses at the door, gently nudging the girls back, listening to the hallway carefully.

From above, a door opens, but the sound is muffled, and it takes the reverberations a while to propagate down the stairwell.

"But perhaps we should leave this stairwell first," and with that being said, low-voiced, he opens the door and strides out.

Silence, for the moment is all that greets him. The repair bays are currently empty due to the drill, and there is not much point to peering into any of those rooms while they are on the move. Or Thrawn would say there is not much point. The girls might find themselves curious, but they are too well-disciplined (and frightened) to break away from Hera and Thrawn.

Hera instinctively moves toward the door even before Thrawn speaks, and steps out after him, again, adjusting herself to sense vibrations up and down the floor. There aren't many now, given that the rooms around them are empty.

She does sneak a few glances at the empty repair bays, as she can't help herself from wondering what exactly is being repaired down here. There's one workstation where an RA-7 protocol droid is still wiggling on a worktable, a rather sharp-looking probe poised over it,

After which, she glances down to the girls, hoping they're focused on the hall ahead.

The older girl is looking fixedly at the wriggling droid, but just for a few seconds, then she steps to keep herself between the smaller girl and the view, deliberately looking away and focusing on anything else.

Thrawn appears not to notice anything at all, disturbed neither by the RA-7 droid's humanoid wriggling, nor by the half-full cart of droid arms and legs that some careless engineer left in the corridor. He does note the latter, though, as judicious chastisement can prompt improved performance, and this level of mess is unacceptable on his ship.

"Two more corridors," he murmurs to Syndulla, not looking over at her as he does so. "There will be vac suits in the shuttle, for emergencies. None will be small enough for the girls, but there may be a few for trainee cadets that will do."

This, of course, is when the blue lights on the wall that were previously signaling a drill go out.

"Ah," Thrawn observes, mildly. "Perhaps we might wish to pick up our pace."

Hera glances down to the girls. "Be ready to use that," she whispers, gesturing toward the cloaking device.

It doesn't take long for her to sense the movement - even from a distance, farther than she'd normally perceive, there's so much of it as troopers and crew pile into the stairwells and make their way to their normally assigned stations that Hera can nearly feel the floor vibrate under her feet. The girls are nearly running to stay with them now.

A door opens from another stairwell a few meters from them, and the girls disappear at once.

Thrawn's posture immediately becomes upright and stern, as does the set of his face.

His voice, when he speaks, is cool.

"Specialist Miran," he says to the frazzled-looking soldier emerging from the stairwell with half his crew behind him. "Task your crew to clean up the abandoned droid parts farther up the corridor. Such an obstacle could prove to be a convenient rallying point for our enemies during a shipboard incursion."

He waits a moment after he's finished speaking, raising one eyebrow as Miran stares up at him.

That seems to break the other man's paralysis.

"Yes, sir. On the double, sir."

Thrawn turns to watch them go back down the corridor, crimson gaze piercing and unimpressed. It does wonderfully for the crew's walking speed, which is entirely the point.

At the retreating steps, Hera steps out from the doorway she'd leaned into. She doesn't signal the girls to turn off the device until the hallway is empty again.

"You know they can deactivate a droid during maintenance," she points out, her voice rather flat again.

"Hmm?" Thrawn asks, turning at last from the direction the engineering crew moved in.

"Ah. Bringing them back up to full activity after a deactivation loses at least five minutes of productivity per droid. In the aggregate this is an unacceptable loss."

Perhaps with only one droid on her ship, a simple five minutes' loss is not terrible.

(Or she is very attached to said droid. Thrawn is fairly sure which end of that motivation he believes to be true.)

Hera mutters something rather unkind in Huttese.

Unfortunately, it's all she can do right now.

Thrawn appears not to notice.

(Or perhaps he does not speak Huttese. What value would there be in speaking the trade language of one of the more prominent criminal populations in the galaxy?)

"Droids notwithstanding, perhaps we would be best served in getting you and the girls onto a shuttle before any other personnel decide to begin their maintenance rounds."

Even as he speaks, he's opening the doors to the corridor of escape shuttles that lead down to the bay that holds the more comfortable and spacious shuttles that are also equipped with hyperdrive capability.