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Hera enters the Bar, holding a slender metal box between her hands. She blinks around, her grip on the box growing a little tighter, maybe deciding whether or not she wants to stay this time.

In the end, she does, moving through the room until she takes a seat at a table near the Bar. She sets the box down and aside, and then orders red leaf tea from a waitrat. It's served cold, and very bitter, and she sips at it while watching the room, and maybe purposefully not glancing down to the box.

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Hera's quiet for a moment, before she asks -

"They would've preferred an Empire to a Republic?"

"I suspect they would have taken the Republic, too, had certain events happened earlier than they did. It is this chaos of reformation and rebuilding that they . . . we . . . find wasteful and distressing, in neighbors."

To put it a little gently, but only just.

A little dry, "I guess we'll have to learn to live with each other."

"One can only hope there is time for that. We shall see."

A pause, and his lips purse the faintest bit.

"Or rather, you will."

Hera watches him for another moment.

"You never worried the Empire might look to your home?"

She leans forward, crossing her arms over the table, breaking with any kind of military formality.

"Not even after Alderaan?"

"Having seen the Imperial machine from the inside -- "

He pauses, as if giving room for the weight of his experience with said machine.

" -- much less so after the Emperor and Vader perished."

Thrawn folds his hands on the table, watching Hera over his knuckles.

"But there is something to be said for a planet-killer as a deterrent. You, too, might want one eventually."

"You're trying to make me angry."

Hera keeps her voice flat. But if it's true, then it's clear from her sharp breath and the way her hands clench that he at least, initially, succeeded.

Thrawn raises his eyebrows, voice remaining mild.

"I am trying, as best I can, to give warning without breaking any of the oaths that I made when I left my people."

"You lost, Thrawn."

Her voice is still flat.

"Has it occurred to you that there's something you could learn from me?"

He steeples his fingers, a gesture left over from the time before . . . Jakku.

"Perhaps. And yet there seems little point to it now."

Thrawn gestures at the worn gray prison-garb he's wearing.

"What change I can effect lies in the information I give, and that I have already begun to do."

Her voice is suddenly sharp -

"Do you have any suggestions that don't involve genocide?"

"In this case? None that will be effective in the long-term, but to shape the beginning of your encounters . . . yes. Shall I detail those in my logbook, as well?"

When battleships are the size of moons, and entire populations travel on them . . . it becomes difficult to separate out military and civilian targets. Still.

"That's the only future you can see?"

She lets out a breath. "One where we inevitably have to wipe others out?"

"There are always those on the outside, those from whom we must defend our own."

In space, everyone is always close enough to kill you.

"When they do not exist, we make them. Occasionally we make them out of those who should also count as our people. It is neither noble nor wise, but it will happen. Better to be prepared."

"And if you only hold a blaster, all you'll see are targets."

Her voice has gone quiet again.

Thrawn, too, falls silent, at least for a few moments.

"I have, General, always been a military man."

There is a more than slight emphasis on the world 'military'.

"Others of the Ascendancy have different skills. Working together is how we accomplish much, but what I bring to the table remains the same."

"'Working together' wasn't an option with the Empire."

But Hera looks down to the table, shaking her head. That's a well-tread road she doesn't feel like going down again.

"No," Thrawn acknowledges, inclining his head very slightly.

"That is true. The Chiss are . . . different. More regimented than perhaps you and your rebellion -- ah, no, you'll be a republic soon -- would prefer, but -- we take care of our subordinates and dependents. It is our duty."

Hera unfolds her arms, leaning back in her chair again.

"And anyone else?"

"If they are our allies, or ourselves, certainly. Those that are not our enemies may become our allies, with time. If the Aristocra decide that we are best served by protecting them, then that will be done. If not -- nothing."

He does not smile.

"Our enemies we destroy, once they have moved against us."

Hera sighs, pressing her hands to her face for a moment.

"All right."

"Did you truly think all peoples in this galaxy shared your understanding of what it means to govern, or to lead? Or, indeed, to be a civilized people at all?"

His voice is not mocking, just genuinely surprised.

"You will be greatly displeased with the Unknown Regions, then, should you ever find yourself there. I am, I suppose, a little sorry for that."

Hera lowers her hands. Her eyes stay down, because right now, she can't stand to look at him.

Instead, she puts her hand on the metal box she came in with, and shoves it in Thrawn's direction.

Thrawn waits for her to no longer be touching it, and for it to be still.

Then he reaches out and pulls it closer to himself.

"And what is this, General?"

Hera takes a deep breath, so as to keep her voice even.

"It's what you stole from me."