for_everyone | Entries tagged with c: thrawn

When the girl returned, it was with a newly constructed lightsaber.It took the place of the shattered one she had carried before, that rumor had it had once belonged to Anakin Skywalker. Those pieces she had presented to Leia Organa – and what had been done with them, the General had kept to herself. Many had nudged Hera to share what she knew of it, as close as she was to Leia, but Hera could truthfully say she had no idea. Though of course, she also hadn't asked.

Rey's return had been greeted with great excitement from those on base – the curious troops had poured out into the landing fields, only giving way for her friends to greet her. She had been quiet at first, but after a few hours, with enough coaxing, she did share her new lightsaber - one thing from her secret travels to learn more about the old secrets of the Force, and the Jedi Order. That new saber turned out to be two bright blue blades that glided smoothly through the air as she swung it, as she had once her old staff, that was now perhaps just a relic of her old life as a scavenger.

What else she learned while she was gone, Rey kept to herself, or at least didn't share with many. Maybe with the General. Maybe with her close friends.

And when others asked Hera about this – that's when she had to lie. To an extent.

Her presence lifts the spirits of everyone on base. Though the Resistance has rebuilt, their numbers spreading across the Galaxy, the First Order has responded with the viciousness of a cornered sleeth, forcing the Resistance into battle by brutalizing civilians, repaying any strike against them by slaughtering whomever was unlucky enough to fall within their reach. What they needed wasn't just a fighting force, even with the progress they'd made to build one.

They had to face the heart of the First Order, the infamous Kylo Ren. Rey gave them hope, or so it was said.

Hope is for the dead. That's what her father had said. For the living, there's work.

Hera can see her in the far distance – Rey has retreated to a deep, rocky valley a few kliks away from the base. The wind is whipping harshly, the sky set with the rust red clouds that on this world preceded a lightning storm. Maybe she still has a few hours, maybe she doesn't mind. What Hera can really see, what she knows she can see, is the flash of her sabers as they spin, so fast, nothing but a tiny circle of spinning blue light.

And even so far, in her head, Hera can hear the slices of the blades through the air, the practiced rhythm of Rey's breath, the quick yet steady, soft steps, as though the ground were lifting up to meet her feet.

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.

There's a new painting on the right wall. Hera is waiting in the office, seated in the chair she always sits in, hands folded in her lap. Very still – her fingers don't fidget, her feet don't swing. She's finally grown enough that her toes comfortably touch the floor. Only her eyes flicker, down to her hands, and then up again, to the right wall, to the new piece of art that hadn't been there before.

To her eyes, it's a strange collection of rectangular shapes, among which she can barely make out what looks like a head, a neck, shoulders. Maybe arms. She counts the colors, white, blue, black, beige, lighter blue, darker blue. She perceives something that reminds her of light, light through a window, so that it makes bright squares on the floor that mingle with the shadow around it. She knows that it's Terran art. The head and neck and shoulders don't have to belong to a Terran, and yet, she knows. It's the kind of art he would have. And there was art like this, in the house, before –

She stops her thoughts at that, goes back to counting colors. Gray, like steel. Orange, a light orange, like rust.

He wouldn't make her wait if he didn't have to. She knows that. She feels no impatience, not even any curiosity as to why he called her in. There's always a reason. And with nothing else to occupy her, she sets her focus on memorizing this painting, just as she has memorized every other object and corner and space of this office.

Pale yellow. Dark green. Maybe, around those shoulders, the back of a chair.

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.

Hera really hadn't missed battle droids. She's not sure whether they could be worse than Stormtroopers, but if it's possible, she's sure the Empire has found a way. Stormtroopers, on occasion, had rumblings of a conscience under their buckets. That could be programmed out of droids. So the Empire's announcement that it would be commissioning new droid armies to help it maintain order on Mid- and Outer Rim worlds was far from welcome. Apparently the Emperor's new incursions in to the Unknown Regions and Wild Space were requiring more and more troops, leaving fewer available to police its assets closer to home. It had been a dearly needed boon to the Rebellion.

They'll see how long that lasts.

But once they'd heard reports that the Empire was planning a ceremony for a new, enormous droid factory on Arkanis, passed only among Imperial channels rather than broadcast publicly, Phoenix Squadron couldn't pass it up. That news of the ceremony was only passed through private Imperial channels meant it was likely to be attended by several high-ranking Empire officials. Most knew better than to publicly announce their whereabouts these days.

There was enough discontent with the Empress that the Rebellion had long-established contacts on the Regency Worlds, including Arkanis. It was easy enough to acquire spies among those constructing the new factories, and over a matter of months, through very careful steps, to acquire blueprints for the final facility. With this, the rebels could formulate the mission they were currently carrying out – setting explosives to destroy the facility, while the Imperials were inside.

The ceremony, as the rebels had anticipated, means that any remaining construction workers or factory staff have been cleared from the building. Only a handful of event staff are permitted to enter the factory, and even they are kept off the factory floor. The ceremony is largely attended to by droids, who serve the food and drink the Imperials enjoy while watching the newly minted factory lines roll out trooper droids – they're broad-shouldered, steel-plated, supposedly much sturdier and stronger than the old Separatist droids.

Hera knows she likely shouldn't have come in person. But even after all these years, Imperials rarely recognize her. A Twi'lek service worker is not out of place, and the troopers who check her credentials barely flicker a second glance to her before permitting her inside. From there, she mopped floors and checked light bulbs long enough to review the spots they'd set out, the rotation of the server droids, before cornering one such droid in a side hall. If all went according to plan, Hera and four other compatriots, two with reprogrammed droid accomplices, would set charges within and just outside the main factory floor, where the Imperials were gathered.

She finishes her work without incident, then taps her comm once to signal the others, before passing the doors to the main floor, not throwing even a glance through the windows to catch a glimpse of the party as she heads to a side hall that she knows eventually leads to an exit.

Hera and Jacen had spent most of the afternoon in the lake outside, with Chopper on the shore, occasionally beeping grumpily when he'd decided they'd ventured too far out. But Jacen had never been in the water before, and they hadn't had time to find a spring or river before leaving Ryloth. The shore had made things easier, so that Jacen could move slowly into the water, rather than diving in as Hera had as a child. And that was probably for the best – Jacen could be extremely curious, but was also shy, and far more cautious than Hera had maybe ever been.

So after they've changed and dried off their lekku, they walk back into the Bar, following Chopper to a table. Hera had promised hot, bitter tea after their time in the water, and Chopper, eager to do something he can participate in again, retrieves two model X-wings from the Bar, and brings them over. For the moment, Hera falls silent, sipping at her tea, and watching as Chopper and Jacen swing the X-wings through the air, making wooshing and blaster noises.

She doesn't smile as she watches, but follows their movements with her eyes.

Hera left the bridge as they fell out of hyperspace near the edge of the Unknown Regions. It was their first opportunity to make contact with the rest of the Resistance in nearly three weeks, and she had decided to do so in her ready room, fully expecting back and forth with Admiral Ackbar and General Organa concerning her overtures toward the Chiss. It also meant that she took the very rare step of leaving Thrawn alone on her bridge.

It takes longer than expected for her to get a signal through to Leia. And when she finally does, she's quickly glad she chose to have this conversation in private.

It's nearly an hour before she has sent word back to the bridge. Coordinates, closest to the Reviya system, nearly on the edge of Wild Space. These are the only instructions, along with a note to Thrawn to join her as soon as possible.

Without a pause for confirmation, the officers move to their stations to calculate the jump.

( Read more... )

The room is nearly bare – there's a light, and a cot, and a refresher down the hall. Nothing about it suggested any importance to its occupant, other than that she had the room to herself. It wasn't meant to be anything more than minimally livable, and Hera doesn't mind. It makes things easier. Her pack is left in a corner. When she finally had the chance, she'd climbed into her cot, and slept for a few hours.

Since waking, Hera had checked in with the bridge officers, and then visited the refresher. She's in a fresh uniform, but climbed back on her cot. Rather than lie down again, Hera sits, crossing her legs and resting her hands over her knees. She bows her head, closes her eyes, and listens. At first to the empty silence of her cabin, but then, slowly, the footsteps in the hall beyond her door, the vibrations along the walls, the voices from the other cabins. Sometimes she imagines she can hear the hum of the ship itself, ebbing and flowing like a roaring heartbeat.

She could never say no to Leia Organa. Not during the first war, not six years ago when she'd watched the recently resigned senator's transmission while curled under the bar of a cantina on Nal Hutta. But this was the closest she'd come to it, the most she'd ever entertained the idea of leaving. She was getting too old for this sort of thing.

But Hera also knew the only reason she let herself consider an escape for so long was that it was something she'd never do. Even before what happened to Hosnian Prime, she knew she wouldn't be able to share this galaxy with the First Order, anymore than she had the Empire.

And after.

There's barely anyone left to make this decision, and she's not one of them, just as she wasn't before. But just as before, she had been listened to, her thoughts considered. Now, she has her orders.

But Hera gives herself a minute, just one, to outside the door, her arms crossed. Then once again, she lifts her hand, and knocks on it.

For a third time, Hera slid her stylus over the PADD, reading through her report. It wasn't that she was nervous, but –

No. It was exactly that she was nervous. Which wasn't something Hera was used to feeling, even when she had ample reason for it. She was even fairly certain it was something her captain inspired in her without meaning to. And yet, here she was, looking through her report, again.

Near the end, she rises from her desk, never looking up from the PADD. Hera carries it with her as she walks to the wall of her quarters, moving along it to the Replicator.

"Computer." There was a chime of recognition. Hera still didn't look up. "Water, ten degrees."

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.