Nine years, four months and fifteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, four months and fifteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
When Grand Admiral Thrawn—less commonly known by his full Chiss name, Mitth'raw'nuruodo—returned from the Unknown Regions of the galaxy a year ago, he chose the captain's quarters as his residence.
** Imperial-class Star Destroyer (ISD) **
It's hard to call this space a refuge, for it resembled more of a compact command center than a place of solitude. Situated two levels below the conning tower of an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, Thrawn's quarters were located in the same section of the ship reserved for senior officers. However, unlike the others, this former captain's cabin was isolated on the opposite side, away from the main intersections, ensuring that the ship's commander could remain undisturbed. Now, this arrangement allowed me to retreat to my quarters in complete isolation, accompanied only by the ever-present Rukh, my vigilant bodyguard from the Noghri race—a fearsome and deadly assassin. The Noghri were an elite force of saboteurs, bound to the Empire by false promises of saving their ravaged homeworld. It was the revelation of this deceit that ultimately led to Thrawn's unexpected demise.
And now, by some twist of fate, I find myself inhabiting this blue-skinned body, with its midnight-hued hair, rigid posture, and burning red eyes.
I once lived a full life on Earth—a wife, children, even grandchildren. In my younger years, I was a devoted fan of the Star Wars universe, especially the Expanded Universe, later relegated to "Legends." I invested a great deal of time and money into the books, games, and other related media, until eventually, I settled into the routines of life...
I don't know whether it's the irony of fate or something else entirely, but back on Earth, I ran a small company that provided crisis management services to clients. And now, here I am, tasked with becoming the crisis manager of what remains of the Galactic Empire.
"You are dismissed, Rukh," I said, approaching the doors to my quarters.
The Noghri, whose mere presence could evoke a primal fear, silently melted into the shadows of the vestibule that separated the living quarters from the corridor.
** Noghri Rukh, bodyguard of Grand Admiral Thrawn **
Finally alone, I allowed myself to relax. The persistent headache that had plagued me ever since I found myself in Thrawn's body—at the very moment Captain Pellaeon appeared with his report on the successful information raid on Obroa-skai—refused to abate. There must be a reason for this, but for now, I can only conclude that it's the disorienting merger of my consciousness with that of the Chiss. It feels like a mental grinder, making it painfully difficult to separate my thoughts and memories from those of Thrawn.
However, one question holds little interest for me at the moment: is there any point in torturing myself over why I ended up here, now, in the body of Grand Admiral Thrawn? I think not. At least, it is not a priority.
Captain Gilad Pellaeon clearly suspected something was amiss in my behavior—his glances betrayed his doubts. It's challenging to imitate Thrawn's mannerisms without truly knowing them. His facial expressions, gestures, and behaviors were all ingrained over years of practice, refined to the point of unconscious habit. As a result, the Grand Admiral's usual air of cold composure was occasionally disrupted by my own tendencies toward grim irony and wry smiles...
I want to live, especially if fate has granted me a second chance—even if it's in the body of a blue-skinned, red-eyed alien.
If I want to survive in this role, taking the place of the Empire's tactical genius—a mind I have not inherited, and whose memories I possess only in fragments—then... I will have to adapt. I will have to prevail.
The key to success is proper planning. Thrawn himself understood this; I understand this as well, having applied it in my own life. In this regard, we are alike.
Otherwise... this body's brain is like a living computer, constantly analyzing, breaking everything down into its components, each part thoroughly examined. Thinking about anything triggers a cascade of analytical fragments... And it's excruciating.
I don't know what has become of the Chiss' mind, but I am grateful for the capabilities of his body. The relentless drive to deconstruct everything is not something I possess. On Earth, I engaged in analytics solely for work. Now, in Thrawn's body... it's as if I've been plunged into a relentless mental matrix.
If anyone were to read these thoughts, they might wrinkle their nose and exclaim, "Deus ex machina! Deus ex machina!" Yes, indeed—Deus ex machina! The fact that I, a person from Earth for whom the Star Wars universe was merely a collection of books, games, comics, and other fanfare, have ended up here is already a "Deus ex machina," as fans might say. I will have to navigate the chain of events from this moment to the incident with Rukh, when Thrawn fell on the bridge of the Chimaera. Without Thrawn's unique strategic mindset, this will be incredibly difficult...
But no one will read these thoughts. To the Imperials, I am still Grand Admiral Thrawn. To the New Republic, which destroyed the second Death Star five and a half years ago, I am... nothing.
Sinking into the massive chair at my desk, I fought through the pain in my head and began to analyze. This must be done immediately; such an opportunity may not present itself again. The circumstances already indicate that Thrawn's campaign has begun. I pushed Captain Pellaeon toward the development of well-known events, leading to the shock therapy for the New Republic and Thrawn's eventual death at the hands of Rukh. Until I devise a plan to avoid this fate, I must adhere as closely as possible to Thrawn's original strategy. Fortunately, I remember some things and can extract more from his fragmented memories...
But how painful it is...
I gritted my teeth and covered my mouth with my elegantly gloved hand to stifle the sound of my groan. I cannot afford to show weakness now—perhaps I never can.
I need to think.
The problem cannot be solved unless it is dissected.
Unlike the fragmented Imperial Remnant, the New Republic does not yet realize that they haven't dealt with all of Emperor Palpatine's Grand Admirals. This is an advantage. The longer this information remains undiscovered, the better.
Despite Thrawn's return from the Unknown Regions a year ago, the Imperials have managed to keep his existence a closely guarded secret. There are several reasons for this.
First, Thrawn understood the power of information. From my memories of him, I know the Chiss recognized that the longer he remained an enigma to his enemies, the greater his advantage in leveraging the element of surprise. Once the New Republic discovers who he is, they will move mountains to uncover even the slightest detail about him. And they will succeed. It's impossible to erase every trace from the galaxy's archives. Somewhere, data on Grand Admiral Thrawn will resurface. If my memory serves me correctly, the individual who controls Myrkr, our current destination, is aware of Thrawn's return but has chosen to keep it hidden. For now, the secret remains intact.
The second—and primary—reason for Thrawn's eventual defeat in the Star Wars Expanded Universe lies in the author's narrative choices. Much of the blame can be placed on the Empire's fragmented state. After Palpatine's death, the galaxy fractured. Generals, admirals, moffs, and grand moffs each carved out their own territories and declared themselves rulers. For over five years, the once-mighty military machine of the galaxy consumed itself while the New Republic, led by key figures, reclaimed territory bit by bit.
The New Republic, now in control of Coruscant, the galaxy's capital, governs nearly half of the star systems and sectors. The Imperials are left with remnants—a patchwork of large and small factions, each with its own ruler, army, and fleet. To them, Thrawn is just another figure in a long line of military leaders answering the call of duty.
Despite the loss of vast resources and territories, the Imperials still value discipline. Thrawn's appearance, as one of the thirteen highest-ranking military officers, forced them to grudgingly submit—provided he did not seek to seize control of the Remnant, eliminate other Imperial leaders, or overstep his military role. They provided him with the necessary resources—funds, ships, crews, and access to the Oskolok shipyards—while ensuring he focused solely on waging war.
Thrawn did not seek political power; he was a military man, committed to the art of war and the destruction of his enemies. He did not covet territories but fought skillfully, inflicting numerous defeats on the New Republic with his limited resources.
His fleet consisted of nine Imperial-class Star Destroyers, two Victory-class Star Destroyers, three Interdictor-class destroyers, and a handful of smaller vessels. Against the New Republic's four fleets, each boasting a hundred Mon Calamari star cruisers, Thrawn managed to achieve victories.
He could have chosen to surrender or retreat to the Unknown Regions to develop his own Empire of the Hand. But he chose to stay and fight.
However, I am not him. Despite possessing his knowledge, appearance, and authority, I lack the Chiss's unique skills. My actions may not lead to the same outcomes. The future will change—for better or worse.
I must make a choice. The situation is not as bleak as it seems. It needs to be deconstructed and analyzed, with each decision's pros and cons weighed carefully.
But first, I need to rest. Sleep. Reboot my brain and approach the situation with a clear mind.