Nine years, five months and twelve days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, five months and twelve days after the Great Resynchronization.
Visits to the Grand Admiral's quarters had gradually become a routine part of Gilad Pellaeon's daily schedule. And, truth be told, today he had something that would likely please his commander from the very start of the day.
Though time held only relative meaning for those living aboard starships, with their clocks constantly synced to planetary orbits, Pellaeon preferred using a dual-purpose chronometer. One set of dials was dedicated to standard Coruscant time, while the other tracked the local time aboard the ship. The latter now indicated that it was six in the morning. Even though Coruscant was no longer under Imperial control, and there was no real reason to monitor the planet's time—after all, no communication would be coming from there anytime soon—Pellaeon kept the habit.
A mere formality, like so many others. Much like the time of day, it seemed too early for a formal report, but Thrawn never minded such trivialities.
Information always took precedence.
"Captain Pellaeon, requesting permission to enter," he said into the intercom by the locked door of Thrawn's cabin. The metallic door slid open with its usual hiss, and Pellaeon took a cautious step into the dim corridor...
"You're early," came a low growl from the shadows, sending a chill down his spine.
"Rukh!" Pellaeon snapped, barely restraining his irritation. "Stop doing that!"
A low, hissing chuckle was the only response he received. You think that's funny, do you? Pellaeon thought, fighting the urge to suggest sending the Noghri to the lower decks to clean the drainage tanks as punishment for his constant pranks. But, as always, he remained silent, moving further into the cabin's twilight—the perpetual lighting preferred by the Grand Admiral.
Why Thrawn favored such low light was beyond the captain's understanding, much like why the Chiss had ceased his usual contemplation of the holographic exhibits in his art collection. Pellaeon didn't mind, though; in his opinion, such exercises were a waste of time. But Thrawn had always claimed that understanding an enemy's art was the key to understanding the enemy itself.
"Any news, Captain Pellaeon?" Thrawn's voice emerged from the darkness, his glowing red eyes like two coals burning in the shadows. Pellaeon, long accustomed to the eerie sight, didn't flinch.
"Yes, sir," he replied with a hint of satisfaction. "The Chimera has completed its repairs and upgrades. We've installed docking clamps in the main hangar to accommodate a Corellian corvette and reinforced the hull with an additional shield generator. While you were away, we tested the system—everything is in order. We can now boost the deflector field even during combat."
"What's the output of this new generator?" Thrawn inquired.
"It can provide up to thirty percent of our standard shield capacity," Pellaeon recalled the figures from memory. "In theory, we can treat it as a second line of defense."
The captain fell silent as he noticed Thrawn's eyes focusing intently on him, scrutinizing him with that unnervingly meticulous gaze. It felt as though the Grand Admiral was dissecting him, analyzing him down to his very DNA. Pellaeon struggled to maintain his composure, even with the presence of the ysalamiri curled up peacefully on the back of Thrawn's chair.
"Is there anything else to report?" Thrawn asked, breaking the silence.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, releasing a small breath. "Repairs on the Stormhawk, Death's Head, and Bellicose are complete. Hull integrity and internal systems have been restored on the Inexorable, but they won't be fully operational until the supply convoy from Bilbringi arrives. I've expedited our request for spare parts—especially turbolasers—and managed to secure a Star Galleon to deliver the essentials. We expect those ships to be out of the repair docks within three or four days. The Nemesis is one day away from the base, while the Judicator and the cruisers assigned to the Sluissi system should return within three days. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion has confirmed that the first batch of rhydonium is ready for delivery to Tangrene."
"Good," Thrawn acknowledged. "Send a medium cruiser and a patrol ship to the Abafar system to relieve the Steel Aurora from its stationary post. Lieutenant Colonel Astarion should also return to Tangrene. Make sure the necessary parties are informed."
"Understood, sir," Pellaeon said, making a note on his datapad. Given the sheer volume of orders flowing from the Grand Admiral since their escape from the Obroa-skai system, Pellaeon had long abandoned hope of relying solely on memory. Oh, how simple things were before... just two or three orders per day.
"Have the additional corvette mounts been installed on all the Star Destroyers?" Thrawn's voice cut through his reverie.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "The corvettes have been distributed among the fleet. However, we still have three 'spare' ships in orbit."
"They are hardly 'spare,' Captain," Thrawn corrected. "We simply lack the appropriate vessels for them at the moment. But that won't be the case for long."
Pellaeon raised an eyebrow at the remark. Not for long? He wanted to ask what the Grand Admiral meant by that, but before he could speak, Thrawn moved on.
"Any updates from Captain Dorja?"
Captain Dorja, the tireless commander of the Relentless, had reported on his activities at Garos IV just a couple of hours ago. Pellaeon could recall the exact time—two hours and thirty minutes ago, to be precise. He could also bet that Dorja had been fully aware that he, Pellaeon, would be sleeping at the time. In the absence of the senior officer, sleep was a rare commodity for the flag captain. Yet Dorja, that insufferable man, had personally called to boast about his 'successes.' The man was clearly toying with him.
"The local rebel cells have been eliminated," Pellaeon reported, suppressing his irritation. "Over forty insurgents were killed, seven more were captured. A stormtrooper battalion is stationed on the planet, and we've secured cooperation from the local authorities. The hybridium mines have been taken under protection, and extraction has resumed. The first shipment is expected by the end of the month."
"You seem displeased, Captain," Thrawn observed, his tone neutral.
"Dorja contacted me via holocom a little over two hours ago," Pellaeon explained, "and spent the better part of an hour regaling me with his achievements. I barely get three hours of sleep as it is—"
"You are an Imperial officer, Captain," Thrawn interrupted, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Complaints are unbecoming. Captain Dorja did well."
Thrawn turned to his computer, searching for something on the monitor. After a few moments, he looked up again.
"Once this meeting is over, send a medium cruiser and a Tartan patrol ship to relieve Dorja in the Garos system," Thrawn instructed. "Recall the Relentless to Tangrene with the hybridium. We'll be receiving our camouflage field prototypes soon, and we'll need the active compound for them. Also, be sure to thank Captain Dorja on my behalf for his fine work."
It took all of Pellaeon's self-control not to grimace. Thrawn must be doing this on purpose, he thought bitterly. Thrawn knew exactly how much Pellaeon loathed Dorja. The captain would sooner eat his own uniform than offer any kind words to that man.
"...And considering the difference in planetary rotation, it should be night on Garos IV by the time you contact Dorja," Thrawn added, a glint of amusement in his glowing eyes. "Use the holocom. Speak with him personally."
It took Pellaeon a moment to catch the meaning behind Thrawn's words, but when he did, a predatory smile crept across his face.
"With great pleasure, sir," he said, imagining Dorja's rage when he was woken in the middle of the night for a needless call.
"And once the Relentless rejoins the fleet, Captain, you and Dorja will either stop behaving like petulant cadets or present me with your resignations for health reasons," Thrawn said slowly, his words as sharp as a vibroblade. Pellaeon felt his eyelid twitch involuntarily. What?!
"Sir, I don't quite understand—"
"Then we are in agreement, Captain," Thrawn said. "I, too, fail to understand how two Imperial officers, commanders of Star Destroyers no less, can find the time for such petty grievances."
"I completely agree with that," Gilad thought to himself. "Dorja's belief that only he knows how to handle everything correctly is pure arrogance."
"And when it comes down to it, there are only two conclusions: either both esteemed captains aren't as dedicated to my cause as they claim, or they're no longer fit for their positions," the Chiss continued. "Please relay my words to Captain Dorja. By the time Relentless returns to the fleet, I expect to either hear from both of you that the rivalry has been resolved with mutual recognition of each other's abilities or see your resignation reports. We won't revisit this matter, Captain. Now, has there been a report from the Crusader?"
"They are prepared to initiate the infiltration operation," Pellaeon replied. "Coordinator Sergius has devised a suitable cover story for the infiltration. They are merely awaiting your go-ahead."
"Consider it given," Thrawn said. "Have you received any updates about the clones from Mount Tantiss?"
"Yes," Pellaeon replied, suppressing the thought that it would be easier for Thrawn to read the reports himself instead of dragging a Star Destroyer captain out an hour before the crew's wake-up call. "No biological or psychological abnormalities have been detected. They've all been loaded onto transports and are en route to us, along with the captured freighters and the cloaking device prototypes under development at Bilbringi."
"Excellent news, don't you think, Captain?" Thrawn commented. Gilad muttered the usual "Yes, sir," not quite sharing the same enthusiasm. He had nothing against clones, having fought alongside them in the past, but those were entirely different soldiers. "Send a request to Baron D'asta for provisions—triple the amount we currently need."
"Isn't that a bit excessive?" Gilad wondered silently, though he nodded in agreement, making the corresponding note on his datapad.
"Contact the Sentinel," Thrawn ordered, referring to the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer dispatched to patrol the Chasin system nine days earlier. "Tell them to prepare for a return to base as soon as their relief arrives. To replace them, send Commodore Dobramu's medium cruiser Striking after its return and repair, along with two Tartans and the Immobilizer, Constrainer."
"Sir, wouldn't it be more prudent to send the Limiter from the base instead?" Pellaeon suggested. "Moff Ferrus the Hutt hardly needs an Immobilizer. What does he have to catch there? Escort frigates, Carrack cruisers, and Tartans should suffice. Why allocate so many ships when most of the sector is beyond his control?"
"Sentinel," Thrawn repeated calmly, fixing his subordinate with a look that made Pellaeon uneasy. Not because of any overt menace, but the memory of how Lieutenant Colonel Astarion had enthusiastically performed his duties... Fine, it's for the Hutt then. Which of them is the Grand Admiral here?
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon conceded, making the necessary note.
"Send the Resolute," Thrawn continued, assigning yet another medium cruiser, "to the Bestine system for patrols, accompanied by a Tartan. Once the Sharp completes repairs after its mission to Bpfassh, send it with another patrol cruiser to the Carida system. But first, contact the Academy leadership and request graduates—every one they can spare."
"What if they refuse, sir?" Gilad asked, knowing the arrogance and bureaucratic tendencies of the local military, many of whom had transformed into paper-pushers. But his mind was already on another thought—Thrawn was concentrating all available Star Destroyers, including the Interdictors. Something big seemed to be brewing.
"In that case, send the Sharp and its escort to secure the Makem Te system," Thrawn answered without hesitation. "And inform the Imperial Ruling Council that Ambassador Furgan, who oversees the planet, has strayed from Imperial control."
"They won't take any action against him," Pellaeon remarked.
"Perhaps," Thrawn replied indifferently. "Or perhaps they will. Issue requests to the shipyards at Ord Trasi, Bilbringi, Rendili, and Bestine IV. I want to know their repair capacities. Also, follow up on the status of the Star Destroyer Bilbringi promised us."
"Do we have enough ships to keep the shipyards busy beyond Tangrene's staff?" Pellaeon thought, surprised by the inquiry into repair capacity but refraining from objecting. The question about the Star Destroyer was valid—an additional vessel would be invaluable. But why rely solely on docks controlled by the Imperial Ruling Council?
"There are still the shipyards within the Pentastar Alignment," he reminded Thrawn. "And Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel."
"I am aware, Captain," Thrawn replied with an air of indifference. "But they do not interest us at this moment. Contact Krennel and inquire about how many TIE fighters, interceptors, and bombers he can supply."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," Gilad assured.
"Also, send a request to Orinda to see if they have any orbital defense stations available for loan. If so, we need them. If not, contact manufacturers and inquire about the production time for three Golan II-class stations, their delivery to Tangrene orbit, and installation timelines."
"Excellent!" Pellaeon thought with growing satisfaction. Orbital stations were a strategic asset, and acquiring MLA—Military Light Aircraft—even more so.
"Any updates from Niles Ferrier?" Thrawn inquired.
"No, sir."
"And from Source Delta?"
"Nothing."
"Reports from the Noghri on Hypori?"
"They are still conducting reconnaissance. The complex remains operational, and battle droids, Zann Consortium mercenaries, and several ships have been observed in orbit. Intelligence suggests at least one shipment of droids and droidekas leaves daily. The destination is unknown."
"Intriguing," was Thrawn's only comment. "I expect a detailed report on enemy forces within the Hypori system. I was anticipating a droideka assembly line, not the revival of the Confederate Army."
"I will ensure all reports are delivered promptly," said the Chimera commander. "Sir, one question?"
Thrawn gave a slight, silent nod.
"Wouldn't it be more appropriate to deal directly with the Santhe family on Lianna for TIE supplies, rather than through the Ciutric Hegemony?" Pellaeon asked, finally voicing the question that had been nagging him for some time. Yes, dealing with the Santhe family came with complications—independence, an inherent reluctance toward Imperial rule, and even hostility from Sienar's heirs—but why not at least try? If Thrawn was gathering every TIE fighter Krennel could offer, surely something significant was about to unfold, and the Grand Admiral hadn't yet disclosed it. Still, if Thrawn could find common ground with Baron D'asta, perhaps this could work too.
"An excellent suggestion, Captain," Thrawn said, catching Pellaeon entirely off guard.
"I... um..." Gilad hesitated. What?! Thrawn—the master tactician who effortlessly defeated rebels in the Dufilvian sector and planned operations three or four steps ahead—hadn't considered this option? What has he been doing all this time?
"Don't be perplexed, Captain," Thrawn added. "Your suggestion is sound and timely."
"Really?" Gilad thought skeptically. "Well, well, we all know how this ends. The moment I'm out of sight, they'll dismiss me. A subordinate shouldn't outthink their superior..."
"We will certainly explore your theory when the opportunity presents itself," Thrawn replied, much to Gilad's astonishment. "I don't dismiss useful ideas simply because they aren't my own," the Chiss added, almost reading his thoughts. Pellaeon felt a bit awkward. Were the Chiss telepaths? You never know...
The Grand Admiral paused, his mind briefly wandering before his eyes once again focused on Pellaeon.
"Arrange for my shuttle to be ready for departure in two hours. That will be all, Captain. Dismissed."
After a crisp salute, Gilad turned sharply and nearly leapt aside as he encountered the yellow, twisted face of a Noghri lurking nearby. Only his Imperial training and peripheral vision, which had caught sight of other holographic art projections, prevented him from reacting more dramatically.
Calmly navigating through Thrawn's "holographic museum," the captain made his way out of the Grand Admiral's quarters. Exhaling deeply, he smiled wryly to himself.
Well, at least it's clear why the Chiss summoned his flag captain so early—to have more time to admire his precious works of art.
Yes, not much ever really changes in this galaxy. Then again, maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.