"I don't understand." Commander Hark said, "I just don't understand."
"Why one, singular Alien vessel should maul us as badly as it did?" Vice-Admiral Thrawn cooly asked his executive officer. It had been less than a handful of hours after their costly victory over the mysterious alien craft, and Hark was echoing much of the resentment that could be felt around the ship. A near loss of a Star Destroyer to a single, undoubtedly inferior, cruiser! It was a slap in the face, and it seemed everyone, save Thrawn, was still reeling from the event. The Vice-Admiral, for his part, had retained his minimalist exterior in the face of this doubt, carrying himself with an eerie self-assurance.
"The damage is repairable," Hark responded, "But the conduct of this crew is inexcusable!"
"Hmmm.....perhaps." Thrawn countered, somewhat non-commital.
Hark peered over towards Thrawn, puzzled by his attitude. As he has come to know him, the alien was not the type of commander to tolerate blatant incompetence from the officers and men serving under him. The performance of the Titan's crew during the battle with the ship that identified itself as the Horinar had been nothing less than appalling. The upper Imperial echelons characterized by men such as Lord Darth Vader would probably have had most of the senior officers executed for something this disgraceful. Thrawn himself might not execute his officers with the seemingly casual abandon of Vader, but was still a strict disciplinarian. Failure still commonly meant death, whatever way you looked at it. The now sudden about face proved disconcerting, and put Hark ill at ease (although around Thrawn, that in itself was something of a normal gut feeling). He proffered a Data Pad, holding to the Vice -Admiral, as if displaying it as evidence to support his side in an argument that didn't actually exist.
"I have called up the efficiency reports of our last battle and have compared them to now. Crew response time down an average of 44%, gunner efficiency down 38%, damage control response time down fully 50%, command and control response time down 37%... This list goes on!"
"It was not to be unexpected, Commander." Thrawn said, looking down in absentee judgement at the Data Pad with the crew evaluations scrawled across it. "The crews will take some time to adjust."
"Adjust? Adjust to what, sir?" Hark said with more edge than he intended. Control, he thought, don't redirect your anger with the crew towards the Admiral. That had to be sure way to come to an unpleasant end as any-- of course, in the Imperial Navy, that was par for the course. Vader's rumored executions being perhaps the easiest way out, involving a supposedly quick death (of course, he'd had the dual-edged fortune never to be posted even near to a ship that had even once carried the Dark Lord from one location to the next, so there was no way of really knowing that for sure, firsthand).
The Spiral arm knew what this alien being seated comfortably, perhaps too comfortably, in the Titan's straight-edged captain's chair could think up.
"Perhaps the Empire has allowed their crews to grow lax-- entirely not their fault; that's the mismanagement of the bureaucracy." Thrawn replied seeming to take no notice of the edge in Harks voice. "That effect on our personnel plays a significant role in how they perform during combat. Yes, adjustment without the assurance of a backing society should sharpen their skills adequately." But there was a cut audiable on the tail end Thrawn's last word. Hark was no expert conversationalist, but he could tell the blue-skinned man with the blood eyes was not saying everything that was going though his head.
In a move that he would later regret-- though Thrawn gave him no ill will for it (The creature was strange in that way, in some ways more tolerant of free speech on his ship, though he might typicially, under NORMAL circumstances anyway, frown terribly on the inexcused failure of subordinates)-- Hark spoke the thoughts ruminating thoughout his mind. It was something not to permit yourself under too many commanders. "Is there something else sir? You seem preoccupied."
Thrawn was actually amused by the comment, if anything. This man hadn't served long enough under him to grow very used to his ways. "I am always preoccupied, Commander." He responded, but the humor was thin, and held a touch of darkness. He chose in that moment, as a test, to throw his theory out there, see what reaction he got from the man; it would be good to see what sort of material he had been provided with here. "Honestly, I am unsure as to the decrease in the exact numbers-- but you don't honestly think that ALL of our crew conveniently suffered from simultanious bouts of clumsy, backward fumbling do you? No, that's an insufficient answer. I DO intend to get to the bottom of it, however....it could always have been the Force, you know." Yes; tag it onto the end like that, get the feel for his subordinate.
"The Force." Hark's repeated his contempt for the strange superstition that still managed to survive bringing a trace of venom to his voice.
"Ah...You don't believe." Thrawn said. He brooched a sated, lazy smile, but the glowing red eyes never for a second lost their intense sharpness. He relaxed his upper body for a moment. "Yes...few do, these days. Amazing, considering there was almost no one who questioned its existance as little as thirty years ago."
"Well, I just can't see how something...like this Force...How any such magic could have anything to do with this." Hark said.
"It was only a humorous musing Commander, pay it no heed." Thrawn advised. He'd spent the larger portion of his Imperial service outside the influence of the Emperor and his grand Sith weapon of destruction, but he'd long known that couldn't be said for most of the Imperial fleet. He'd always believed it odd how the two largest contingents of the Imperial fleet were always kept in such close proximity to either the Emperor or Lord Vader. Not just where they were those two were actually specifically stationed (Coruscant would ALWAYS demand a large fleet to simply get it by from day to day after all, such a monolithic metropolis that it was), but in the surrounding systems as well. Most, including Hark, if he'd actually bothered to even contemplate it, probably assumed it was ego. The Emperor and Vader wanted those fleets around to profess bravado and symbolize the intentions of the New Order. Yes, that was probably the Emperor's plan there, have it LOOK like righteous ego to everyone; spledid piece of political maneuvering that. But Thrawn had rarely, if ever, been fooled by politics no matter how much he was distanced from them. Knowing Vader was a Jedi, and then getting that incredible chance report that the Emperor was possibly tutored in the ways of the Force too.... (something Thrawn was sure his Immenance would have wanted to keep under wraps. Mildly disturbing that such a leak had found itself his way) Well, that tidbit had just tied everything up for him. There was something those two were using to their advantage, like the fleet couldn't survive without one or the other and would become just a broken shell once they were dead and gone; if indeed that ever could happen to an automaton like Vader (though Thrawn expected it was possible).
Well....The Emperor was using it, at any rate. Thinking about it harder, he wasn't so sure about Vader-- he'd had files on that persona for years, and it was the one character out of all of them, including the Emperor himself, he'd never been able to pin his finger on and say: 'this is how this one thinks'.
"Oh, I wasn't, Admiral." Hark replied too suddenly, as if he had been very uncomfortable with the direction that the conversation had been going. He was a proud officer, a loyal son of the Empire, trained and worked hard over the coals of years alongside the men serving under him. He'd honed his skills down to the ideal Imperial edge, enough to allow him to hold his current position, in the direct wings of a Star Destroyer command. To suggest all that work, merely subject to a superstitious system of simple tricks and nonsense....preposterous-- indignant, even.
"Have no worries," Thrawn continued, "Everything must be given time. But do issue formal reprimands to all command Personnel. Cut a select number in rank, run extra drills; the crew has to know that they must improve, and to do it quickly if we're to be of Imperial service here." Thrawn ordered.
"Yes sir." Hark replied, coming to attention. Whatever reprieve the Admiral might have granted for the initial shock of the engagement was clearly over. "It'll be done immediately. Shall I recall the Protector, Vengeance or Devastator?"
"No, their scouting missions are of paramount importance." Thrawn said. "Without reliable navigational data we're trapped in this star system."
"To bad we were unable to take the alien ship intact." Hark lamented. "We might have been able to pull astrogation data from their computers."
"I considered conserving ourselves to be of more relevant importance." Thrawn said, but without rancor.
"I was not attempting to criticize you command sir." Hark replied, fear clearly creeping into his voice. He chastised himself yet again for allowing himself to speak before thinking, something he would never have done in the past.
Thrawn merely noted the Commander's stiffness with an inward smile. Rule through fear, Moff Tarkin; rule through fear indeed. But within your own forces? No, for his own purposes, Thrawn would have to eventually change that unilateral doctrine he did not exactly cling to. His men should not fear him, they should revel him-- and yet realize the importance of succeeding at the same time.
But just then, a junior officer had strode up and snapped to attention, averting Thrawn's dissecting attention momentarily.
"What is it Lieutenant?" Hark asked for him, as if in some sort of apology for his earlier conversational lack of ettiquette.
"Sir, we've recovered large amounts of wreckage from the alien craft as you ordered. It's currently being sorted in the hangar bay."
"Ah, Excellent." Thrawn said. "Dismissed." He then rose from his command chair with a scientific hesitation, surveying the bridge to his satisfaction before turning back to Commander Hark.
"Shall we go down to the Hangar bay and see what we can learn about these aliens?" Thrawn asked in a manner that Hark would never had mistaken for anything less than a direct order. The irony in it in reference to himself was inherent enough to the Vice-Admiral for him not to play on it.
"By your command, Admiral."
Wreckage. Spread out from the walls of the large cavernous hanger bay, the larger pieces formed a large ring, a protective perimeter, around the 12 shrouded corpses in the center. Thrawn, Hark and the Titan's flight controller Lieutenant Commander Gaskin picked their way through the debris. Thrawn every so often would stop here and there to pick up or examine some piece of wreckage closely then move on, handing each piece to both Gaskin and Hark. Obligingly, they would stare at each piece with feigned, unshared interest before returning it to its place on the floor. Thrawn worked his way up to one of largest pieces of the alien ships outer hull and stared at it. Eight or nine meters high and easily three times as long, the mettalic slab carried a flat orange hue, baldly charred from the electronic fires that sent it to its eventual destruction. Prominent upon the face was a large alien symbol, intoned with indesipherable foreign script.
"What do you make of that?" Thrawn judgingly asked of Hark.
"Some kind of writing, sir." Hark replied, feigning intense study of the script. Other than the most rudimentry of clues, Hark knew he didn't have the slightest guess.
"Probably the name of the ship." Gaskin volunteered.
"Easy enough-- but I meant what your impression was of the larger symbol." Thrawn corrected.
Hark started to sweat, he knew this was some kind of test and he knew that his performance here would mark how far he would go under Thrawn's command.
"I'm not sure..." Hark started as he concentrated on the symbol. It was distinctly alien and not at all appealing to him on any aesthetic level, but that was hardly a surprise.
"It's ugly." Gaskin said. "Barbaric."
In response, Thrawn cast a impatient and disapproving look his way, immediately causing him to shut his mouth and remain silent.
"Study its lines." Thrawn urged, "Follow them, ignore the details for the moment and just look at the shape."
Hark concentrated harder on the symbol. There was something the Admiral obviously wanted him to see, and he knew that finding that one detail that Thrawn had noticed would be exceptionally important. Then it came, like a bolt of laser fire, burning the ozone of ignorance away within his brain.
"It's the same shape as their craft." Hark said.
Thrawn nodded slowly. "Similar; not exact, but strikingly similar."
"Why would they do that?" Hark asked, sudden relief flooding through him.
"Pride." Thrawn pinpointed, "Militaristic pride, most likely, is at work here. I would not be surprised to learn that these people were directed by a military rather than a civilian government." He let the observation sit at that, letting them draw any obvious parallels to themselves as they would.
For himself, Thrawn picked his way to the corpses and stopped at the closest one, kneeled, and pulled the shroud back. Following, Hark caught sight and grimaced as Gaskin looked away, suddenly pale.
"Humanoid." Thrawn commented, untouched, "But with a distinct reptilian aura to them. Hark, what did they called themselves? Cardassians, did they not?"
"Aye, sir." Hark replied, gaze moving slowly along the floor, "Part of something they called the Dominion."
"Mmm." Thrawn nodded, touching a smaller more elaborate form of the alien crest that was attached to the creatures body armor. "Not a very willing part of this 'Dominion' though, I would say..."
"I don't understand." Hark replied, surrendering a grudging look over at the corpse with obvious discomfort, directed both at the slightly charred body and at the fact he was beginning to feel led like a child through the most elementry of thought excercises.
"This Dominion he mentioned sounded like some kind of alliance, probably including a shared government or military leadership." Thrawn said pulling the undamaged crest free of the body armor and standing up again. "These Cardassians strike me as the kind of territorial creatures that would not enter into such an alliance without a compelling reason to do so. Perhaps indentured servitude of some kind, something their ancestors might have passed onto them, or possibly for more direct and immediate concerns..."
"War." Hark said after a moment of thought.
Thrawn nodded approvingly. "Very good, Commander. Actually, I would say war or some other threat that had already inflicted, or threatened to inflict, a substantial defeat upon them forced them to seek some kind of military alliance. They're far too territorial and hostile to have entered into such a confederation for any substantial length of time for most of the other usual, practical reasons."
"They did seem eager to fight and rather insistent that we depart their space." Hark said. "Even when they knew we outmatched them."
"One need only be pragmatic and simply compare the size difference in our ships to know that we probably represented a threat to them that could not be ignored. A militaristic race as proud as this one could never show signs of weakness when confronted with a superior foe. They must have known they were fighting to their destruction, but they also knew that they had to show us that they would fight us and not subject themselves. It might have been slightly different had it been only the one vessel, but there's an entire society they were compelled to save face for here."
Thrawn turned to Gaskin who was staring across the hangar bay at some crews working on a Tie Bomber, trying to lose himself back in the world he knew as home.
"And what do you think now, Commander Gaskin?" Thrawn asked.
Gaskin reservedly turned back to face the Vice-Admiral. "I think we should summon reinforcements."
Hark nodded in agreement and turned to Thrawn.
Their alien superior nodded his smooth head. That was always the Imperial solution, of course, but in this case it was actually advisable. "I agree. Further conflict with these Cardassians may not be avoidable, however, the other partner in this Dominion coalition might prove easier to negotiate with."
"I'll send a courier ship back through the anomaly immediately." Gaskin said. "And summon the reinforcements."
"One of the prisoners on the Huntress was a human who claimed to be from this universe." Thrawn said picking his way out of the debris with Hark and Gaskin in tow. "Have your courier ship pick this human up and bring him here. I want to interview him personally."
"Yes Admiral." Gaskin replied.
"Citizens of the Empire, be seated. This session of the Imperial Senate has now come to order."
The words carried in the large chamber, but with a less notable echoes than in previous years, when a larger chamber had been needed to house all the required members. As it was now, the massive numbers of diplomats and dignitaries that had once bided their times in the Senate Hall were long gone, only a core group of political representatives remaining. It seemed like a such a small group to be deciding the fate of the galaxy now, and you could feel it just by looking around at the relative smallness of everything here.
The noise of chairs rubbing against solid floor reverberated in the moments that followed as those present took to their seats. Quenda took her own in due time, measuring her speed in doing so in an effort to display the elegance and reservation characteristic of an Alderaanian retainer. Ahead of her was the main table that included Senators hailing from the most vital of the core worlds: Correllia; Corsin; Yaga Minor; Kothlis; Balfor....the relatively reduced list went on, stopping at an uncomfortable number.
Drumming fingers; the noise came from just in front of Quenda, and she shifted her eyes in its direction to identify the sound further, just to the side no more than two feet forwards from her left hand. Bail Organa, Viceroy and current Senator of Alderaan sat there, an old friend who, she could see, held a sense of impatience in his manner. He didn't need to turn around for the human woman to know a frown of discontent was on his face; the Senate's bureaucracy often got him down these days.
The man beside her suddenly tensed-- she could feel it without looking. Ansran, his name was, a retainer of equal status to herself, taxed with the responsibilities of running messages between the diplomats of the main table (messages which, of course, could be subject to Imperial audit at any time to smoke out any privacy unwanted by the state).
"Damn." He said, not daring to raise his voice any louder than Quenda and perhaps one or two others nearby in the Alderaan assembly were able to hear.
She leaned over to him. "What?"
"Mothma, dammit..." Ansran hissed back, "She's not...wait, never mind...." He suddenly relaxed, "There she goes."
Quenda's eyes traveled across the room to gaze over at the Chandrelianian Senator, a woman in the throes of a very early middle age. She was only just setting herself down now, significantly behind all the others; defiantly behind, if you knew how to read the movements correctly.
Understanding the situation immediately, the young woman's eyes shot over to the very center of the table, dominated by a mounded ring that held a protrusion that stretched about an inch upwards towards the ceiling. "The holonet's not on yet," She tried to assure him, "No one saw that's going to care."
"Yeah, just the naval troopers at the doors and all the agents all over the place."
"Naval troopers could care less about politics, they're more interested in their next credpay for the week. You're just being paranoid."
"Paranoid or sensible? Mothma, she's a bloody political hothead around the Empire-- she'll ruin everything for Chandrila, and take us down with her!"
Overhearing the hushed conversation, their superior in front of them, an aged and balding man with gray running pell-mell through his thinning hair, turned his head evenly about. Organa extended a single finger at them, pointing with a patience that showed itself to be extremely strained.
"You..." He said, pointing in their direction, "Both...will shut up. NOW."
Feeling foolish, Quenda's eyes noted how the finger drooped somewhat at the tip, gesturing not actually at her, but strangely downwards towards the floor.
The chair; he was pointing at their chairs. That ended the debate about paranoia then, it seemed Organa found it well-based enough. She averted her eyes away; Things were certainly changing rapidly these days, as rapidly as the shifting colors of those cha'hala trees just outside in the corridors leading up to the senate halls...it was getting so you couldn't trust anyone even more than usual in politics-- the governing party least of all.
The Empire. Yes, the wonderful Empire. Her mind went back to Ansran's cautioning words about being sensible for a moment. It wasn't that she didn't think the Empire as a threat...she just didn't really see why anyone allowed on the Senate floor, those officially estranged from the Imperial executive power, would want to associate themselves with it to the point of being an agent. Surely they all saw what had been going these past years, only in different extremes of light.
All the planets saw the danger they were in, they had to...didn't they?
But her thoughts erased and consciously made themselves blank as the device in the middle of the grand table activated itself, and the lights above them began to lower in intensity. Green-blue light leapt up from the short nozzle, filtering and organizing itself in mere fractions of seconds to reveal an image of the most powerful man in the galaxy, the one mind that directed every piece of legislation and debate that passed though this room, even though he himself had most likely never been in it. In fact, he had not shared the company of those currently assembled under these same circumstances for years.
It was the Emperor.
Quenda remembered a time when the man had a seat reserved for him at this table before her, when Palpatine had sat amongst them as a man of flesh and not a distant, partially blurred image. He'd had a seat reserved for him at the head of the table, a place now purposely unoccupied and left symbolically vacant, indicating the man was elsewhere. Of course, that seat itself was different than it had been in the first days that she had seen it too. It had gone from a chair comparable to those around it to becoming larger, more grandiose and stylish. Then it increasingly began to be moved back by those bidden to take care of the halls upkeep, began to be separated from the table. Then, a small platform had been added, rising well above the seated height of those about the room. Bit by bit, the chair began to take on a more malevolent character, until Palpatine had even decided it no longer fit his purposes at all, and now failed to even make a personal appearance, far preferring to direct the Senate's machinations from the location of the Imperial palace, some miles distant from this location (though some said the hall would soon be moved to within it's dark, lonesome and drafty walls).
And now the creature of a man appeared before them, a hologram of a withered being with gleaming points for eyes, bright jewels that practically dared you to deny anything this autocrat stated as law.
There was a waiting silence as they all kept their peace until the Emperor had spoken. The tradition of the Old Republic had held it that one of the Senators usually held the right of first word at an assembly, but the Emperor had seen that well changed during his reign.
There was a disconcerting smile that crossed the lips of the wrinkled visage. "My ears are open." Palpatine stated in a tone even more self-important than usual, "Fill them with the concerns of my galaxy, worthy subjects."
Almost at once, a figure across the room shot upwards. Senator Malcom Dreisen, the Representative for one of the planets in the Correllian sector. "Your Eminence, the world of Telaus begs your audience."
The masking grin still emblazoned upon Palpatine's face, the image's face rotated to regard the Senator, a short man with dark skin. "Given." Was all he said, bidding the man to continue.
"The Empire's recent request for the massive increase in TIE fighters is appreciated; our system is and always shall be grateful for the government contracts we receive to employ our labor pools. However, the demands come in so short a time-- our current plants are unlikely to be able to meet the production quota at their current levels, not without abandoning other current independent projects such as some of our transport manufacture for trade organizations like the Black Sun. We would ask some leniency be given on the time requirements, or at least an explanation as to why the deadline is so short..."
The Emperor interrupted, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Your words do not sound grateful of being the recipient of a large-scale military project to me Senator. I would suggest you either re-evaluate your priorities, exploit new resources to meet the demand, or surrender you the contract to a planet that can fulfill it within Imperial standards." His voice carried a heavy rebuff; the Senator's brief request would be given no more latitude, having only lasted for a glimmer of a moment before the Emperor quashed it.
"Yes, my liege." Was Dreisen's only reaction, knowing better than to press the matter, and having in some way expected this outcome anyhow.
'Military buildup.' Quenda thought to herself, 'Why the military buildup? Does the Emperor suspect?' Her eyes went to Organa, who shifted in his seat.
But her contemplation was stopped in mid-form; it seemed Mothma was unwilling to let this go. "Your grace," The woman intoned. She had a refined, but firm demeanor.
Palpatine's smile widened even more, to an impossible degree, but did not turn to face who was addressing him. "Senator Mothma." He said, acknowledging the voice.
"The Planet of Chandrila takes the side of Tralus in this matter. we would like to hear an explanation for such a gargantuan request from one of our more limited systems of manufacture."
Beside Quenda, Ansran's fist bit into itself again. Mothma was definitely walking a thin line with the Emperor, as she always seemed to do. The senator had long been obstinate about the adopted torts that the Senate had been forced to incorporate into itself for over the years. Of course, as yet, the Emperor had failed to reprimand her very stringently.
At last the shrouded image turned toward the Chandrilianian ambassador. "Is there a problem, my dear?"
Quenda could feel Mothma's involuntary shudder, even from here. The Emperor infrequently used intimate terms to set others of balance.
"I....We merely wish for the record to show some sort of reason for the Empire's motivation in this matter."
Palpatine nodded, slowly. "Ah, I see....of course....how wise and full of foresight for you to make such a request." The face loomed closer on the hologram-- the Emperor was likely sitting up in his throne now, all those miles away in the Imperial palace-- "Well, allow me to accommodate you. The reason for the increased production requirements is simply the political unrest festering in the rim systems. I'm sure you're quite familiar with the situation, Senator. The Imperial navy is having some difficulty out there in maintaining long term control; extra fighters are needed galaxy-wide to maintain the peace."
Mothma's face resisted a scowl, keeping it's cool. "I had no idea the problem was so serious."
"Not dreadfully serious dear, not dreadfully serious. Scattered uprisings, nothing more. But the Empire wants this minor detail settled as efficiently as possible; there's more important things that require our attention."
Ansran moved out of his chair and leaned towards Bail's ear, a sort of move that occurred all the time in Senate chambers, and so failed to attract any attention except for those immediately at hand. Their voices were low, so Quenda had to manipulate things somewhat to hear.
"He knows!" Ansran was saying, "Did you see that? The Emperor knows!"
"Of course he knows!" Organa whispered back, somewhat angry at his aide's over-excitement, "Control yourself! Palpatine would have to be a fool not to have known Mothma's involvement against him by now, the only wonder is that you haven't figured that out already! The only thing to fear is if he suspect us or Iblis! Now sit down damn you, before someone takes notice!"
Quenda gritted her teeth under her smooth, human lips. Once again, Organa had shown why it was he who was Viceroy of Alderaan, and not just any other bureaucrat. Yes, it was obvious now when you looked at it; both Mothma and Palpatine knew the situation before them-- they were just playing pleasantries with one another, shifting the hidden knife between their hands.
The only question was why Palpatine wasn't making his move just yet. If he knew now, he'd surely known for a while...by the Force, Quenda herself had been starting to believe that Palpatine had caught on in these past few months, probably indicating the insidious ruler had had his suspicions far beyond even that. After all, she'd seen Senators inexplicably 'disappear' for less. Hestriale, for instance....
Yes, Hestriale, her mind went back to that incident, now years in the past. The man had, rumor had it, been sniffing around in matters where his nose didn't belong...something about the Despyre system...and then one day, he'd not come to Senate chambers. Instead, making his maiden and only visit to the Senate since, Lord Darth Vader had appeared, reporting to them and the Emperor (who then had still come to the floor, sitting in that now absent throne nearby) that Senator Hestriale had met with an unfortunate accident, and that his planet would be sending a replacement within the month.
Vader; that had been the first time she had seen the hateful being in person, and longed to see him again. Most had only an indifferent fear for the Dark Lord, but Quenda, before her current Senate duties, had traveled in circles that gave her reason to wish that man revenged upon more than any other, even his corrupt Imperial master.
For Quenda was a Jedi, and Vader had made the grave mistake of overlooking her.
She had wanted to strike out that day, in fact, but had been forced to lay her urges aside, not having brought her lightsaber into the Hall with her (it would be foolish to do so, someone might see it and report her). She had been forced to watch the black Sith enter and leave, his synthesized voice saying as little as possible before he went on his way, cape flowing dramatically behind him. That had been a show of Imperial force, then; the Emperor had wanted it known, subliminally, what had happened to the Senator (Ansran had certainly pick up on that, becoming more and more paranoid ever since), and Vader had accomplished that message perfectly by his mere presence.
What festering egos both men must have.
When Quenda looked up, she saw the dramatics for the day had ended, and that, at least for now, the Senators and their runners were going about their diplomatic business, with Palpatine overseeing it all. Messages were being moved back and forth; Ansran himself had gone off to take one to the Corellian Ambassador.
She bent over to Organa's ear, as he was unoccupied at the moment, writing down something, a note to himself, perhaps, on a worn personal datapad. "Ansran's not onto something is he? Does the Emperor suspect everything?"
"I certainly hope not." Bail answered back in a low voice, keeping his eyes fixed on the other dignitaries, "Even most of the Rebellion shouldn't even know it has any Senate backing yet, just some of the leaders. It would be dismal to know that the Emperor has his roots imbedded that deep within the galaxy."
"But...if he knows about Mothma..."
"If he knows Mothma then all the better we keep things as they are now, and keep contact at a minimum between us and Iblis. There has to be as little as possible to connect us to one another-- I'm going to have my agents make sure I'm always at least five miles or so away from her when we're not in Senate hall, mandatory starting tomorrow."
Quenda sighed, shook her head, her braided hair falling to the side. "And you want to bring your daughter into this sort of thing."
"I've not seen you preventing that, and you're her guardian." Bail replied, but his voice was preoccupied; there was too much going on for him to allow his manner to lighten. "Besides, you've seen how she's grown. She's developed....her mother's sensibilities."
"As long as she doesn't begin to turn out like her father." Quenda said, quite ambiguously.
"Mmmm, yes." Bail answered, giving a gesture that could have, but not necessarily, have been directed at himself. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."
There was a signal from the Chanrilianian contingent. A retainer was from there was coming their way.
"So much for minimum contact." Quenda observed. "Do you want me to fetch the message?"
"Please do." Organa bid, his voice darkening, "It's why I ferry you around between here and Leia back on Alderaan. Read it before you give it to me; if it's not important, I'll have to forgo the Emperor and kill Mothma myself."
Quenda nodded and was off. There had been an understanding between the triumvirate of Mothma, Organa and Senator Garm Bel Iblis (not present this day, curiously) for some time. The three had jointly begun a covert effort to tie together the distant and isolated uprisings in the rim sectors to undermine the tyrannical authority of the Emperor, and to do so had come to the agreement to work as independently as possible from one another to ensure survival. Any contact between them might implicate them all, especially since Mothma was by now the most visible of the three, having been far too vocal a detractor from the Emperor in the past. No doubt that one would have to go into hiding or something drastic before long....
She took the datapad from the runner graciously, keeping well within her comely gait, learned from the best tutors of etiquette on Alderaan. Quenda wasn't playing the warrior these days, you know; the past six of her thirty-five years were spent the games of politics in Senate chambers, and an even longer time before that was put into looking after the daughter of Bail Organa on Alderaan.
She made her way back in good time; Ansran hadn't even made it back yet. "Read it to me." Bail said again upon her return, keeping his stare firmly to the back of the Emperor's head, whose image was facing the opposite direction. "I don't want anyone to think this was a private message; it's bad enough as it is."
Quenda activated the device with the push of a button. "Mothma's sent greetings."
Sent greetings; the precise code word for having received Rebel news. "Go on." He bid.
"Her merchants are asking her for a new trade contract with the Alderaan government."
Merchants-- Rebels. New trade-- new base. Why in blazes was this important enough to contact Organa? "Yes, yes.." He said, frown deepening, "How much?"
"Three billion credits worth of Hovertech." Quenda replied, giving him the exact numbers of the Rebel fleet through the word-code, "But there is a complication with the contract, it seems."
Organa stiffened, but his frown started to let up. "What's that? Imperial restrictions?"
"No, not yet, anyway. There's been an encounter with a new field of tech that might be of interest to the Chandrilianians. It's making her merchants think twice about our market-- they're a little unsure, and want us to sweeten the deal, I think."
Now that was interesting. Apparently there was a new power the Rebels had encountered. "Their new offer is favorable?"
"It could be." Quenda told him, "Reasonable to support them, at least."
Organa nodded. "Interesting. They won't say how much the other offer is?"
"Not as of yet, Senator."
"Well, that's a challenge, isn't it? Call their bluff; I'd like to see how Chandrila will cope with us rebuking their offer. I don't like how they're making their trading approaches."
Call their bluff; that meant to continue with the operation in an investigative scenario. Quenda had played this double-talk enough to understand all the ins and outs of this sort of conversation. Speaking in code was the most vital of abilities; even if the Emperor knew their connection, it would save their operations from being uncovered before their time. "And if There is an Imperial intervention on the trade markets?"
"Then there is an Imperial intervention. Our economy needs to conserve itself as it is, we're in a period of unsure growth; at least, that's our story." Bail said, telling her that if the Imperials found out about their overtures towards this new presence that they couldn't afford to support them. "But that's only IF. For now, at least, I can afford to send Mothma this, with my blessing."
Sending her a blessing. There was to be limited re-enforcement for the time being, then; provided if their agents on the rim worlds could scramble the resources. Things were very disorderly out there in this time of unsure birth to revolution.
"I'll give the answer to her immediately sir." Quenda replied, and moved off the way she had come.
Thrawn paced around his office. On the walls were sensor images taken of the rebel ship, the one which had appeared out of nowhere with shields and weapons far different from any the Rebel Alliance had shown so far. The implications of this were enormous. Somehow, the Rebel Alliance had found this hyperspace wormhole, of which there were few recorded and none permanent, and had contacted the peoples on the other side. That on it's own was astounding, as the analysis of the wormhole had revealed it to have been originally only big enough for a small snubfighter to go through. The odds against such an occurrence were astounding.
He frowned. They had managed to get a ship from somebody on the other side, one which could disappear off their standard sensors, and which had strange, unfamilliar weapons. The power output of the vessel was surprisingly low, which most likely meant that they were either using some unknown form of supralight propulsion, or that their power efficiency was far greater than anything Imperial engineers could even dream of. Neither prospect was very reassuring. It had the trait of an older civilization, with technology that might baffel most Imperial scientists.
But Thrawn didn't hold himself to that conclusion in any way. He knew there were missing pieces to the puzzle he had yet to see before he could correctly project an analysis.
He traced the lines of the strange vessel with a blue hand, along the black, transparant, static viewscreen. The low, angled light added hungry shadows to his face, even in this passive moment of contemplation. The craft was definately meant for war; the flat profile gave it the least possible target to aim at, and the structure seemed easy to mass produce. Yes, definately mass produced; there were no individualistic identifying marks that he could recognize.
So, the question stood: was this a new civilization to them, one that had not heard of the Empire? All signs pointed that way, and the rebels had probably taken advantage of the fact already, spreading overrated reports of Imperial cruelty to the inhabitants of the new spatial expanse. Care then, would be required in dealing with this situation. Extreme care. If the Empire could be shown not as aggressors but rather as peace keepers, the rebels would undoubtedly lose face with these new allies. Perhaps a tentative treaty was in order, an oppertunity to trade in technology. Conquest could always be optioned out later, after all, when the advantages the unknown society had shown were neutralized and the Empire could spare the ships from settling those thousands of petty internal conflicts.
Torii would not understand, that was a given. The staunch Moff thought only of the present, sparing nothing to foresight. He toyed with the idea of neutralizing the problimatic man once and for all once more....and yet again came to the logical conclusion that he needed him still; Torii was competent enough, he supposed, but more importantly he had friends in high places. Even Thrawn couldn't fight a battle against a determined bureaucratic attack from the Naval Establishment; he'd made some friends to gain his position, impressed many-- but not enough to call very many to his side in times of need, Emperor's 'blessing' of his promotion or not. That was not the sort of thing the Empire was known for.
Well, Torii would have to accept his place in all of this. Their job here would not be conquest, but building a good reputation for the Empire. It would have to be stressed that to the other captains as well, of course. It would be a different expereince for them, being so used to suppressing internal strife in a society that had worked out its political status long, long ago. Perhaps then, he should start with a dead-end assignment, one that was needed in some way but not urgent. Accurate maps were needed, that was for certain. No situation, peace or war, could authenticially develop if their ships simply didn't know where they were heading.
Thrawn slowly smiled. Yes, the cartography of this region would be of vital importance. After all, to defeat any enemy bestowed with pride, you must merely discover where precisely to hit them in order to cow them before you. No more complicated, really, than ridding yourself of an overconfident bully.
A crooked finger went to his lips as the eyes shifted out towards the new, unexplored lines of starlight. "Cardassia." He said to himself simply, the word rolling off his lips with eager, knowing fluidity.
Torii had thought that it wasn't possible for Thrawn to humiliate him more than he already had, but this assignment took the cake. Any Imperial officer worth his rank knew that mapping assignments were a way to get people out of the way while you did something that would advance you in the eyes of your superiors. Sending all the other ships out on mapping duty likely meant that Thrawn was setting himself up to do something risky, and undoubtedly foolhardy. And to send Moff-- Moff, mind you-- Torii, who was assigned to the Titan, with them! Thrawn had always a penchant for peculiarity, and this was another instance in a long line of eccentric orders given without any explanation as to their value.
He had argued, in private, against having such a transient promoted to Vice-Admiral for precisely this reason. Aliens were unpredictable to begin with, and furthermore, virtually nothing was known of Thrawn's race in the Imperial archives, compounding on that very tried and true basic fact. Yet the Emperor himself had decreed that he was to be promoted, an act that had bordered on astonishment to many upon its decree, due to his previously sensible attitude towards non-humans. Up until then, Torii had entertained absolutely no doubts of the Emperor's wisdom, not that he really had many now. Unfortunately, on occasion, you could be reminded that the earth-bound immortals who led you and inspired were, at core, human as well, and prone to error, as minor as those might be. Such had been his reaction to Thrawn's climb in rank.
He would file a report when he returned, but it seemed that for now he would have to stick with Thrawn. Separation could mean doom for their forces, and Torii knew it. No, he couldn't play those Sabbacc cards (was that the correct game? Verbal reference was the closest Torii ever came to actual, immoral actions like gambling) now-- the Empire depended on cooperation in this instance. But it was only a question of biding his time before he could cast Imperial attention in Thrawn's direction as a mistake to Naval command. Surely the Emperor couldn't have been that dedicated to his decision of promotion....
Standing idle on the active bridge of his vessel, Torii personally witnessed the ISD cruise out of hyperspace, deploying probe droids as it moved. Soon they would go on to the next projected system, and do the same. Eventually, they would run out of probe droids of course, but afterwards they could always come back for the ones they had left in this and other star systems and re-release them, retrieving their data all the while. It was tedious, menial work.
Unbidden, there was a call from below. "Captain, we're picking up a coded hyperspace transmission. It appears to have the characteristic Rebel markings."
The captain began to speak, but Torii silenced him with a wave. "Can you identify the source?"
"Affirmative, sir."
Rebels. Damn Thrawn then, there was a greater duty at hand than his bumbling meandering. It was only what any reliable Imperial would be expected to do. "Good. Set a course for the source of the transmission."
The captain stood up. "Sir, our orders were direct from the Vice-admiral. We were ordered to report any anomalies to him and wait for orders."
Torii speared him with a glance. A pause developed that carried a weight of definate tension.
"Sir." The Captain re-iterated.
"I m countermanding those orders, captain." Torri replied at last, in even tones.
This appeared to bristle the captain, but he kept his peace.
"Well?" Torii asked the helm officer, taking his humbling of inferiors in stride.
"Uh yessir."
The ISD soon accelerated into hyperspace, and was no more.