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Chapter Text

Title: The Legend of Thrawn

Author’s Note: The Legend of Thrawn was supposed to be a melancholic one-shot but somehow it gave birth to a series of humorous short stories... (~˘▾˘)~ I re-uploaded it here as the first chapter for better continuity. 

To my new readers: The first story will make you cry but the rest of the series will make you laugh. I promise. 

Summary: After the galaxy finally laid down its weapons after more than twenty years of constant conflict, Grand Admiral Pellaeon, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Remnant, receives a coded communique from a man who introduces himself as Admiral Voss Parck, steward of the Empire of the Hand. 

After the peace treaty with the New Republic had been signed—after the galaxy finally laid down its weapons following more than twenty years of constant conflict—and after life had returned to normal (enough that he’d even begun considering retirement and leaving the fate of the Empire to the next generation), Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon received a coded communique from a man who introduced himself as Admiral Voss Parck, steward of the Empire of the Hand.

This was the same Voss Parck who had discovered Grand Admiral Thrawn and brought him directly to the Emperor, then followed him into the Unknown Regions after being demoted to Commander. He had served as first officer to Captain Dagon Niriz, who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time when the Emperor’s patience for Admiral Thrawn’s antics in the Imperial Court finally ran out—and was assigned the task of mapping uncharted space.

Or so it had seemed at the time.

Now, after Imperial Intelligence finally got its hands on the classified reports that Jedi Master Luke Skywalker and his wife, Mara Jade Skywalker (the former Emperor’s Hand), had presented to the New Republic government, Pellaeon knew there was more to this Voss Parck than met the eye.

There remained the question of why the renegade admiral had waited more than a decade before contacting the Empire proper—remaining hidden, observing from the shadows, and watching Bastion’s capital drift from planet to planet until it finally settled on Sartinaynian in the Braxant sector of the Outer Rim Territories.

Why now, after so many years?

And, more importantly, what was so significant that he insisted on telling Pellaeon in person—going so far as to agree to Pellaeon’s terms and come aboard the Chimaera alone in a personal shuttle? If Pellaeon had chosen, he could have simply ordered him blasted out of the universe—a fate reserved for deserters and traitors.

Nevertheless, Admiral Parck stood by his word and came alone—and, in any case, after signing the Bastion Accords, Pellaeon was hardly in a position to charge anyone with high treason against the Empire.

Only one other person remained aboard: the pilot, who’d declined Captain Ardiff’s offer of refreshment over the comm. Presumably, he stayed to guard the shuttle and scan the docking bay to prevent the Chimaera’s technicians from planting a tracking device on the ship—a standard practice.

Captain Ardiff personally greeted Admiral Parck and escorted him to Pellaeon’s office, giving them both a sharp salute before departing. Later, Pellaeon would ask the Chimaera’s young captain for his impressions of the renegade—a practice he’d adopted from Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Now came the matter of utmost importance, as Parck had phrased it in the coded communique that somehow reached Pellaeon’s private comm frequency—suggesting a serious breach in security protocols. Imperial Intelligence would not be pleased to learn that their next-generation encoding, their pride and joy, was apparently as vulnerable to an expert slicer as the New Republic’s diplomatic protocols.

An awkward silence followed Captain Ardiff’s departure. The two men hesitated, unsure whether to salute again or simply shake hands. Pellaeon held the higher rank, but Parck did not answer to him. In the end they opted for an informal salute: Parck raised his arm first, befitting the lower rank, and Pellaeon returned it with a grave nod, then gestured to the guest seat.

“I suppose you must think me a traitor, Grand Admiral,” Parck began, accepting Pellaeon’s invitation to sit. “I never returned to active service, nor did I offer a helping hand in the fight against the Rebellion.”

Pellaeon sank into his command chair, rested against the padding, and stroked his mustache in thought.

“A traitor?” he murmured, shaking his head. “I signed the peace treaty with the New Republic, Admiral Parck,” he said in a bittersweet tone. “In the eyes of the loyalists, that makes me a traitor. The Moff Council even promoted me to Grand Admiral for my peace initiative as a gesture of goodwill—or, if you prefer blunt terms, to spit in the face of a traitor.”

Parck regarded him for a moment. “Then they are fools,” he declared. “Your heart has always beaten for the Empire, Grand Admiral Pellaeon, which is why Thrawn chose you as his second-in-command for the campaign to reunite the Core.”

“Did he?” Pellaeon wondered, his eyes flicking to the grand admiral’s insignia on his pristine white uniform.

“I wouldn’t know… Lately, I’ve been thinking…” Parck fell silent. “In any case, a military faction reduced to a mere eight sectors has no need for a Grand Admiral. I’d prefer you address me simply as Admiral Pellaeon, please.”

The old wounds reopened by Moff Disra, Major Tierce, and the con artist Flim still throbbed—slowly becoming infected.

Thrawn’s ‘resurrection’ might have been exposed as a sham, but it did nothing to soothe Pellaeon’s doubts and fears: had he ever been more than a disposable front-line soldier to his former alien commander? Worse, had Thrawn truly seen him as protégé—or even successor—and had Pellaeon’s own actions brought the Empire to its knees, reducing it to a dot at the edge of the galaxy?

That he had failed Thrawn.

Frankly, Pellaeon didn’t know which nightmare frightened him most.

“Admiral Pellaeon,” Parck’s firm voice cut through his thoughts, “believe it or not, I know what you’re going through. I’ve suffered my own share of guilt and self-loathing upon realizing Thrawn had been dead all those years.”

Parck’s voice faltered. “At first, I thought the former Emperor’s Hand was right and I’d gone … delusional.” A small shudder escaped him. “I’d heard rumors of Thrawn’s death over Bilbringi, but I dismissed them—I believed he’d return exactly ten years later, especially after learning his Noghri bodyguard ‘assassinated’ him. Ridiculous, right?”

Parck stifled a laugh. “And he would return… In the form of his own clone whose growth must have been triggered by the news of his death being announced by the Imperial authorities. Only when I discovered the hidden chamber beneath the fortress and saw that lifeless body did I realize this must have been his contingency, the plan he kept secret because we’d never accept a clone as his heir. And I confess, Admiral Pellaeon, at that moment I felt like the biggest damn idiot in the universe.”

Pellaeon couldn’t help but feel pity for him. Even without witnessing Thrawn’s death, he knew the hollow ache of accepting such news without proof—dismissing it as New Republic propaganda or Imperial mystification or simply another of Thrawn’s grand schemes.

Over a decade of uncertainty.

“‘I congratulate you all on your cleverness. You are indeed the true heirs to Thrawn’s genius and military might,’” Parck continued, his tone strange and impersonal, “‘the former Emperor’s Hand told me during her little job interview. She was being sarcastic, of course.’”

Parck visibly pulled himself together. “But I didn’t come here to compare failures or swap Thrawn tales. After all, my cousin captained Vader’s ship that crashed on Honoghr, and it was through me that Thrawn learned of the Noghri’s loyalty. I’ve come to offer my services—there is still a war to fight before we retire to the elderly home where we belong.”

“War?” Pellaeon echoed, confused. Could he have gone … delusional?

“War against whom? Surely you don’t expect me to declare war on the New Republic after signing the Bastion Accords.”

Parck shook his head.

“No. Not with the New Republic. A war against the Far Outsiders—an extra-galactic species of marauders who are coming with an invasion force capable of subjugating this entire galaxy. Their only goal is to cleanse it of all infidels, of all impurity, of all sentient life as we know it, and replace it with their own. They cannot be reasoned with. They are brutal, merciless, and unstoppable. Their entire culture is centered on pain. They glorify it—not as a motive for action but as a way of living. They mutilate themselves to become closer to their gods, insisting on using purely organic technology, believing everything mechanical to be an abomination...”

As Pellaeon listened to the long monologue—delivered in that same, strangely impersonal tone—his reactions ranged from doubt to skepticism. He dismissed it all as the babbling of a lunatic, until Admiral Parck finally produced a datadisc, offering him actual proof (well, it could still have been a forgery, of course): intelligence obtained from Thrawn’s own people’s past skirmishes with these so-called Far Outsiders.

Pellaeon frowned at the date of acquisition. “But I was under the impression that Thrawn was exiled by his own people—or so the old Fleet records say. How could he possibly have obtained a copy of the Chiss Ascendancy’s top-secret files after his exile? Unless, of course, the information came from rogue Chiss warriors serving the Empire of the Hand you mentioned.”

Empire of the Hand: a secret alliance of cast-off Imperials, renegade Chiss warriors, and major non-human civilizations native to the Unknown Regions. Humans serving alongside aliens, humans mixing with aliens—and Vader knew what else.

Pellaeon considered himself a fairly open-minded Imperial, but he knew the Moff Council would throw a fit over the mere idea. He smiled sardonically, imagining their temper tantrum at learning such “obscenities” took place under the Imperial emblem—especially since most of them found the idea of shaking hands with the New Republic’s non-human Chief of State downright repulsive. Fortunately, after kindly presenting him with a Grand Admiral’s white uniform, Pellaeon no longer had to concern himself with their antics.

“While those rogue Chiss and a few other alien species in the Empire of the Hand had indeed heard of the Far Outsiders, these files—the actual proof of their existence—were securely stored in the secret cloning chamber beneath the Hand of Thrawn fortress on Nirauan. Thrawn kept them locked away until the clone met its untimely end.”

Pellaeon was beginning to understand Parck’s point. “But then...”

“Admiral Pellaeon,” Parck asked, “do you wonder why Thrawn never revealed this information sooner? Granted, I’ve seen more than anyone else—but even I was light-years away from his plans, his goals, his grand schemes.”

“He didn’t trust you. Us. None of his men.”

Parck shook his head. “No, Admiral Pellaeon. It was never about trust.” His voice brimmed with melancholy. A small chuckle—or was it a whimper?—escaped him. “It’s simple: the great Grand Admiral Thrawn was afraid. He feared our judgments if we ever discovered the truth.”

He met Pellaeon’s gaze. “We believed in him, we trusted him, we looked up to him as a leader worthy of our loyalty and valor...”

Parck paused dramatically. “And he’d been lying to us, using the Empire for years. Thrawn’s loyalty always belonged first and foremost to his people.”

“So we were never more to him than disposable stormtroopers,” Pellaeon whispered, realizing his worst nightmares had come true.

Parck’s expression softened. “No, Admiral Pellaeon—we became his people. Somewhere along the way—when exactly, I don’t know—Thrawn came to see us as his own.”

He shrugged. “Now you understand why he was so terrified of us learning the truth. I believe he would have told us eventually—once the Rebellion was crushed, once the Core was reunited under a strong central figurehead, and once we were all ready to set aside our differences and face the coming storm.”

Parck pursed his lips. “But not before he proved to us—and to himself—that he was a leader worthy of our trust and loyalty, not merely another Emperor Palpatine.”

Pellaeon stroked his mustache, contemplating. “Then how do you know all this?”

“Besides these files, there was a handheld holoprojector with a message that would autoplay only after verifying the viewer’s bioscan—his Plan C, if you will. In it, he confessed everything and asked me to open diplomatic relations with the Chiss Ascendancy, since, as you’ve probably guessed, he was never truly exiled.”

Parck placed a finger to his lips, silently asking Pellaeon to keep it secret.

Pellaeon nodded—understanding more than anyone the need to preserve Thrawn’s tarnished memory, especially after the con-artist fiasco.

“However, this old, weak heart of mine couldn’t handle the Defense Hierarchy and the Council of Families, so I assigned General Soontir Fel to the task. He’s young, fierce, and he understands nerfshit—farmboy at heart, despite his Imperial Baron title. If anyone can open the Chiss Ascendancy’s glowing eyes to reason, it’s Soontir Fel.”

Pellaeon barked a sharp laugh at the choice of words.

Soontir Fel—a fellow Corellian, former ace of the TIE Fighter Corps, the Empire’s poster boy who later defected to the New Republic’s Rogue Squadron—somehow found his way into the Empire of the Hand’s service instead of facing execution for treason.

“I’ve merely decided to learn from Thrawn’s mistake—the one that cost him his life. The Empire of the Hand is at your disposal, Grand Admiral Pellaeon. When the dark tide comes, we will show the galaxy that the Empire remains a force to be reckoned with.”

Parck’s eyes drifted to a distant past—back to the days of the Empire’s greatest glory. “He should have told us. Or at least told me. Keeping secrets... that’s what cost him his life. And may the Force help us all, Grand Admiral Pellaeon, for the Far Outsiders are real, and they are coming—whether the Moff Council, the New Republic, or even the Chiss Ascendancy want it or not. They are coming for us all.”

“Do you wish to sit in the pilot’s seat or the co-pilot’s seat on the way back, Admiral?” the pilot—a rogue Chiss warrior named Kres’ten’tarthi, Commander of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s Household Phalanx—asked in a neutral tone as Parck entered the cockpit.

“If it’s all right with you, Stent, I think I will retire to the cabin,” Parck replied in a tired voice, massaging his temples.

“Do you feel unwell?” the Chiss warrior asked with concern, his blue-black eyebrows furrowing in a frown. “Perhaps we could stay a little longer…” he suggested diplomatically, his glowing eyes giving Parck a long, measuring look.

Parck shook his head dismissively. “Merely tired, that’s all.”

The Chiss nodded fractionally. “Then I shall perform the standard pre-flight procedures. I am fairly confident I can operate this shuttlecraft alone.”

Parck gave Stent a curt nod and walked to the cabin suite at the shuttle’s aft. He sat down on the couch, unfastened his collar, and activated the small holoprojector, which began autoplaying once it verified his bioscan.

He wasn’t lying about feeling exhausted—though for reasons the Chiss had never suspect­ed. He had no doubt General Fel’s hand-picked wingman could handle a Lambda shuttle. On their way here, Parck had served as co-pilot only to clear his mind before the painful exchange.

“If you’re seeing this message, it means I am dead—and so is the clone on Nirauan,” the hologram said in Thrawn’s smooth, cultured voice, as though reading a routine status report rather than announcing his own demise.

“I do not know how many years have passed, but since I recorded this before rendezvousing with the Chimaera, I suspect an unforeseen complication led to my end. Either I was assassinated by one of the self-proclaimed warlords, or I was defeated by the Rebellion in a suicide run into their lines—which seems the most likely scenario. Nonetheless, it matters little. It means I failed to reunite the Core, and now a very different government—the New Republic, or whatever it calls itself—rules.”

The hologram paused.

“Regardless, I beg you not to seek vengeance through further bloodshed. The beings of the galaxy have chosen their governance, and they must bear the consequences. Now you know the Far Outsiders are coming. If the central figurehead cannot swiftly and ruthlessly speak their only language—violence—billions, perhaps trillions, of combatants and non-combatants will die.”

The hologram inhaled deeply—if it were anyone else, Parck would have thought he was steeling himself.

“Admiral Parck—Voss—there is something you must know, and it is one of my deepest regrets that I never found the courage to tell you personally.”

The alien’s expression remained unchanged, but that deep breath betrayed inner turmoil beneath his pale-blue features.

“I was never truly exiled. I am—or was—an undercover agent of the Chiss Ascendancy, tasked with infiltrating the Galactic Empire to use its human resources against enemies the Ascendancy could not openly attack, owing to their no–pre-emptive-strike policy.”

The hologram sighed and lowered its gaze, like a criminal confessing to his crimes.

“Commander Kres’ten’tarthi and the rest of the Phalanx are unaware of my secret mission, which is another regret of mine: they have been reduced to mere pawns of the Ascendancy. Unlike me, they truly exiled themselves when they abandoned the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force to follow my lead.”

The hologram raised its eyes, staring blankly into the viewer’s.

“I have never been who you believed me to be. I have merely tried to live up to your expectations. You wanted to serve a leader worthy of your loyalty and an Empire worthy of its name. I gave you exactly that: Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo and the Empire of the Hand.”

A hollow smile curved its pale-blue lips.

“I even let you call the Nirauan Fortress ‘The Hand of Thrawn,’ though I never deserved such loyalty, least of all from you. But perhaps it’s time you knew the truth.”

A muscle twitched in its cheek.

“Now that I am dead, nothing prevents you from contacting the Chiss Ascendancy and offering them a vow of silence in exchange for a general pardon, so the Phalanx may return home. Many left their families to follow a leader unworthy of their loyalty.”

The hologram straightened into parade rest and gave a perfunctory salute. Even though holo-recordings muted the glow of his eyes, Parck thought he saw a spark of hope.

“Perhaps we can still salvage the situation. I lack the information to predict, but maybe—now that I’m gone—you can open diplomatic relations without the Ascendancy losing face. The Household Phalanx could reintegrate into the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force. And perhaps, just perhaps, the Ascendancy will aid us against the Far Outsiders rather than bury their heads in the ice, hoping those horrors break themselves on the droid-using infidels.”

The hologram swallowed visibly.

“I realize how presumptuous it sounds, but I would be grateful if you treated this as my last wish. The Chiss Ascendancy is not evil; they are merely shortsighted. By believing only I could save them, I became the most shortsighted Chiss of all.”

The hologram shook its head.

“You were my pawns in the dejarik game I played, but believe me, I always cared for my pawns and never intended to waste them.”

Assuming full attention, it saluted again.

“Farewell, Admiral Voss Parck. I hope you understand my silence’s reasons and can forgive me one day. Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo… no, Thrawn out.”

The projection dissolved into blue light until it vanished. Parck exhaled shallowly, shaking his head at the absurdity.

“What a moactan teel he was, thinking I could resent him for being who he was.”

He pocketed the device, ignoring the numb tightness in his chest. As he closed his eyes, his last thought before darkness claimed him was that, though Grand Admiral Thrawn may be dead, the show must go on.

THE END

Author’s note: Moactan teel = fair haired, a fairly potent Cheunh insult which, in this context, would translate back to Galactic Basic as a kriffing idiot.

There goes my headcanon as to how the Empire of the Hand integrated itself into the Imperial Remnant and into the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force. There is no Eli Vanto in Legends, instead there are Admiral Voss Parck and Assistant Syndic Soontir Fel.

Also, there goes my little theory as to why (Grand?) Admiral Pellaeon was in favor of the Galactic Alliance against the Yuuzhan Vong ever since his first appearance in Dark Tide II: Ruin, never doubting their potential to ravage the entire galaxy. In any case, information on the Yuuzhan Vong threat which Consul Leia Organa Solo had brought him was hardly breaking news to Pellaeon. Neither was the existence of the Empire of the Hand. 

“As always I find your commentary and advice useful, my moffs, but I must remind you that I command Imperial space. (…) I wanted to inform all of you that I will be issuing a mobilization order that will activate all reservists and call some of those units into active duty. I will also issue a call to all of our covert forces, both within the Empire and without, to come to our aid. While some of you might have seen our hidden forces as ones that would someday enable us to take back the galaxy, the Yuuzhan Vong threat is one we must defeat. We will need everything we can summon, and then some. (…) If I fail, if you are made to play with your soldiers, I hope I do not live to see the results. Pellaeon out.”

Trivia: In Dark Tide II: Ruin, it's explicitly mentioned that Pellaeon wears the white uniform of a grand admiral, suggesting he received promotion somewhere between 19–25ABY, but he is described only as an admiral throughout the whole book. In fact, he isn’t described as a grand admiral until Destiny’s Way & Force Heretic Trilogy (28ABY). An error? A mistake? Anyway, I’m using it!

Chapter Text

Title: Pale Blue Wonder

Gift fic to a reviewer.

Parck doesn't appear in the NJO, only Fel does. We can but speculate whether he was busy fighting, whether he retired or whether he died of old age. I didn't mention if The Legend of Thrawn takes place before or after Survivor's Quest so technically...

However, I couldn't possibly let Parck die, could I? 

THE END

Chapter Text

Title: Imperial Blues 

Gift fic for psychededoodle  who made this: 

Author's Note:

The Moff Council knows of the existence of the Empire of the Hand, which means hearing with the Moff Council must have happened one way or another. This is my take on the hearing.

“As always I find your commentary and advice useful, my moffs, but I must remind you that I command Imperial space. (…) I wanted to inform all of you that I will be issuing a mobilization order that will activate all reservists and call some of those units into active duty. I will also issue a call to all of our covert forces, both within the Empire and without, to come to our aid. While some of you might have seen our hidden forces as ones that would someday enable us to take back the galaxy, the Yuuzhan Vong threat is one we must defeat. We will need everything we can summon, and then some. (…) If I fail, if you are made to play with your soldiers, I hope I do not live to see the results. Pellaeon out.”

(source: NJO: Dark Tide II: Ruin)

To my new readers: Chiss in my headcanon identify other beings, mentally and verbally, with their full names.

“Outrageous!” Moff Kurlen Flennic’s jowls shook with anger, his face contorted into a snarl. “You are no better than the Rebel scum that occupies the Imperial Center!”

Stent narrowed his eyes into mere slits, his mind coming up with yet another scenario of the Yaga Minor’s governor meeting his untimely end; for the past hour, these relics of the so-called "Galactic" Empire had been chastising Voss Parck over the manner in which he ruled the Empire of the Hand in Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s absence.

A charter providing all members of the Empire of the Hand equal rights, regardless of their species or planet of origin; official recognition of mixed unions and full-fledged citizenship for the hybrid descendants resulting from such couplings, integration of both near-human and non-human alien races into the Empire of the Hand’s legislative, judicial, and executive branches; their acceptance into the Empire of the Hand’s armed forces, until finally, going as far as allowing near-humans to join the ranks of StormTrooper Corps. (Dropping the prospect of non-human stormtroopers for the difficulty in logistics due to various sizes, shapes, and needs of the soldiers and the overall lack of uniformity.)

Only Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon seemed to realize that it was the humans who were the minority in the Empire of the Hand; before the ISD Admonitor’s arrival, no one had ever seen a human being or heard of Galactic Basic. Now it had become one of the local trade languages, and its growing importance and significance forced even the Chiss Ascendancy to finally acknowledge Galactic Basic as one of the main languages spoken in the Borderlands.

However, the number of humans were dwindling; the original crew was past the retirement age, and the number of male soldiers greatly outnumbered the number of female soldiers from the very beginning, meaning only a handful of Imperials could produce pure-blooded human descendants.

Unfortunately, the Moff Council did not share Gilad Pellaeon’s open-mindedness or Voss Parck’s ability to think unconventionally. While technically the Supreme Commander of Imperial Forces could release him from the ordeal by ending the hearing session prematurely or by calling for a recess, this was a battle that Voss Parck needed to win without the Grand Admiral’s help.

A soft sigh escaped Voss Parck. He may be an impressive actor of stoicism to the rest of the audience, but his façade was pointless against Stent’s twenty years of acquaintance with him. Stent could see that the human was finally close to snapping. Deep down, Voss Parck felt old, too old. This was the real reason why he had sent Soontir Fel to deal with the Chiss Ascendancy.

Stent felt a twinge of shame, realizing that the General must have been subjected to similar treatment by the Chiss aristocras - who (in Stent’s personal opinion) suffered from too much genetic inbreeding - sticking their heads into the ice rather than confronting the enemy before they posed a direct threat to their people.

“And have I already mentioned that I am married to an alien myself?” Voss Parck said cynically, his patience with Kurlen Flennic’s temper tantrum wearing thin; being compared to the bunch of anarchists and ex-smugglers who called themselves the New Republic these days was hardly something to take kindly.

Silence.

Even Kurlen Flennic, the last moff appointed directly by the Emperor himself, fell silent for a moment, stunned speechless, before exploding in rage once again.

“An Imperial admiral marrying some alien whore? Scandalous! You, sir, are a disgrace to the Imperial uniform!”

Stent finally stepped forward and placed a hand on Voss Parck’s shoulder in a gesture of silent support before addressing the Moff Council himself.

“I could not care less what you think of me, of the Chiss warriors under my command, or of other alien races serving the Empire of the Hand. But know this, you soft, complacent, human-centric fools,” he spoke in a tone that could have cut glass. “We do not have the obligation to come to your help in the time of need. We are the members of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s Household Phalanx. As such, we live only to serve Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo and, through him, serve the Chiss.”

Stent stood tall and proud before the Moff Council, with his hands now put firmly behind his back, choosing his appearance as his weapon of choice for today; even aboard the Admonitor, Imperials had found Chiss intimidating at first, and these humans hadn’t faced a Chiss for more than a decade. 

All but one flinched from the intensity of the glowing red gaze. Ephin Sarreti. Perhaps there was hope for this institution after all.

“We can go; leave, never to return. There are plenty of threats that pose danger to the Chiss Ascendancy, but not to you. You are no warriors, you are mere politicians. Without us, you are as good as dead. With us, you have at least a chance to survive.”

Stent made a contemptuous sound; perhaps he should have chosen a blade as his weapon of choice for today, doing the Grand Admiral a favor by slitting all their throats.

“Now, what will it be?”

“That was quite a speech you had there, Commander.” Moff Sarreti gave the Chiss warrior a small but polite bow as he walked toward them after all the other governors had left in outrage.

Young as he was, the man’s expression was carefully composed, and he carried himself with his head high and with grace and composure. The faint smile on his lips was straight from the diplomatic protocol of the Imperial Court.

Parck suppressed a smirk as he watched the politician desperately keep up the facade as his hand was being crushed in Stent’s durasteel grip. It wasn’t the smartest idea to offer a handshake to a Chiss who had been holding himself back from breaking their necks the entire time.

Finally, Sarreti’s face contorted in pain and he let out a soft moan. As if on cue, Stent immediately released his grip, the glowing eyes brightening up with a small spark. There was a little doubt that the Chiss warrior found the other man’s unsuccessful attempt at not letting his discomfort openly show highly entertaining.

Sarreti tried to mask his transgression with a cough, putting his hands behind his back, and taking a moment to compose himself before continuing:

“I was wondering if, perhaps, you would accept an invitation for dinner later this evening. After decades of living on military rations, I am sure you both could enjoy a decent meal. Now, we may be located in the Outer Rim but I assure you that the Bastion’s dining establishments can easily match the ones of the former Imperial Center. Among other things, I am very much interested to know what it is like for an Imperial to live with an alien, and what it is like for an alien to serve together with Imperials.”

It took Parck a moment to realize the offer was genuine.

Stent blinked, eyeing the young politician with interest.

“You’re really inviting us for a dinner out of mere curiosity?” Parck asked in a disbelieving tone, turning his head at the other person who remained in the room and who was observing them from the distance. “No strings attached? No business deals on the side? Admiral Pellaeon, where did you dig him up?!”

Pellaeon smiled slowly, his bristling white mustache broadening. “Upon my recommendation, the Moff Council chose the youngest candidate as Moff Disra’s replacement in the hope that they could easily manipulate the Bastion’s next governor from the shadows.”

“Grand Admiral Pellaeon has been looking for an opportunity to get one of his own men to the Moff Council for a long time.” Sarreti revealed.

Parck smiled back. Pellaeon, you sly, old devil.

He exchanged a shrug with the Chiss. Why not?

“Very well, Governor, the Core Worlder in me could hardly resist an offer to visit a stylized Coruscanti club and it’d be a great opportunity to show the pale blue wonder over here that human food is something he could actually eat to enjoy, not just to survive.”

THE END

Title: Chiss Blues

Jump back in time. Gift fic for psychededoodle  who made this:

The falling snow marked the beginning of winter on Nirauan.

For humans, the winter came much earlier, when stormtroopers started to wear thermal undergarments, and when the Army officers decided it was too cold to use standard uniforms, taking out the winter coats from their closets. Now, Vader forbid, while the Chiss warriors would never laugh out loud in public, Commander Parck would bet his remaining rank plates that Stent and the rest of this rogue phalanx shared at least a snicker in private at these preparations.

Just as it was Parck's time to smirk today, upon seeing the Chiss enchanted by the falling snow. Those unfortunate Chiss that were on duty could only watch in envy as their free comrades ventured outside and simply stood there as if transfixed, their glowing eyes raised up towards the sky, not bothered in the slightest by the fact that their uniforms were soaked through by the time the grass was covered by a blanket of snow.

"Commander Kres'ten'tarthi," Parck tried to grab the attention of the Chiss squatting in the snow, fingers grazing over the fluffy surface. However, the alien commander merely inclined his head, still staring up to the sky.

"Stent," Parck repeated, now addressing him in a less formal manner. "You've been standing here most of the afternoon, even after all the other Chiss have left. While your species has adapted to this weather, your uniform is now drenched. Even a Chiss like you must feel the cold."

[Do you know the meaning of the ideogram for snow?] Stent said in an absentminded tone, his attentions light years from the planet Nirauran.

Not long after they had met, Parck had suggesting dropping the Chiss on an abandoned ice world while their human colleagues could have shore leave on a tropical planet, after all, there were plenty of paradise words with an ice moon out there. The Chiss commander flat out rejected the idea, telling Parck that none of the ice worlds could possibly match the beauty of Csilla. In reality, though, all of these overly proud warriors felt incredibly homesick, and Parck could only imagine that now that the snow had fallen on Nirauan, the feeling of homesickness must have been amplified dramatically. Especially for this Chiss.

[The cold beauty falling from the sky.] Parck replied in oddly accented Cheunh.

Such was the meaning of the brushstrokes that combined together held the meaning of the complicated ideogram that loosely resembled a snowflake. It was too complicated for normal use, hence the word’s phonetic transcription. Still, Parck felt saddened that only the handful of human soldiers cared to learn the calligraphy.

The corners of pale blue lips twitched in a small smile. The Chiss gave him a nod in approval and closed his eyes. Now that was a mistake; one should never let his guard down. Parck's eyes gleamed mischievously as he threw the small ball of snow he had been holding in his hand, aiming for the head.

THE END

psychededoodle your art is a gift to this world. Please never stop drawing. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Sly Old Devil

Parck and Stent accept Moff Sarreti’s dinner invitation. 

Disclaimer: The notion that Chiss eat overspiced food comes from Survivor’s Quest. 

“Admiral Parck, Commander Stent, you have already met one of my most trusted protégés; it would be a pleasure to introduce another one: Miat Temm.” Pellaeon motioned to a petite young woman wearing a plain, modest-looking civilian dress of the latest Imperial fashion. “Miat, this is Admiral Voss Parck and Commander Stent of the Empire of the Hand.” 

Parck gave her his best respectable Corulag citizen’s bow. He might have spent decades in the Unknown Regions but he was still a Core Worlder coming from a wealthy, conservative family with a long history of military service. 

Stent offered her his right hand in a universal human gesture of greeting as his glowing eyes thoroughly evaluated her. Prior to the meeting with Mara Jade, the Chiss would have no doubt dismissed her as a ‘soft female lounging around behind a ring of warships’ but apparently he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice after the former Emperor’s Hand proved that she was as capable as a Chiss warrior woman. 

Temm flashed them both a soft smile and firmly grasped the pale blue hand, telling them that it was a real honor to meet them. Just like Pellaeon and Sarreti, she didn’t seem bothered by the idea of shaking hands with an alien. 

“The honor is mine, my lady.” Parck replied kindly, reverting further into the old-fashioned Corulagi manners. “How do you wish to be addressed? Miss Temm? Lady Miat? Or do you have any other title?” 

“Everyone calls me just Miat,” she said casually as she sat down next to Sarreti. 

And where did you dig this one up, Grand Admiral? Parck wondered as he looked at the menu. The dress and the form of address branded her as an insignificant aide, a civilian not privy to military secrets. Given her appearance and Pellaeon’s weakness for the fairer sex in his youth, it suggested that the Grand Admiral kept her around for her looks, not skills. A vice common among the elderly in the position of power; they liked to be reminded of the days they had chased skirts.   

However, considering the changes the Imperial Remnant had undergone under the command of Grand Admiral Pellaeon, there had to be more to her than a pretty face. 

Parck didn’t have much time to look around but even from the little he had seen, it was clear that the Imperial Military was full of young, bright male and female officers, such as Captain Ardiff or Commanders Arien Yage and Vana Dorja. 

The future of the Imperial Remnant was in good hands. 

Just like the future of the Empire of the Hand. They had Fels. 

“Miat, then.” 

“Please,” Sarreti interrupted them, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t look at the price and order anything you want.” 

“I truly appreciate the offer, Governor, but I can think of better ways to spend Bastion taxpayers’ money. I’ll have a local specialty of your recommendation.” 

Parck threw an amused glance at the rogue Chiss warrior who tried his best to hide his bewilderment. Naturally, Stent didn’t recognize anything from the menu. The three Imperials wouldn’t be able to tell from the impassive expression but Parck had decades of experience in reading the subtle Chiss body language. He knew what to look for. 

“As for Stent…” he hesitated “what is the spiciest food this establishment has to offer?”

“The spiciest?” Sarreti repeated slowly. “Hmmm… I suppose it’d be Mustafar vindaloo but…” 

“Then I will try that one.” The rogue Chiss warrior declared boldly. 

Pellaeon raised an eyebrow. “You like spicy food, Commander?” 

Stent nodded, his glowing eyes brightening up with a spark. 

“Most Chiss do.” Parck explained. “To them, human food seems rather plain. I suppose that Grand Admiral Thrawn spent so much time among humans that he eventually stopped putting additional seasoning into his food.”

“Yes.” Pellaeon confirmed, stroking his white mustache in thought. “Such an explanation makes sense. I can’t recall him ordering anything so spicy.” 

Thus they ordered Mustafar vindaloo for the Chiss and a local specialty for themselves. Parck noted with approval that none of the Imperials, not even the young politician, felt the need to waste valuable Imperial resources on an overpriced wine. 

Still, Parck appreciated the club’s interior, feeling a wave of nostalgia at the design. It was as if they jumped back in time, finding themselves in the middle of the Galactic City during the days of the greatest glory of the Galactic Empire. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn would no doubt appreciate the design as well, it was so artistically done. Not this Chiss, though, the pale blue wonder had other hobbies. Parck had turned him into a holodrama addict. Sadly, Stent didn't appreciate Parck's beloved Wynssa Starflare's holoseries. He preferred horrors. 

“Are you a spy?” Stent’s harsh tone brought Parck back into the present. 

The Chiss was staring intently at the petite young woman who jerked in shock at the sudden accusation. Pellaeon, however, merely asked: “What leads you to such a conclusion, Commander?” 

“The Chiss sensory perception is different from that of a human. I couldn’t miss the look of concentration on her face as I browsed through the menu. She was spying on me. Why or how, I do not know.” 

“Perhaps she’s just curious…” Sarreti offered diplomatically.  

“No.” Stent opposed fiercely. “She is a spy. I am certain of it.” 

Temm threw a worried look at Pellaeon who let out a small shrug in response. “She is Force-sensitive.” 

Pellaeon, you sly, old devil.  

So that was the reason Pellaeon kept her around. It was the very same reason why Parck had attempted to recruit Mara Jade. 

Temm lowered her eyes in shame. “I am deeply sorry, Commander. I wasn’t doing it on purpose.” 

The Chiss tilted his head to a side. “No?”

Temm sighed. “No. It’s just … you are an alien. And despite your impassive expression I couldn’t miss the almost human-like sense of bewilderment emanating from you in waves. I’m so sorry.”

However, Stent didn’t seem offended. Right on the contrary, she piqued the Chiss’s curiosity. Unfortunately, it meant that she was in for a questioning. Or interrogation, depending on the pale blue wonder’s mood.  

“Force Sensitive?” Stent repeated, his eyes positively gleaming. “Like the former Emperor’s Hand? I was greatly impressed with her Force enhanced fighting capabilities. But you seem so fragile... You wouldn’t last in  physical combat. What can you do, then? Can you remotely choke people to death like Darth Vader?” 

Parck groaned. 

“Commander!” Sarreti exclaimed loudly, coming to the lady’s defense like a proper Coruscanti nobleman. The moff had been born at the Imperial Center, even if he had spent most of his formative years off-world, on the run from the New Republic. 

“It’s alright, Ephin,” Temm smiled warmly. The two seemed to be on friendly terms. Parck didn’t need to be a Chiss to tell that the Moff and the civilian aide were very fond of each other. Still, he could only hope that the pale blue wonder didn’t drop another thermal detonator by announcing their interest in each other until the two realized it for themselves. 

Temm shook her head. “I can only pick up moods and tell the truth from a lie, Commander Stent. I am no Jedi.” 

Stent fell silent, clearly unimpressed. 

“Telling the truth from a lie is a very useful skill,” Sarreti stepped in again, daring the Chiss to contradict him. Parck had to admit the young governor had guts. “Especially in politics.” 

“Yes,” Parck agreed. “I can imagine it’s very useful.” 

“Admiral Parck,” Pellaeon addressed him in an attempt to save the two young Imperials from the Chiss. “You mentioned being married to an alien.” 

He gave Parck a small, conspiratorial wink. “I can't help but wonder what species your wife is and what it is like for her to live with a human?” 

Pellaeon, you sly, old devil.  

While Sarreti and the rest of the Moff Council didn’t get it, Pellaeon did, or perhaps he simply put two and two together given the pale blue wonder’s earlier temper tantrum in sickbay. 

In fact, Parck had nearly blurted it out himself during the hearing. 

“And have I already mentioned that I am married to an alien myself?” He had snapped at Moff Flennic, his patience with the man’s anti-alien rhetoric wearing thin. 

“An Imperial admiral marrying some alien whore? Scandalous! You, sir, are a disgrace to the Imperial uniform!”

“I could not care less what you think of me, of the Chiss warriors under my command, or of other alien races serving the Empire of the Hand. But know this, you soft, complacent, human-centric fools,” Stent had stepped in, deflecting the governor’s wrath to himself.

“We do not have the obligation to come to your help in the time of need. We are the members of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s Household Phalanx. As such, we live only to serve Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo and, through him, serve the Chiss.”

“We can go; leave, never to return. There are plenty of threats that pose danger to the Chiss Ascendancy, but not to you. You are no warriors, you are mere politicians. Without us, you are as good as dead. With us, you have at least a chance to survive.”

They all had been so taken aback by the bold words that it hadn’t occurred to the Moff Council who exactly the alien whore in question was. 

Which was probably for the best. 

Still, the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces seemed not to care. Too bad that their life paths hadn’t crossed before, Parck thought bitterly. He and Pellaeon would make a hell of a team. Oh, their enemies would have never seen it coming. 

“My wife?” Parck said offhandedly, giving Pellaeon a small, conspiratorial wink of his own. “Why don’t you ask her, Grand Admiral? She’s sitting right here.”

THE END(?) 

Stent: ……………………………

Surprise! Or, well, not really, if you've read the Freak Fleet series from me. Relationship tags spoil the fun. And dissuade potential readers who are wary of mature content / het romance / slash / mary sues - there are too many great fics that I've avoided for a long time because of their relationship tags. 

If you can keep an open mind like Pellaeon here, enjoy further character interaction. There will be no explicit content. M/M, F/M, F/F or otherwise. Sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BTW There is a Star Destroyer named after Sarreti. And there is an entire class of Star Destroyers named after Pellaeon. BAMFs.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: (Not So) Respectable Corulag Citizen

Jump back in time! 

The old Imperial Navy rank system (in summary, leaving out a couple of ranks): Ensign -> Lieutenant -> Lieutenant Commander -> Commander -> Captain -> Vice Admiral -> Admiral -> Fleet Admiral -> Grand Admiral

This story takes place during time Admiral Thrawn had been called off to the Galaxy (which truly happened in Legends - eg. Thrawn drops by in the TIE Fighter game and in Side Trip ). 

Niriz is a captain here, while Parck is a commander - making him Niriz's subordinate (In Legends, Parck was briefly demoted from captain to commander before being promoted again, first to senior captain and ultimately to admiral.)

As Captain Niriz listened to another of Commander Parck’s lady hunting stories during his younger years, he couldn’t help but burst into laughter as usual. Oh dear, Parck always came up with the best stories.

Since there was virtually nothing to do off-duty in the Unknown Regions, and they were cut off from the HoloNet, the two of them often sat down in the Captain’s Ready Room and discussed various topics together. From time to time, Parck even brought up stories of his youth, which never failed to make Niriz double over in laughter. Oh, Parck had been a menace!

Admiral Thrawn was missing so much by never joining them in the Captain’s Ready Room. Niriz would have bet his rank plates that the stories of Parck’s youth would make even the Chiss’s sabbac face crack, perhaps even bringing Admiral Thrawn to laugh out loud. Of course, Parck’s fabulous way of storytelling definitely added glamor to the tales, making them sound like episodes straight out of a holodrama series.

And since Admiral Thrawn never joined them, Niriz decided to test his little theory on the other Chiss around, Commander Stent, leader of the rogue warriors who had joined forces with Admiral Thrawn a few months ago.

Now, would Parck’s lady-hunting stories be enough to make that Chiss weaken and crack? Niriz would consider even a quiet chuckle under the breath as a success. Those aliens were just so stone cold all the time.

Admiral Thrawn temporarily transferred his flag to the ISD Grey Wolf, answering the summons of the Emperor, which meant the Admonitor was down to Captain Niriz, Commander Parck, and Commander Stent. Now, who would have ever thought of that?

Niriz suppressed a shudder as he remembered the fateful day when they stumbled upon Commander Stent and his phalanx—or rather, when that renegade group pulled them out of hyperspace in the middle of an unnamed nebula, one of innumerable stellar nurseries, surrounded by highly explosive gases that could be easily ignited by their proton torpedoes, resulting in their immediate destruction.

Both Niriz and Parck had swallowed hard, fearing the worst. However, Admiral Thrawn kept his cool and calmly ordered that a message be broadcast on an open channel. He then spoke that message in an unfamiliar, tonal language that not even Parck understood at the time. Now, Parck had finally started making progress with that nightmarish language, but according to the leader of the renegade warriors, his pronunciation still left much to be desired.

No one knew what exactly followed then, for Admiral Thrawn went to meet their unknown assailant alone. When he finally returned, it was with another blue-skinned alien in tow.

And that was just the beginning. From that moment onward, they had to make room for several hundred blue-skinned aliens, none of whom could speak Galactic Basic and all of whom looked down on them as if the Imperials were nothing but uncivilized beasts.

Soon after the freeloaders settled down, Admiral Thrawn called in all his senior officers, asking his men to give Commander Stent and his warriors more time to adjust to their new roles. He also asked that they leave them alone until the Chiss warriors were ready to accept humans as their brothers-in-arms.

Of course, they answered only to Admiral Thrawn, or Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo as they called him, and it was only thanks to the alien admiral that the ship hadn’t fallen apart.

Niriz didn’t even want to speculate what would have followed if Admiral Thrawn hadn’t been there to answer the call in the nebula and to act as a buffer between the overly proud Imperials and the overly proud Chiss warriors.

And now, finally, coincidentally when Admiral Thrawn happened to be away (or because?), Commander Stent accepted their invitation to join them in the Captain’s Ready Room.

The Chiss remained silent most of the time, simply observing the two laughing humans, quietly sipping the offered Chandrilan brandy and reaching for a datapad from time to time to look up an unknown word in the Galactic Basic Learner’s Dictionary.

“Come on, Commander Stent,” Niriz addressed the Chiss warrior after Parck had finished the tale. “You didn’t find it funny? At all?”

The Chiss tilted his head to the side. “No,” he said simply. “No humor. Strange. Commander Parck see only at Chiss male warriors with interesting, none female. Many strange he saying stories of females.”

Niriz’s smile froze on his lips. He threw a sideways glance at Commander Parck, who had grown completely still. 

What?!

However, the Chiss continued, as if completely oblivious to the thermal detonator he had just set off in the room. “I not can understand. Chiss womans no attract? It is not Chiss alone, as Chiss mans attract.”

Niriz put his own glass to the side and crossed his arms, looking at Parck with a new pair of eyes. “Commander Voss Parck?”

The man jerked in surprise at the formal address, muttering an old Corulagi curse under his breath before he finally turned to face Niriz.

“I, ah,… Yes, sir?” Parck babbled. 

“I not can understand,” Stent repeated in a baffled tone, the otherwise unreadable face clouding in confusion. “Chiss womans no attract?”

“I think it should be quite clear, Commander Stent,” Niriz said dryly, suppressing a groan. The pale blue wonder would be the death of him one day. And he definitely would be Parck’s death. Today.

“Isn’t it, Commander Voss Parck?”

Parck flinched. “Yes, sir,” he said automatically, mechanically, the result of years of service in the Imperial Navy.

Finally, Parck let out a deep, resigned exhale. “It’s not that Chiss women aren’t attractive, Commander Stent. It’s simply that I’m not attracted to women, well ... in general, I am afraid.”

Niriz stroked his chin thoughtfully, watching the following scene unfold with disbelief. Like the rest of Parck’s stories, it’d make a good holodrama, he supposed. Almost as good as Wynssa Starflare’s holoseries.

The Chiss blinked. “Lie?” He realized, frowning. “How are you do reproduce? Mechanical, no. Artificial ?”

Parck winced. “I...don’t.”

“You don’t?” The Chiss leaned in, now curious. “Many interesting. Same-sex usual among Chiss, but I not heared of no one like you. You sex only with men?”

Well, well, well. Today was a day full of surprises. Niriz leaned forward for the glass, taking a small sip of the brandy, savoring the taste. Oh, this was priceless. Best holodrama ever. 

“Yes, Commander, I seek only men.” Parck admitted quietly.

The Chiss pursed his lips. “No Chiss like you. Normal among human?”

Parck pinched the bridge of his nose. “That depends on how you define normal...”

Niriz decided to let him squirm a little longer — a fitting punishment after months of tall tales and romantic escapades. It was clear now the women had never existed. The only question was whether Parck had merely swapped their gender for the sake of the stories… or if his entire romantic history had been one long work of fiction.

“It varies from planet to planet,” Niriz casually joined the conversation. “On some planets, it’s considered normal. On others … not particularly. However, as far as the Imperial Military is concerned, according to Regulation 615-360, Section 8, if a member of the Galactic Empire is found engaging in homosexual acts, he is subjected to a formal reprimand with the possibility of a dishonorable discharge, depending on the severity of the alleged offense. Homosexual conduct between Imperial citizens is regulated in accordance with local customs.”

Since Commander Stent was an alien, Niriz decided to add, “The term member of the Galactic Empire refers to anyone who is currently in the service of the Galactic Empire, regardless of branch, rank or position. The term Imperial citizen then refers to anyone who is not part of the Galactic Empire itself but resides in the territory of the Galactic Empire. Such people are subject to planetary laws unless they commit a crime in space, a crime against a member of the Galactic Empire, or a crime against the Empire itself.”

The glowing gaze shifted from Parck to Niriz.

“Many complication,” Stent commented after briefly contemplating the implications. “I not knowed same-sex problem for humans. Later I asking Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo about Chiss warriors in Admonitor. We not are members of the Galactic Empire and not Imperial citizens. We are servants of Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Now that could make an interesting conversation, Niriz thought sarcastically. So, the blue-skinned aliens swing both ways? 

However, aloud he said only, “Commander Stent, if you would be so kind and leave us now? I believe that Commander Parck would prefer to have his formal reprimand in private.”

The Chiss blinked once again but complied, marching away with his chin high as if the ship belonged to him. Niriz gritted his teeth. The pale blue wonder would definitely be the death of him one day.

But now, back to the matter at hand.

“So, Commander, am I speaking to the real Voss Parck or am I still speaking to a man who doesn’t exist?”

“The real one, sir,” Parck said quetly. 

“To Sarlac’s pit with you, Voss,” Niriz cursed. “I thought we were friends! I can’t believe that all this time you have been lying through your teeth!”

At first, Niriz had no idea Thrawn’s and Parck’s fall from grace was orchestrated. When the posting to the Unknown Regions came through, he’d bitterly resented Parck—first for bringing the blue-skinned alien into the Empire at all, and then for dragging Niriz’s career down the fresher along with his. He’d come dangerously close to mutiny against Thrawn before reining himself in at the last moment.

Afterward, he had even handed his resignation over to Thrawn himself.

But it was Parck who came back with it—calm, collected, and holding the document Niriz had expected to be accepted without comment. Instead, Parck explained that Thrawn’s dramatic stunt before the Imperial Court had been intentional, that both Thrawn’s and Parck’s apparent disgrace had been part of a carefully laid plan.

By the time Parck left his quarters, the resignation was torn in half, the two men had shaken hands, and they’d agreed to drop rank in private—no longer just fellow officers, but allies.

If it wasn’t for the demotion, the two of them would have held the same rank, and at any rate, it was clear to Niriz that Admiral Thrawn was grooming Parck for a flag officer, or perhaps even for a military governor of the territories they had opened up in the Unknown Regions.

It wouldn’t take long before their respective positions would become reversed, with Captain Niriz answering to Admiral Parck or Moff Parck, so it wouldn’t be in Niriz’s best interest if he pulled his rank over the disgraced captain even further.

This, on the other hand, was purely personal. He wouldn’t let Parck get away with it so easily.

“Niriz… Dagon,” Parck began awkwardly. “What do you want me to say? You quoted the regs, for kriff’s sake.”

Now, while friendly relations between officers were tolerated, romantic entanglements disrupting the chain of command were not; therefore, even if Parck was straight, as a Commander he would still be down to the few female scientists aboard.

“As far as the Galactic Empire is concerned, all of us have been dishonorably discharged to a middle of nowhere that has never seen a human being and where even the near-humans are scarce. I’m not about to start with witch hunts aboard the Admonitor. I couldn’t care less whether you’re into men, non-humans, droids, or a combination of all three. You didn’t have to stylize yourself into a ladies man around me, Voss. All you had to do was to remain silent. I wouldn’t have asked.”

Parck’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, it’s just … when you’ve been doing it as long as I have, it becomes next to impossible to stop. I admit that I am interested in how he figured it out. It’s not like I’ve been ogling them!”

Niriz snorted. “You can ask the pale blue wonder later. I’m sure it’ll be as enlightening as today’s input. Nine Hells, is it just his Basic, or do they really swing both ways?”

Parck shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“So…” Niriz took another sip of his brandy. “All those women you kept going on about — were they actually men… or were they as fictional as the women?”

From Parck’s expression, it was obvious he wanted to leave, lock himself in his cabin, and pretend the entire conversation had never happened.

“Most of them never existed,” he admitted grudgingly. “But the few that did… were, of course, men.”

Niriz scowled. “Which ones?”

Parck flinched. “Is that really necessary?”

“You reap what you sow, Voss.”

Parck sighed. “Remember the Kuati princess? Well, that was a prince. And while we indeed played a game of strip sabbac in Tekshar Falls Casino, it was I who had lost.”

Niriz gaped like a Mon Calamari. “Surely you are joking.”

“For once, I’m telling the truth.” Parck lowered his gaze, clearly embarrassed. “Now, is that enough, or is it your intention to rob me of the last remainder of my dignity, Captain?”

Niriz narrowed his eyes.

“I should, Commander,” Niriz said coldly at the insubordination. “But I won’t. Like I said, I couldn’t care less. I’ll speak to the pale blue wonder and try to explain the regs to him in detail and dissuade him from mentioning you to the Admiral...”

Parck’s face cringed. “Oh, don’t bother. I told him myself after I’d been visited by a pair of Military Intelligence operatives on my way back from a gay bar in the Coruscant’s Underworld. Those filthy buggers used it to blackmail me into providing them with information about the only alien in the Imperial Navy.”

Parck’s expression hardened. “Naturally, I told them everything, which wasn’t much since Admiral Thrawn had never mentioned anything personal about himself or about his life before I found him on the backwater world. They let me go, but they made themselves corusca clear that they expected my full cooperation on the matter. And so I went and informed Captain Thrawn, confessing to everything. Including as to where they’d found me.”

Niriz raised his eyebrows. “What did he say?”

“He remained silent for what had seemed like an eternity at that time, and then he told me that I made the correct decision.” Parck's lips marred in an evil smirk. “And we’ve been feeding Director Isard with fabricated lies ever since.”

Niriz returned the man’s smirk with one of his own. “I don’t think there are many people who can say they double-crossed Madam Director and lived to tell the tale. Still, he, uh, he didn’t mention anything about...”

Parck barked out a sharp laugh. “Oh, he did. I couldn’t believe it when he asked what a ‘gay bar’ is — thought it might be some sort of stand-up comedy establishment, since ‘gay’ means cheerful in Basic. He must’ve learned the language from a rather outdated dictionary.”

Niriz snickered. “Commander Stent and his warriors may swing both ways, but Admiral Thrawn is happily married to his art.”

Parck rolled his eyes. “He is, isn’t he? Admiral Thrawn and Commander Stent couldn’t possibly be more different. At least the pale blue wonder listens to him. You’ve come up with a very fitting nickname for Commander Stent, by the way.”

“He won’t get rid of it for a long time.”

Finally, Parck looked a bit relieved. 

“Dismissed. And no more lies from now on, Commander, or I’ll dishonorably discharge you to that rock where you stumbled upon Admiral Thrawn.”

THE END

Regulation 615-360 is a reference to 1944 US Army directive that called for homosexuals to be committed to military hospitals, examined by psychiatrists, and discharged under Regulation 615-360, section 8 as "unfit for service". Prior to that directive, service members found to be homosexual or to have engaged in homosexual conduct were to be court-martialed for sodomy, imprisoned and dishonorably discharged.

See also: Blue Discharge , Section 8 , Sexual Orientation and Military Service.

Given how xenophobic and misogynistic the Empire is in Legends, makes sense that homosexual conduct would be banned, too. Canon Empire might have space husbands (Varko Grey) but such an approach just doesn't fit with Legends Empire. 

EDIT: Re-comments: This is a pure Legends fic so ... No Lisetha. Thrawn is happily married to his art in this verse :-P  Sorry. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Disgrace to the Imperial Uniform

“My wife?” Parck said offhandedly, giving Pellaeon a small, conspiratorial wink of his own. “Why don’t you ask her, Grand Admiral? She’s sitting right here.” 

Silence.

All pairs of eyes fell on said wife, who sat there as if transfixed - unmoving, unblinking, the pale blue face completely, utterly stunned. 

Then suddenly a dangerous flash appeared in the pupil-less, crimson-red eyes as the Chiss’s brain inwardly exploded in outrage. Outwardly, he appeared only mildly annoyed. 

“Your wife? I am no wife.” Stent spat the word in disgust. 

Wife of an Imperial officer was supposed to live planetside and raise children while the husband dedicated his life to the military, returning home between rotations. Not a common occurrence in the Empire of the Hand since they were horribly understaffed.

And judging from the number of women in their thirties and forties serving aboard the Chimaera, no longer common in the Imperial Remnant either. 

“Admiral Parck,” Temm addressed him worriedly, no doubt sensing Stent’s inner temper tantrum; he was ridiculously short-tempered by Chiss standards. And so prone to provocation.

“Don’t worry, Miat, he will stop sulking. Eventually.” Parck waved his hand dismissively. “Serves him right after being so rude to you.” 

Meanwhile, Sarreti recovered from his shock. 

“Oh.” The moff smiled awkwardly, trying his best to hide his discomfort. “It didn’t occur to me…” 

Parck smiled mischievously. “It’s probably for the best that the Moff Council didn’t realize just what kind of disgrace to the Imperial uniform I am. Otherwise the pale blue wonder might have felt the need to defend my honor and slit their throats.” 

Sarreti stiffened. “Ah, yes, that’s true … I mean…” he coughed discreetly “I didn’t mean…” his voice faltered as he noticed the red eyes glowing like two orbs. Even to a casual observer, Stent looked like a Drayberian hawk waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Involuntarily, Sarreti’s hand went to his throat. 

Parck bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Don’t worry, Governor, I understand.” 

Sarreti took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.  

“While the Regulation 615-360, Section 8 is no longer enforced since we are so short-staffed and we cannot afford to dishonorably discharge anyone for homosexual conduct or human-alien relationships that result in pregnancy, it’s still a rather … delicate topic.” 

Even if it didn’t result in dishonorable discharge, military men like him were no doubt dismissed as soft and weak, becoming the laughingstock of the Imperial military. A gay Stormtrooper? Hahaha. Very funny. Seriously, what a joke.

“What happens to the hybrid children born out of human-alien relationships?” Parck wondered aloud. While most such pregnancies in the Imperial Remnant resulted from a night of passion with an alien prostitute, there still had to be a good number of children born out of mutual affection. After all, love was blind. 

Sarreti grimaced. “As you can imagine, sooner or later they defect to the New Republic. With their entire families.” 

Parck nodded in understanding. “Until the Imperial Remnant is willing to accept such couples, you could perhaps offer some of them a position in the Empire of the Hand. They won’t face discrimination there.” 

The young moff seemed to consider the offer. Due to security reasons, Sarreti couldn’t make it public knowledge but he was still the governor of the Braxant sector where he had an unlimited power over his subjects. 

“I will take it under consideration, Admiral Parck. I must admit…” he fell silent for a moment “I still find the existence of the Empire of the Hand difficult to believe. How is it that a military alliance of alien species is able to exist without dissolving into chaos like the New Republic?” 

“That’s what I’ve been wondering as well,” Pellaeon admitted, casually joining the conversation, “perhaps the Chimaera could accompany you on your way back, Admiral Parck? I would very much like to see the empire that Grand Admiral Thrawn has carved out in the Unknown Regions.” 

Parck exchanged an amused glance with Stent. Why not? 

They were interrupted by the service droids who brought their dinner. The following several minutes passed in silence. 

“Is the Mustafar vindaloo to your liking, Commander?” Pellaeon asked eventually, watching the Chiss happily eat a meal that would make most people break into tears. 

“Could be spicier,” Stent retorted dryly. “If you would pass me the seasoning?” 

Sarreti and Pellaeon stared speechless. 

Parck barked out a curt but honest laugh. As did Temm who no doubt sensed the Chiss’s contentment in the Force. “He’s joking, Grand Admiral. The vindaloo is spicy enough.” 

Stent rewarded him with a hard glare; he didn’t appreciate that Parck busted him. 

The Chiss made a derisive sound and resumed eating. Had Pellaeon passed him the seasoning, undoubtedly Stent would have demonstrably dumped it all over the vindaloo even if it were to burn his tongue. 

“You could tell that he’s happy just from his face?” Temm wondered as she observed the rogue Chiss warrior. 

“Yes.” Parck gave her an innocent shrug. “But then, we’ve been married for fifteen years. By now we could probably finish each other’s sentences.”

THE END(?) 

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Halloween Special

Jump back in time! Another pure Legends take on Freak Fleet Files, where I made Stent watch Star Trek. (I wasn’t kidding when I summarized it: ‘Writing a parody of myself? Abso-kriffing-lutely!’)

Blame psychededoodle for this one, the movie was of his choice :-P

While the dialogue is mostly the same in the first half, I switched the POV from Niriz to Stent. Hopefully, the repeated joke is still funny. 

There was little to do when Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo left for the Uncivilized Territories, leaving Stent alone without clear instructions. 

And there was even less to do when the Task Force Admonitor resumed its official task assigned by the self-proclaimed ‘Galactic’ Empire, mapping the uncharted areas of space. 

Therefore, Stent decided to venture into the part of the ship inhabited by outsiders and visit Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s human servants. 

“I am boring,” Stent addressed the two Imperials who were discussing a mundane xenobiological report. “What are humans do when they are boring?”

Based on the muscle contractions and increased infra-red glowth in their faces, it was not what Stent had intended to say. 

“You are anything but boring, Commander Stent, I believe you meant to say you are bored.” Voss Parck spoke very slowly, putting emphasis on each word to make Stent understand, toning down his native Corulagi accent and aiming for the standardized Core World pronunciation instead. He had much better control over his facial expressions and body language than the other human. 

Stent tilted his head to a side, letting the nightmarish language slowly process through his brain. Galactic Basic was giving him a headache. 

“Yes,” Stent said awkwardly, realizing he made a grammatical mistake. The word was supposed to end with -ed, not with -ing. “That is it I am mean.”

“I suppose it’s different for each human.” Voss Parck continued without correcting his grammar. True. Each Chiss was different, why should two humans be alike? 

“Makes sensual.” Stent agreed, slowly inclining his head. “What are you do when you are bored, Commander Voss Parck?”

Voss Parck only shrugged. “I watch holodrama.” 

“I heared of the holodrama from Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Show me show now. I want a watch.” Stent commanded. The mundane xenobiological report could wait. 

“Well, why not, I suppose?” Voss Parck smiled. There was an undertone to the smile which Stent couldn’t interpret. Humans were so puzzling. “In fact, I can think of one holodrama in particular you might enjoy, Commander Stent. It’s called: The Conjuring.”

Conjuring? 

Stent took out a small datapad and typed the unfamiliar expression into the machine’s input. 

conjuring

noun

the performance of tricks that appear to defy natural laws

adjective

denoting or relating to such tricks or entertainment

conjure

verb 

to make something appear by magic, or as if by magic

Could it be related to the mysterious Force which Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo mentioned multiple times? 

“Interesting sound.” 

The other human made an avuncular sound. “Then if it’s alright with you, Commanders, I think I’ll join you. I might enjoy this holodrama as well.” 

“Make yourself comfortable, Captain.” Parck motioned Niriz to sit down in a non-regulation chair that Parck himself no doubt used for watching holodrama; then he proceeded to remove his boots and sat down cross-legged at the bunk bed, leaning back against the wall.

Niriz murmured a silent thank you as he sagged down into the armchair. He expected that Parck would drop the rank but given how deeply private Parck turned out to be, Niriz didn’t hold it against him. 

It was enough that the Chiss in the room once again mercilessly intruded upon the man’s privacy, going through Parck’s entire holodrama collection, his glowing gaze randomly flickering from one title to another, pulling out some of the cassettes only to openly stare at the covers. 

Right now, the Chiss reminded Niriz of a small child who entered a toy store for the first time.

He had to admit that Parck had quite an extensive collection in his cabin; no wonder it piqued the Chiss’s curiosity. Now, the real question was whether or not Stent could keep staring at the covers as long as Admiral Thrawn when it came to the holographic paintings. Hopefully not.

“Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi,” Parck formally addressed the Chiss, his patience with the pale blue wonder’s antics wearing thin. 

“You accent very sucks at it, Commander Voss Parck,” Stent pouted, his expression getting as sour as if he had bitten into a very non-ripped bruallki. “Say mine Commander or Stent.”

“As if your Basic was any better.” Parck threw right back. 

There was a dangerous flash in the glowing eyes. Stent marched to the bunk bed and sat down at the opposite end with his back straight and proud. He didn’t cross his legs or lean back against the wall. 

Parck shook his head as he turned on the holoprojector. 

Niriz was familiar with the horror movie. It was set on Corellia, a Core World planet on which inhabitants believed in the Nine Hells, demons, spirits, and other various Force entities. It told the story of two demonologists who took on a case of a haunted house. After an initial investigation, they concluded that the house required an exorcism, but they needed authorization from the Imperial Inquisitors and further evidence before they could proceed.

Camilla got in touch with a medium. We learned from her that a seven year old girl named Annabelle Higgins had died in this apartment. She was lonely and took a liking to my doll. All she wanted was to be friends. When we heard this, we felt really sorry for her. I mean, we're nurses, we help people. So we gave her permission to move into the doll.

Stent cocked up a blue-black eyebrow. “This not makes sense.” 

Of course the pale blue wonder would say something like this. Of course. 

We are beyond terrified. We don't know what's going on or what to do. Can you help us?

“This holodrama … not first about the Force … but first about fear?” Stent realized, frowning. 

Parck put on his best sabbac face. “Yes. The purpose of the movie is to instill fear in the viewer.” 

However, would the Conjuring be enough to give even Chiss a fright?

Stent made a derogatory sound. “The movie very sucks at it.” He delivered dryly as he watched the unsuspecting family move into a haunted house. 

Parck’s impassive face rivaled that of a Chiss. He let out a small shrug, disregarding the comment. 

He’s really good at this, Niriz thought. He would have made an excellent actor. No wonder he likes holodrama so much.

From that moment onward, they continued watching the horror movie in silence, with the Chiss sitting stiffly at attention as if he was attending a mission briefing.

Stent simply sat there, his face expressionless, with no inclination as to whether any of the scenes made him uncomfortable. They were nearly forty minutes into the movie, and Niriz slowly resigned to the fact that Parck’s attempt to spook the Chiss was a waste of time. 

https://youtu.be/JhMWopjJiI8  

Clap. Clap. Clap. 

Who is that?

The wife shouted as she strode to the hallway, turning on the lights. Nothing. She walked cautiously around when she heard the sound of moving furniture. 

She quickly went there, turning on the light. Again, nothing. She ventured in, looking around, when she heard the sound of a door opening behind her. 

A piano started playing.

Terrified, the woman followed the direction of the sound, going down the stairs into a basement, switching on the light. 

Whoever’s  down there, I'm gonna lock you in now!!

She was about to lock the mysterious assailant in the basement when the door smashed into her face, resulting in her falling down the stairs at the sound of ominous music. 

The Chiss abruptly leaned forward, his glowing eyes staring intently at the holoprojector. If his stance could be described as stiff before, it now became utterly rigid.

The terrified woman took a series of deep breaths and looked around when suddenly a ball fell from the wall and she freaked out, running up the stairs as fast as she could. The ominous music grew in intensity as the light bulb exploded and the holoprojector went dark.

Aah! Let me out!!! The woman screamed. 

The sound of a child’s laughter followed. 

Breathing heavily, the woman tried to light up a match, unsuccessfully, and then another one. 

Hey, wanna play hide and clap? The Force entity asked and clapped behind the woman’s back, causing her to scream in horror.

The Chiss jerked in his seat, and for a moment the impassive facade cracked, a near human-like expression of fear crossed the alien features, the red eyes going wide open, glowing like two orbs. He let out a strange, hissing sound, then jerked once again as he realized that his image of a fearless warrior was forever ruined.

Niriz shared a knowing look with Parck, whose expression turned very smug. After all, they hadn’t reached the wardrobe scene yet. 

“The movie very sucks at it, eh?” Parck clipped, each word dripping with sarcasm. 

THE END 

Well, psychededoodle, here is your Halloween 'drabble' :-P I hope you like it!

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Specter of the Past

“You could tell that he’s happy just from his face?” Miat Temm wondered as she observed Stent eat the vindaloo. 

“Yes.” Voss Parck gave her an innocent shrug. “But then, we’ve been married for fifteen years. By now we could probably finish each other’s sentences.”

Again, silence. 

“I disagree.” Stent countered matter-of-factly. He placed down the cutlery and crossed his arms in a negative stance. “Voss, your sense of humor leaves much to be desired.” 

Stent rarely addressed Voss Parck by his given name in public; such an open display of affection was horribly unprofessional by the Chiss standards. However, the three dumbstruck humans were too entertaining to let the opportunity pass. 

Voss Parck chuckled. “Oh, really? Tell them a Chiss joke, Stent, and let them decide for themselves whose sense of humor leaves much to be desired.” 

Stent rewarded him with a hard glare. He resumed eating, disregarding the comment. Voss Parck was truly insufferable at times! 

Nevertheless, Stent had to admit, the Mustafar vindaloo turned out to be highly agreeable to the Chiss palate. Perhaps later he could ask them for a recipe. 

“Fifteen years?” Gilad Pellaeon echoed faintly. “That’s a very long time, Admiral Parck, Commander Stent. I wish I could say the same. Sadly, none of my relationships lasted that long. I ended up married to my ship and career.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Stent could see the civilian aide and the politician eyeing each other with a guarded nature. Their increased infra-red glow was a dead giveaway. 

Stent suppressed a smirk as he chewed on the spicy meat. It was so tempting to confront them but his two decades of experience with humans taught Stent that it was best to wait until the two moactan teels in love came to terms with their own feelings. 

Humans were so ridiculous when it came to these things.

Ephin Sarreti cleared his throat. “What is it like for an alien to live with a human, then?” 

This time, Stent was unable to suppress a smirk. He swallowed the bite, licking his lips. “Did you mean for a male alien to live with a male human?” 

“I meant in general.” The politician stated diplomatically. He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of two men in an intimate relationship, but he tried his best to humor his guests.

Humans were so ridiculous when it came to these things.

Still, compared to the rest of the Moff Council, Ephin Sarreti was an open minded man. It would be a shame to slit his throat. There was great potential in the young Imperial.

Stent poured himself a glass of water. He had no desire to drink ethanol-based alcohol like the four others. Methanol-based alcohol produced by the Chiss was far superior in taste. Unfortunately, it would have made the humans go blind. 

Stent shrugged. “I am content.” 

Voss Parck stepped in. “Chiss are a deeply private species, Governor. I’m afraid that’s as much as he’d be willing to admit, even to an interrogation droid.” 

Stent wasn't vague merely for his own benefit. Voss Parck, too, was a deeply private person. 

“I can imagine.” Gilad Pellaeon agreed. “Grand Admiral Thrawn never spoke a word about himself. By the Nine Hells, until recently I had no idea that his real name was in fact Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

It took all Stent’s willpower to not spill the content of the glass into Gilad Pellaeon’s face. The man’s pronunciation was unbelievable! If he had any idea of what he had just said… 

Voss Parck laughed awkwardly. He knew too well what Gilad Pellaeon had said.

“Chiss names are difficult to pronounce, Grand Admiral. Mitth’raw’nuruodo had his reasons for letting humans use his core name instead.” 

Voss Parck’s lips twisted into an evil smirk. “As does Kres’ten’tarthi.” 

“Don’t even try to pronounce my name.” Stent growled at the three Imperials who all jerked in shock at the harsh tone. 

“Stent.” Voss Parck admonished sharply. However, based on his heat distribution, Voss Parck had a hard time stifling a laugh. 

“Core name?” Gilad Pellaeon wondered. “What is that?”

Stent didn't elaborate further; Voss Parck could explain Chiss customs to outsiders far better than Stent ever did.

“Chiss naming conventions are rather complicated, Grand Admiral.” Voss Parck admitted. “Although essentially, the sense of familiarity associated with core names is not so dissimilar to human given names.” 

The three Imperials were stunned speechless.

“It seems that I’ve known him even less than I thought.” Gilad Pellaeon let out a long, deep exhale.

“Admiral Parck, I’ve already mentioned that I’d prefer if you addressed me simply as Admiral Pellaeon. A military faction which has been reduced to a mere eight sectors has no need for a grand admiral.” 

“As you wish.” Voss Parck conceded. “If it’s any consolation, Admiral Pellaeon, Grand Admiral Thrawn was ridiculously taciturn even by his own people’s standards.” 

Stent inclined his head in agreement. 

Yet it hadn’t always been the case with Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo. There was a reason why the Chiss kept his distance from his peers and his subordinates. 

The reason was Syndic Mitth’ras’safis. 

The death of his own brother shook Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo more than he would have ever admitted aloud. 

Voss Parck knew, or rather he got to know, soon after Stent and his warriors ended up in Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s service. They became his servants, and Mitth’raw’nuruodo became their Syndic. 

Unfortunately, it was Stent who carelessly mentioned Syndic Mitth’ras’safis’s name in front of the oblivious human who immediately proceeded to ask who Syndic Mitth’ras’safis had been, given the name’s resemblance. 

He had to admire Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s restraint. Especially since he had been wearing his old master’s colors. 

Yellow.

Nevertheless, he felt that Gilad Pellaeon, the man whom Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo chose as his second-in-command for the campaign to reunite the Core, deserved to know the truth. 

Thus Stent broke the code of silence, and proceeded to tell them what happened the fateful day and the time then-Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo had encountered a mad Jedi named Jorus C’Baoth. 

It was no coincidence that Joruus C’Baoth awaited Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo on Wayland. From what Stent understood, the Galactic Emperor had been a maleficent creature, possessed by the so-called Dark Side of the Force, claiming to have foreseen the Far Outsiders and as well as other events.

However, despite all his self-proclaimed visions of the future, the Galactic Emperor couldn’t have predicted his demise. 

Still, he had been able to make an educated guess as to who would be daring enough to return and steal his precious little fiefdom. 

And he had found a way to torment Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo even after his own death. 

THE END 

While I keep stealing from myself, making Stent a former servant to Aristocra Formbi like in the Freak Fleet (I shamelessly admit that it's a convenient excuse as to how he'd know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ), I don't want to re-tell Outbound Flight. Did that already in All Roads Lead to Coruscant. So I'll end Stent's monologue here.

His political views rock. The New Republic is a bunch of anarchists and ex-smugglers, Chiss Aristocras suffer from too much genetic inbreeding, and the self-proclaimed 'Galactic' Empire... I can't even. Oh, Stent. I love you. 

In the past, I played with the idea of writing my own take on Thrawn's thoughts upon finding C'baoth's clone on Wayland. Oh, it definitely wasn't coincidence. At least in my headcanon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: My Friends Call Me Ephin

“This will be your suite, Admiral Parck,” Sarreti pointed at the door at the beginning of a long hallway. After Pellaeon and Miat had departed, Sarreti was left alone with his guests. 

He had arranged accommodation in one of the Bastion’s tallest buildings, which offered a breathtaking view of the cityscape below. They might have been located in the Outer Rim, but Sarreti took pride in transforming the once backwater world of Sartinaynian into a regional center of interstellar trade and commerce. 

Of course, at the time he had made the reservations, he had no idea that the two men were … together. 

“And Commander Stent’s room is located at the end of the corridor.” Sarreti gave a small cough. “If he needs one.”

“I do not require a room.” The near-human alien shook his head. “And I will be standing guard outside the Admiral’s suite.”

One could hardly blame Pellaeon for assuming that the blue-skinned alien had been Parck’s bodyguard. He certainly behaved as such. 

“You should get some sleep, Commander.” Sarreti suggested diplomatically. “I expect that the Moff Council will demand another hearing tomorrow.”

The alien scanned their surroundings with his strange, hypnotizing gaze. “I do not trust these Stormtroopers. In any case, Chiss require less sleep than humans.” 

“Really, Commander, you think I’d have risked such a high-profile guest’s safety by assigning fresh recruits with the task?” Sarreti raised his chin in a challenge. “These are members of my personal guard. I vouch for their discretion and their marksmanship skills.” 

The alien seemed to be considering his words, the expression on the near-human face carved from a pale blue marble. Too bad Saretti couldn’t read him with the Force like Miat. 

“In that case I shall carry out an inspection of the Admiral’s suite.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement or permission, the alien pressed a button at the side of the wall and marched inside. 

“You have a natural talent for dealing with the Chiss, Governor,” Parck said in an amused tone. 

“Do I?” Sarreti wondered aloud. “Earlier it didn’t seem so…”

“Chiss need to be approached from a position of strength and respect. They never deal with weaklings, and they definitely wouldn’t talk to you if you sounded anything but professional.” Parck explained. 

“Your prejudice against men like me is a weakness which Stent naturally exploited and used against you. It’s as simple as that. However, Chiss do respond to reason. And you’ve presented Stent with a blaster-proof argument as to why he should rest. Let’s just hope that your stormtroopers’ marksmanship skills pass the pale blue wonder’s mark of approval in case Moff Flennic gets a stupid idea, or else tomorrow you’ll have a very angry Chiss breathing down your neck.” 

Sarreti responded with a faux smile taken straight from the diplomatic protocol of the Imperial Court. 

The door opened with a hissing sound. 

“The suite is secure.” The alien announced, throwing him a long, piercing look, presumably wondering whether the room was truly free of listening devices or whether the Imperial Remnant had access to technology unknown to the alien’s scanners. 

Sarreti tried to meet the hypnotizing gaze to the best of his abilities. He came to a decision; if the Far Outsiders were as dangerous as Parck had claimed, the Imperial Remnant would have to do more than maintain the fragile truce with the New Republic. 

They would have to put aside their differences and cooperate. 

Which meant that Sarreti would eventually have to shake hands with human-alien hybrids and various human minorities, which were widely represented in the New Republic’s government but remained unacknowledged by the Imperial Remnant.

He might as well start today. 

He cleared his throat, offering Parck his right hand.

“My friends call me Ephin.”

THE END 

Review Bonus #1:

The smell of freshly ground caf roused Parck from sleep.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of high quality coffee beans produced in the 'Colonies', the region of the galaxy between the Core Worlds and the Inner Rim. The Admonitor's supply of caf had run out years ago, and its substitute tasted like lukewarm water in comparison.

"Where did you get that?" Parck murmured softly without opening his eyes.

"From the Stormtroopers."

"You played hide and seek with Sarreti's bodyguards?" Although Parck wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer.

"His Stormtroopers proved to be far more competent than I had originally thought. They caught me wandering around the kitchen."

Parck sighed. "I just hope it didn't result in any broken bones."

"It didn't." Stent said in an innocent tone. "They were really good at falling down."

Parck groaned. "You'll explain that to Sarreti yourself."

"Gladly." Came an amused reply. 

The smell of freshly ground caf grew closer.

Parck slowly opened his eyes. "You're really intent on waking me up, Mister."

"I am bored."

Review Bonus #2:

"Why the long face, Ephin? Coming from him it's basically a glowing review." Parck couldn't resist rubbing salt into the wound. The expression on the governor's face was priceless.

"Indeed. Their sergeant, in particular, deserves a commendation. He proved to be a challenging opponent." The pale blue wonder supplied. "And his caf was highly appetizing."

Sarreti's jaw clenched. "I can't believe he single-handedly incapacitated the entire unit of my best soldiers... Over a cup of caf."

Parck smirked. "Chiss are the galaxy's finest warriors."

Sarreti nodded in resignation. "Too bad I can't share this tale with other Moffs. Just how would I look..."

Review Bonus #3:

Shortly after they returned from another long, taxing meeting with the Moff Council, Parck heard a cautious knock at the door. Given the timing, Parck decided to take pity on the poor soul who was unfortunate enough to drop by at such an inconvenient moment.

"Is Commander Stent there, sir?" The stormtrooper leader asked, hesitation in his voice apparent even through the mask's filter.

Parck frowned. "Is something the matter, sergeant?"

"No, sir." The stormtrooper straightened into military-parade attention. "I merely thought that Commander Stent might need a cup of caf after listening to the Moffs all day."

While the sergeant didn't accompany them, as Sarreti's chief bodyguard he must have been present enough times to draw an accurate conclusion. Probably the reason why he spent a considerable portion of his salary on the galaxy's finest caf.

Parck gave him a grave nod.

The Stormtrooper sighed. "Two cups?"

"Thank you, sergeant. I'll make sure that you receive compensation."

The stormtrooper shook his head. "That's hardly necessary, Admiral. Just tell Commander Stent that he didn't need to fight me or my men over a cup of caf. I would have offered it to him myself as a gesture of goodwill. As one bodyguard to another."

"I see that you've spent enough time in Sarreti's service that his diplomatic skills rubbed off on you."

The stormtrooper sighed again. "It also made me addicted to caffeine."

Parck chuckled. "Oh, I can imagine."

Then suddenly an idea came to his mind. There was one more drink the Chiss might be interested in...

"Do you think it would be possible to fetch us a cup of hot chocolate?"

THE END (?)

Hot chocolate exists in SW universe. Luke Skywalker drinks it in the Heir to the Empire :-P

Stent would love it. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: The Grand Admiral Returns

“... As such I am pleased to report that there is nothing which would require your attention, sir.”

Niriz finished his tale, drawing himself up to full attention, offering the newest member of the Imperial High Command a textbook salute. 

“Congratulations on your promotion, by the way.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” Thrawn returned his salute with all formalities, the pale blue lips twitching in a small smile. “At ease.” 

Niriz internally sighed in relief. 

“However,” the white-attired alien continued evenly, “I couldn’t have missed the signs of antipathy between Commander Parck and Commander Stent. While the leader of the renegade warriors has displayed similar sentiments before, this is the first time I’ve seen his stance mirrored in Commander Parck. You wouldn't know what sort of events transpired between the two, would you, Captain?” 

Niriz grimaced. He should have known that flattery would get him nowhere. Grand Admiral Thrawn saw right through it. 

“Sir, I’m afraid it’s a matter of a personal nature. I’m sure the two will sort it out in time.” 

“Captain, I prefer truthful and straightforward answers, not prevarication.” 

Screw it, according to Parck, the Grand Admiral had been aware of the man’s proclivities. Niriz capitulated.

“I and Parck invited Commander Stent to join us in the Captain’s Ready Room. We exchanged a couple of stories over a bottle of Chandrilan brandy and Commander Stent accidentally disclosed that Parck is prone to certain behavior unsanctioned by the Galactic Empire…” he paused, looking for a sign of recognition in the pale blue face. 

Nothing.

It was as if Thrawn had no idea what Niriz had just hinted. 

“... I am afraid Parck took it rather personally that I came to know in such a careless manner, or rather that I came to know at all.” 

The Chiss inclined his head. “Commander Stent is quite forthright.” 

That was an understatement of the year. 

Especially after the pale blue wonder had casually mentioned the death of Thrawn’s brother, which had nearly resulted in the loss of Chiss's composure. It was a small miracle that then-Admiral Thrawn hadn’t thrown Commander Stent out of the airlock. Personally.

Niriz continued: “Parck then decided to strike back by luring the unsuspecting Chiss into watching a horror holo, which resulted in quite a fright to be honest. I had no idea that your species could shriek, sir. As you can imagine, Commander Stent’s image as a fearless warrior was shattered.”

Thrawn stared incredulously as if Niriz had been loudly swearing in Huttese. Niriz was about to break the awkward silence that followed when finally the Chiss let out a deep, exasperated sigh. 

“Really, Captain, I leave you alone for a couple of weeks…” 

“It wasn’t my idea, sir.” Niriz defended himself. 

“Yet you joined them.” 

“Yes, I did.” Niriz confessed. 

“Then how do you propose to solve this problem?” Thrawn asked thoughtfully. He had the same look as when facing a particularly unpredictable opponent on the battlefield. 

“I think it’d be best to leave them alone…” Niriz suggested diplomatically. 

“I’m afraid that’s not an option, Captain. Not when there is Chiss pride involved.” Thrawn took out a personal comm. “Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi, Commander Parck, report to my office immediately.” 

“Sir?” Niriz asked, feeling an impending sense of doom. 

“To use the language of your people, Captain, I am going to tell them to kiss and make up." Thrawn delivered dryly, his expression deadly serious, making Niriz’s eyebrows twitch upward before he caught himself and stood a little straighter.

The glowing eyes burned him down with a stare—just as they had the unfortunate ensign who, startled by the admiral’s alien appearance, had stumbled and spilled the caf he’d fetched all over Thrawn’s command chair on the very first day the alien had assumed command of the Task Force Admonitor.

“Do not be ridiculous, Captain. Of course I didn't mean that literally. Nor will I repeat the Chandrilan phrase in their presence.”

The Chiss scoffed. “I simply need all my men to be able to work as a team. No matter how they decide to cease the hostilities, this nonsense ends today.” 

Dagon, you traitor! I thought we were friends! Parck inwardly cursed as he crossed paths with Niriz, who was on his way out of the Admiral’s office. 

Parck’s suspicions were later proven true; Niriz had confessed to everything, including his own role in Parck’s attempt to spook the Chiss. 

“Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi, I consider myself to be a very patient man, however, even my patience has its limits. Voss Parck is one of the few humans aboard who had expressed interest in studying Cheunh, but you have repeatedly mocked his pronunciation even though your own progress with Galactic Basic leaves much to be desired.”

Thrawn spoke demonstratively in Basic, slow enough that the other Chiss would understand. 

“Your condescending behavior and reckless actions have undermined my efforts once again and quite honestly, I’ve grown tired of your antics, Crahsystor. If you cannot overcome your sense of superiority, then perhaps you should consider handing the Household Phalanx over to someone else.” 

“Understand, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” Stent murmured quietly, his head hung low. 

“Incorrect answer.” Thrawn admonished, his tone glacially cold. “It’s either ‘I understand, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo’ or ‘Understood, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo.’” 

“Understood, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” Stent repeated in a resigned tone. It took all Parck’s effort not to openly gape at the meek and mellow Chiss next to him.

“I am glad we understand each other, Kres’ten’tarthi.” 

Thrawn’s glowing eyes shifted to Parck. Uh oh, it was his turn.

“And you, Commander Parck … I told you to leave the rogue Chiss warriors alone until they were ready to accept humans as their brothers-in-arms. Just what were you thinking?” 

“I wasn't thinking, sir.”

“No, clearly you weren't.” Thrawn verbally slapped him in the face. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Parck could see Stent’s face clouding in confusion. No doubt the rogue Chiss warrior expected Parck would try to defend himself by pointing out that it was Stent who had become so bored that he had decided to come and harass Thrawn’s ‘human servants.’ 

If Parck did that, there was a distinct possibility that Thrawn would have ripped off the burgundy red patch right off Stent’s shoulder and given the command to another warrior. 

Being a former Palpatinist himself, Parck understood how difficult it was for Stent to overcome the sense of one’s superiority. Frankly, the Chiss’s behavior wasn’t that different from Parck’s twenty years ago. 

Stumbling upon the blue-skinned alien’s hut had changed Parck’s life, just like pulling the Task Force Admonitor out of hyperspace had changed Stent’s. It was only a matter of time before the rogue Chiss warrior accepted his fate. 

“Crahsystor Kres’ten’tarthi, Commander Parck, you are both guilty of conduct unbecoming of a warrior. It is none of my business how you decide to cease the hostilities, but the next time you enter my office, there will be no sign of antipathy between the two of you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Parck replied instantly. 

“Yes, Syndic.” Stent breathed out, the expression on his pale blue face one of utter defeat, acceptance of the inevitable.

“Dismissed.” 

TO BE CONTINUED

Next: Ceasefire (1/2) 

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Ceasefire (1/2) 

An awkward silence followed after Parck and Stent had marched out of Thrawn’s office in unison; they both remained standing behind the closed door, each of them lost in their own musings. 

Parck’s mind returned to the time his path had first crossed with Thrawn’s.

Chancellor Palpatine had proclaimed himself the Galactic Emperor, the Galactic Republic had been reorganized into the Galactic Empire, and Parck had just assumed command of the Strikefast, one of the very first models of the latest class of warships, a Victory-class Star Destroyer.

He had been a very different person back then. Arrogant. Ambitious. Like the rest of the wealthy, conservative Corulagi eating straight from Palpatine’s hand, he had been convinced of the human race’s superiority over all others, fully embracing the New Order. 

With one exception. 

Parck had wanted to beat them all, to show the rest of his uptight, conservative family that he could make it to the top, telling his father that one day he would return as a governor and then he would screw the entire House of Citizens, the governing body of Corulag.

Parck hadn’t needed a Jedi General to oversee his activities during the Clone Wars. Oh no. He had been so fierce that the destruction he had left in his wake equaled the damage inflicted by the Jedi sorcerers. 

And he had been so looking forward to painting the walls of the House of Citizens with blood that he hadn’t realized he had been a puppet of a Jedi sorcerer all along: 

His Imperial Majesty, the Glorious Emperor Palpatine. 

Parck shuddered. 

Even after all these years, the malice in the yellowish eyes gave him nightmares.  

He had lost the count of how many times he had woken up in sheer horror, with the memory of the heavily disfigured, wrinkled-old face laughing at him from the shadows. 

“What about my reward, My Liege?” 

“Your reward, Captain Parck?” The Emperor had laughed. A sound which had made the hair stand up on the back of Parck’s neck.

“Your reward will be leaving the Throne Room in one piece… Which is more than most people in your position would get for being so daring in the first place. It seems that Mitth’raw’nuruodo isn’t the only unlimited resource of confidence around. Dismissed.” 

So much for Parck’s reward.

His cousin had been promoted to the rank of a Vice Admiral for bringing a race of alien assassins to Darth Vader’s attention, and bringing the cunning blue-skinned warrior to the Emperor was supposed to be Parck’s way of evening the score.

“What are you staring at, Myth’raw’etcetera?” Parck had snapped at the oh-so-proud alien who had the gall to stand tall even in the Emperor’s presence, talking to Palpatine like a leader to another leader, not like a mere servant to his master. 

The red-eyed fiend had averted his glowing eyes, finding a sudden interest in the Imperial Palace’s tapestry. 

Good. 

At least the subhuman scum had realized that his life would lay in Parck’s hands from now on and it wouldn’t be in his best interest if he had as much as snickered at Parck’s dismissal. 

Parck had been tasked with finding private tutors for the alien, giving him a brief orientation run in the Imperial Navy, and then sending him off on his way. Hopefully once the cocky bastard had left Parck’s ship their life paths would never cross again.

Parck shook his head, bringing himself back into the present with obvious effort. The universe had a weird sense of humor. 

Just how in the blazing fires of Mustafar he was supposed to make peace with an alien whose mindset probably rivaled Parck’s from back then? 

[Can you operate a shuttlecraft?] Stent asked hesitantly in Cheunh. 

“Uhhhh…” Parck spluttered, the sudden question taking him completely by surprise. 

“Can you drive TIE?” The Chiss tried again, this time in Basic.

“Oh, I understood you earlier,” Parck admitted, “it just totally came out of the blue. That’s an expression, not a racial slur.” He added, seeing the glowing eyes dangerously narrow. “If something happens out of the blue, it is completely unexpected.”

[I see. How well can you understand Cheunh, then?] Stent tilted his head to a side, evaluating him. He had the same body language as Thrawn, they all had, but their personalities were drastically different. 

“I can follow general conversation but no matter how hard I try, I end up saying different words than I intended.” 

[Yes. It seems to me that you are physically unable to pronounce the words themselves but Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo insists that it merely requires more practice.] 

Parck grimaced. “I only hope it won’t take years.” 

[It might.]

“Wonderful.” Parck said sarcastically. “Hopefully I’ll master it sooner than you can learn Basic grammar.” 

He expected Stent would come with another dry retort but to his surprise the Chiss let out a long-suffering sound. [It is a nightmarish language.] 

The pale blue wonder wouldn’t take it kindly if Parck pointed out that the Basic was considered the easiest language in the Galaxy, hence the name. 

“You need a teacher.” Parck said instead. 

[So do you.] Stent pointed out. 

A long, pregnant pause followed. 

[Perhaps I could help you with Cheunh pronunciation if you taught me Basic grammar.] 

It took all Parck’s acting skills not to openly gape at the overly proud alien. The Chiss had got to be kidding him! 

Only he wasn’t. 

Corulag moons, out of all stupid ideas in the universe, this one had to make it to top ten. 

“I… It’d be a real honor.” Parck mentally congratulated himself on recovering so quickly. He couldn’t turn the pale blue wonder down, not after the Chiss had swallowed his own pride. 

Still, taking him up on the offer had be one of the top three stupid ideas. The Chiss vigilante was a proverbial ticking thermal detonator and it was only a matter of time before he would blow up in Parck’s face. 

Stent made a series of small nods. Presumably in acknowledgment. Or gratitude. 

This was getting absurd. 

“Why did you ask if I could operate a shuttlecraft?” 

[Because it is where my primary talents lie. I am not particularly skilled at diplomacy or negotiation. When Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo mentioned that he leaves it to our discretion as to how we settle the dispute, I assumed I could perhaps take you on a ride in my clawcraft. I’m sorry but I couldn’t think of any other way to make myself more … approachable.] 

“It’s been years since I needed to, but I can fly a TIE or even a Lambda shuttle on my own.” Parck replied nonchalantly. It could have been worse, he supposed. The pale blue wonder could have suggested a martial arts practice session. While he could still easily pass the physical requirements for a Navy officer, Parck’s build was light-years from an Army soldier. 

And based on their physique, the Chiss warriors were well versed in both space and ground combat. 

Stent would have wiped the floor with him. 

[Then follow me.] 

TO BE CONTINUED 

I've always written Parck as a kind, open-minded soul. However, that doesn't exactly correspond with the typical Imperial Corulagi in Legends, such as Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel. Finally, I had the chance to write my thoughts down. I'm so proud of Myth'raw'etcetera by the way :-P 

In my headcanon, Parck has changed thanks to Thrawn. And since Thrawn got stuck with Eli Vanto in Canon, it's possible Canon!Parck becomes a boring villain who eventually joins the First Order (if he lives that long) :-/ What a waste... 

Also, I think I should add that a simple look into Palpatine's eyes didn't result in life-long nightmares. In my headcanon, the evil son of a bitch used the Dark Side of the Force on him.

I've been fascinated by Palpatine's POV ever since I first read this:

"This one is constantly thinking, analyzing, strategizing. He showed no fear, but was curious, studying me in turn."
―Emperor Palpatine about Grand Admiral Thrawn [src: The Essential Guide to Alien Species]

Does he really keep a diary??? But more importantly, do the entries start with "Dear Diary"???

Anyway, let's try Palpatine's POV, in the first person, naturally:

(setting: 20 years ago) 

“What about my reward, My Liege?” Captain Park asked once I had assigned him the task of giving Mitth’raw’nuruodo a brief orientation run in the Imperial Navy.

“Your reward, Captain Parck?” I laughed, repeating the little worm's words. the man was full of anger, hate, and self-loathing. Unfortunately, he had no Force sensitivity whatsoever. What a shame. He'd have made a fine apprentice otherwise. 

And he needed to be taught manners.

I looked directly into his eyes, drawing on the Dark Side of the Force. The deathly cold, invisible touch of a Sith Lord's mind should be enough to give the little worm nightmares for the rest of his life.

“Your reward will be leaving the Throne Room in one piece… Which is more than most people in your position would get for being so daring in the first place. It seems that Mitth’raw’nuruodo isn’t the only unlimited resource of confidence around. Dismissed.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Ceasefire (2/2) 

Stent took him to the part of the ship that had been given over to the Chiss. Once again, Parck had to suppress a smirk when he saw the changes the renegade warriors made to their designated area of space. 

They had painted Chiss affiliation symbols on the walls, replacing Imperial emblems with colorful banners, and had set the thermostat several degrees lower than the other areas of the ship. Niriz put on a particularly grumpy face when he first heard about it, muttering a long string of Huttese curses, a conduct completely unbecoming of a fine Core World gentleman.

Parck did his best to ignore the curious glances in his direction, even muttering a good day in Cheunh to the few warriors who openly stared at the weird human who had entered the Chiss den. 

Parck bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud at how the Chiss jerked in shock, both at being caught staring as well as at the casually delivered Cheunh greeting. At first he feared he might have mispronounced it but Stent assured him that he could at least say good day correctly. 

The Chiss warriors had never seen it coming. 

Once they arrived at the hangar, Stent gave him a brief lecture on the clawcraft’s operation system. It was rather awkward since Parck didn’t know the technical terms in Cheunh and Stent couldn’t express himself in Basic. 

Thus Parck stuck flimsies to the most important buttons and attached a note in Basic whenever he couldn’t read an ideogram. 

He strapped himself in, assuming a position of the navigator in the two-person heavy fighter, giving Stent full command of the vessel. While the model had been designed for two people, the renegade warriors flew alone, loading the empty seat with extra ammunition and supplies. Those who flew in pairs were the unlucky ones who had lost their fighters in a dogfight. 

“Ready for liftoff?” Stent asked over the Chiss version of a comm link. 

Instinctively, Parck tilted his head to the side at the sound. Wearing a headphone directly in the outer ear felt unnatural. The Galactic Empire didn’t use such strange technology. 

“Punch it.” 

The Chiss let out a loud snort. 

[As you wish.]

“Son of a Hutt!” Parck cursed as he was slammed backwards at the sudden acceleration. 

[You asked for it!] The Chiss replied with such open amusement Parck had never heard in Thrawn’s voice.

“Clawcraft pilot, this is Admonitor’s flight control. Do you require assistance?” Lieutenant Gernzy’s alarmed voice tuned into the comm frequency as they shot out of the hangar bay at a speed which suggested the pilot had lost control. 

“Lieutenant Lai Gernzy, this is Stent.” The pale blue wonder replied in accented Basic. “Talk away.”

“I see.” Came in a resigned reply. “Never mind, sir. Enjoy your flight.” 

Parck barked a laugh. “You do this often?” 

[Only when Lieutenant Lai Gernzy is on duty.] 

“Poor guy.” Parck felt pity for the young officer. “He’s just doing his job. What did he do to you?”

“His Cheunh very sucks at it.” Stent tried to explain. Given the nature of his job, Lieutenant Gernzy also decided to start studying Cheunh. His pronunciation must have been as bad as Parck’s. 

“You cannot say: ‘His Cheunh very sucks at it.’” Parck explained patiently as the clawcraft made a swoop around the Admonitor ’s superstructure. “It’s supposed to be: ‘He really sucks at Cheunh.’”

[Thank you.] Stent’s voice held a trace of genuine gratitude. [I will be sure to tell him. Verbatim. After all, he was the one who kindly informed me that my Basic ‘sucks’.]

Just in case, Parck added: “You know that there is no ‘s’ in the second person singular form, right?” 

[Yes.] The Chiss affirmed. [But sometimes I forget.] Then he switched to Basic. “You really suck at Cheunh, Commander Voss Parck.” 

Parck rolled his eyes. “Yes, that's grammatically correct.” 

The Chiss made an abrupt U-turn, sending the clawcraft into a spiral. 

“Nice maneuvers, mister,” Parck commented dryly. “Although unless you want me to vomit all over your clawcraft, I suggest you stop right there.”

The Chiss took his words literally, hitting the reverse thrusters so hard that it threw Parck forward, only the seat strappings preventing him from banging his head against the controls. 

“Oh, for kriff’s sake!” Parck exclaimed. “You really want me to puke in the cockpit, don’t you?” 

[I do not!] The Chiss defended himself. [I did what you asked!]

“Just … give me a minute, okay?” Parck took a series of deep breaths, trying to suppress the wave of nausea. He stared dead ahead, his eyes focused at the brightly colored stars scattered in the emptiness of space. 

[Do you still feel unwell?] The Chiss asked after more than a full minute had passed. 

“I’m alright, Stent.” Parck assured him. It was time to head back.

[Excellent. I wish to demonstrate the clawcraft’s maneuverability in the atmosphere.] The pale blue wonder announced, turning the heavy fighter upside down, and sped out towards an uninhabited gas giant. 

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: The Eye of the Storm

[Brace yourself, we are about to experience heavy turbulence.] Stent shouted over the comm as the clawcraft finished descending and was thrown off course by a powerful electromagnetic storm. 

The gas giant’s atmosphere showed a wide range of active phenomena, including band instabilities, vortices, storms and lightning, hundreds of times more powerful than those seen on terrestrial-type planets. 

“A TIE Fighter would have been ripped apart by now.” Parck muttered under his breath as unreadable Cheunh ideograms popped up on the screen in warning. At times, ignorance was bliss. 

[As you can see, the clawcraft is clearly superior to a TIE Fighter.] Stent said in a tone which suggested it should have been obvious. 

“I hope I’ll live to tell the tale.” Parck grunted. “I’m sure Niriz would love to hear it.”

[You will.] Stent’s attempt at reassurance failed miserably. [And I can happily provide Captain Dagon Niriz with the flight recorder if he is interested in specifics.] 

“Oh, definitely.” Parck murmured. The good old captain would never, ever let him live it down. Niriz would laugh right in Parck’s face. 

During his next side trip to the Galactic Empire, Thrawn had better come back with a TIE Fighter Corps General with an attitude cocky enough to rival the one of said Chiss. And who would beat the crap out of Stent in a holo-sim in such a spectacular fashion that the rogue warrior would be left with no choice but to acknowledge defeat and beg the ace pilot to teach him.

Sadly, such individuals were hard to come by. 

“Can you take us into the eye of the storm?” Parck pleaded. “I think my stomach is being wobbly again.”

Not really but he didn’t dare to push the heavy fighter to its limits. 

[As you wish.] 

Parck released a sigh in relief as they flew into an oasis of calm. Even the computer stopped protesting, the warning ideograms disappearing one by one. 

[The planet was supposed to be uninhabited.] Stent said in confusion, forwarding sensor readings from his screen to Parck’s. The clawcraft detected an installation in the relative safety of the oasis. It moved in accordance with the storm, which suggested it was built by a race who had access to highly advanced technology. 

The Admonitor’s task was to seek out such civilizations and annihilate them if they posed a threat to the Galactic Empire or to the Chiss Ascendancy. 

“Any life signs?” Parck asked.

[No life readings.] Stent replied, forwarding him the data. He tuned into the long range comm frequency. 

[Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo, Kres’ten’tarthi speaking. Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo, please respond.]

At least the pale blue wonder had the common sense to call in before he headed straight into the unknown. 

[Yes, ....’ten’tarthi?] Came in Thrawn’s smooth voice over the heavy interference. 

[Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo, there appears to be an abandoned alien installation located in the gas giant’s upper atmosphere. Requesting permission to investigate whether it poses a threat to the Chiss. Transmitting the data now.] 

For a moment they could hear only faint static. 

[Intersti… Appears that … no weapons … or life signs. The architecture … carries signs of … could be … Call in the … Phalanx … Squadron. Proceed with caution. …’nuruodo out.] 

[Renegade Squadron, this is Kres’ten’tarthi. Second, do you copy?] Stent called for reinforcements. 

[I copy, … First.] A Chiss warrior woman answered. It must have been Prard’aif’ineiro, aka Sub-Commander Daifi, Stent’s second-in-command. 

Stent repeated the exchange, ordering her to assemble the Renegade Squadron and meet him at their present coordinates. 

[There is an EVA suit placed under your seat. It might be a tight fit but it should serve its purpose. I am not leaving our survival to chance.] Stent informed Parck. The chair creaked as Stent moved in his seat and proceeded to remove his intra-vehicular flight uniform, putting on a much thicker garment used for work in the harsh environment of outer space, vacuum and temperature extremes.

In theory, a pilot’s IVA suit should be sufficient for a simple reconnaissance mission on a terrestial-type planet. However, they were located in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant, inhospitable by human and Chiss standards, so donning an EVA suit was a reasonable precaution. 

“You didn’t mention my presence,” Parck reminded him as he secured the helmet firmly in place. Its internal HUD system was designed for a Chiss eye, therefore the colors were off and the low-contrast Cheunh font was barely readable. Still better than a naked eye, Parck supposed. 

[Since you are already here, there is little point in sending you away. Stay out of danger and observe the Renegades in action.]

“I guess that means the Grand Admiral wouldn’t approve?” Parck stated the obvious. 

[Most likely. And neither would Prard’aif’ineiro.] Stent said with a small sigh. 

“Oh?” 

[If you think of my behavior towards you as disdainful, then be glad you didn’t need to deal with my second-in-command. She thinks of you as nothing but drooling, sexual impulse driven predatory beats.]  

Parck winced. “She must have overheard the barracks language.” 

[The Chiss possess keener hearing. Nevertheless, she believes that a significant portion of the sounds and remarks was meant to be heard.]   

“That’s … entirely possible, to be honest.” Parck conceded.

[I find it curious that Members of the Galactic Empire are not allowed to make advances towards the same sex but they can openly harass the opposite sex. At least as far as human males are concerned. I haven’t noticed such behavior from human females. The ones who expressed an interest in male warriors did so very discreetly.]   

Parck paused donning on the gloves. “There were female soldiers or scientists aboard who asked a Chiss out? How did that go?” 

Stent let out an amused sound. [To the best of my knowledge there were several warriors who responded favorably. Whatever impression the Chiss males left remains unclear. Given the considerable language barrier there was little to no conversation involved before, during, or after their mating sessions.] 

Parck openly laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned. At least the women had the common sense to remain discreet. If the men found out that aliens kriffed their female colleagues, all the Nine Hells of Corellia would break loose.”

[I don’t follow.] 

“Patriarchal human cultures across the Galaxy, which the Galactic Empire technically is considering its disproportional male-to-female service members ratio, have an issue when a woman of their clan has sex with a man of another clan. Human or alien. Because it’s the women who bear the name of the husband. And his children. Now, there are equal and even matriarchal human cultures like Kuati who don’t share such views but…” 

[I still don’t follow. I suppose it is another matter which needs to be brought to Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s attention...] 

“Perhaps,” Parck capitulated, using Thrawn’s favorite Basic word. “Never mind, looks like the Renegades are here.” 

TO BE CONTINUED

I've spent hours trying to find the official name of the squadron Stent had belonged to, until I eventually gave up and came up with the Renegades. Then, ofc, I finally found it... Gray Squadron. However, since this is still set before General Fel's arrival, I decided to keep the Renegades because I like the name :-P

And in any case, there would be multiple squadrons under Stent's command... The Renegades may belong to Daifi ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ An original Chiss warrior woman character who will make her debut in the next chapter. A relative of Prard'ras'kleoni. 

EDIT: A bonus because I couldn't resist :-P  Oh, the things going on aboard the Admonitor behind Niriz's back... 

Korlm had very little experience with humans. 

Like the rest of the Chiss warriors, he ventured into the areas inhabited by humans only when the duty demanded it. 

Since his presence was no longer required, Korlm was about to take the turbolift and return back to the Chiss level. As he pressed the button at the side of the door and waited for the elevator to reach the platform, he was approached by a human female who presumably wanted to use the elevator as well. 

Korlm paid little attention to the woman, stepping into the turbolift as soon as the door opened.

The human female followed him.

Korlm entered the aurabesh code for the Chiss level. However, to his surprise, the human female entered none. Instead, she opened her mouth and said something in Galactic Basic, which, unfortunately, Korlm couldn’t understand. 

Was she headed to the Chiss level? She must have, otherwise she would have entered a different destination. What a coincidence. 

Korlm shook his head, a gesture which humans shared with the Chiss. He tried his best to recall the proper words. “No speak. Sorry,” he tried. 

The human female hit the STOP button. Again, she opened her mouth and said something, much slower this time. 

Obviously, she wanted his help, otherwise she wouldn’t be talking to him. Perhaps she was unfamiliar with the Chiss level layout? Yes, that must have been the case. 

And she seemed oddly familiar. Korlm could have sworn that he had seen her a couple of times but he could have been wrong. The humans looked the same to him. He could tell them apart only thanks to the differences in their hair color and skin tone.

She had pale skin, short fair hair, and deep blue eyes. Pretty common. Could have been anyone.

She pointed at his waist, or more precisely, at his charric. Then she made a hand gesture which reminded him of a gun and made a series of noises, presumably mimicking the sound of a gunshot.

Oh. 

She was interested in his charric. 

Korlm moved his head up and down, happy that he finally got the message. Nod was another gesture which the Chiss shared with humans.

The human female grinned which took him completely by surprise. Humans expressed their emotions so freely. No Chiss would have ever smiled so broadly in front of a complete stranger. 

She kept babbling in Galactic Basic until she finally pointed at the control panel, keying in the aurabesh code for the ship’s armory. 

Oh. She wanted a demonstration.

Korlm decided to oblige the strange human who approached him on her own. He had finished with his task and there was nothing awaiting him in his quarters. If nothing else, it would be a welcome distraction from boredom. 

He followed her to the armory which was completely deserted since it was the middle of the human night cycle. 

She took him into one of the practice rooms and locked the door behind them, babbling on and on in Galactic Basic, muttering something about being hot in there. Yes, the temperature in the room was certainly high by the Chiss standards. And her body warmth was strangely increased.

He moved his head up and down in agreement. 

She took off the jacket of her uniform and walked towards the practice range, motioning him to join her. He obliged her and even took out his charric, allowing her to examine the weapon. 

She inspected the weapon but to his surprise she didn’t even try to fire a single shot at the target. Instead she leaned in and attempted to place the weapon back into his holster. 

Korlm froze. 

Did humans have no concept of personal space? Strange. He would have assumed otherwise. They even separated their bathing facilities by gender, which made little sense to him, especially since there were only a few human female soldiers and scientists aboard. 

However, it would have been unfortunate had he unintentionally caused the weapon to misfire. Therefore, he made no attempt to stop her. He firmly stood his ground as she cautiously placed the weapon back into the holster. 

And then she did the most unexpected thing. She proceeded to remove her black undershirt, lifting it up, revealing matching black underwear underneath, until finally she pulled it slowly over her head and threw it away, letting it fall to the floor. 

Korlm blinked. She couldn’t have been that hot, no, it must have been something else. He ran his glowing eyes over her body, taking into account the elevated heartbeat, the changes in her breathing, the shift in her body warmth distribution, and the sudden flush which seemed extreme to his Chiss eyes, as if she were suffering from high fever. 

Only it wasn’t a fever. It had to be the human version of arousal. The Chiss displayed similar signs although they were far more subtle. 

Hesitantly, his glowing eyes met hers. Her fair skin tone seemed unnatural to him, so very different from the shades of blue he had been used to. Yet her body shape and her physique were the same as an attractive Chiss woman. 

Well… if the human female was interested in recreation, he would gladly oblige her. It was the middle of the human night cycle, therefore the probability that they would get interrupted was low. The doors were locked from the inside. And the shooting range, just like the shooting range located at the Chiss level, was completely soundproof.

THE END 

You go, girl! And Korlm is so cute. No wonder she took liking to him. I think he will be able to recognize her from now on :-D 

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Nemesis 

[Why is one of Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s predatory beasts here?] Sub-Commander Daifi said in a condescending tone, reacting to Parck’s presence with open contempt. Had she not been wearing a helmet, she would probably have spit on the ground.  

[Mind your manners, Prard’aif’ineiro.] Stent rebuked her sharply.  [Commander Voss Parck can understand Cheunh.]

The Chiss warrior woman let out a loud snort. [Can it also speak Cheunh without sounding like a Troglodyte?]

Pack assumed the Cheunh word was an insult or an unintelligent life form. 

[He cannot.] The pale blue wonder ‘defended’ him. Wonderful. Thanks, Stent. [However, we have found a way to communicate.] 

A few other Chiss let out disdainful sounds. 

[The human is weak and slow. It will be a hindrance.] A male warrior said; the helmet’s internal HUD system assigned him with number three. 

[He is with me.] Stent declared in a voice of durasteel. [If you have a problem with his presence, I suggest you head back and wait for us aboard the Admonitor. I am sure Syndic Mitth’raw’nurudo will be interested in hearing your explanation as to why you keep addressing him as ‘it’ when we were instructed to treat the Syndic’s human servants with respect.] 

[They do not deserve to be treated with respect.] A female warrior snarled.  

So not only Sub-Commander Daifi had been subjected to inappropriate sounds and remarks from the predominantly male crew in a desperate need of shore leave. No wonder they thought of humans as nothing but drooling, sexual impulse driven predatory beasts. Still, they shouldn't judge the entire species based on the actions of single individuals. 

[Seventh,] Stent snapped at the warrior woman, [you shall stand guard outside, together with the Third. Anyone else have a problem with Commander Voss Parck? Or with me?] 

Stent added, his tone deceptively calm. It was how Grand Admiral Thrawn sounded when he was about to remind someone what was the difference between an error and a mistake. 

[No, First.] They all replied in unison.  

[Let’s go.] Stent commanded.

Parck switched over to a private channel. “A Troglodyte, huh? ” 

[It is an accurate assessment of your Cheunh skills. Making excuses would have made me look weak. And you, pathetic. The Chiss need to be approached from a position of strength and respect. We never deal with weaklings. Unfortunately, Commander Voss Parck, you are unable to overpower them physically and your communication skills are lacking. You will have to earn their respect otherwise.]  

The Renegade Squadron was divided into multiple groups after an initial sweep of the abandoned installation. There was no light, no breathing atmosphere, not even artificial gravity generators humming in the background, meaning the Chiss EVA suits had to compensate for the higher gravity of the gas giant.

Parck had to admit the Chiss technology quickly grew on him; the Galactic Empire didn’t bother assigning the TIE Fighter pilots with such sophisticated personal protective equipment. 

Too bad the helmet’s HUD system was giving him a headache. The Chiss eye was different from a human eye, meaning the internal display responded to different wavelengths. Moreover, there was no equivalent to a ‘night mode’ as humans would have called it since the Chiss could see clearly in the dark. 

Thus Parck’s vision was limited to a flashlight. How quaint. 

Given his ‘visual impairment’ Parck decided to do no exploration on his own and stuck close to Commander Stent as recommended. 

The Chiss sensors indicated no life signs. Still, the installation’s movement was kept in concordance with the eye of the storm, suggesting its owners had not intended to leave the station to its ultimate fate. 

When did they leave? And where?

But most importantly: Why?  

The Chiss warriors were wandering around, recording as much as possible. After all, Thrawn would be interested in the site’s design and architecture. 

[First?] Came in Sub-Commander Daifi’s voice. [We might have found something. Meet us at these coordinates.]

[I’m on my way.] Stent replied briskly. [Commander Voss Parck, follow me.] 

A map popped up on Parck’s internal display. He blinked twice, accepting the file, and the automated navigation system started pointing him towards Daifi’s location. Another cool feature. 

Daifi’s team was located three floors above them. 

They climbed the stairs in silence, Parck remaining several steps behind Stent, pointing the flashlight down so he wouldn’t stumble in the darkness. 

Then abruptly, the Chiss stopped. 

[Look up.] Stent instructed him. [The walls look corroded. Or … damaged, somehow.] 

Parck pointed the flashlight above. “Hmmm… To me it looks like they were being eaten.”

[Eaten?] The Chiss repeated. [Did I understand you correctly? Why would anyone consume a wall made from metal?]  

“Maybe it tastes delicious.” Parck joked, trying to alleviate the situation. “What? You’ve never eaten a wall in your life? Although it’s a bit crunchy.” 

[Was that supposed to be entertaining?] The Chiss asked in annoyance. 

“I guess not.” Parck gave up. “Still … it looks like someone had a feast.”

[Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired.] Stent chastised him. [Come, the Sub-Commander is waiting. However, refrain from attempts at humor in her presence. It could be misinterpreted as innuendo.] 

Who says I'm joking? Parck swallowed what was on his tongue, following the Chiss up the stairs. 

[What have you found, Second?] Stent asked once they reached Daifi’s location. 

[I don’t know what to make of it.] She gestured at the wall to her left. Parck pointed the flashlight in the direction. 

There appeared to be a mechanical … bug attached motionlessly to the damaged wall, as if it was shut down in the middle of its dinner. 

“My sense of humor leaves much to be desired, huh?” Parck commented over the private channel. As much as he wanted, he couldn’t openly challenge the pale blue wonder in front of his subordinate. 

[Commander Voss Parck seems to be under the impression that the walls were being systematically consumed. After seeing this machine, I am inclined to agree.] Stent admitted reluctantly. 

[But why?] Daifi wondered, cautiously coming closer to the mechanical bug. It looked dead. 

Parck pointed the flashlight directly at the creature. 

“It seems to be made from visually similar metal. Perhaps it used the wall to repair itself?” He speculated. “Can the helmet’s sensors tell if it’s made from the same material or if it just looks the same?” 

Stent shook his head. [No. We would have to obtain a sample for further analysis.] 

Daifi raised her hand, reaching out to the creature. 

“Don’t touch it!” Parck shouted in Basic. “Paz’hrui ma’da-wutch’ni!” He tried in Cheunh. 

The warrior woman roared in laughter. [What? Do you have any idea what you just said?] 

Parck winced. Shavit, his Cheunh was so bad it made a Chiss laugh… 

[Perhaps Commander Kres’ten’tarthi can translate it back to Basic for you.] She snickered.

[Second, this is enough.] Stent growled out dangerously. [You forget your place.]

“Then I shall explain myself.” She continued in heavily accented but grammatically correct Basic. 

Parck felt his jaw drop. “You can speak Basic, Sub-Commander?” 

Daifi snorted. “Yes. Unlike Commander Kres’ten’tarthi, I am gifted at foreign languages.” 

Parck’s jaw dropped even lower. He risked a glance at Stent who grew as still as the mechanical bug. 

Oh no, the bug!

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the bug had moved. Either the flashlight or the sound of laughter had woken it up from its deep slumber. 

It stretched its long legs and looked around, paying them no attention whatsoever, then leaned closer to the wall, tore off a piece of metal, and hurried away, its servomotors making a series of loud noises in protest. It must have been out of service for a long time. 

Similar sounds then could be heard from all around them. 

“Kriff.” Parck cursed at the same time the two Chiss said ktah in Cheunh. An expression Parck didn’t understand but he made an educated guess as to its meaning.

TO BE CONTINUED

The chapter's title is a reference to Star Gate: SG-1 episode s03e22 - Nemesis. Yes, it's Replicators! *evil laugh*

In case you haven't seen the show, watch this short youtube vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwVv7YxzB3A

A silly bonus :-P  Set after the end of their little space adventure. 

"Good morning, Captain," Parck said as he sat down next to Niriz in the mess hall.

"Good morning." Niriz replied casually, eyeing the other man with growing suspicion. Parck preferred to eat breakfast alone; he joined Niriz only when there was a serious problem with the crew. Therefore let Parck at least finish his morning caf before cutting right into the heart of the matter.

"Spill it, man."

"Captain, we have a problem."

"So I've gathered. What is the problem, Commander?"

Parck sighed. "The crew is in a desperate need of shore leave."

Niriz snorted. "That's not an option. Not since the Grand Admiral just came back. You realize that better than anyone else."

"Dagon, it's not just men. Apparently, a couple of female soldiers and scientists onboard decided to find out whether the humans and Chiss are compatible."

"What?!" Niriz's loud exclamation made a couple of nearby officers look in their direction. They quickly returned to their breakfasts once Niriz threw them all a hard glare.

"Don't tell me that it surprises you that the women would rather go for the Chiss, given that they don't openly ogle them. I've been approached many times in the past for the very same reason."

Niriz shook his head. "How did you find out? They called you in to act as an interpreter to clear the misunderstanding?"

"The pale blue wonder told me." Parck explained. "And to quote Commander Stent, there were several warriors who responded favorably."

"What?!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Small Victories 

The chapter's title is a reference to Star Gate: SG-1 episode s04e01 - Small Victories. 

[Your undignified action has alerted the machine!] Stent seethed with anger, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury. [Shame on you!]

[It didn’t turn on because I laughed!] Daifi defended herself furiously. [It was triggered by the  Troglodyte’s flashlight!]

“It might have been the flashlight.” Parck interrupted their argument. “At this point it hardly matters whose fault it is…” 

[What course of action do you suggest, then?] Stent turned to Parck. Daifi made a sound which suggested she couldn’t care less for Parck’s opinion. 

[Mind your manners!] Stent silenced her. [His insight has proven useful. Unlike yours.]  

“It bit off a chunk of the metal and left. Clearly, it must be building something.” Parck speculated. It didn’t need the wall for its own repair. “The question is what.” 

Stent nodded in agreement. [We should determine its main objective. At this time, it doesn't act hostile. However, its behavior may change. Where is the rest of your team, Second?] 

[They went in the same direction as the machine.]

Stent cursed in Cheunh. [Attention, Renegades: We are surrounded by machines with unknown purpose. Do not engage them. I repeat, do not attack first. Ask for permission before returning fire.] 

[Acknowledged, First.] All reported in. 

Parck had to admit that Stent’s command style wasn’t as reckless as he had imagined. Stent suggested donning EVA suits which turned out to be a reasonable precaution, he reported back to Thrawn, waiting for reinforcements rather than heading straight into danger, he  defended Parck (in his own fashion), he advised caution face to face with the unknown, and he even took Parck’s advice into account. 

Parck could see why Thrawn hadn’t relieved Stent of command despite his initial condescending behavior and mediocre language skills. Of course, back then Parck couldn’t have known that Stent’s senior officers were an even less hospitable bunch. 

“If the machines ‘eat’ metal, they may come out and damage the clawcrafts, albeit unknowingly.” Parck speculated again. “You should alert the Third and the Seventh.”

Stent quickly translated Parck’s words into Cheunh for the two warriors who stood guard outside, giving them permission to fire in case the machines approached their fighters. 

The clawcrafts were their only means of escape. Imperial shuttles wouldn’t have withstood the gas giant’s storm. 

They hurried after Daifi’s teammates. 

[First, Second,] one of her warriors reported in. [Have a look at this.] 

The two Chiss stopped right in their tracks and Parck was about to ask what happened when Stent forwarded him video feed from the warrior’s HUD. 

Daifi’s teammates happened to come across a whole colony; they were located in a large storage filled with the strange machines, with a giant superbug located in the middle of the room. 

The bug carrying a chunk of metal hurried towards it; it handed the piece over to the superbug which let out a series of screeching sounds in reply. Other bugs came back to life, crawling over to the metal walls. 

“A queen?” Parck concluded. “Ummm… a mother bug?” He supplied, realizing the word queen probably didn’t translate well into Cheunh in this context. 

[If that machine’s main function is to create new models...] Daifi started. 

[Then the others may try to protect it at all cost.] Stent finished. [Get out of there!] 

The order came too late. 

One of the unlucky Chiss who came too close to the queen was attacked by a nearby bug and they could only watch in horror as the machine poured acid all over his EVA suit. Others tried to shoot it with their charrics but the energy particle weapons seemed to have little to no effect. 

Then the built-in camera went dark. 

Their avatars disappeared. Presumably, they were all dead. 

Stent cursed loudly in Cheunh. [Tactical Retreat! We are leaving this wretched place for good!] 

Parck wholeheartedly agreed with Stent’s command decision. Particularly since their charrics were useless. Attempting to recover the fallen would have led only to further losses. 

[Adjust the EVA suit’s gravity countermeasures.] Stent recommended. [Set it to a comfortable level for running. You remember how?] 

Parck nodded. He couldn’t read the ideograms so he had the sequence memorized. He looked at the HUD’s upper left corner, blinked twice to access the menu, looked at the third ideogram from the top, then shook his head to adjust the scale. He set it to a small moon’s gravity level, which would make him run faster and jump farther than usual. 

Still, the Chiss grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him away by force. 

They ran as fast as they could, until they reached the top level’s blast door leading to the landing platform. 

Charric fire could be heard from the distance, then the bugs’ servomotors. Two more Chiss warriors howled in pain and their avatars subsequently disappeared. 

Parck cursed in Ryl. And Zabraki. The only alien languages he ever spoke as a remainder of the Clone Wars (if swear words counted as such). 

[Quickly! Get into the fighter! ] Stent yelled. [Start the engine! We’ll stall them!]

“How?!” Parck shouted but complied, thanking whatever higher power in the universe he had attached stickers to the buttons. Otherwise they’d be going nowhere. 

[Daifi!] Stent called after the warrior woman. The situation must have gotten desperate when the Chiss dropped the formalities and resorted to core names. 

[Stent, go! I’ll try to plant an explosive.]

[Moactan teel! Just throw it as far as possible and run! ] 

A loud explosion could be heard from the distance just as Parck climbed up into the cockpit. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury to look around. He blindly punched the buttons, internally praying he had written down the sequence right. 

It seemed the diversion worked. 

Stent jumped into the cockpit using the suit’s enhanced momentum, quickly strapped himself in, and took over the controls from Parck. 

[You want to shoot the vermin out of the sky?] Stent called as the weapon targeting system lit up on Parck’s screen. 

[With pleasure.] Parck smirked. He aimed as the clawcraft lifted off the platform, spraying the installation with fire. And with proton torpedoes. 

[Destroy those clawcrafts!] Stent ordered to fire at the fighters whose unfortunate owners had died in battle. 

[Yes, First!] Came in Daifi’s voice. She made it! 

[Daifi!] Stent growled over a private channel. [You nearly got yourself killed! I’ll have you demoted to the Forty-Second!] 

[You’re welcome.] Came in an amused reply.  

Parck chuckled. 

[What?!] The Chiss barked out. 

“She sure is something.” Parck commented. 

[Her arrogance will be her downfall.] Stent grumbled, which was a bit rich coming from him. [However, I think she won’t address you as ‘it’ anymore, Commander Voss Parck. Your reasoning impressed her.] 

Parck cleared his throat. “You don’t have to address me by my rank and full name all the time, you know. Voss is fine. Or Parck. Whatever you prefer.” 

Silence.

“Just rank is fine, too.”

[I shall call you Parck, then.] The Chiss said finally. [There are certain implications of familiarity involved with human given names…]

Parck grinned. “Oh, I get it. We are not friends.”

Stent snorted. [Do you consider me a friend?]

He had to admit that the Chiss had a point; true friendship was exceedingly rare. There weren’t many people whom Parck considered to be his real friends. 

“One day I will. Hopefully. Meanwhile let’s work on your Basic grammar, Mister.” 

[Thank you, Parck.] There was a sincere humility in Stent’s voice. [And I would not be opposed to watching another holodrama with you. The Conjuring proved to be highly … imaginative. And educational.]  

It was probably for the best the Chiss couldn’t see the mischievous expression on Parck’s face. He would turn the pale blue wonder into a holo addict.

[Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo,] Stent tuned into the long range comm frequency as the clawcrafts kept firing at the installation.

[Yes, ... Kres’ten’tarthi?] 

[I humbly request that you hit the installation with heavy turbolaser cannons. All batteries the Admonitor can possibly spare.]  

[And ... reason for such ... excessive … force and …  of ammunition?] 

Parck took a deep breath. Screw it. By now, his absence must have been noted. 

“With all due respect, sir, this is one of the situations in which firing first, asking questions later is justified. I wholeheartedly agree with Commander Stent’s professional assessment. Hit it with everything we’ve got.” 

“Very well. Captain Niriz, fire at will.” 

THE END

Bye bye, replicators.

It was difficult to come up with a scenario in which all three would play a role. I wanted Daifi to come off as arrogant but capable, Stent as a harsh but fair (and responsible!) commander, and Parck as the observer type who isn't a match for the Chiss warriors (he's in his 50s, guys, be realistic), but he can offer his insight.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Vignettes 

Before I move on to the next story arc, I want to upload a couple of review bonuses:

Bonus #1:

Dammit, Voss, where are you? Niriz internally cursed for what must have been the tenth time. Technically, Parck was off duty for the rest of the day but it wasn’t like him to miss the action.

And an entire squadron of the Chiss vigilantes heading towards a supposedly uninhabited gas giant immediately followed by the Grand Admiral’s personal arrival to the bridge meant nothing good. So far, the white-attired alien didn’t issue any orders; he merely stood by the viewports, staring at the planet below in complete silence.

However, it was only a matter of time before the Nine Hells of Corellia broke loose.

Due to the heavy interference, it was impossible to tell what was going on in the gas giant’s atmosphere.

“Sir, I’m picking up multiple energy spikes.” An ensign called from the crew pit, his tone rising in pitch. “Corresponds with clawcraft fire.”

“Red alert.” Niriz ordered immediately, risking a glance at his commanding officer as the young ensign called into the mic: ‘General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations.’

“Still no word from Commander Stent?” The Grand Admiral calmly asked from the viewports; he turned on his heel and started walking towards Niriz in long, carefully measured strides.

“No, sir.” Lieutenant Gernzy replied. “In Basic or Cheunh.”

Thrawn nodded.

“I’ve authorized Commander Stent with a simple reconnaissance mission, Captain.” The alien admiral explained. “There appeared to be an abandoned installation in the planet’s upper atmosphere. Coordinates 80-7958-60-4305. Perhaps the site wasn’t abandoned after all.”

“Sir, shouldn’t we be deploying the TIE Fighters, then?” Niriz inquired. A standard practice, however, the casualty rate would be unusually high today given the gas giant’s powerful electromagnetic storms.

“Let’s give the Renegade Squadron more time, Captain.” Thrawn, as usual, disregarded the Imperial protocol. “If they call for reinforcements, I will alert the rest of the Household Phalanx in Cheunh.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Commander Parck is with the Renegades, Captain.” Thrawn said offhandedly, explaining Parck’s absence.

Niriz blinked. “Ah, of course, you sent him as a personal envoy.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Thrawn had sent Parck to carry out a mission without anyone’s knowledge.

“I did not.” The Chiss mentioned thoughtfully, his expression clouding in a frown.

Wait… What?!

“Sir, incoming transmission in Cheunh.” Lieutenant Gernzy reported. 

“Put it on the main speaker, Lieutenant,” Thrawn commanded. Highly unusual since the Grand Admiral was the only one who could understand the entire message. Gernzy might catch a few words here and there but he was far from being fluent.

Commander Stent’s deep voice filled the bridge as the two Chiss exchanged a couple of words in the strange, fluid language of their species.

Then suddenly, another person joined in the conversation.

Parck.

“With all due respect, sir, this is one of the situations in which firing first, asking questions later is justified. I wholeheartedly agree with Commander Stent’s professional assessment. Hit it with everything we’ve got.”

A blue-black eyebrow cocked up.

Dammit, Voss, there’d better be an excellent explanation…

However, the white attired Chiss only shrugged and gestured at the weapon’s officer to heat up the heavy turbolaser cannons.

“Very well. Captain Niriz, fire at will.”

Bonus #2:

Parck firmly grasped the other man's gloved hand as Stent helped him to climb down from the cockpit. Despite all the cool features, climbing down the ladder in Chiss EVA suit proved difficult. Or perhaps he simply needed more practice with the suit's settings; Stent had moved as if the heavy duty gear was his second skin.

As his feet touched the ground, Parck finally removed his helmet, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Stent's hair was as disheveled as his own but there was no visible sweat. Either the Chiss had different means of thermoregulation or the suit could respond to the changes in the Chiss body temperature.

"I dare say we make hell of a team, Mister." Parck gave Stent an enthusiastic pat on the shoulder at which the Chiss abruptly froze, staring at Parck as if he had entirely lost his mind.

"Sorry." Parck quickly withdrew his hand. "That's... a human friendly gesture."

The Chiss blinked. [Yes... I have seen it before.]

Parck cleared his throat. "Mind if I take shower before I change back into the Imperial uniform?" He looked around. The aurabesh signs and room designations were replaced with Cheunh ideograms. "Which way to the men's refreshers?"

The Chiss blinked again. [We do not separate bathing facilities by gender.]

The good old captain is going to have an aneurysm, was the first thing that came to his mind. What if I accidentally ran into one of the Chiss warrior women who were subjected to inappropriate sounds and remarks from the human male crewmembers, was the second. A misunderstanding could have potentially catastrophic results.

"You know what? Just take me back into the quartermaster's office."

Bonus #3: 

There was a reason why Korlm ventured into the human portion of the ship during the gamma shift—it was the middle of the human night cycle, which meant less people wandering around the hallways, less noise and less distraction. 

Humans were loud and undisciplined. 

His task for the night was to familiarize himself with the 74-Z speeder bike, which turned out to be harder than he had imagined; the machine translation of the repair manual was full of mistranslations and factual errors. During the past two hours, he had already cursed more than he usually did in a month.

Korlm could faintly hear the sound of footsteps as someone was trying to silently approach him from behind. 

“What?” He snapped at the human who was foolish enough to sneak up on an angry Chiss. No doubt the moactan teel approached him in an attempt to engage him in unnecessary casual conversation in a language he couldn’t speak. 

“Hello, Korlm.” 

He recognized the voice immediately. It belonged to no one else than Corporal Rhia Meiral of the Admonitor’s Army Corps. 

“Corporal Rhia Meiral.” He spun around to face the strange human female with whom he had mated two weeks ago. 

“Rhia.” She reminded him. 

They introduced afterwards, and he didn’t need to speak Galactic Basic to understand that she wished to be addressed by her given name; she kept repeating ‘Rhia, Rhia, Rhia’ until he gave up and called her Rhia. 

“Rhia.” He humored her. It was only fair, he supposed, since she was unable to pronounce his full name. 

“????????????????????.” Rhia Meiral said in Basic. 

“Sorry.” Korlm shook his head. Out of all warriors, she had chosen to talk to the one with the worst language skills. He was a warrior-mechanic; his speciality was manual labor. He was fairly confident that once he made sense of the repair manual he could disassemble and reassemble the vehicle (any vehicle or vessel, actually) but when it came to languages … 

He barely passed obligatory Cheunh classes. 

And his calligraphy resembled a pre-schooler’s finger painting. 

His only consolation was that Rhia Meiral’s attempt at Cheunh pronunciation made him consider shooting himself in the head. He’d never have imagined that it was physically possible to mangle his full name so badly.

“Present.” She intonated very slowly.  

As if the language itself wasn’t complicated enough, Basic pronunciation was different from planet to planet (sometimes even from one planetary region to another) which resulted in total chaos to the sensitive ears of the Chiss. 

To humans, the differences were subtle, perhaps even barely noticeable, although there were people aboard who realized it might pose a problem for the Chiss. Commander Voss Parck toned down his native accent whenever he addressed Commander Kres’ten’tarthi, as did the members of the ship’s Flight Control and Communication Departments. 

Present. 

He recognized the word. 

There was only one catch, did she mean ‘present’ as in ‘now’ or ‘present’ as in ‘gift’?

It was possible that Rhia Meiral inquired about his presence in the storage facility but from the way she clasped her hands firmly behind her back he concluded she was hiding something. 

“Gift?” He surmised.

Her face lit up in a smile. So expressive, so carefree... She spoke happily in Basic, presumably praising his language skills. If she only knew. He had lost her the moment she stopped paying attention to her pronunciation. 

Then she proudly showed him what she had been hiding behind her back. 

It was food. 

A dessert of sorts. Freshly baked, judging from the amount of heat emanating from the spongy substance. Rhia Meiral must have started working on it as soon as she had noticed his presence in the storage facility. 

It took all Korlm’s effort to keep his face impassive. If it was as bad as the meals served aboard the Admonitor … 

“Thank you.” 

Her smile widened as she spoke again, presumably encouraging him to give it a try. Oh no. He hated human food… Think!   

He raised his hands, coming up with a convenient excuse. 

“Oil.” 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the deterrent he had hoped for. She quickly produced a handkerchief from her pocket so he could clean his hands. 

Ktah.

“Work?” 

Rhia Meiral chuckled. “????? ?? ??? ? minute.” 

Just a minute of pure gastronomical torture. If he accepted, he would likely burst in tears. If he refused, she would take it personally. In either case, he was doomed. 

How he wished for the red alert … Where was an enemy when you needed one?!

“Minute. Okay.” He murmured softly in resignation, wiping his hand with the cloth. “Thank you.” 

He took the warm spongy substance into his hand, raising it to his lips. He didn’t even try to smell it first; there were human meals which made him feel nauseated from the smell alone. 

Hmmm…

It wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t bad at all. 

It still tasted plain but compared to the meals served aboard the Admonitor it was first class cooking. 

“Good?” 

There was so much eagerness in her voice. Ridiculous. On the other hand, all the Chiss aboard had fantasized about having access to an oven (of any type, even to an old fashioned one). Perhaps she could lend them hers? If she did, she would become the most popular human basically overnight. 

“Good.” He admitted as he was finished with the dessert. 

Rhia Meiral started a long monologue in Basic, presumably explaining to him the origins and the composition of the food. Unfortunately, he could only understand the words ‘my planet.’ She must have greatly overestimated his language skills. 

“More?” She asked then, giving him a sly wink. Her deep blue eyes fell to his waist. “Charric?” 

Charric? 

Wait… was that an euphemism for recreation? She seriously wanted to mate right now?

Korlm shook his head. “Work.” 

She burst in laughter. Korlm frowned; it wasn’t supposed to be entertaining. He was being serious!

“No. ?????  ??? what ??? finish ?????????.” 

After he was finished with what he had been doing? Ancestors, that could take all night. He leaned over for the datapad, handing her the repair manual. 

“Know machine?” He asked. 

Rhia Meiral was a precision sharpshooter, not a mechanic. However, she must have used a 74-Z speeder bike on an occasion. Perhaps she could be of assistance. 

“Ummm… ???????” She mentioned with a small shrug. 

“? ??????” she tried again, clearly realizing that he didn’t understand. Until finally she said: “Little” in standardized Core World pronunciation. 

A little. 

The way this was going, he doubted there would be time for recreation tonight. Still, he decided to accept her help. Anything was better than the machine translation. 

THE END

The two moactan teels are adorable. 

While most Chiss warriors are probably cold and condescending at this time, there must be warm, kind types as well. I assumed it’d be the lowest ranking ones. 

As for Rhia Meiral, this time I shamelessly admit the Mandalorian inspiration (this bonus chapter was a spontaneous evening fun). I really loved the episode where Mayfeld, Shand and Dune showed off their marksmanship skills. Precision sharpshooter she is! 

However, the decision to make her into an Army woman sprung up even before the Mandalorian episode (although I'd imagined her in an AT-ST). It’s as if only the Imperial Navy and TIE Fighter Corps existed, but hey, there is the Imperial Army! And it’s different from the StormTrooper Corps. 

(Both the Imperial Army and the StormTrooper Corps have their own sniper divisions although I wonder if the latter can hit the target :-P ) 

In order to approach a Chiss warrior on her own, Rhia had to be pretty daring, which explains how she'd be able to survive in the harsh Army environment. I bet she comes from Corellia. Never tell her the odds. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: The Ready Room 

Author's Note: I'm aware that the term "patriarch" (the head of a Chiss family) is Canon, not Legends, but it doesn't contradict anything from Legends so ... I'm using it. Frankly, I don't like the term. It's weird, especially since Chiss women are called patriarchs, too. Src: Del Rey's tweet 'cause fans immediately asked if the Chiss have matriarchs. 

Parck and Niriz didn’t need to invite Commander Stent for their next weekly meet-up over a fine glass of alcohol. The pale blue wonder invited himself. And to their astonishment, he didn’t come alone. 

Niriz gaped like a Mon Calamari. And frankly, so did Parck. 

“Sub-Commander Daifi,” Niriz recovered first. Naturally, they had been officially introduced shortly after her arrival at Admonitor; it was just that none of Stent’s senior staff had spoken a word to them since. Let alone actively sought them out. 

Perhaps the encounter with the mechanical bugs signaled a change. 

Daifi didn’t return Niriz’s greeting. She didn’t smile, didn’t blink, she marched in without acknowledgment. 

Well, then, … perhaps not. 

Niriz threw a hard glare at the pale blue wonder who at least had the decency to bow in apology. 

“Captain Dagon Niriz, Parck,” Stent addressed them in Basic. “My hope we are welcomed.” 

“Come in, Commander Stent.” Niriz said in resignation. “Make yourself comfortable. A glass of Chandrilan brandy?”

“No, thank you,” the Chiss declined. “It is no good.” 

“Really?” Niriz narrowed his eyes. “Funny, last time you didn’t mention it…” 

Stent appeared to be completely at a loss. “Last time was my first time. It were impolite declining.” 

“And now it’s polite?” 

Stent tilted his head to the side. “Is it not?” 

Parck snickered. Niriz just shook his head, motioning him to come in and sit down. Obviously, the Chiss couldn’t appreciate the galaxy’s finest alcohol. 

Right after Corulag lager. Naturally. Sadly, the overly proud Chandrilan would never concede defeat and admit that the Corulagi produced the best booze in the Galaxy. 

If Parck was the Captain, they would be drinking Corulag lager instead. 

“The Chandrilan Brandy is wasted on them.” Parck said aloud. “More for us, then.” 

The thought instantly brightened Niriz’s mood. He retreated further into the Ready Room, pulling out two more chairs. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Niriz asked once all of them were comfortably seated. 

The two Chiss exchanged a baffled glance. Daifi’s language skills greatly outweighed Stent’s but it seemed she was unfamiliar with colloquial expressions. 

Parck cleared his throat. “The Captain inquired as to why did you join us if not to exchange stories over a glass of alcohol.” 

The two pairs of glowing eyes brightened up with a spark. Bingo. 

“I am interested in learning more about the Kuati.” Daifi declared boldly in grammatically perfect Basic. 

“Your Basic is excellent, Sub-Commander.” Niriz breathed out in genuine surprise. Parck had told him but the good old captain didn’t believe it. “What interests you in the Kuati? The Kuat Drive Yards?” 

“Their matriarchy.” 

“Oh.” It made perfect sense the Chiss warrior woman would be interested in Kuat’s form of governance. She would have made a fine Kuati woman herself. 

“Commander Kres’ten’tarthi looked up the words patriarchy and matriarchy in the dictionary after Commander Voss Parck told him about the Kuati,” Daifi explained. “And he found out that the word “patriarch” is what you call a false friend or a deceptive cognate.” 

Niriz frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.” 

Niriz couldn’t speak any alien language. Parck could only speak a bit of Ryl and Zabraki but he had heard of the term in a slightly different context. 

“The term ‘false friends’ refers to pairs of words in two languages, or in two dialects of the same language,  that look and/or sound the same but have different meanings. I guess there is something about the word ‘patriarch’ that doesn’t translate well into Cheunh.” 

“You are correct, Parck.” Stent nodded thoughtfully. “In Cheunh, a patriarch is a head of the line. But no male head of a line. Just a head. Councilor is better into Basic translating than patriarch.” 

“I see.” Parck realized why their earlier exchange about patriarchy and matriarchy made little sense to the pale blue wonder. 

“I find it most intriguing.”  Of course she would. 

“Soon after our arrival, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo mentioned something very peculiar. None of us could understand back then but I believe I’m starting to understand now. ‘There is a typical Mon Calamari, a typical Twi’lek, even a typical Chiss. But a typical human? There is no such thing as a typical human.’” Daifi directly quoted Thrawn. (*)

“‘I could give you a lecture about the importance and the role the environment and conditions played in shaping and affecting the human minds. It would take days, perhaps weeks to even get past the basics. However, despite all that, despite all their differences, they still remain one species. In other words, my fellow warriors, humans are the true work of art. A one that I am still not done analyzing yet.’” 

For the second time today, Niriz and Parck were stunned speechless. 

“Grand Admiral Thrawn really said that?” Niriz was visibly moved. 

“Yes. And I strongly disagree about you being a work of art.” Daifi made a contemptuous sound. “However, I’m now beginning to understand what he meant that there is no such thing as a typical human.” 

“Perhaps one day you will understand Thrawn’s words fully.” Parck retorted dryly. She sure was something… He had to agree with the pale blue wonder; her arrogance would be her downfall. 

“Kuati society is dominated by powerful ruling families that constantly fight among themselves and employ telbuns to prevent inbreeding. A telbun is a middle-class human from the Kuat system chosen by one of the great merchant families to parent a child with a Kuati noble. Once selected, they become the property of the upper class. The slave-like status of the telbun strikes many outsiders as inhuman.” 

The two Chiss tilted their heads to the side. Each to a different side, Parck noted with interest. 

“Fascinating. The Chiss society is also dominated by powerful ruling families that constantly fight among themselves and we also adopt common-born Chiss. However, such individuals do not become slaves. In fact, Mitth’raw’nuruodo himself is a trial-born, a commoner accepted into one of the Ruling Families thanks to the process known as adoption by merit.” 

For the third time today, Niriz and Parck were stunned speechless. 

“Our society is neither matriarchal nor patriarchal. There are women who choose to dedicate their lives to the motherhood just like there are men who dedicate their lives to the fatherhood. The only action that fathers cannot perform is breastfeeding. During that time, it is necessary for the woman to abandon her post. Once the baby does not require breast milk, the family decides who takes care of the child. It may be the mother, it may be the father, both, but also the extended family, or even an adoptive family.” 

In just one evening, they learned more about the Chiss than Thrawn had mentioned in years. 

“However, I did not come here to lecture you about the Chiss. I am interested to hear how the matriarchal Kuati society fits into the patriarchal Galactic Empire.”

“The answer is simple. Kuat Drive Yards.” Niriz explained. “Kuat Drive Yards is the largest military shipbuilding corporation in the galaxy. Many Kuat products can be found in TIE Fighters, AT-STs and AT-ATs, Star Destroyers, and other military vehicles. However, Kuat Drive Yards don’t sell only to the Imperials. Many planetary governments purchase its weapons for the purposes of defending their planet from the war. These circumstances helped to make Kuat Drive Yards one of the most famous corporations in the galaxy.” 

“So the Galactic Emperor is tolerating matriarchy for vessels?” Stent summarized in broken Basic. 

“Pretty much.” Parck agreed. “Then there is Moff Thichis Kuras, a man. He’s Kuati himself, though one from the lesser nobility. His appointment was made by Emperor Palpatine in order to balance Kuat's military security needs with Kuati's aristocratic sense of self-governance along with its regal pride.” 

Daifi raised an eyebrow. “Kuati matriarchs tolerate a man in charge?” 

Parck shrugged. “According to my contact in Kuat government, it is an alliance mutually beneficial to both.” 

“Your contact in Kuat government?” Niriz sneered. “It wouldn’t be Prince Charming from the Tekshar Falls Casino, would it?”

“It would.” Parck gritted his teeth. He should have known Niriz would never, ever let him live it down. Thankfully, the two Chiss had no idea what Niriz hinted. 

“You are acquainted with Kuati nobility?” Daifi looked stunned. As did Stent. 

“He is. Intimately.” Niriz threw in, enjoying Parck’s discomfort far too much. Getting kriffed by a Kuati prince as a result of a lost bet in strip sabbac didn’t sound as cool as kriffing a Kuati princess after a crushing victory; a heavily edited, heterosexual version of the story he had made up to impress Niriz. 

Parck straightened in his chair.  “Did you know that Kuati nobles refer to themselves in the royal we?” 

“What is ‘the royal we?’” Stent repeated slowly. 

“It means they refer to themselves in plural. A single individual who refers to himself or herself in plural, I mean.” Parck explained to the oblivious Chiss. 

“Including this Moff Thichis Kuras?” Daifi wondered. 

“Not in front of the Emperor.” Now that was a mental image. The governor wouldn’t have lived long enough to regret it. 

“And your Kuati prince? He refers to himself as … us?” Stent added thoughtfully. It was probably too much for the Chiss brain to handle. 

Parck tried his best to emulate the Kuati’s heavy accent: “We play the Idiot’s Array.”  

Niriz burst in laughter. “By the Emperor, you lost to the Idiot’s Array?” 

Parck grimaced. “I had Pure Sabbac.” 

Unfortunately, an Idiot's Array trumped even Pure Sabacc. 

Still, what were the odds of having the Idiot’s Array?! The son of a matriarch must have cheated! There was no other explanation. 

Niriz winced. “Auch.” 

The two Chiss stared as if Parck and Niriz had entirely lost their minds. 

“Humans.” Daifi let out a derogatory sound. Stent inclined his head in agreement. 

Parck was about to come up with a dry retort when the two Chiss abruptly started arguing in Cheunh. 

[Daifi…] Stent began, addressing the warrior woman by her core name. 

[It was your idea, Stent.] She protested. 

[But your Basic is much better.] Stent countered. [I can’t express myself so freely in the nightmarish language.] 

[I don’t want to be the one to say it! I think it will be a disaster.] She pouted. [Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo doesn’t like it one bit either.] 

[Still, he conceded.] Stent pointed out. 

[Only because the Troglodyte’s presence proved useful.] Daifi made a sour face. 

[They will behave.] Stent insisted. 

[They will behave like the drooling, sexually driven predatory beasts they are.] 

[They will behave, Prard’aif’ineiro.] Stent repeated in a tone of a commander who didn’t appreciate his command decisions being questioned by subordinates. 

“What’s going on?” Niriz murmured. “What are they arguing about?”

“Trust me, Captain.” Parck sighed softly. “You don’t want to know.” 

[Fine.] The warrior woman looked as if Parck just mangled her full name. [I will happily remind you once they stomp upon the Chiss customs. Then you can go ahead and demote me to the Forty-second for real.] 

She switched to Galactic Basic: “Commander Kres’ten’tarthi has decided to invite the two of you to a Chiss ceremony. He thinks it could be a great opportunity for you to learn more about the Chiss warrior culture.”

“We would be honored.” Parck said politely, giving them both a respectable Corulag citizen’s bow. He urged Niriz to do the same. “What kind of ceremony?” 

“It is a ceremony held after a difficult battle. Its purpose is to celebrate the victory and to honor the dead. We call it: The Dance of the Warriors.” 

TO BE CONTINUED 

Daifi: *facepalm* It will be a disaster…

Thrawn: *nods* I am inclined to agree. 

(*) Thrawn's quote about humans being a work of art is recycled from the Freak Fleet's Of Chiss and Men. The quote is too precious to be used only once :-P

Oh, and everything I mentioned about the Kuati is pure Legends. Frankly, I'm shocked that Disney hasn't incorporated them into Canon yet, considering it's ruled by women. In X-Wing: Wedge's Gamble, a male pilot goes undercover on Kuat, posing as a telbun :-P 

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Dance of the Warriors 

Thrawn waited at the entrance to the Chiss den, an unofficial nickname for the part of the ship inhabited by the rogue phalanx. It seemed that the Chiss liked to mark their territory; they had painted Chiss affiliation symbols on the walls, replacing Imperial emblems with colorful banners, and had set the thermostat several degrees lower than the other areas of the ship. 

Once again, Niriz muttered a long string of Huttese curses, a conduct completely unbecoming of a fine Core World gentleman. How dare they make such a mess aboard his precious ship! Other starship captains would throw the ungrateful bunch out of the airlock. 

“Drop the grumpy tooka face, Captain, it doesn’t suit you,” Parck commented wryly seeing Niriz’s expression. “You’re just giving yourself more wrinkles.”

Niriz threw the other man a hard glare. “You need another formal reprimand, Commander? ” 

That worked like a charm on Parck; they crossed the long hallway in dreadful silence. The freeloaders desecrated the Admonitor ’s walls with graffiti! Technically, calligraphy was the correct term, but to Niriz it was one and the same. 

Such insolence! 

They both saluted their alien commander who had chosen the most unusual attire for the evening. A heavy, ankle-length, burgundy-red robe decorated with ornate Cheunh script. 

“Grand Admiral.”

“Captain, Commander, at ease,” Thrawn returned their formal greeting. Their confusion must have been written plainly on their faces since the tight-lipped Chiss (ridiculously taciturn individual even by his own people’s standards if Daifi’s and Stent’s words were to be believed) actually decided for an explanation. 

“It’s a replica of a ceremonial robe which belonged to my brother. A real syndic.” There was an undertone of sadness in Thrawn’s voice, his perfect facade cracking for an instant. 

“Enter in peace and with trust. However, I must warn you, gentlemen, that what you are about to see may come to you as a shock.” 

Niriz gestured at the graffitti. “Can’t be worse than this, sir.” 

A playful smirk touched the pale blue lips. “There is a saying among my people, Captain: ‘judging is acting on a limited knowledge.’ Unfortunately, Human knowledge of the Chiss remains as limited as Chiss knowledge of Humans. And it is I who is to blame since I’ve never shared my people’s customs with others. Allow me then to rectify that error.” 

Thrawn turned on his heel, marching in long, carefully measured strides towards the aft  hangar bay, the only place big enough for the entire phalanx to assemble, where the rogue warriors awaited the arrival of their Syndic.  

The large door opened with a hissing sound to reveal Commander Stent and Sub-Commander Daifi …

… in a state of undress. 

Niriz stopped right in his tracks, causing Parck to bump into him since the other man who had remained a step behind didn’t expect such an abrupt halt. 

It took all Niriz’s willpower to close his mouth before a wild mynock appeared out of nowhere and flew right into his mouth. An extremely unlikely scenario but still more believable than what had awaited them in the hangar bay. 

A whole battalion of Chiss warriors wearing nothing but high-waisted, wide-legged pants of different colors. 

Niriz stared speechless as Commander Stent and Sub-Commander Daifi, both bare-chested, came forward to greet Thrawn, giving their Syndic a deep bow. They spoke respectfully in Cheunh, reciting the unfamiliar words in a tone which reminded Niriz of an ancient ritual. 

“Welcome, Captain Dagon Niriz and Commander Voss Parck,” Stent then switched to Basic, addressing them in a neutral tone. 

“Welcome, Captain Dagon Niriz and Commander Voss Parck,” Daifi repeated, although she looked none too happy to see them. 

Niriz forced himself to raise his eyes to meet hers, not giving her the satisfaction of being caught staring at her perfect breasts. Later he would strange the pale blue wonder with his bare hands. 

And then Thrawn.  

They turned his precious ship into a disreputable establishment! 

“It is an honor.” Parck recovered first; his face was carefully composed, rivaling the one of a Chiss, only the native accent giving away his shock. In the company of the rogue Chiss warriors, Parck toned down the Corulag drawl, opting for the standardized Core World pronunciation instead. 

“A real honor.” Niriz repeated, his family’s four generations of service to the Chandrilan Security Force kicking in. A moment of indecisiveness cost the lives of men in the battle. A mantra drilled into him by his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather. 

“Please forgive my momentary lapse. The unusual attire took me by surprise. That is all.” Niriz continued evenly; there was absolutely no way the phalanx could have missed his stumble. 

Stent nodded. “Of course. We are clothed very unusual. We chosen our old allegiance colors for the ceremony to honoring our dead.” 

Thrawn let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. I am certain this is what the Captain meant. After all, it is highly unusual for the master and the servants to wear different colors. However, it would be disrespectful to the Families of the fallen otherwise.”

“That’s exactly what I meant.” Niriz agreed resolutely. “Forgive me.” 

“No problem.” The pale blue wonder then switched back to Cheunh, addressing the rest of the warriors. 

“Don’t worry, Captain, Commander,” Thrawn whispered while the Chiss started chanting loudly in Cheunh. “You are not required to dance with them. Only I am.” 

It could hardly be called dancing. There was no instrumental music, no sensual body movements, no intimacy. One by one, the Chiss warriors encircled Thrawn who then placed a hand over their hearts, murmuring something softly in Cheunh. 

Then the process repeated itself. 

Considering there were several hundreds of warriors, the ‘dancing’ with Thrawn would take time. Some of the Chiss circled each other in the meanwhile, placing a hand over each other’s hearts in a similar fashion, presumably offering condolences to each other’s Families based on the color pattern. 

Thankfully, Parck and Niriz weren’t required to participate. Thus they remained standing at the entrance to the hangar bay, acting as an honor guard. A task befitting to a pair of stormtroopers, not to two senior officers of the Fleet. 

However, it was still preferable to the dancing with the Chiss. 

Or more precisely with half-naked Chiss of the same gender. 

Niriz grew tired of playing a stormtrooper; he leaned back against the hangar wall, assuming a more comfortable position. Parck followed shortly. 

“You know, becoming a soldier like my father was at the bottom list of my career choices.” Parck revealed, contradicting everything he had said months ago.

“I’ve always wanted to study acting at the Royal School of Theatre in Aldera. Naturally, my father would hear none of it. He said there was no way in Hel he’d allow his son to lead such a decadent lifestyle. So he went and enrolled me in a military academy for troubled youth.” 

Niriz’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Parck made a vague hand gesture. “He’d be rolling in his grave if he saw me right now. Serves the old geezer right.” 

“You’ve got real issues, man.” Niriz commented. 

“Of course, if I moved to Alderaan then I’d most likely be dead.” Parck continued absentmindedly. 

The following few minutes passed in silence. 

The destruction of Alderaan led to two billions deaths. 

Damn Grand Moff Tarkin to the depths of the Nine Hells of Corellia. Hel of Corulag. Whatever they had believed on Alderaan. 

Just what kind of person it took to flat out order the destruction of an entire planet over a couple of insurgents? Even the Base Delta Zero order, the nightmare of every captain, was considered the last possible resort, and unlike other Imperial military codes, the designation was not subject to change, so that there was never any confusion when it was issued.

Then, of course, if Parck’s drunken ramblings were even partially true, the Glorious Emperor Palpatine wasn’t much better. 

Niriz shook his head. 

Parck had real issues. And a drinking problem. More than once Niriz had to snatch the Chandrilan brandy from Parck before the old drunkard had signed his own death certificate. And Niriz’s as well.

Technically, they were well outside the HoloNet’s communication network. The listening devices hardwired into the ship were as useless as a raincoat on Tatooine. And the loyalty officers appointed by the ISB (a standard practice aboard any Imperial military vessel) were met with a series of unfortunate accidents as per Thrawn’s orders. 

However, it was still best to keep one mouth’s shut. Loose lips sank starships. 

According to the old drunkard, it would be best if the Glorious Emperor Palpatine just died already. The COMPNOR’s CG made him look healthy in the official holos but Parck revealed that His Majesty seemed to be on the verge of death even at the beginning of his reign. 

“Just how much longer could he live?” Parck had speculated multiple times. 

“And who would have inherited the throne?” Niriz had countered. “The Sith Lord?” 

Parck had burst in laughter that evening, too drunk to even hold the damn glass properly. Niriz had snatched the drink away from Parck then, calling it a night, and helped the former captain back to his cabin. 

At the time Thrawn assumed command of the Task Force Admonitor, Niriz thought the red-eyed alien to be utterly incompetent. His cheeks burned in mortal embarrassment when he remembered how he had nearly participated in mutiny against his commanding officer. However, then-Admiral Thrawn had declined Niriz’s resignation. 

Few defeated warlords later, Niriz came to the conclusion that Thrawn would have made a harsh but fair Emperor himself, which was, technically, a treason on a level similar to Parck’s. It was also the reason Niriz had never reported him. After sacrificing his career and reputation for Thrawn, it was clear that the former captain shared Niriz’s personal beliefs. 

They could only hope that once His Majesty died, whether of natural causes, in an assasination attempt, or by Darth Vader’s invisible hand, Grand Admiral Thrawn would be daring enough to return and claim the throne for himself. 

“Captain Dagon Niriz, are you not going to offer your condolences?” Sub-Commander Daifi’s condescending tone brought him back to the present. 

Niriz inwardly cursed, locking his eyes steadily with the glowing red gaze. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Sub-Commander Daifi,” Niriz said, putting as much sincerity as he could into his voice. He kept looking directly into the strange, hypnotizing gaze as he briefly placed his hand over Daifi’s heart. 

Niriz noted with interest that she didn’t ask Parck. She turned on her heel and marched wordlessly away. 

“I think you’ve become something of a disappointment to Sub-Commander Daifi.” Parck observed. “You’ve just raised the bar for all heterosexual men aboard. Congratulations.” 

Niriz made an avuncular sound. “In that case I’ll happily continue disappointing her.” 

THE END 

Stent to Daifi: See? I told you that they would behave. 

Daifi (◣_◢) 

on their way back 

Parck: So uhhh, about that shore leave…

Niriz: You were right, Commander. The crew needs it.

Parck: Definitely.

after a moment of awkward silence  

Niriz: *coughs* They were hot.

Parck: *quietly* Yes...

Niriz: *scowls* Why do I have the feeling that you aren’t talking about the women, Commander.

Let me know what you think and don’t forget to hit Next Chapter to read the Chissmas bonus. 

Merry Chissmas! May the warrior’s fortune smile on your efforts! 

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Vignettes 2 

A bonus story for cathouse_mary who wanted Stent playing a PC game: 

As for Stent discovering Grand Theft: Coruscant Underworld.. I would love to see you write that and would pay with a ficlet of your choice. Some younger human officers, say junior lieutenants, having a gaming session and being discovered by "what the in Chaos are they doing now' Chiss?

Writing a parody of myself? Abso-kriffing-lutely!

I chose a different game, though :-P 

Today was not Lieutenant Gernzy’s day. 

“Auch, whaaa—” he cried out as someone forcibly removed the TIE Fighter pilot’s helmet from his head.

He jumped out of the mock pilot’s seat, ready to yell down the laserbrain who had the audacity to cut his allotted time in the holo-sim. Technically, Gernzy didn’t belong to the TIE Fighter Corps but as the Flight Control officer he could make their lives miserable, which was the reason why he had been allowed into the training facility in the first place. 

“Lieutenant Lai Gernzy. I must talking to you.” 

Great. Of course the pale blue wonder would barge into the holo-sim as if the ship belonged to him and would tear the helmet off his face. 

“What’s the emergency, sir?” Oh, Gernzy wanted to use very different words but unfortunately the Chiss held the rank of a commander, an Imperial or not. 

And he didn’t come alone. He came with his second-in-command, Sub-Commander Daifi, a smoking hot warrior woman who looked down at Gernzy as if he had been a mere insectoid, and with a male warrior Gernzy didn’t know. 

“No emergency.” Commander Stent explained. “I want talk about this machine. Can be the  good practice for a Chiss pilots.” 

Gernzy sighed. “And it couldn’t wait until morning?” 

“No. Alpha shift you in a bridge. Beta shift you here. Gamma shift you sleep. I was trying five times yet.” 

Gernzy scratched his head. “I’m afraid I’m not the most qualified person to answer your questions, Commander Stent. You should talk to Lieutenant Klar instead.” 

The warrior woman frowned. “But you’re here all the time.” 

Gernzy felt his jaw drop. Sub-Commander Daifi could speak perfect Basic! He had never heard her say anything but “Yes, Lieutenant” , “No, Lieutenant” or “I copy” over the comm. 

“That’s true,” Gernzy admitted reluctantly, “but I don’t practice flying like our pilots. I, ehm, play games…” 

“Games?” Stent and Daifi said in unison, their glowing eyes glittering. The third Chiss didn’t react; most likely he couldn’t speak Basic at all. 

“Yes. Technically, it’s possible to run other programs. Anything which supports the VR.” 

“Good game?” Commander Stent’s eyes fell to the helmet in his hands. 

“Must be a good game if it occupies all his free time.” Sub-Commander Daifi speculated. 

Oh kriff.

“I doubt you’d find it interesting.” Gernzy tried to dissuade the two Chiss warriors. “It’s a stupid game. Ridiculous, in fact.” 

“We’ll decide for ourselves whether it is worthy of our attention or not, Lieutenant.” Sub-Commander Daifi said coldly. She introduced the third Chiss. 

“This is Korlm, a warrior-mechanic and junior engineer. He’ll attempt to calibrate the device for the Chiss eye. I’ll assist him in the process given the language barrier. Meanwhile you’ll tell us everything about this game.” 

Gernzy swallowed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Ma’am.” 

“Why?” Commander Stent asked in an annoyed tone. 

“Because ummm… technically, the game wasn’t approved by the COMPNOR’s censors.” 

The two Chiss shared a perplexed look. 

“You’re breaking the law to play this game?” Sub-Commander Daifi berated him. Then her lips marred in an evil smirk. “One more reason to cooperate with us, Lieutenant. Else we will tell the Captain.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Gernzy let out a small whimper. 

“Cyberpunk 2077 is an action role-playing game developed by the Hutts. The story takes place on Nar Shaddaa, nicknamed the Smuggler's Moon. Players assume the first-person perspective of a mercenary known as V, who can acquire skills in hacking and machinery with options for melee and ranged combat. The main character’s appearance is fully customisable including … oh, well, I suppose that’s not important.” 

“We’ll decide for ourselves whether it is important or not, Lieutenant.” Sub-Commander Daifi rebuked him. 

Shavit. He was so screwed. 

THE END 

EDIT #1:  because I couldn't resist :-P 

warning: following content wasn't approved by COMPNOR :-D 

“And now you can see why the game wasn’t approved by the COMPNOR.” Gernzy said in a resigned tone as Sub-Commander Daifi further customized her avatar.

The warrior-mechanic had not only calibrated the helmet for the Chiss eye, he even managed to reroute the feed to an external display, meaning they could all watch what the warrior woman had been doing.

And there were things, which, once seen, couldn’t be unseen.

The Hutt game let players fully customize the avatar’s appearance, going as far as giving them the option to choose from a variety of genitals. The warrior woman created a blue twi’lek female with tentacle-shaped male appendage belonging to a very different species.

Gernzy cupped his face in his hands.

“No, I can’t.” Sub-Commander Daifi said. “Please explain it to me, Lieutenant.”

Gernzy risked a glance at the two Chiss males. There was a deep frown at Commander Stent’s face, meaning the Chiss was perfectly aware that Sub-Commander Daifi was just messing with him. Korlm’s expression remained blank.

“Prard’aif’ineiro, enough.” The leader of the rogue Chiss warriors said sharply.

Funny. Who would have ever thought that the pale blue wonder would come to his rescue?

And as if Gernzy’s day couldn’t get any worse, the holo-sim’s doors opened as the ship’s executive officer stepped in.

Shavit. He was, so, so screwed.

Gernzy immediately snapped into attention.

“Ah, there you are, Commander Stent. I’ve been looking for you.” Commander Parck said slowly in standardized Core World pronunciation. “At ease, Lieutenant.”

Then the man’s eyes fell at the screen.

“What in the Corulag Hel am I looking at?” Parck barked with a thick Corulagi accent.

Gernzy gulped. No doubt the Commander had just written him off as a sexual deviant.

“Sir, I…” he babbled.

“My avatar.” Sub-Commander Daifi removed the helmet from her head. “You don’t find her aesthetically pleasing, Commander Voss Parck?”

“No.” Commander Parck said simply. Then he turned back to Gernzy. “I’m waiting for your explanation, Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant Lai Gernzy was showed to us the TIE fighter simulator. Prard’aif’ineiro wanted play a different game.” 

Gernzy felt his jaw drop.

“I see.” Commander Parck said in a tone which suggested that he didn’t buy the pale blue wonder’s explanation at all. “Well, then, Lieutenant, if you’ll excuse us, I’m afraid I need to have a word with the Chiss.”

“Yes, sir.” Gernzy quickly disappeared from the holo-sim. He still couldn’t believe he got away this easily.

EDIT #2:

Once Lieutenant Genrzy left the room, Parck addressed the warrior woman.

“Make your mind, Sub-Commander Daifi. First you are upset that Captain Niriz finds you physically attractive, then you are upset that I don’t. You can’t have both. There is absolutely nothing we can do about the way our bodies work. The only thing we can do is not to behave like the weird male appendage you’ve designed for your avatar, and which is what you are currently doing.”

Daifi’s eyes glowed like two orbs as she inwardly exploded in outrage; she kept her pale blue face carefully composed but her fists were clenched, a sign of anger the Chiss shared with Humans.

Stent blinked at the bold words, then a corner of his mouth twitched, until he finally lost it as his smile widened into a grin. He let out a strange sound which must have been an attempt not to guffaw.

Daifi made a contemptuous sound, sat up in a single fluid movement and marched wordlessly away, leaving Parck alone with the two Chiss males.

[I’m sorry, Commanders, but could either of you please explain to me what was that all about? I couldn’t understand a word being said.] The other Chiss said in a baffled tone.

EDIT #3:

"Here's the status report, sir." Gernzy stood stiffly at attention as he handed the datapad over to the ship's executive officer.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. You may go."

Gernzy hesitated, mustering up his courage. "Sir, I..."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" The Corulagi said absentmindedly, his eyes fixated on the screen.

"It's about the holo-sim game, sir. I just wanted to say..." Gernzy took a deep breath. "I mean, I don't want you to think that..." his voice faltered.

Commander Parck raised his eyebrow, his face impassive. "You don't want me to think what exactly, Lieutenant?"

Gernzy gulped. "Sir, I'm not... My own avatar is perfectly normal ... Well, I gave him a couple of tattoos but otherwise he is, he has..."

Commander Parck's eyes narrowed. "When I was your age, Lieutenant, I didn't spend my off duty hours pretending to be a mercenary. I was out there, chasing smugglers as a member of the Judicial Forces. You're lucky Captain Niriz wasn't there to see it considering his family has served in the Chandrilan Security Force for four generations. If anyone loathes mercenaries even more than I do, it's him."

Gernzy's cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm a disgrace to the uniform. Still ... I just want you to know that ... ummm... "

Commander Parck's face hardened.

Oh no, he had written him off as a sexual deviant... Shavit, Gernzy was so, so screwed.

"I'm not a fetishist." Gernzy defended himself. He had never felt this awkward in his life.

The Corulagi scowled. "No, Lieutenant, you're a moron. And you're hereby reassigned to trash compactor duty."

THE END

And a bonus story for … myself :-P 

(setting cca 20? / 19? years ago?  )

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Myth’raw’etcetera.” Captain Parck snapped at the blue alien whose stunt in the port had resulted in a premature end of their shoreleave. “Congratulations, Cadet Thrawn, you’ve just earned an A+ in pissing everyone off.” 

“Sir, I…” 

Parck silenced him with a gesture. “At least you had the common sense not to retaliate. An alien laying hands on the Imperial youth? Imagine the headlines.” 

Parck tapped his hand against the table in irritation. 

“The Sub-Adult Group was right. The Imperial Navy isn’t the place for subhumans, alien loving freaks, pussies, and buggers. Pardon my language. The sooner you realize that, the easier it will become. Use it to your advantage.” 

“I … don’t understand, sir.”  Cadet Thrawn frowned, which resulted in a hiss in pain. His entire face was covered in bruises, resulting in various shades of blue and purple. His visage was hideous. 

“Take a seat, Cadet.” Parck gestured at the alien who cautiously lowered himself down as if every single movement had hurt him. Given the number of assailants, it probably did. The alien was damn lucky that the juveniles had stopped once he had lost consciousness. 

“You excel in every single subject and soon there won’t be anything left the private tutors from Carida Academy can teach you, which means you’ll be saying goodbye to the VSD Strikefast and end up as an ensign under a very different captain, someone who may not be as generous as me. And whose men may not be as warm and welcoming as my crew. The SAGroup is the future of the Galaxy. And you’ve just made the first step into the brave new world.” 

The expression in the swollen face told Parck that the alien didn’t agree with Parck’s description of his crash course aboard the VSD Strikefast consisting mostly of fellow Corulagi men. 

While his homeworld had a long history of pro-HuMan policies, the rest of the Galaxy followed suit shortly after the Clone Wars. After all, it was the Separatists who had started the pan-galactic Civil War which nearly ripped the Galaxy apart and turned brothers against brothers. And the Separatists consisted mostly of non-humans. Who cared about such insignificant details that there were humans among the Separatists and non-humans among the Loyalists? No one, as long as they had someone to blame for the atrocities committed by both sides. 

“You know I rule this ship with an iron fist. I made sure that even the dumbest buckethead aboard knows the Emperor’s pet is not to be harmed. Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about the crew’s attitude towards you. They all hate you. Even without cutting their shoreleave short.” 

“Why?” The alien murmured.

“You are too smart. And blue.” Parck shook his head. “Sadly, there is nothing you can do about the color of your skin. You’ll never fit in. Use it to your advantage.” 

Cadet Thrawn contemplated Parck’s words for a while.

“How? And why? Why would you help me?” 

“My reasons are my own.” Parck gritted his teeth. As he’d ever explain himself to the oh-so-proud alien who had not only deprived him of his shoreleave but also put a dead end to his career. Now he would never be able to paint the walls of the House of Citizens with blood. 

“Look, Myth’raw’etcetera, you want my help or not?” 

Cadet Thrawn attempted a nod. “Yes.” He hissed in pain. “Yes. At this point I am willing to accept any advice you are willing to give me. But please, sir, stop calling me Myth’raw’etcetera, it is … deeply offensive.” 

“Fine. Let’s begin.” 

THE END

One more bonus for myself :-P ‘cause writing Parck before he started Thrawn’s Legends fanclub is so much fun. 

“You realize what this means, Cadet?” Parck said darkly as he finished reading the alien’s detailed report on the misuse of Imperial funds aboard the VSD Strikefast, committed by no one else than the ship’s loyalty officer assigned to the ship shortly after the Republic’s transformation into the Galactic Empire. 

“I do, sir.” Cadet Thrawn stood ramrod straight. 

“You got any solid proof?” 

The alien blinked. “It’s all in there, sir.” 

“Indirect evidence, therefore inconclusive. If the ship’s loyalty officer is involved in misuse of the Imperial funds you need solid proof before you raise allegations. Else you will end up in the brig instead. How did you manage to gather the evidence in the first place? And how do I know this isn’t simply an attempt to get rid of the man who’s been bullying you?” 

The alien’s face became unreadable. “I’m afraid you will have to trust me, sir.” 

Parck snickered. “Trust you? You can’t be serious, Cadet.” 

The alien nodded, presumably in resignation. “I’ve extrapolated the data based on my study of Corulagi art, sir.” 

Now it was Parck’s time to blink. “Say that again?”

The alien repeated the sentence. 

Parck’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t screw with me, Cadet Thrawn, else I start screwing with you, and trust me, you wouldn’t like that.” 

Cadet Thrawn frowned. “With all due respect, sir, for a Corulagi your language is most…” 

Parck snorted. “Captain’s privilege, Cadet. I can swear as much I want aboard my own ship.” 

Cadet Thrawn’s frown deepened. 

Parck wasn’t lying to the alien when he said that he ruled the ship with an iron fist. Being called a bunch of filthy buggers or degenerate sons of Kuati nobles worked like a magic spell on the crew consisting mostly of fellow Corulagi men. 

And it doubled as his very own guilty pleasure. 

“Now, how did you really manage to gather the evidence?” Parck asked. 

The alien looked him directly in the eyes. The crimson-red, pupil-less gaze was strangely hypnotizing; it took Parck considerable effort to meet it without flinching.

“I wasn’t lying, sir. I’ve truly extrapolated the data based on my study of Corulagi art. It is my … gift.” 

“Your gift.” Parck repeated dryly. “Next you tell me that you formulate battle strategies based on the study of the opponent’s artwork.” He added sarcastically.

“I… do.” The alien said guardedly. 

Parck did a double take. “Which part of the sentence about screwing with me you didn’t understand, Cadet ?” 

Cadet Thrawn let out a long-suffering sound. “Sir, I’m being perfectly honest with you. If you can’t trust me then … gamble.” 

“Gamble?” Parck echoed in disbelief. 

“Yes. Corulagi are prone to gambling even though it’s heavily frowned upon by the Imperial authorities. And you’re no exception, sir.” 

“Whether I gamble or not in my free time is none of your business, Cadet Thrawn.” Parck admonished him. If the alien kept it up, he’d start calling him Myth’raw’etcetera again. 

“You do.” Cadet Thrawn said with utmost conviction. “And this is exactly the kind of gamble you can’t resist. The same kind of gamble which has led you into disobeying a direct order and chasing a smuggler into the unknown.” 

The audacity of this alien! 

“And look where it got me…” Parck hissed. 

Cadet Thrawn shrugged. “The risk of a failure has never stopped you before. In fact, it’s what motivates you to keep going. The greater the risk the greater—” 

“Spare me the lecture, Myth’raw’etcetera.” Parck interrupted him. “Dismissed.” 

Cadet Thrawn left without a word; the pale blue face remained expressionless but the red eyes glowed like two orbs. A sign of anger, Parck surmised. Good, served the oh-so-proud alien right. 

Once he was gone, Parck leaned over to the ship’s intercomm. 

“Lieutenant, patch me through to Colonel Wullf Yularen from the ISB.” 

“Yes, sir.” Came a crisp reply. 

Parck stroked his chin, thinking how to explain the situation to his former commanding officer. Colonel Yularen was one of the few people in the newly formed law enforcement and internal intelligence organisation whom he trusted not to leap into premature conclusions. Still, people changed. It was possible that the Eye of Yularen now suffered from a cataract. Or that the man had developed the same sadistic streak all the field agents seemed to possess. 

Quarter-sized holo of a mustachioed man wearing a white uniform of the ISB appeared on his desk, breaking the train of his thoughts. 

“Captain Parck, I haven’t heard from you since the Clone Wars.” 

“Colonel Yularen,” Parck said in greeting, saluting the former admiral. Old habits died hard. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, sir.” 

The Coruscanti’s mustache broadened in a smile. “It wouldn’t be related to Cadet Thrawn, would it?” 

“I see the news travel fast.” 

Colonel Yularen shrugged. “It is my business to know everything which concerns the Emperor. And His Majesty has been watching Cadet Thrawn’s progress with great interest. What happened this time?” 

It took all Parck’s acting skills not to react. Emperor Palpatine read the reports which he and the instructors from the Carida Academy had been ordered to write about Thrawn’s progress? No pressure, huh. 

 “The alien is alive and well, sir. It seems that despite all the rigorous training he’s been given, he still had plenty of free time to conduct an investigation on his own. I’m transmitting the data now.” Parck pressed a button on the console. 

The Coruscanti turned partially away from the holo-cam as he scrolled through Thrawn’s detailed report. 

“This is grave news, Captain Parck. Grave news indeed.” Colonel Yularen said thoughtfully after a while. “How in the universe was he able to put the pieces together so quickly? Are you sure he isn’t involved in the treachery himself?” 

“He most certainly isn’t.” Parck said in response to the latter. As for the former, the Coruscanti wouldn’t have believed him even if Parck had told him. “It seems that besides being a brilliant tactician, the blue-skinned alien is also a genius detective.” 

Colonel Yularen’s forehead creased with wrinkles. “He’d have made a fine addition to my staff. It’s a pity that the Emperor has different plans in mind for Cadet Thrawn.”

Parck knew better than to inquire further. Curiosity killed the servant, went the old Corulagi saying. 

“Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention, Captain Parck. I will send one of my best field agents to conduct a proper investigation and I’ll make certain he knows that Cadet Thrawn is not to be bothered. His Majesty would be most displeased should any harm befall such a gifted mind again. Yularen out.” 

Parck turned off the holoemittor, thanking whatever higher power in the universe that he made sure even the dumbest buckethead aboard knew the Emperor’s pet was not to be harmed. Else he’d have ended up like the juveniles who had assaulted Cadet Thrawn. 

THE END

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Prince Charming 

If you haven’t played the old TIE Fighter game, do it now. (Or watch this vid on youtube) It’s awesome and there is Thrawn. 

In Legends the TIE Defender prototype was designed by Sienar Advanced Research Division on Corulag. In this story, I’m playing with the idea that there must have been corporate espionage between the Sienar Fleet Systems and the Kuat Drive Yards.  

As for how exactly Thrawn kept in touch with the Emperor… Who knows. In Legends, the Unknown Regions weren’t closed off by a labyrinth of solar storms, rogue magnetospheres, black holes, gravity wells, and things far stranger. They were merely located … far, far away. Outside the HoloNet’s range. I imagine that whenever the Emperor demanded Thrawn’s presence in the Galaxy, he had to send a messenger directly to Nirauan. 

Wookiepedia on Kuati/Legends:

Amongst outsiders, it was believed Kuati politics were labyrinthine and cutthroat. Traits such as nepotism, graft, corruption and cronyism were abound with the lines between an aristocrat, business executive and politician being blurred amongst their people

"She's from Kuat. Nobody expects her to have any character."
―Han Solo on Kuati stereoptypes

With the full extent of Grand Admiral Zaarin’s treachery exposed, Thrawn had to postpone the next phase of his Unknown Regions campaign once again. The Chiss couldn’t afford to keep the Emperor's messenger waiting, could he? Especially after being promoted to a grand admiral. 

Zaarin’s upgrades to the next generation of TIE/Ad series had led to construction of a brand new ship named the TIE Defender. A fighter so powerful it made the Chiss’s eyes glow brighter than usual. 

After seeing the TIE Defender in action, Thrawn had wanted it. And not only Thrawn. Even Stent’s eyes positively gleamed at the thought of getting his hands at the true masterpiece, as he had called it. 

There was just one catch. 

Given the fighter’s overall production cost, their numbers were ridiculously small. The chances that Grand Admiral Thrawn would ever be given TIE Defenders for his Unknown Regions campaigns were sub-zero. 

However, Thrawn was more stubborn than a pure-blooded Corellian. If he couldn’t have it, he would make it himself. Cheaper. Therefore, the holographic paintings in his office got replaced with the ship’s schematics, or rather, with the limited information the Chiss had managed to scramble after seeing the TIE/Ad x7 prototype in action. 

Thrawn theorized that the ship’s production cost could be drastically cut down if merged together with Chiss clawcrafts, a project he had codenamed Nssis, Cheunh word for a hybrid beast, the Chiss version of the chimaera. However, it was all pure speculation unless Thrawn managed to get his hands on the ship's official blueprints. 

TIE/Ad x7 prototype was designed by Sienar Advanced Research Division on Corulag. 

Thus Thrawn finally joined Niriz, Parck and Stent (who kept inviting himself) in the Captain’s Ready Room. Who would have ever thought it’d take a starfighter for Thrawn to finally engage in small talk with his subordinates, and he’d go as far as to accept a glass of Chandrilan brandy (which, according to Stent, tasted as sour as Hutt punch to the Chiss palate). 

Thrawn joined them in hopes of convincing Parck to reach out to whatever connections he might have had back on Corulag to get him an audience with the infamous Sienar family, the very owners of the Sienar Fleet Systems.

Unfortunately, Parck had lost his family's powerful connections after playing a major role in Thrawn’s stunt in the Imperial court which had resulted in Thrawn’s “reassignment” to the Unknown Regions and Parck’s demotion to a commander. 

The disappointment in Thrawn’s face was visible even to a casual observer. Perhaps it was the sad look in the glowing eyes or the heartbroken expression on the pale blue face, which made Parck come up with a royally stupid idea, rivaling even the one leading to his own demotion:

“I’m afraid I can’t get you audience with the Sienars, sir,” Parck said thoughtfully, “however, I may be able to arrange a meeting with a high-ranking representative of the Kuat Drive Yards. There is a great deal of corporate espionage between the two companies. If there is anyone else who might have access to the schematics, it’s them.” 

Thrawn’s expression instantly brightened; he looked as happy as if he had been given an Alderaanian moss painting for Life Day. 

“Are you meaning your knowing Kuati prince?” Stent wondered, remembering their earlier conversation about the matriarchal world. 

No kriffing way. Parck couldn’t be talking about the Kuati prince whom Niriz nicknamed Prince Charming, could he? 

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Thrawn tilted his head to a side. 

“There is no problem, sir.” Parck threw Niriz a warning look. He didn’t want his commanding officer and the pale blue wonder to know he had lost to the Prince in a spectacularly ill-advised game of sabbac in Tekshar Falls Casino. In all honesty though, Niriz couldn’t blame him. It had been a game of strip sabbac, after all.

“Excellent. Please arrange the meeting for us, Commander.” Thrawn said, satisfaction clear in his voice.

Parck cleared his throat. “With all due respect, sir, it’d be better if I went alone.” 

The oblivious Chiss shrugged. “As you wish, Commander Parck.” 

Then he excused himself. As did the pale blue wonder. No doubt they would both be happily dreaming of the TIE Defender tonight… 

“Have you lost your mind, Commander?” Niriz bellowed after the two Chiss had left. “What kind of sabbac game will you be playing this time — and what are you planning to bet?”

“I dare you, Captain. I double dare you…” Parck growled dangerously.

Niriz let out a long, weary breath. “I’m sorry, Voss, but there is absolutely no way I’m letting you go to Kuat alone. I’m going with you.”

Parck groaned. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

"No. You need a friend." 

“Suit yourself, then. However, I must warn you that what you are about to see may come to you as a shock,” Parck added in a parody of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s smooth voice. 

While Thrawn left to investigate Zaarin’s whereabouts in the Unknown Regions, Niriz and Parck traveled to Kuat. 

It was Niriz’s first visit to the matriarchal world, and while he had heard numerous stories, it still came as a shock to see the planet with his very own eyes. 

There were women in charge everywhere. Even the honor guards which led them to the Royal Palace consisted solely of women; tall, strong, muscular women who looked like dominatrices from an adult holo (such characters must have been based on Kuati women). 

No wonder the Kuat Drive Yards and the Sienar Fleet Systems were considered rivals; the two planets were the polar opposites. 

While the planet was mostly ruled by women, there were still plenty of men around. Servants, aides, janitors. He finally understood why ambitious men often left the world for good, enlisting in the Galactic Empire to prove to the rest of the Galaxy that Kuati men were more than mamas’ boys. 

There were those who eventually returned, often with fanfares, such as Moff Thichis Kuras. 

And then there was Prince Charming. 

Pardon. 

His Royal Highness, Prince Tharis Kaelor Voraska Merin Damaris Veyron of Kuat. 

What kind of name was that?! 

Technically, as a male, Prince Charming was the lowest ranking member of the Royal family but he still enjoyed the privileged status of a Kuati noble. 

Therefore he had been given a seat in the Board of Directors. 

“Voss, it is a real pleasure to see you again.” The Prince rose from his ‘throne’ when they entered his office in the Male Wing of the Royal Palace. To Niriz’s surprise, the dandy man seemed genuinely pleased to see Parck. 

Then his eyes fell on Niriz.  “And who is this dashing Imperial officer?” 

Niriz gritted his teeth. Of course the Kuati gave him the kind of long, appraising look that would have been scandalous anywhere else. No straight man wanted to be looked at like that by another man—and it was as awkward as it was unwelcome.

Parck let out a discreet cough. “Captain Dagon Niriz of the ISD Admonitor. My direct superior officer.” 

Prince Charming eyed him with growing suspicion. “Your direct superior officer? Voss, you asked for a personal favor… Oh, of course.” 

The Kuati offered Niriz his right hand, an action which caught him completely by surprise because he didn’t expect to be treated with respect after being examined like a Twi’lek pleasure slave. 

“No!” Parck shouted in horror. “Not this kind of personal favor, Your Highness! Corulag moons, do you Kuati ever think of anything else than killing each other in insidious political schemes?” 

Prince Charming burst in laughter. “Oh, Voss, ever so daring!” 

What in the blazes was going on? 

I must warn you that what you are about to see may come to you as a shock, Niriz recalled Parck’s words. The man hadn’t been joking. 

Prince Charming raised his hand, fingering the Kuati crest ring he wore. A needle popped out. “Take utmost care when dealing with the Kuati, Captain. Just last week, there was a tragic accident. Dearest aunt fell on her knife during a family dinner. Eight times.” 

It was delivered with the same dramatic flourish as everything else, like he lived in front of a perpetual audience. Niriz was starting to suspect the entire Kuati royal family had been raised on theatrics and poison.

“No doubt you helped her, Your Highness.” Parck supplied. 

“Helped her to her grave. Yes.” Prince Charming’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “She was insufferable.” 

“You were going to kill me…” Niriz’s heart skipped a beat. The needle must have been poisoned. 

The Kuati looked at Parck accusingly. “You show up with the man who has usurped your command and offer no explanation whatsoever. What else were we supposed to think?” 

‘We.’

The dirty sleemo truly referred to himself in plural.

Niriz forced himself to calm down. He was beginning to realize this wasn’t personal. The Prince probably treated the entire galaxy like this.

“Please forgive me, Your Highness.” Parck bowed in apology. “Is there somewhere we could talk in private?” 

The Prince scoffed. “On Kuat? Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Parck bowed even deeper. 

The Prince crossed his arms, regarding them with a mix of curiosity and bewilderment. 

Parck sighed. “Fine. Have it your way, then. We’ve come to inquire about the TIE/Ad x7 prototype blueprints.” 

“Then you’ve come to the wrong place. The fighter was developed by the Sienar Fleet Systems, not Kuat Drive Yards.”

Parck smiled. “I’m well aware of that fact.” 

Prince Charming’s face twisted in a mockery of hurt expression. He made a wide theatrical gesture. “Almighty Goddess,Voss, are you accusing us of corporate espionage?” 

Parck raised his chin in a challenge. “I wouldn’t dare to raise such baseless, ridiculous allegations, Your Highness. Nevertheless, I would like those schematics.”

The Kuati roared in laughter once again. 

Niriz felt completely out of his element. Just what kind of strange relationship the two men had had in the past? Tekshar Falls Casino must have been merely the beginning. 

Once Prince Charming regained his composure, he crossed the room, crouching next to a large plant positioned by the window. He placed his hands around its trunk and snapped it in two. The plant fell down, dead. 

Niriz blinked. A plant murder. Of course. Why wouldn’t the Kuati royal family assassinate its own houseplants for dramatic effect?

Then the Prince took out his comm link. 

“Send a gardener to our office in ten minutes.” He casually informed his staff. He dropped the device on the floor and stomped on it until it cracked.

“You have exactly ten minutes to give us a very convincing reason why we shouldn’t have you executed where you stand.” He announced as he stood up, putting his hands behind his back. 

Parck shrugged. “The TIE Defenders could come in handy.” 

“That’s it?” The Prince produced a blaster from his ornate, ceremonial robe, aiming it directly at Parck’s heart. 

Niriz inwardly cursed in Huttese. Naturally, the Royal Guards had confiscated their weapons, comm links and code cylinders. They were at the dirty sleemo’s mercy. 

Parck shrugged again. “We’ve truly come merely for the blueprints, Your Highness. The TIE/Ad x7 prototype’s fighting capabilities would prove immensely useful in pacifying the Unknown Regions.” 

“Nonsense. Are you unaware just how much it costs? It’s economical suicide. Or are you going to break into the InterGalactic Banking Clan’s vault next?” 

Parck raised his hands in surrender. “Grand Admiral Thrawn has speculated that the production cost could be significantly lowered if merged together with an alien technology found in the Unknown Regions.” 

“You had our curiosity but now you have our attention.” The Kuati said with a smirk; however, the blaster remained pointed at Parck’s heart. 

“It’s pure speculation at this point and it may take years before we come up with a prototype but if the experiment proves successful, the Kuat Drive Yards will be given the exclusive rights to its distribution in the Galactic Empire.” 

“And the Sienars will cry their eyes out when they find out someone copied their homework.” Prince Charming finished with satisfaction. Finally, the blaster lowered down. “Your alien commander should better change a few things so it’s not obvious.” 

Parck let his hands fall down to his sides. 

The Kuati hid the blaster in his robe, making Niriz loudly sigh in relief. He had just escaped death for the second time today. 

“You are going to financially compensate us, Captain.” Prince Charming pointed in the direction of the dead plant. 

“Gladly.” Niriz muttered under his breath.

“Oh, wait until you see the bill.” The Prince said mockingly. “These things don’t come cheap. Might cost more than you earn in a decade.” 

Niriz’s expression hardened. Kriff. 

“You are lucky we are feeling very generous today. Especially considering your immensely disrespectful behavior towards us.” 

The Kuati invaded Parck’s personal space, looming the way only a man raised on power and endless flattery could.

Parck didn’t move an inch. “Well, I wasn’t demoted for nothing. You should have heard me speak in Admiral Thrawn’s defense in the Imperial court.” 

“Who says we didn’t?” Prince Charming revealed, turning his head in the direction of the plant. “There are plenty of those scattered around in the Imperial Palace.” 

Niriz took a sharp intake of breath. 

“How far are you willing to go for this … Myth Raw Nyuroudo?” The Kuati mangled Thrawn’s name in a spectacular fashion. It was also an open admission that he knew that Thrawn’s and Parck’s fall from grace was a carefully orchestrated move. Before the Admonitor’s arrival in the Unknown Regions, only the Emperor and the Strikefast’s senior crew had known the Chiss’s full name. 

What else did he know? 

Prince Charming ran his fingers over the rank plates on Parck’s chest.

Parck kept looking straight ahead, paying no attention to the Kuati toying idly with the insignia. “Lieutenant Parck has such a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Makes me feel young again.” 

The Prince's face twisted in a scowl but he retreated from Parck’s personal space.

“We would very much like to meet the man who inspires such loyalty in you.” Prince's eyes flickered over to Niriz. “In both of you. We almost feel sorry for his enemies. Almost.” 

“Very well.” The Kuati conceded. “TIE/Ad x7 prototype blueprints will be delivered to you shortly. Enjoy Kuati hospitality in the meanwhile. Later this evening you may both join us for dinner. Vegetarian, of course.”

THE END 

And now you know how Thrawn came across the Delta Source :-P

A bonus story!

“No wonder you felt the need to invent fictional lovers, Commander, you have a terrible taste.” Niriz rebuked Pack once the cleaner—pardon, gardener—escorted them out of the dirty sleemo’s office and took them into their assigned quarters. The cleaner looked mildly bewildered, as though this was the first time his services weren’t needed to mop up what was left of the visitors.

Parck winced. “I’m sorry, Captain, I really am. Now you understand why I didn’t want Thrawn or anyone else to tag along. In public, Prince Tharis behaves like the degenerate son of Kuati nobles he is.”

A very fitting insult.

“I was this close to snapping.” Niriz admitted as he sagged down into an armchair and closed his eyes, unfastening his collar.

“I can imagine.” Parck said sympathetically. “Why don’t we overwrite the horrible experience with a glass of alcohol? There is a bottle of cognac in the cabinet.”

That didn’t sound half-bad. Still... “It’s probably poisoned. Or spiced.”

“Prince Tharis meant it when he told us to enjoy Kuati hospitality. It’s not every day you’re given a bottle of the most expensive vintages in the galaxy.”

He opened his eyes just as Parck took out the bottle from the cabinet alongside with two glasses.

“How long have you known each other?” He inquired, wondering whether the man would reveal the truth or whether he would come up with another fictional story.

“About a decade.” Parck said quietly as he poured them drinks. “We met on and off between rotations and on shore leaves. I was a welcome change from all the men, women and aliens who threw themselves into his arms in exchange for credits and favors. All I ever wanted was to beat the pompous ass in sabbac.”

Niriz scoffed. “In strip sabbac.”

Parck gave him an innocent smile as he served him the glass. “I come from a rich family but I’m no billionaire. I couldn’t even afford this bottle, let alone his usual stakes. Cheers.”

Niriz kept looking at the amber-colored liquid with suspicion. “You’ve had an affair for a kriffing decade and he gave you ten minutes before he would put a blaster bolt through your heart? How romantic. And reassuring.”

Parck didn’t reply; he sipped the cognac in silence, to all appearances savoring the taste.

Niriz let out a small whimper. “I don’t think I can financially compensate your beau for the dead plant.”

Parck waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain, I’ll pay for that. It’s the least I can do.”

The least he could do? If it cost as much as Prince Charming implied, it wasn’t a sum Parck would part with so casually.

“Voss, what aren’t you telling me?”

Parck threw him an apologetic glance. “Our presence at dinner was phrased like a request but it is in fact mandatory. Prepare yourself for another round of being ogled like a Twi’lek pleasure slave.”

While no amount of alcohol was going to salve this, Niriz had to admit that having a few glasses of the ridiculously expensive cognac had helped to soothe his nerves. Had he been sober he would have probably strangled the degenerate son of Kuati nobles with his bare hands.

It was slowly dawning on him, however, that the Prince probably treated everyone in the galaxy the same way — with too much drama, too much charm, and just enough menace to keep people guessing whether the next course would be dessert or poison.

All things considered, it came as a surprise to Niriz that Prince Charming didn’t try to lay his hands on Parck. Either he wasn’t interested anymore since Parck broke the unwritten rules of their arrangement by asking him for a favor like everyone else, or maybe this was just the Kuati idea of playing hard to get.

“Is the food not to your liking, our dear captain?” Prince Charming asked, noticing that Niriz didn’t eat much.

Oh the food is fine, sleemo, it’s the company, Niriz thought sarcastically. Aloud, however, he only said: “I’ve always considered myself to be a carnivore.” 

Prince Charming's face twisted in a scowl. Funny, a person who didn’t have a problem with cold-blooded murder turned out to be a vegetarian. Perhaps he became vegetarian because he hated plants, Niriz thought. Yes, that made perfect sense. 

“Tell us about yourself, Dagon.” Prince Charming said suggestively. “May we call you Dagon, by the way?”

“No.” Niriz replied immediately, his forehead creasing with wrinkles. From ‘our dear captain’ to Dagon… As if the evening couldn’t get any worse. 

Prince Charming guffawed with amusement. “Darling, then?”

Niriz shot Parck a hard glare. The Corulagi lowered his eyes, finding a sudden interest in his legumes. 

Niriz was beginning to realize this was less flirting than habit — the Prince probably called his financial advisors ‘darling’ before ordering a market crash.

“Fine. You may call me Dagon.” 

“Excellent.” The Kuati’s face beamed up in a smile. 

Niriz put his fork down and crossed his arms. “I’m afraid you’ll find it rather boring, Your Highness. I come from a military family which has served the Core for four generations, mostly as members of the Chandrilan Security Force. I spent most of my pre-Empire career chasing smugglers, then I fought in the Clone Wars like everyone else, and after that I opted for a post closer to home since my wife wanted children.”

Niriz sighed. “We kept trying but we were unsuccessful and somewhere along the way we lost interest in each other. The marriage ended in divorce and I applied for reassignment in a hope to get my hands on a star destroyer of my own.”

Parck knew all that and more—while the Corulagi had been lying through his teeth, Niriz had told him the truth. He’d never actually wanted to have children of his own. They were loud, undisciplined and they made a  mess. Unfortunately, his wife had become obsessed with the idea of having children after the Clone Wars. 

“I ended up in the Coruscant Defense Fleet that was full of prestigious sons with connections in the highest places, which gave them precedence. And then I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time when certain someone committed a political faux pas of the decade, which resulted in his reassignment to the Unknown Regions. And mine.” 

Unfortunately, at the time, Niriz hadn’t realized that Thrawn’s and Parck’s fall from grace had been deliberate. Back then, he’d hated Parck for bringing the blue-skinned alien into the Empire in the first place—and for dragging Niriz’s career down the fresher along with his.

“We are so sorry to hear that, Captain Niriz.” Prince Charming said thoughtfully. At least the Kuati didn’t address him inappropriately anymore. And he stopped ogling him. “The Imperial Court is still talking about your alien commander’s indiscretion and about Voss rushing to his rescue.” 

The Kuati jabbed his fork at Parck accusingly. “We should have realized you weren’t a victim when you declined our offer to become the captain of our Royal Guards.” 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, that I couldn't provide you with a better explanation at the time.” Parck bowed deeply in apology. 

Better explanation? Niriz’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Oh, for kriff’s sake. Parck had dumped him before he left for the Unknown Regions. Dumped a Kuati prince. No wonder the man was one blaster bolt away from melodrama-induced homicide. If so, coming to Prince Charming for help was even more stupid idea than Niriz had originally thought. And pointing a blaster at Parck's heart made perfect sense. After all, Parck had broken his heart.

“Do you have a death wish, Commander, or are you merely insane?” Niriz berated the Corulagi, banging his fist against the table in anger. 

Prince Charming burst into laughter. “That’s exactly what we said when Voss approached us after his spectacular loss in strip sabbac!”

Parck flinched. Before he could come up with a reply, however, Niriz growled at the Kuati: “Do you always act like a royal pain in the ass, Your Highness?” 

This time, it was Parck who burst in laughter. “That’s exactly what I replied back then!”

THE END

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Acting on Limited Knowledge 

Stent had to agree with Prard’aif’ineiro; humans were a never ending source of entertainment. Under normal circumstances, Stent had no problem keeping his expression impassive but the officers of the Imperial Remnant would have made even Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo laugh out loud. 

Stent already bit his lip more times than he could remember and even dug his nails deep into his skin to avoid bursting in laughter upon their arrival on Nirauan.

Since humans couldn’t live without useless military spectacles, their honored guests had been given a proper welcome as per Imperial protocol. Entire staff of the Hand of Thrawn had awaited them in the hangar bay, which had to be completely reconstructed after Luke Skywalker’s and Mara Jade’s escape attempt. 

Everyone had an evil streak, and Voss Parck had just revealed the depth of his own to the unsuspecting victims. 

“Troopers, remove your helmets,” Voss Parck commanded. A highly unusual order, but Stent noted with satisfaction that all masked soldiers raised their hands like one man and took off their helmets without a moment of hesitation or without looking at each other like moactan teels. 

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about their honored guests. 

Gilad Pellaeon had recovered first. Considering the man’s advanced age, there probably weren’t many things which could take the grand admiral by surprise anymore, yet the human:near-human ratio of the Empire of the Hand’s StormTrooper Corps certainly did. 

The rest of the Grand Admiral’s entourage kept staring wide-eyed just like Voss Parck and Dagon Niriz had the time they had been first invited to the Dance of the Warriors ceremony. 

More than anything in the universe, Stent wished for a stormtrooper’s helmet which would cover his own face and mask the undignified sound that had escaped him. 

“Welcome to the Hand of Thrawn,” Voss Parck said with a playful smirk, taking too much pleasure at seeing their honored guests’ dumbstruck expressions. 

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Admiral Parck,” Gilad Pellaeon replied with a polite nod. Then the man’s gaze fell at his most trusted associates and subordinates. Thankfully, the Grand Admiral’s disapproving frown worked like a wake-up call to reality; their human brains quickly rebooted as their overly expressive faces started emanating infra-red rays Stent had come to associate with embarrassment.

And that was just the beginning. 

After the crowd dispersed, Voss Parck took aside one of the near-human stormtroopers, giving the Imperials an opportunity to talk face-to-face with the unfortunate soldier. After all, they all were dying to know what alien species the woman belonged to and how she ended up in the Empire of the Hand’s service in the first place.

Was she a conscript? Soldiers who enlisted voluntarily usually wanted to become officers or pilots. Who in their right mind would want to be sent to the front lines? 

However, the Empire of the Hand couldn’t afford to send soldiers to their deaths carelessly; they had been horribly understaffed from the very beginning. 

Figuratively, if not literally, Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo tore apart the standard Imperial operating manual. Instead of sending down whole battalions of inexperienced fresh recruits, he ordered numerous drills and exercises until they could all hit the target. 

Those who couldn’t were re-assigned elsewhere. 

Properly trained stormtroopers were then divided into small squads which were further supported by the Army soldiers with their heavy artillery; the entire process took time and effort but the numbers of dead stormtroopers decreased dramatically as a result. 

The stories of the white-armored warriors quickly spread through the Borderlands until it reached the Chiss Ascendancy. 

And Stent.

After careful consideration, evaluation, and monitoring of all their activities, Force Commander Kres’ten’tarthi of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet judged the new, completely unknown force, one that had shifted the balance of power in the Borderlands, equipped with weapons of mass destruction capable of subjugating whole star systems, to pose a far bigger threat to the Ascendancy than any warlord or crime syndicate in the area.

The Defense Hierarchy dismissed his concerns, which left him with no choice but to disobey a direct order. For months, Stent kept watching them from the shadows, triangulating all their possible trajectories, and analyzing their past movements, until he realized that they intended to pass through the hyperspace lane close to a nebula to get to the vast natural resources in the area, providing him with a perfect opportunity for an ambush. 

It was the only chance Stent would ever get: the Picket Force under his command posed no real threat against the giant warships. He could never have engaged them in direct combat.

Judging was acting on limited knowledge, came an ancient Chiss saying, and that day Stent had found out just how limited his knowledge was: the white-armored warriors were under the command of Mitth’raw’nuruodo. 

The same Mitth’raw’nuruodo of whose unconventional tactics Stent had used in the first place. 

The same Mitth’raw’nuruodo whose quick thinking had saved Chiss people from the race of alien marauders, and whose own brother had perished in the attempt. 

And it all had been Stent’s old master’s fault. 

Ktah.  

The Outbound Flight fiasco had been the trigger point, the moment Stent had finally snapped, telling Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano that he had had enough of his political machinations. He enlisted in the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, serving the Fifth Ruling Family in a different capacity. 

The Chiss did not believe in any higher power; the expression ‘may the warrior’s fortune smile on one’s efforts’ was merely a remainder of the ancient times they had believed in such irrational things. 

However, there must have been a higher power. How else could one explain such a coincidence? 

Or so Stent had thought at the time. 

There was nothing Stent could have done to repay the Yellows’ debts to Mitth’raw’nuruodo short of accepting him as his new master. Therefore, Stent returned with the newfound knowledge back to the Chiss Ascendancy, where numerous warriors had grown displeased with the government’s total disregard for the Chiss safety. 

They all had joined Stent who then entered Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s service; they became his servants and Mitth’raw’nuruodo became their Syndic. 

In hindsight, the Chiss Ascendancy’s decisions made perfect sense. Desperate times called for desperate measures, thus the Defense Hierarchy and the Council of Families adopted Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s own unconventional, highly controversial approach on warfare, albeit in secret. 

And it was Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano who’d suggested that Mitth’raw’nuruodo could perhaps eliminate the other threats to Chiss non-combatants as he came across them, those the Defense Fleet couldn’t deal with because of the Non-Aggression Law. Stent had no proof but it definitely smelled like one of his old master’s political schemes. 

Mitth’raw’nuruodo, the military tactician, and Chaf’orm’bintrano, the shady politician, joining forces against their common foe… It was too bad that Mitth’raw’nuruodo had perished. Stent would have loved to see the face of the enemy’s commander-in-chief.

Of course, had Mitth’raw’nuruodo lived, Stent would have never discovered the truth. 

The full truth, which Mitth’raw’nuruodo desperately did not want anyone else to know; that the great leader who demanded truth and honesty from his men had been lying to them all along. 

Twenty years ago, Stent would have strangled Mitth’raw’nuruodo in anger. Ten years ago, he would have spit in Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s face in disgust. Five years ago … It was difficult to speculate what he would have done back then.

Now that he had all the pieces of the puzzle, Stent finally understood; Mitth’raw’nuruodo had no choice but to take the matter into his own hands. 

Chiss Aristocras were a bunch of cowards who suffered from too much genetic inbreeding - sticking their heads into the ice rather than confronting the enemy before they posed a direct threat to their people.

One day, when Soontir Fel succeeded in his mission (when, not if because Stent had no doubt the General who could beat him one-eyed in a dogfight would succeed), Stent would request an audience with Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano and then punch him in the face.

Just like humans quickly grew on Mitth’raw’nuruodo, they also quickly grew on Stent. One in particular. 

Unfortunately, not only humans had aged. 

Stent’s recent visit to one of the Chiss military training outposts, which had nearly resulted in his own death, was an undeniable proof of just how old he had become. While he could still easily overpower Ephin Sarreti’s stormtroopers, the very fact he had been caught sneaking around despite his best efforts was another proof. And soon he would be required to wear reading glasses. 

Stent had kept his rank and the position as the official Head of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s Household Phalanx even after the training outpost incident but from the moment onwards he delegated most of his frontline duties to Prard’aif’ineiro whom he promoted to the rank of a full commander. It was only fair. The warrior woman half his age had become a capable leader and a good friend. In the Chiss Ascendancy, she would have made it to the Defense Hierarchy by now. 

Once Soontir Fel, his commanding officer, had left for the Chiss Ascendancy, there was no one who could possibly order Stent around. (Stent had never answered to Voss Pack; that would have been a clear conflict of interest by both Imperial and Chiss standards)

Therefore Stent had assumed the role of Voss Parck’s babysitter; the moactan teel certainly needed one. 

THE END 

Stent vs Formbi, anyone? (งಠ_ಠ)ง  

♪♪♪ Mortal Kombat theme ♪♪♪  ヽ( ￣∀￣)ﾉ┌┛Σ(ノ・Д・)ノ

BTW, an excerpt from Survivor’s Quest : 

"There are a hundred different threats out there that would freeze your blood if you knew about them," Mara murmured.

Formbi frowned at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was just remembering something a Chiss once told me," Mara explained. "A warrior named Stent, back on Nirauan."

"Yes," Formbi said, his tone a little odd. Perhaps he didn't like being reminded that Parck had a lot of renegade Chiss working with him. "In actual fact, he may have underestimated the number. The galaxy outside Chiss territory is not a very safe place to be."

To me, it seems like Formbi didn’t like being reminded of Stent… 🤔

Chapter Text

I hope you all remember Miat Temm from Chapters 4, 6 and 8. 

“Are you a spy?”

“Perhaps she’s just curious…” Sarreti offered diplomatically.  

“No.” Stent opposed fiercely. “She is a spy. I am certain of it.” 

Temm threw a worried look at Pellaeon who let out a small shrug in response. “She is Force-sensitive.”

(...)

Temm shook her head. “I can only pick up moods and tell the truth from a lie, Commander Stent. I am no Jedi.”

Chapter 22: Moactan Teels (1/3)

“You have to admire the Chiss. They don't just steal your technology—they make it better.” Sarreti said wryly as he watched Miat stare in awe at the hybrid TIE/Chiss starfighter with strange, claw-like mechanical arms which reminded Sarreti of a dangerous maritime predator in the seas of Kamino. 

“Governor!” She jerked in surprise, her eyes widening at the sight of him in the hangar at this hour. 

It was the witching hour, a time of night associated with the Jedi sorcery. Force magic was thought to be most effective at this time and the Jedi were said to be at their most powerful. 

She lowered her eyes in shame as if caught red-handed. 

Was she honing her Jedi skills? 

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to see for myself what left Admiral Pellaeon with such a strong impression that I could feel it in the Force like an echo of my own thoughts.” 

Sarreti decided not to comment on the admission. 

“The Nssis-class clawcrafts are certainly impressive. They are far more than just a copy of the Sienars’ homework.” He said in reference to Moff Niriz’s highly entertaining story behind the fighter’s origins.

“Admiral Pellaeon said that they’re Grand Admiral Thrawn’s own brainchild.” 

“Yes.” Sarreti confirmed. 

Given her civilian status, Miat hadn’t been present at the fighter’s demonstration. The Nssis-class clawcraft had all the advantages of the Imperial TIE/D Defender at a fraction of its production costs. A true work of art. The cunning alien outdid himself. 

Thanks to Grand Admiral Thrawn, the slavery had been outlawed and the alien races living in the territories occupied by the Imperial Remnant had eventually been given equal rights, at least officially. In reality, anti-alien sentiments remained widespread. And human-alien unions were shunned by all, unacknowledged even by the local alien authorities. 

Perhaps this brief visit into the Empire of the Hand could bring a fresh insight as how to deal with xenophobia and conservative thinking. 

Both Admiral Parck and Moff Niriz had hinted that upon their arrival, the crew of the Admonitor had to overcome their own share of prejudice. So did the Chiss warriors and other alien races which joined this bizarre military alliance with a name straight from surreal comedy.

And hopefully this brief visit could serve other purposes as well…

Sarreti swallowed as he further observed her admiring the clawcraft. Miat wore the same modest civilian dress as earlier today but her curly dark hair was unbound and her face was free of the usual light make-up. Clearly she didn’t expect to run into him; he’d never seen her look anything but impeccable. 

However, Sarreti’s presence in the hangar at this hour was no accident; thanks to his personal bodyguard, he knew exactly where to find her. 

Technically, the members of his personal garrison were supposed to protect only him but Sarreti had asked Sergeant Nexu to keep an eye on Miat’s whereabouts as well. Empire of the Hand wasn’t an enemy territory but Sarreti decided to take no chances when it came to Miat’s safety. And he'd feed NX-2207 to a real nexu if the stormtrooper didn’t. 

“What are you waiting for, young man?” Admiral Pellaeon had scolded him multiple times. “Life Day miracle?” 

Sarreti made a small hand gesture, a signal that NX-2207’s silent presence was no longer required; he waited until the chief bodyguard was supposedly well out of the hearing range before addressing the civilian aide. 

Sarreti opened his mouth to speak but Miat was faster; she spun around as if she had noticed the sudden shift in his mood. 

“Yes, Governor?” The hazel eyes bore deeply into his own. 

She was Force-sensitive. If she sensed Pellaeon’s wonder from a distance, she had to feel Sarreti’s nervousness, perhaps even his thoughts. It was the witching hour after all. 

“It’s Ephin, please. We are a long way from Bastion.”

She would sometimes call him by his given name but more often than not, she addressed him by his title. 

“Ephin, then.” She smiled warmly.

Sarreti cleared his throat. At least NX-2207 wasn’t around to see his employer make a kriffing idiot out of himself. 

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining me in the cafeteria down the hall? I’ve noticed a rather exotic looking selection of alien sweets and desserts and Moff Niriz has been kind enough to supply me with a list of the ones which are considered edible by human standards. Let’s find out if they are any good? It’s open non-stop.” 

Hardly an appropriate place for a date but there wouldn’t be a better chance in a long time. They were a long way from Bastion where he had an unlimited power; despite all their reforms, the Imperial Remnant remained a military dictatorship. 

The expression of pure, unadulterated shock on her face threw him completely off guard. 

Wait. 

She was young but she wasn’t that young… It couldn’t be—

Moron! What if she can hear your thoughts?

A corner of her lips quirked up. “I would certainly like that, Ephin.” 

Sarreti released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He reached out, offering her his arm. 

“Let’s go, then?” 

She grasped his arm firmly, allowing herself to be led. They walked arm-in-arm down the hallway, he internally prayed that there was no way she could have misinterpreted his intentions.  

TO BE CONTINUED

NX-2207 *facepalm*

Pellaeon: Took them long enough.

A bonus fic featuring Stent with glasses: 

Setting: ISD Chimaera ’s sickbay, shortly after The Legend of Thrawn

[Credit for your thoughts, Stent.] Parck said in Cheunh in an attempt to cheer up the Commander of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s Household Phalanx who stood next to his hospital bed in silence. Basic idioms didn’t translate well into Cheunh and vice versa.

However, Stent didn’t smile at the sheer absurdity of the literal translation. Instead, he released an exasperated exhale. [You should have told me.] 

[He didn’t want you to know.] Parck said, suppressing a yawn; explaining Thrawn’s reasonings to the rogue Chiss warrior made him feel tired. Deep down, Parck could understand why Thrawn had not wanted them to know the truth behind his exile and why the clone had to be created without their knowledge. A clone wouldn't have been accepted as Thrawn’s true heir. 

[He didn’t want anyone to know.] Stent corrected, his tone grim. Then he swore loudly in Cheunh, concluding it with: [I just can’t believe you made the exact same mistake. Your hair isn’t fair anymore—it turned gray with age. Perhaps you should dye it so everyone would know they are still dealing with a moactan teel.]

Parck laughed at the Chiss insult. [I guess I should.] 

A soft knock at the wall interrupted them, which resulted in another loud curse coming from the Chiss. 

“What now?” Stent barked in Basic at the intruder. 

Chimaera’s Chief Medical Officer removed the privacy curtain, looking at the rogue Chiss warrior with disapproval. “Admiral Parck needs rest, Commander Stent. And while I am unfamiliar with your species physiology, I don’t think that standing guard for thirty hours constitutes the norm either.”

Parck lifted an eyebrow. [Perhaps you should dye your hair as well.] 

Stent looked nonplussed. “Chiss are more resilient than humans.” 

If the pale blue wonder kept it up, he would soon pass out from exhaustion. Only young Chiss were more resilient than humans. 

“Commander Stent, for the past thirty hours you’ve been nothing but hostile to the staff and to MD-1 droids, interfering with their duties in the process. If you wish, I can order a whole platoon of stormtroopers down here to ensure Admiral Parck’s safety but you will leave the sickbay and you will do so now before I inject you with a tranquilizer for everyone’s sake.” 

The glowing eyes burned the poor doctor down with a glare. “It wouldn't surprise me if those stormtroopers couldn’t hit the side of a star destroyer. When was the last time they had an eye check?” 

“When was the last time you had yours?” The CMO threw back in a harsh tone. 

Auch. The Imperial doctor must have noticed that Stent had difficulty reading small texts. 

“Last month.” Stent said acerbically. He turned to Parck, standing tall and proud as if the last month’s medical check-up had revealed nothing out of ordinary. “If you excuse me, Admiral, I shall perform a thorough inspection of the Lambda shuttle.”

Read: ‘I’ll sleep in the cabin.’

Without waiting for an acknowledgment or permission, Stent strode away from the sickbay but not without throwing another hard glare at the Chimaera’s CMO. 

Once the Chiss was gone, the Imperial doctor let out a sigh in relief. “I honestly thought I’d have to sedate him.” 

“So did I.” Parck admitted quietly. “So did I.” 

THE END 

Art by psychededoodle 

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Moactan Teels (2/3)

Even though there was nothing inappropriate about walking arm-in-arm, Sarreti felt relieved that the hallway was deserted and that there were only a few soldiers scattered around the cafeteria at this hour.

Unfortunately, as Governor Tarkin’s law stated, whatever could go wrong, would go wrong, because one of the soldiers turned out to be no one other than Commander Stent. Wonderful.  Just what they needed right now. 

Sarreti quickly released Miat’s arm. 

Thankfully the leader of the rogue warriors seemed preoccupied, quietly sipping a cup of caf while typing something on a personal datapad. 

“Miss Temm. Governor Sarreti. What brings you to the cafeteria at this hour?” Commander Stent called as they walked past his table. 

He raised his head from the dapapad and leaned forward, steepling his hands in front of his face in a manner which reminded Sarreti of the late Grand Admiral Thrawn from Admiral Pellaeon’s tales. According to the old Corellian, Grand Admiral Thrawn had assumed this pose when he’d been formulating his strategies or analyzing his opponents.

Sarreti gritted his teeth. If the pale blue wonder ruined their date he would declare a war with the Empire of the Hand.

“Jump-lag.” Miat explained, putting her hands firmly behind her back. “Our bodies need a couple of days to adjust. Local time is the opposite of the Central Bastion Time. We figured we could look around and see what food this establishment has to offer.”

“I see.” The Chiss stated in a tone which suggested that he didn’t find Miat’s explanation convincing at all. 

“Is there a problem, Commander Stent?” Sarreti said in a challenge. “As far as I know, we’ve been given freedom of movement.” 

Commander Stent evaluated them with a long, piercing glance. “True. Purely out of curiosity, Miss Temm, where else have you been tonight?”

Miat tensed. “Only to the hangar. I’m sorry, Commander Stent, I merely wished to see the clawcraft with my own eyes. I haven’t been spying on anyone.”

The pale blue lips twitched in a smile. “I believe you. I asked because I am interested to know if you were able to locate the remaining ysalamiri.”

Miat’s mouth opened, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh. I didn’t realize… That’s why I felt so strange in General Fel’s greenhouse! I thought it was due to the humidity.” 

Earlier today, Miat had accompanied Admiral Pellaeon on his visit to General Fel’s gardens—an unlikely hobby the two military leaders shared—and excused herself in the middle of the tour, claiming to be suffering from a sudden headache. 

Sarreti’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What is the meaning of this, Commander?” 

“We’ve been keeping ysalamiri as a security measure for more than a decade. Given your adverse reaction in the glasshouse, I assumed that you became aware of their presence and sneaked around in an attempt to locate the rest.” 

Miat shook her head resolutely. “No, I wasn’t.” 

Who did the damn alien think he was? A ISB agent? Very well. Two could play this game. “And what are you doing here at this hour, Commander Stent?” Sarreti retorted. 

The alien lazily lifted an eyebrow. “I’m composing a message to my second-in-command.” 

“In the cafeteria?” Saretti asked skeptically.

Commander Stent flashed him a small smirk. “I didn’t want to disturb Voss.” 

Sarreti groaned; the overly familiar form of address was a clear attempt to throw him off balance. “And it couldn’t wait until morning?” 

“I promised Prard’aif’ineiro that I would summarize my experience in the Imperial Remnant at the first possible opportunity.” The Chiss let out a noncommittal shrug. “This was the first possible opportunity.” 

“Praar’day…” Miat tried but eventually gave up, shaking her head in resignation. 

“Prard’aif’ineiro.” Commander Stent repeated slowly. “Core-name Daifi.” 

Miat let out a small whimper. “That’s the most complicated Chiss name I’ve heard.” 

Miat was fascinated by the blue-skinned aliens. She even tried to engage a few in a casual conversation but they quickly excused themselves after exchanging greetings and pleasantries, coming up with blaster-proof excuses as to why they should be attending their duties instead. 

Much to Sarreti’s chagrin, the pale blue wonder was the only one who didn’t mind small talk, which made Miat wonder whether it was a character trait or whether it was a result of being in a long-term relationship with a human. Sarreti couldn’t care less. 

“Oh, there are far more complicated names. However, it is true that I have yet to meet a human who is able to pronounce Prard’aif’ineiro’s name perfectly.”

“What about Admiral Parck?” Miat asked. 

Stent paused. “Admiral Parck’s pronunciation comes close, or as close as possible for a human. Unfortunately, there are certain sounds which human vocal cords are unable to reproduce. Especially when it comes to aspirated and unaspirated “P” sounds.” 

“Can you give us an example of such names?” 

“Essri’tha’uophe, Rithau. Piwez’esn’arirro, Zesna. Pureg’ink’hucon, Ginkh.”

It sounds as if a tooka walked over a datapad... Sarreti kept the opinion to himself. 

“Was it difficult for you to learn Basic, Commander?” Miat sat down next to the alien. Swallowing a curse, Sarreti followed suit. 

Their date was officially ruined and the declaration of war could wait until morning. He might as well humor the lady and engage in small talk with Commander Stent. At least the Chiss was gay. He didn’t need to feel jealous of an alien who wasn’t interested in women. 

“It was.” Stent admitted casually. “Fortunately, Admiral Parck was the most patient teacher.”

“Oh. Is that how you ended up together?” Miat asked with open curiosity. 

The Chiss tilted his head to a side. “I am greatly interested to hear if you can extract the information from me with your Force.” 

Miat straightened in her seat. “Once again I’m sorry for probing you with the Force, Commander Stent, and the answer is no, I can’t. I don’t have that skill.” 

Stent gave her another long, pondering glance. 

“The reason why all the Chiss have been avoiding you, Miss Temm, is because they found your presence highly uncomfortable. They could tell you were … interested in them in a manner they couldn’t possibly interpret, which made them feel deeply uneasy. Asking questions of a personal nature is considered a serious breach of good manners and etiquette in our culture. Such information is reserved for friends. It isn’t shared with complete strangers.” 

Miat blushed, lowering her eyes in shame. 

Sarreti’s hand found hers under the table, giving her a gentle squeeze. If it hadn’t been for the alien, he would have placed a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of support.

But then, maybe the Chiss would finally take the hint and leave. Taking a calculated risk, Sarreti placed the hand on her shoulder affectionately. However, the Chiss didn’t excuse himself. 

“Hello there, Commander Stent.” 

Sarreti jerked in shock at NX-2207’s natural, unfiltered voice from behind. As did Miat. 

Not only that his chief bodyguard wasn’t wearing his helmet, he wasn’t wearing his white armor either. He was dressed only in the black bodysuit the stormtroopers wore underneath. 

“Sergeant Nexu, is that you?” Miat breathed out, staring wide-eyed at the man’s ghastly complexion caused by little exposure to sunlight. Unlike Sarreti, Miat had never seen his face. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” NX-2207 drew himself up to military-parade attention. 

“What are you doing here, NX-2207?” Sarreti’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“I couldn’t sleep so I wandered around the base, sir, and then I decided to visit the cafeteria since it’s open nonstop. When I noticed Commander Stent… I wondered if he would be willing to teach me the moves he had used to defeat me. ” 

In other words, the stormtrooper had followed them incognito; he must have snuck into the cafeteria by the staff entrance and listened to the entire exchange with Commander Stent until he finally decided to reveal his presence in a desperate attempt to lure the Chiss away. 

“Why not? This time I might even use the full force. It would be very unfortunate if the white armor broke from the impact...” The Chiss said ominously. “But please, sit down and join us, Sergeant. We are in the middle of the most interesting conversation.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Will curiosity kill the nexu? 

And don’t worry, I didn’t forget about Korlm and Rhia. Korlm is given a pineapple (which really exists in SW) and isn't quite sure what to make of it... 

Tonight's mating session with Rhia Meiral earned Korlm yet another gift; a large, oval-shaped plant—or was it a seed?—with thick green leaves at the top. The human female presumably tried to explain how to grow this plant but unfortunately Korlm couldn’t understand a word she’d said. 

In order to avoid accidental offense, he’d accepted the most unusual gift with a thank you which resulted in a wide grin. It made her happy. Good.

Now the real question was what to do with the strange plant and how to explain its presence to his roommate. There was little point in lying so he decided to tell him the truth.

[What is this?] Selik’rif’feromu asked when he noticed the unfamiliar object in Korlm’s hand, moving from his bunk to take a closer look. [Where did you get this?] 

[It’s a gift I’ve been given.] Korlm placed the strange plant on the bedside table. It was well balanced; it stood on its own without any support. Perhaps it served as a room decoration? 

[Gift?] His roommate echoed faintly. [From whom?] 

Korlm sighed. [From a human female.] 

Selik’rif’feromu’s face clouded in confusion. [Why would a human female give you a gift? You saved her life or something?] 

Korlm shook his head. [No. We merely engaged in recreation.] 

His roommate stared at him incredulously. [Have you lost your mind? You know nothing about their mating habits! What if you accidentally entered a marriage contract with her by accepting this seed? It could have been a proposal!] 

[I think I need to sit down.] Korlm felt his body go numb. In agricultural alien cultures, seeds were commonly associated with fertility. Before his knees gave up on him, he’d managed to crawl onto his bunk and curled his arms around himself protectively. 

[Korlm?] His roommate asked worriedly. [Are you alright?]

[I fear you are correct, Kriff. She’d been invoking deities during our mating sessions.]

[Ancestors!] Selik’rif’feromu exclaimed in horror. [What exactly did she say?] 

Korlm pursed his lips. [She kept repeating a phrase which I was unfamiliar with so I looked it up in the ship’s database. It turned out to be a name of a deity from her homeworld. I should have it realized it back then.] 

His roommate sighed as he sat down on the bed next to Korlm and roughly grabbed his hair. [You’re such a moactan teel, Korlm. And congratulations are in order, I suppose.] 

THE END(?)

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: Moactan Teels (3/3) 

“I’m sorry, sir.” NX-2207 murmured in apology as he sat down next to Sarreti; the stormtrooper’s desperate attempt to lure Commander Stent away had proved unsuccessful. Sarreti shrugged it off. The man would receive his punishment for disobeying a direct order later from the hands of the Chiss himself. No need to rub spice into the wound. 

“Have you ever seen a Jedi in action, Sergeant?” Commander Stent addressed the stormtrooper. 

“No, sir.” NX-2207 replied briskly. “Frankly, I don’t think any stormtrooper who has ever lived to tell the tale.” 

“I wonder why.” Commander Stent retorted dryly. “I witnessed the former Emperor’s Hand and Luke Skywalker in action. Their Force-enhanced fighting capabilities were most impressive, reminding me of an old Galactic Republic action holoseries.” 

NX-2207 looked skeptical. “With all due respect, sir, that’s enemy propaganda.”

There was a strange gleam in the glowing red eyes. “Oh, I assure you that it isn’t. Now I can finally understand why Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo had been so obsessed with them.”

Sarreti swallowed, remembering what Admiral Pellaeon said about the mad Jedi clone Grand Admiral Thrawn had employed in an attempt to coordinate the Fleet movements with the Force, and who had nearly taken over the Chimaera in one of his temper tantrums. 

“Tell me what I am thinking, Miss Temm.” Commander Stent said eagerly.

Miat looked deeply uneasy, fidgeting in her seat. “I can’t read minds, Commander.”

“When she arrived here, the Emperor’s Hand couldn’t even put herself into a healing trance,” Commander Stent opposed. “However, based on your own Intelligence, it seems that Jade’s Force powers have significantly improved under Skywalker’s tutelage, enough to grant her the rank of a Jedi Knight. Perhaps all you need is a teacher.” 

“I am no Jedi, Commander.” Miat insisted, her face hardening. “Surely if I had such powers they would have manifested themselves by now.” 

“It was Admiral Pellaeon who discovered your hidden talents and nurtured them, wasn’t he? You did everything you could to blend in.” The Chiss confronted her. 

Miat flinched. “How do you know?”

“Admiral Pellaeon has encountered multiple Jedi and while he isn’t Force sensitive himself, he is the most logical candidate to be able to spot a person who is perhaps too lucky or too talented in their chosen field. We tried a similar approach but so far we’ve been unsuccessful.” 

Miat visibly shuddered. “When Admiral Pellaeon surmised that my ability to tell the truth from a lie could not be coincidence I thought he was going to place me under arrest. Technically, the Jedi are still the enemies of the Empire.” 

“‘One should keep one's allies within view, and one’s enemies within reach,’ Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s own words. I see that Admiral Pellaeon took the lesson to heart.” Commander Stent said approvingly.

“I’m sure Admiral Pellaeon sees you as an ally, Miat. As do I.” Sarreti tried to console the civilian aide who must have been hurt by the Chiss’s ruthless statement. 

Thankfully, she had not been present when he, Admiral Pellaeon, Admiral Parck and Moff Niriz had discussed the future of the Outbound Flight Colony survivors who had relocated to the Empire of the Hand. Apparently, there were Force-Sensitive children among them. 

In his long career, Admiral Pellaeon had come to know the Jedi both as allies and foes so he could understand why the Empire of the Hand was eager to employ Force-Sensitive individuals. Nevertheless, he had advised them to proceed with caution. 

The Chiss inclined his head. “I agree that Admiral Pellaeon has come to see you as an ally. And now, tell me what I am thinking.” 

Miat closed her eyes in resignation and took a deep breath. Her brows furrowed in concentration. 

A moment later, she shook her head. 

“I’m sorry, Commander, I really can’t. I can sense your excitement like my own but your mind is an enigma to me.”

Commander Stent’s otherwise impassive face showed clear disappointment. 

“Perhaps reading a human mind would be easier.” The Chiss speculated thoughtfully. “Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo theorized that the Galactic Emperor surrounded himself with humans because he could influence members of his own species more easily.” 

Sarreti grimaced. So much for His Majesty’s humanocentrism... Aliens didn’t make such convenient puppets, did they? 

“You and Governor Sarreti seem to be on friendly terms. You could try reading his mind…” 

Miat stiffened. “I would never—”

“Then read the mind of this brave stormtrooper. That shouldn’t be difficult, he isn’t especially bright.” 

“Commander Stent, that is enough.” Sarreti finally snapped. “You’ve been rude to the lady, you threatened and mocked my bodyguard and you made outrageous accusations against the New Order. As a member of the Moff Council I cannot possibly let that slide.” 

“Enough?” There was a dangerous flash in the glowing red eyes. “I’ve barely just begun.” 

The chair creaked as Miat abruptly stood up. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but using the Force gives me a headache. I think I’ll retire for the rest of the night. Good bye.”

Sarreti stared in shock as Miat turned on her heel and left in a hurry.  

“What are you waiting for, moactan teel? Go after her!” Commander Stent growled, muttering something intelligible in Cheunh. 

Wait… What? 

First the Chiss had ruined their date and now he was conveniently placing them into each other’s arms? He was the worst matchmaker ever! 

“Or do you need your stormtrooper to give you a push?” 

Sarreti seethed with anger. “You’ll pay for this, Commander.” 

“You may thank me in the morning.” The Chiss made a derogatory sound. An evil smirk marred the pale blue lips as he placed a hand on the stormtrooper’s shoulder possessively. “And now, Sergeant, I believe you expressed an interest in Chiss martial arts.” 

“Miat.” Sarreti called as he ran; fortunately the hallway was deserted. “Miat, wait!” 

The civilian aide stopped right in her tracks. “Ephin…” 

She had been crying. The red-eyed fiend would definitely pay for this!

With blood. 

“Come on, Miat.” Sarreti pulled her into an embrace, caressing her long curly hair. “Why are you crying?” 

“I’m no Jedi.” She sobbed against his chest. “I can’t remotely choke people to death like Darth Vader. I can’t coordinate fleets and turn troops into puppets like Joruus C’baoth. And I definitely can’t disable an entire fleet of Star Destroyers and throw them out of the Yavin system like the Jedi on Yavin IV.” 

“What?” Sarreti blinked. He pulled away from the embrace and looked down, looking her in the eyes. 

“I know you’ve been afraid of me, Ephin. I could feel your fear in the hangar. And back on Bastion, too.” 

“Oh.” 

If she could sense his nervousness in the hangar while forcefully suppressing the thoughts accompanying them… 

“I wasn’t afraid of your Force powers, Miat. I was afraid of your reaction.” Sarreti admitted, feeling the warmth coming to his cheeks. 

“Reaction?” Miat repeated, clearly confused. “What made you think that I would…” 

Sarretti used a thumb to wipe the tear which found its way to her cheek. Then he kissed her softly on the forehead. 

“I was afraid that you would turn me down … or worse, that you wouldn’t, for the fear of what a man in my position could do to you.” 

“You are no Tarkin.” Miat pointed out. 

Sarreti smiled. “And you are no Vader.” 

“Would you stop me if I became one?” Her dark eyes bore deeply into his own. 

Sarreti hesitated. He could tell her that she was being silly and that there was absolutely no chance it would happen, but…

“I would.” He promised, knowing she would be able to sense the truth behind his words. 

“Would you stop me if I decided to build Death Star Three? .. Five ... Or is it Ten already?” He let out a small whimper. “Emperor’s Black Bones, I’ve lost the count of how many superweapons we’ve built over the years.” 

She didn’t laugh. Too many people had died. 

“I would.” 

THE END

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Bittersweet Memories 

Author’s Note: To avoid confusion, I’ll be using “Imperials” for members of the Imperial Remnant and “ex-Imperials” for members of the Empire of the Hand. 

“Moff Sarreti.” 

“Commander Stent. A pleasure to see you, as always.” Sarreti put on his best sabbac face, suppressing a grimace as the leader of the rogue Chiss warrior emerged from the shadows soon after Miat disappeared to the ‘fresher to adjust her make-up.

As per standard diplomatic protocol, Admiral Parck had organized a banquet in their honor so the Imperials and the ex-Imperials could get better acquainted with each other. There were also a few Chiss and other aliens serving the Empire of the Hand, although they kept mostly to themselves, exchanging only a couple of polite words with the Imperials. Commander Stent had been eyeing Sarreti with the glowing red gaze, biding his time, reminding Sarreti of a Drayberian hawk waiting for an opportunity to strike. And the time had come. 

“Likewise.” The Chiss smirked as he invaded Sarreti’s personal space in an attempt to make him feel uncomfortable. “I trust that you and Miss Temm cleared the misunderstanding last night?” 

“You’ve got the gall to ask?” Sarreti growled as the Chiss circled him like a predator playing with his prey. 

Commander Stent’s smirk widened. “I did just.” 

Sarreti’s eyes narrowed. “We cleared the misunderstanding. No thanks to you.”

“I doubt it.” The Chiss said mockingly, gesturing at a nearby Chiss waiter to bring them refreshments. 

Sarreti inwardly counted to ten. He was a member of the Moff Council. Back on Bastion his every word—his every gesture—was a carefully considered and calculated move. This was so unprofessional. 

“How did you know, Commander Stent?” 

The Chiss paused in mid stride; clearly he had expected to dine on Sarreti’s discomfort tonight and was disappointed that the moff refused to play his game. 

“I’ve been pondering about the limitations of Miat Temm’s Force abilities and about Admiral Pellaeon’s motives for appointing her as his assistant. No doubt he keeps tabs on all the Empire’s best pupils, otherwise he would have never found her. Once he became convinced that Temm was harmless, he decided to turn her into an ally.” 

Commander Stent crossed his arms. “Naturally she would have reservations about reading his mind. Or yours.”

“But what made you think that was the root of the problem between us?” In hindsight, it made perfect sense. Damn, it should have been obvious.

“My twenty years of experience with humans. Your species is so prone to irrational fears surrounding intimate relationships and mating habits.”

Sarreti frowned. “You mean to tell me that the Chiss don’t suffer from similar insecurities or doubts?” 

They weren’t droids. Sarreti had seen them smile, smirk and frown. And he had learned that Commander Stent was in a long term relationship with a human—deep down, Chiss and humans must have been the same. 

“I said no such thing.” The near-human alien countered. “We merely try to approach things rationally, and when it comes to things like emotions and feelings, we have no problem acknowledging they cannot be approached in the same manner.” 

Nerfshit. Sarreti kept the opinion to himself as he took the same refreshment as Commander Stent, which turned out to be an open sandwich with an unidentifiable topping. 

A spicy open sandwich. 

An extremely spicy open sandwich. 

“A glass of milk?” Commander Stent suggested, telling the waiter to fetch them two glasses of unfamiliar white liquid.

“Thank you.” Sarreti murmured as he accepted the glass, trying to appear as dignified as possible as he drank. He felt as if a thermal detonator had just exploded in his mouth. 

“Another glass of milk?” Stent’s glowing eyes glittered in amusement. 

“No wonder the most human food seems plain to you. And we’ve been cautioned that the Chiss alcoholic drinks contain methanol... Is there anything which humans and the Chiss can both equally enjoy?” Sarreti asked as he took a deep sip from the second glass, trying to soothe down his scorched esophagus. White milk? Seriously?

“Sex.”

Sarreti spluttered, coughing up, and covered his mouth with a hand. By the Emperor, the Chiss was truly insufferable. 

“Language, Commander,” Sarreti hissed as he took out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face and hands with the cloth. “We may be located even beyond the Wild Space but this is still an official event and you are talking to a high ranking representative of the Imperial government.”

“Humans are so ridiculous when it comes to these things, especially you Core Worlders.” 

Sarreti briefly closed his eyes. “It must have been a real clash of cultures when you arrived aboard the Admonitor.”

“Yes, it was.” Commander Stent confirmed with a shrug. “I am positive that Moff Niriz and Captain Gernzy can provide you with numerous stories which are considered entertaining by human standards.”

“Oh? What about stories which are considered entertaining by the Chiss standards?” 

The Chiss smiled thinly. “I highly doubt that you would be able to appreciate the subtlety of fine Chiss humor, Governor. In any case, sharing a laugh over a joyful memory is considered private. It is reserved for friends, family members, and lovers. We are neither.”

Culture clash, indeed. 

“My apologies, Commander.” 

The Chiss returned to the original topic. “Temm’s desire to blend in isn’t that different from Admiral Parck’s twenty years ago. It stems from the same desire—the desire to be accepted. And also from the same fear—the fear of judgment.” 

“I’m afraid I’ve never given human minorities much thought.” Sarreti admitted. After this, he wouldn’t be surprised if the most vocal advocates of witch hunts in the Imperial Remnant were Force sensitive, turning against their own kind in an attempt to draw attention away from themselves. 

“I suppose the Chiss are more mature after all.” Sarreti conceded. 

“We are not.” Commander Stent said wistfully. Sarreti considered asking what caused the sudden shift in the Chiss’s mood but decided against it. Earlier, Commander Stent had said that asking questions of a personal nature and of one’s current emotional state was considered a serious breach of good manners and etiquette in their culture. 

An awkward silence followed. 

Fortunately, they were saved by Moff Niriz. Reaching out his right hand, the old man grasped Stent’s right arm at the elbow as the other gripped his in return. The Chiss equivalent of shaking hands between friends, or so Sarreti had been told. The two spoke in Cheunh then, presumably exchanging greetings and pleasantries. 

Finally, Moff Niriz switched back to Basic. “That bored, eh? Well, I see you’ve found a welcome distraction.”

The old man turned to Sarreti. “I’ve come to the rescue, Governor. Usually when the pale blue wonder takes a liking to someone, he keeps harassing them until they snap. Just ask Captain Gernzy.” 

Sarreti straightened into attention. “Thank you, sir, but I assure you it’s not necessary. I’ve been under concentrated verbal fire ever since I assumed office. I can handle one Chiss.” 

Moff Niriz exchanged an amused glance with Commander Stent. Or to be more precise, only the governor looked visibly amused, the Chiss’s face was as impassive as ever. However, the glowing eyes glittered in the same fashion as earlier, when Sarreti had burned his tongue from the overspiced open sandwich. 

“Young man, let me tell you about the times when I was still the captain of the Admonitor…” 

Pellaeon had excused himself, leaving Captain Ardiff and Commander Yage in the company of Captain Gernzy who had been telling them unbelievable stories from the time the ship had first ventured into the Unknown Regions. For the past hour he simply stood there, observing the maze of Imperials and ex-Imperials from a distance. 

Colonel Vermel was explaining the story behind his captivity to his Admonitor’s Army counterpart, Colonel Meiral, a striking woman with short blonde hair and deep blue eyes, who came accompanied by her Chiss husband, Chief Engineer Korlm. 

And Colonel Bas of the Chimaera’ s TIE FighterCorps was passionately listening to Colonel Klar ’s stories of the Gray Squadron under the command of General Fel. 

“Admiral Pellaeon.” 

“Admiral Parck.” Pellaeon turned to face the other man. Although Parck was of the same age, he looked physically much older; the result of limited access to bacta and other medical treatments widely available in the galaxy. 

“What are you doing here all alone?” Parck said lightly; his face was creased with wrinkles but his eyes remained alert and shrewd. No doubt he knew. Or at least suspected. 

Pellaeon let out a noncommittal shrug. “I’ve been thinking.” 

“About?” Parck encouraged, taking a position at his right hand. 

“Imperial Remnant, the Empire of the Hand, the Galactic Empire, the Clone Wars, the Old Republic, and the path my life has taken.” 

Parck nodded knowingly. “The events at the galactic scale had nearly turned me into an alcoholic for a brief period of time... After Alderaan.” 

As the Supreme Commander of Imperial Forces, Pellaeon had to maintain the image of a flawless leader under all circumstances. However, deep down, he no longer cared what others thought of him, just like the other man. 

“I’ve had nightmares of Corellia becoming Grand Moff Tarkin’s next target… Quite probable, given how many fellow Corellians ended up helping the Rebellion.” 

The wrinkles around Parck’s eyes deepened. “Moff Niriz had similar concerns regarding Chandrilla.” 

Made sense. Had Death Star II ever been completed, Emperor Palpatine would have made an example of Mon Mothma’s homeworld. 

He would have blown up each planet in the system. 

One by one. 

Until there was nothing left but stardust. 

“Do you know who came to meet me aboard the Chimaera during the initial phase of the peace talks?” 

“I’ve heard rumors.” 

“Councilor Organa Solo, Trustant A'kla, and Sakhisakh clan Tlakh'sar. An Alderaanian, a Caamasi, and a Noghri. Three beings with the most reason to hate the Empire.”

Representatives of three planets destroyed by the Galactic Empire.

Parck winced. “How did the negotiations go?” 

“Surprisingly civil. They claimed to hold no anger toward me personally or animosity toward the people of the Empire. They said that their worlds were destroyed by Emperor Palpatine and continuing to nurture the fires of hatred would gain them nothing.” 

“And you believed them?” Parck said skeptically.

“Not at first.” Pellaeon admitted. “It occured to me that Councilor Organa Solo must have arrived with more than one Noghri who were waiting with their weapons drawn. However, I made a leap of faith. Not so dissimilar to the one which you made when you agreed to meet me aboard the Chimaera. I could have had you summarily executed you for treason. In the past, I probably would have.” 

“Then you can imagine why Grand Admiral Thrawn was unwilling to reveal Imperial presence in the Unknown Regions until the Core was united under a strong, central figure-head, until the fighting spirit of the Rebellion was extinguished, and until he molded the chauvinist, xenophobic government into the one he had envisioned.” 

Parck shook his head. 

“Or the reason why we were unwilling to open diplomatic relations with the Imperial Remnant until we had at least a hope that the peace with the New Republic would last. There was a distinct possibility that you would execute the entire Council of the Hand, confiscate our ships and weapons, and use them in an attack against the New Republic, leaving the Chiss unprotected.” 

Pellaeon stroked his mustache. “I presume you wish to remain independent for the time being?” 

“Ever since the announcement of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s death, it’s been clear to the Council of the Hand that this military alliance will be dissolved and integrated back into the Imperial Military and CEDF. However, at this time we wish to remain independent. At least until General Fel assumes an official role in the Chiss government.” 

“Any news from him?”

Soontir Fel, a fellow Corellian, the former ace pilot of the TIE Fighter Corps, the poster boy of the Galactic Empire who later defected to the New Republic, joining the infamous Rogue Squadron, and who somehow found his way into the Empire of the Hand’s armed services instead of being summarily executed for treason.

“He has managed to subdue Aristocra Formbi, whose sense of guilt over Thrass’s death makes him the weakest link of the Chiss Ascendancy, and a powerful ally. He has no doubt that with a correct instrument, applying exactly the right amount of pressure, it may be possible to exploit the crack and trigger an avalanche.” 

Pellaeon smirked. “General Fel sounds like an interesting man.”

Parck smirked back. “He is. Believe it or not, he’s had the pale blue wonder wrapped around his little finger ever since his arrival. Impossible is the One-Eyed Baron’s speciality.” 

“I can’t help but wonder … Do you know what happened to his wife?” 

Parck chuckled. “Oh, Wynssa Starflare is very much alive, Admiral Pellaeon. Thrawn knew that if he presented him with Syal, Fel would follow him to the depths of the Nine Hells of Corellia. They lived here on Nirauan until they left together for the Chiss Ascendancy, taking their youngest children with them.” 

Syal Antilles Fel, better known by her stage name Wynssa Starflare, was a famous human holoactress during the days of the Galactic Empire, drawing innumerable male admirers. She was connected to two of the most famous starfighter pilots: Soontir Fel, her husband, and Wedge Antilles, her brother. They said a billion men had their hearts broken when Wynssa Starflare wed. Including Pellaeon. 

“According to Director Isard’s old records, Fel married her despite knowing her family ties to Wedge Antilles. The Iceheart never once failed to extract confession from her prisoners but sometimes she was so thorough that they confessed even to the things they didn’t commit.” 

“It’s true.” Parck confirmed the rumor. “She disclosed the nature of her relationship with the Rebel pilot the night he’d proposed. He married her anyway. Fel’s ultimate allegiance lies with his family, a character trait which he shares with the Chiss.”  

“It’s best they stay in the Chiss Ascendancy then. The Imperial Remnant wouldn’t be so forgiving of his conflict of interests or his mixed loyalties.”

Parck sighed. “Before his defection to the New Republic, one of Syal’s greatest fears was that her husband would face her brother in a battle. Either’s death would have broken her heart.” 

Pellaeon regarded the other man. 

Parck smiled mischievously. “I kept her company whenever Fel flew with the pale blue wonder. She used to call the two the Dumb and Dumber. You should have seen the fit she threw in after he’d lost his eye. Oh, she was furious.” 

“As furious as Commander Stent was in the Chimaera’s sickbay?” 

Parck let out an innocent shrug. “Pretty much.” 

“Fascinating domestic arrangement.” Pellaeon commented dryly. “Although I am hardly the person to cast the stone given the state of my own personal affairs. There was a woman for whom I was even willing to resign my commision. Only she turned me down.” 

Parck looked as if he was considering offering a word of comfort but changed his mind. Then he muttered an old Corulagi curse and shrugged.

"The pale blue wonder couldn't figure out the reason why I would want to marry him since two members of the same sex cannot produce an offspring. In their culture, marriage contracts are entered for the purpose of procreation.”

Pellaeon winced sympathetically. There was only so much a man's pride could handle... 

“It happened before the Old Republic’s transformation into the Galactic Empire. I was the captain of an assault ship in the Republic Navy and she was a spy for the Republic Intelligence who took a liking to the Separatists during her undercover missions. Eventually, she became so disillusioned with the authorities that she stopped working for the Intelligence. She decided to become a full time mother, raising her son far away from it all. He grew up on stories about Han Solo of all people, would you believe it? However, after everything that happened, I could not possibly hold it against her.” 

“I presume that the young man’s last name isn't Pellaeon…” Parck said innocently. 

Pellaeon chuckled. “You mean to tell me that your slicers haven’t hacked into the old files the COMPNOR and the Imperial Intelligence kept on me? It’s all in there.” 

“I am only trying to be polite, Admiral.” Parck said with a small shrug. The Empire of the Hand knew the once secret location of Bastion, and miraculously obtained the direct comm number to the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces, they must have known other things as well. 

“His name is Commander Mynar Devis, and he is my illegitimate son. You should have seen the fit Hallena threw in once he enlisted in the TIE Fighter Corps. She came straight after me, hailing the Chimaera, and demanded to either talk with me in private or to be blasted out of the sky. As you can imagine, that raised a couple of eyebrows. We had a long, heated and a very passionate discussion as to why scrapping my son’s application might not be the best idea. After all, there is Corellian blood running in his veins.” 

“Pilots.” Parck murmured knowingly. “Chiss and Corellian pilots in particular…” 

Pellaeon nodded in agreement. 

“Well, at least he doesn’t resent me, otherwise he would have joined the New Republic. I suppose he’s enlisted in an attempt to prove himself to me.” 

Parck pursed his lips. “Have you spoken to him since he joined the Imperial military?”

“That would have raised even more eyebrows, given the difference in rank.” 

“I’m sure you could have, Admiral Pellaeon, without raising accusations of nepotism or preferential treatment.” Parck countered. “All young humans serving the Empire of the Hand are the children of the original crew. Given the shortage of personnel, many serve on the same ships.” 

Everything about the Empire of the Hand was highly unconventional; Pellaeon wouldn’t be surprised if they served the Imperial protocol for breakfast tomorrow. 

“I suppose I could spare a moment now that Mynar switched to the command track and became the first officer of an interdictor cruiser.” Pellaeon admitted reluctantly. However, deep down he dreaded the conversation. He didn’t give a damn about what others thought of him anymore but Mynar’s opinion mattered. 

What did Mynar think about his peace initiative? 

“I didn’t raise my son only to watch him die in your stupid war,” Hallena’s harsh words had hurt him deeply back then. 

It hurt even more when he realized that she had been right all along. The war with the New Republic was indeed stupid, he admitted to himself at her funeral. Therefore it was only fair that he admitted it publicly and initiated the peace talks with the New Republic. 

Pellaeon was so lost in his own musings that he nearly didn’t notice as the other man placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support.

“Talk to your son, Admiral Pellaeon, I’m sure he agrees with your command decisions.” 

THE END 

Author’s notes: 

Most things mentioned here are officially Legends: Fel marrying Wynssa despite knowing about her brother, Thrawn bailing out Fel from Isard’s prison and organizing the kidnapping of his wife, Pellaeon’s love affair with Hallena Devis, and yes, he even proposed and offered to give up his career for her! I merely theorized how Hallena must have reacted to Mynar’s enlistment and that there were personal reasons to Pellaeon’s peace initiative. 

In Legacy of the Force: Betrayal, Pellaeon even tells Luke Skywalker: "The young go through wars and think that the experience is enough to teach them to fear such conflicts. And then, years later, their children go to war, and suddenly the parents learn what fear really means."

Imperial officers having nightmares about their home planets being destroyed by the Death Star is Legends as well. I can’t pinpoint the exact source right now but I’m positive I came across it in multiple books in the past. 

BTW In Canon, Chandrila was supposed to be the Death Star II's first target. 

And those of you who read the New Jedi Order know that Pellaeon's son will die in the war with Yuuzhan Vong... *cries* 

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Vignettes 3

Aprils Fool was cancelled this year because no made up prank could match the unbelievable nerfshit going on in the world right now. Thank the Force for fanfiction!

Bonus #1:

Setting: Shortly before the Nirauan reception. 

Colonel Rhia Meiral shook her head as she chose a different shade of lipstick for the gala. This one suits me better, she thought. 

“You are paying an unusual amount of attention to your appearance today.” Korlm commented quietly from the doorway. 

Meiral suppressed a smirk as she turned to face her Chiss husband. “How do I look?” 

“Presentable.”

Meiral chuckled. “It’s an official event. I must look presentable.” 

“Have you forgotten how human males behaved in the beginning? It will make you look inferior in their eyes.” Korlm’s glowing eyes narrowed. 

“I don’t know. Seems like there are plenty of bold female officers in the Imperial Remnant now.” Meiral countered. 

“Nevertheless, I am coming with you.” Korlm said in a tone which broke no argument. 

“You’ve always found human events boring…” Meiral reminded him. “More than Commander Stent ever did. And that’s something.” 

“It makes little difference whether I die of boredom here or at the gala.” 

The Chiss was adorable when he was jealous. Not that he would have ever admitted it aloud. Not even to an interrogation droid. 

Meiral shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go together.”

Bonus #2:

Setting: Several years ago... 

Admiral Parck did his best to look unaffected as the door opened. Next to him, Syal stormed out of the turbolift, running to her husband as quick as her pregnant body would allow. Once again, the Grey Squadron succeeded in impossible, albeit not without casualties this time. Medics rushed to the injured pilots who were unable to climb out of their fighters--with Stent's clawcraft among them.

Parck let out a sigh of relief as he saw the Chiss stand up and help the other occupant, General Fel, whose TIE Fighter had been destroyed during the mission. The pale blue wonder seemed uninjured but the same couldn't be said of the Corellian ace pilot. There was a bandage over his right eye and the dried-up blood suggested a serious injury.

"Syal..." Fel called as the famous holoactress rushed into his arms, pushing the medics away.

"Tir!" She gasped as she hugged him tightly. "By the Force! What happened?"

"I think I've lost an eye." 

"What?!" Syal shouted loudly enough for the entire hangar to hear. She pulled away from the embrace, throwing him a hard glare. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"Don't worry, dear, even with one eye I'm still the best pilot around." The overly proud Corellian said with a small laugh which only infuriated his wife further. The pale blue wonder flinched as the holoactress turned to him, jabbing her finger in the air accusingly.

"Stent, if it's a result of one of your stupid stunts..."

"No, Mrs Fel," the Chiss defended himself furiously as Fel said soothed his wife: "Calm down, love. If it wasn't for him, I would have lost more than one eye."

"Baron Soontir Fel of Astrilde Bottomlands," Syal formally addressed him in Corellian fashion. "You are a father of four with fifth child on their way! How dare you risk your life in such careless manner!"

Parck eyed the pale blue wonder with suspicion. If what Fel said was true, it meant that Stent had risked his life in even more careless manner in an effort to save him. Unfortunately, Parck was an admiral, not a drama queen. It wouldn't be good for his reputation to throw a temper tantrum in the main hangar. He would wait until an official debriefing and then he'd give the pale blue wonder a vicious dressing down later in private.

Bonus #3: 

Setting: Even further in the past.

After a long, tiring day of negotiation with the Dhxzqrrrmph government over the access to their natural resources, all Commander Parck wished for was a quiet moment of peace in the privacy of his own cabin. He might have been a good actor but he had little tolerance for political nerfshit. Moreover, he didn’t trust anyone who had no vowels in their name. Had he been the captain, Parck would have sprayed the planet’s surface with turbolaser fire. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that a hot shower and comedy holo would have to wait since there was a Chiss warrior standing at attention by the door to his quarters. Now that was highly unusual, especially given the Chiss general distaste for intruding upon one’s privacy. 

[Good evening, warrior.] Parck tried in Cheunh, internally praying he got the pronunciation right. After today, he wouldn’t complain about the complexity of Chiss language ever again. 

[Good evening, Commander Voss Parck.] Korlm responded in kind, bowing low, placing his right arm against his left shoulder in a warrior’s salute. [I am Korlm. Selik’orl’mawin. Perhaps you remember me from the holosim room?]

“Yes, I remember you. You’re the warrior-mechanic.”   

The Chiss blinked. [I’m sorry, I didn’t quite understand … You asked if I am a mechanic?] 

[I, ah, yes.] Parck smiled nervously. After Daifi had laughed at his Cheunh, he was reluctant to speak the language for the fear he would make a fool of himself in front of the Chiss. 

[I am a mechanic.] Korlm confirmed enthusiastically. [Is there anything which needs repair?] 

[Ummm... No?] Parck said in confusion. What was going on? Did Stent send him?  [Did Stent play the fiddle?]

The Chiss’s brow furrowed in a frown.  [I don’t think you meant to ask if Commander Kres’ten’tarthi could play the fiddle.]

“What!” Parck exclaimed in horror. Corulag moons, this was so embarrassing. “No, I…” He babbled in Basic. “I meant to say: Did Stent send you?” 

The frown deepened.

“Ummm… Did. Stent. Send. You?” Parck said very slowly, paying attention to each Basic word. “Stent. Send. You. Repair.” 

[No.] Korlm shook his head. [Commander Kres’ten’tarthi did not send me to conduct repairs. I’ve come on my own.]

This was going nowhere. “Why. Come. Here?” Parck pointed at the door of his cabin.

The Chiss grew completely silent. Just as Parck was about to try again in even simpler terms, Korlm shifted on his feet nervously.  [I’ve come to seek counsel on a topic of personal nature.] 

“Oh.” 

[May I come in?]

Parck grimaced. “I’m really sorry, warrior, but I don’t think this is going to work. I can understand Cheunh but I can’t speak it and you don’t know Basic. Perhaps we should call Commander Stent or Sub-Commander Daifi for help?” 

From the frown on the Chiss’s face, it was apparent Korlm didn’t understand at first but got the message when he heard the names of his commanding officers. 

[No!] Korlm jerked in shock. [Commander Kres’ten’tarthi and Sub-Commander Prard’aif’ineiro cannot know! Please, sir, promise me that you won’t tell them!] 

“Calm down, warrior.” Parck soothed him. Who would have ever thought that the Chiss could freak out just like humans… “Calm. Down. Peace. No Stent. No Daifi. Promise.” 

Finally the warrior regained his composure. [I apologize for my behavior. My problem is delicate and at this point it cannot be discussed with my superiors.] 

“I’m flattered that you find me trustworthy enough.” Parck smiled fondly. Unfortunately, the message didn’t get through. “Flattered. Trust... Never mind. Why. Me?” 

[I didn’t know who else to ask. Lieutenant Lai Gernzy can speak some Cheunh but not enough to understand me. As you’ve probably guessed, my problem concerns Chiss-human relations.] 

“Yes, I’ve gathered as much.” Parck murmured as he unlocked the door with his rank cylinder. Why else would the Chiss seek a human’s help? “You may enter.” 

Parck told the Chiss to take the armchair and make himself comfortable but it seemed that Korlm understood only the former half of the sentence; he sat down, his back ramrod straight, looking as if he expected Stent and Daifi to barge in at any moment. Or Grand Admiral Thrawn. If he didn’t want to involve Stent and Daifi, he definitely didn’t want Syndic Mitthraw’nuruodo to know either. 

Parck sat down opposite to the Chiss. What was this all about? Bullying seemed like the most likely scenario. To Parck’s surprise, however, Korlm took out a personal datapad and showed him a picture of a ripe Corellian pineapple. [Do you know what this is?] 

“Of course.” Parck stared at the screen with bewilderment. “That’s a pineapple.”  

“Pineapple.” The Chiss repeated with a thick accent. [And what is the cultural significance of this pine apple?]  

“What do you mean by cultural significance? It’s fruit.”

[I meant what is the cultural significance of accepting this fruit as a gift.]

“I beg your pardon? I don’t think I follow.” Parck admitted, feeling completely lost. The Chiss came to seek Parck’s advice because he had been given a Corellian pineapple? 

Korlm let out a small sigh. [I’m sorry, Commander Voss Parck, I couldn’t understand a word you just said.] 

“That makes two of us.” Parck muttered under his breath. How in the universe was he supposed to communicate with a Chiss who couldn’t understand Basic? 

Then suddenly an idea occurred to him. He closed the photo and opened text editor, phonetically writing down a Cheunh sentence in Aurabesh. Unfortunately, Parck’s knowledge of ideograms was as bad as his Cheunh pronunciation. 

CAN YOU READ THIS? 

Korlm happily moved his head up and down. [Yes. It looks strange but I can understand.] 

Parck loudly sighed in relief. GOOD. NOW PLEASE EXPLAIN THE STORY BEHIND THE PINEAPPLE. I AM LOST. 

The Chiss seemed uneasy. [Once again, I must ask your confidentiality in this matter.]  

Parck snorted. YOU HAVE MY WORD AS A WARRIOR THAT THE STORY GOES NO FURTHER. 

[Thank you, Commander Voss Parck. I’m forever in your debt.] Korlm said with a sincere humility in his voice. [I’ve been approached by a human female who expressed interest in me and I … reciprocated. The second time we engaged in recreation, she presented me with a gift. A dessert of sorts, which I ate because it made her happy. And yesterday she brought this. What does it mean?] 

WHAT DO YOU THINK IT MEANS? 

Parck suppressed a chuckle. He didn’t know what sort of recreation they could possibly engage in aboard a star destroyer but it was clear that the woman had a crush on the Chiss warrior. ‘Love goes through the stomach’, went an old Corellian saying. 

Korlm’s shoulders sagged. [My roommate suggested it might have been a marriage proposal and I am inclined to agree. She’d been invoking deities during our mating sessions.] 

“Kriff.” Parck groaned, cupping his face in his hands. Now he finally understood the reason why the Chiss had been freaking out… No wonder he didn’t want his commanding officers to know. 

Korlm blinked. [You know my roommate?]

“What?” 

 [Kriff. Selik’rif’feromu. My roommate.] 

“Oh.” Parck felt his jaw drop. Corulag moons, his roommate’s core name was Kriff? “Ehm, no, I don’t know your roommate. Anyway, you didn’t marry the human woman, warrior. It wasn’t a proposal.”

In just case, Parck typed it into the datapad.

YOU DIDN’T MARRY THE HUMAN FEMALE. SHE INVOKED DEITIES BECAUSE SHE WAS ENJOYING HERSELF VERY MUCH. IT’S NORMAL AMONG HUMANS. 

The Chiss warrior literally jumped from his seat in excitement, the glowing eyes shining brightly like two stars. 

[Thank you for clarification, Commander Voss Parck, I’m forever in your debt!] Korlm cried out in relief, swinging his arm in an unfamiliar gesture. Then he realized that his behavior was probably highly inappropriate by Chiss standards. [I apologize for my emotional outburst.]  

Parck chuckled. IT’S ALRIGHT. 

Korlm sagged down back into the chair. [This is so embarrassing. Kriff will hold it over my head for years.]  

Parck smiled mischievously. NOT IF YOU EXPLAIN WHAT HIS NAME MEANS IN BASIC. 

[What does it mean?]

[Ktah.] Parck uttered, recalling the Cheunh insult Stent and Daifi had both uttered at the same time Parck had said the basic expletive. 

[Ktah?] This was the second time Parck had seen a Chiss burst in laughter. [It really means to sneeze without covering one’s nose? This is perfect revenge. I’ll be sure to tell him.]

[What?] Parck exclaimed in shock. It meant to sneeze without covering one’s nose?! 

The Chiss abruptly stopped laughing. [What else did you think it meant? It’s the interjection for the sound which one makes when sneezing. Ktah.] Korlm demonstrated. 

[Oh…] Parck cupped his face in his hands, feeling like a kriffing idiot. At least Daifi wasn’t around to laugh at his Cheunh.  [Mate… I thought it meant to mate.]

[To mate? That’s an insult among humans?] Korlm asked, his voice full of disbelief. 

[Yes.] Parck admitted. 

[On one hand, you invoke deities during recreation, on the other hand you use the word 'mate' as an expletive. You humans are so puzzling.] 

“The feeling is mutual.” Parck murmured as he reached out for the datapad. HOW IS SNEEZING EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE AN INSULT?!

The Chiss laughed again. [Sneezing without covering one’s nose is considered extremely rude and unhygienic.]     

[I see.] Parck said finally. DO I ASSUME CORRECTLY THAT THE WORD RECREATION REFERS TO MATING WITHOUT OBLIGATIONS? Clearly it didn’t translate back into an activity done for enjoyment when one was not working. Perhaps he should update the word’s definition in the Cheunh language databank. 

[Naturally. What else did you think?]

THE END

And one more review bonus:

setting: during the reception

Colonel Vermel gasped in shock when he realized that Colonel Meiral and the male Chiss were not only married, but they were married with children. Human-alien hybrid children, in fact. The information was delivered so casually that it took Vermel completely by surprise for it was something that no Imperial officer would ever admit to aloud.

There was a dangerous flash in the woman's deep blue eyes. Perfect. As if it wasn't enough that the male Chiss had been throwing proverbial daggers at him the entire evening, presumably in an open display of jealousy...

Vermel tried to mask his transgression with a cough. It was probably for the best his diplomatic mission to the New Republic ended before it even begun, otherwise he'd have committed a faux pas that would have undermined all Pellaeon's efforts.

"What are their names?" Vermel tied to salvage the situation somehow. "Do your children have human names or Chiss names?"

"Both," Chief Engineer Korlm replied in a tone cold as ice. "Chiss and human naming conventions are incompatible, therefore decided for both."

"Oh. How do they look like?" Vermel wondered. "Do you carry their holos with you?"

"I do." Colonel Meiral replied fondly, her face brightening up with a smile.

Vermel internally sighed in relief. He managed to dodge not just one but two blaster bolts.