Four years later. Three Imperial gunboats settled on one of the rocky land masses of a shadowed, emerald, watery world in the Unknown Regions. For a week, the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera had held position just outside the eerie black nebula that hid this nameless world from sensor probes. The message was received four weeks ago. A signal calling for a Star Destroyer to be sent to this sector. A sector it named, TSV-1550... until four weeks ago-- The sector didn't have a name. For days the Imperial Analysis Bureau studied the message for any sign of treachery... they found none. The signal was coded and scrambled that no origin trace was possible. Finally, the decision was made to send the Chimaera to investigate. The risk taken because of the Imperial command recognition code acompanying the signal. A code unique to a very specific branch of the Empire. A branch believed to be extinct. The gunboats landed side by side as the TIE fighter escorts swept out overhead in cover formation. The ramps from two unboats dropped and a stormtrooper platoon poured from each. They raced with cold military efficency to secure the area as the ramp from the center ship dropped. Flanked by an additional stormtrooper unit, Captain Pellaeon emerged. Stopping atop the ramp, adjusting his blaster at his side and looking around him at the dark and oppresive ocean surrounding him. The high pitched screeching whine from the fighters fell upon Pellaeon as he walked slowly, passing into the shadow of the giant structure built from some kind of dark brick. The two platoons disappeared behind the enormous fortress; built into one of the huge bluffs, rising oddly along the vaguely circular island's sides. Pellaeon stepped to the heavy door, and as his personal escorts snapped into cover positions... he slowly pushed it open. Pellaeon swallowed as the door scratched against the rough ground. Sternly ordering his heart to slow, he marched in with all his fourty-nine years of Imperial pride-- Into an apparently long deserted fortress. A trick... or trap! His nerves became straight-edged steel as he walked further. The stormtroopers moved to secure the interior. Through his gut wrenching uneasiness Pellaeon felt glowing pride for these exceptional soldiers. "Chimaera," he said into his comlink; his voice dark with annoyance, "make preparations to leave immediately upon our return." He released the switch for a reply-- And got nothing but static. "Chimaera," Pellaeon repeated stiffly, his heart beginning to thunder again. "Chimaera... Chimaera, come in! Come in!" Cursing venomously, he spun around and snapped a retreat order to his escort detail. Silence. The stormtroopers! Where are my stormtroopers--?! "I greet you, Captain Pellaeon, of the Chimaera." A calm, icy voice called gently from behind him. Pellaeon spun around into a defensive stance with his blaster. Too dark. The voice may as well have been cloaked... maybe it was-- "Show yourself!" Pellaeon snarled threateningly. "And state your purpose!" "I have already revealed myself," the voice replied loftly. "Or has the Empire withered so much that its top officers jump at shadows like scared children; rather than react like trained soldiers?" "When an adversary hides so cowardly and makes threats from shadows, this top officer will do more than just jump." Pellaeon's lip twisted, "Believe me." "Oh, I believe you," that voice replied thoughtfully... then hardens, "I believe it was just that arrogance that birthed the Empire's defeat three and a half years ago." Adrenalin coursed through him as a trickle of sweat tickled Pellaeon's back. His former annoyance becames raw anger. Just who was this man whom presumed to scold a captain of the Imperial Navy?! Something in the darkness-- A touch of air on the back of his neck... like a demon's whisper from behind. Pellaeon turned and fired; the shot echoed loudly through the large empty chamber... striking something unseen in the distance. Almost as if nothing were ever there... at all. "It is difficult to fight an unseen enemy. Isn't it, Captain?" The voice asked, its glacial calmness turning Pellaeon's blood to lava-- A shadow darted by... at least, Pellaeon thought it was movement. He backed away, his mind racing in circles-- Something struck his thigh. He grunted and faltered. Firing in that direction... missed! The air broke again... pain shot through his arm as his wrist was twisted and his blaster lost. Something about what grabbed him... strong, quick, agile-- And very, very alien. What the hell am I facing here?! "You now understand. Don't you, Captain?" the icy voice called into his thoughts. "If the Empire is to win this war it must strike in stealth, like a poisonous snake. While it may inflict far less immediate damage than its larger more powerful advessary, the smaller opponent can be every bit as effective... and every bit as--" Pellaeon spun, throwing an all-but blind punch; his wrist was caught in a vice-like grip as a small hand grabbed his collar. A small leg jammed between his as the shadowy figure shifted its weight, pulling down with amazing strength. Pellaeon was flipped of his feet, landed on his back. "lethal." The voice concluded grimly. Pellaeon groaned and looked up into a terrifying alien face with grey skin, protruding jaw, and sharp teeth. Pellaeon's lips parted in shock as a sleek assassin's knife was put to his throat. Its sharpness stung his skin. With a speed Pellaeon didn't believe possible, the alien lept to disappear back into the shadows without a sound or even that unnerving touch of air. The captain rose to one knee slowly and reclaimed his weapon. "Who are you?" He snarled defiantly. "What do you want?" Something before him stirred as that cool voice came again. "What I want is to see the Empire rise again. Over the ashes of the Rebellion's funeral pyre. Who I am..." A soft white light began to glow across from Pellaeon. Under it, his stormtroopers laid motionless; their weapons beside them. Standing over them, clad in a black robe and deep hood, was the strange alien attacker. Beside him, sitting in a high-backed chair-- Dressed in a pressed white uniform, polished black boots, and ceremonial gold shoulder dressings... "is the man who is going to make it happen." The cool looking light blue skin and blue black hair... and his most striking feature-- His glowing red eyes. He was the Imperial Warlord-- Grand Admiral Thrawn. Pellaeon swallowed and instantly snapped to attention. The admiral smiled chillingly, "At ease, Captain. Are you ready to resurrect an Empire?" "Yes, sir," is all Pellaeon could manage. "Excellent," Thrawn said as he stood, straightening his uniform. "Then, Captain Pellaeon, take me to your ship."
The first days of Thrawn were interesting, to say the least. Snap inspections became more frequent and through; as did the numerous intense drills the Chimaera's crew performed. Pellaeon spent most of his time, it seemed, making ship reports and crew evaluations to the Grand Admiral. The ship's command and crew structure was shaken down. With many of the Chimaera's original crew being rotated onto the other Star Destroyers, Interdictor cruisers, and freighters making up Thrawn's fleet. All these changes were implemented swiftly, methodically... and, usually, without Thrawn ever making a personal appearance on the bridge. In fact, the only time he ever did was to announce that the Chimaera was now the official flagship of the Imperial Fleet. Since then, he had remained strictly isolated in his quarters. The door guarded by his lethal bodyguard. If it were anyone else, he might not have been able to assume so much authority so quickly. But those eyes-- They neared their final destination... and Thrawn strode onto the bridge. "Report, Captain," he said coolly. Pellaeon mentally braced himself against a flinch as he turned to those eyes. "We are two hours out, sir. We're radioing ahead to..." "Belay that." He said absently, switching on the bridge comm. "Chimaera to Death's Head. Captain Harbid, are all ships in position?" "Yes, sir." "Commence countdown," Thrawn switched off and looked to a confused Pellaeon. "I don't understand, sir." Thrawn smiled, "I know you don't understand, Captain. Neither will they; that is the point." From the crewpit a communications officer called a report, "Sir, the perimeter patrol is requesting our identification and clearance codes." "Maintain radio silence; accelerate speed and raise shields." Thrawn ordered, taking the admiral's command chair. It took a minute for Pellaeon's mind to register that order. "Admiral," he breathed, "we are sure to be detained." "I should certainly hope so," Thrawn said bluntly. "A warship entering a key sector without giving the all clear procedures is obviously an unacceptable security risk. Ensign, execute." They pushed past the outposts forming the Imperial checkpoints and on into the very heart of remaining Imperial territory-- The Galactic Core. "Sir," another officer called out from the crewpit, "Imperial Star Destroyer Thunderbird dead ahead." "Ah," Thrawn replied thoughtfully as the wedged-shaped warship became larger in the forward viewport. "This should be interesting." "Sir," the comm officer called again, "the Thunderbird is hailing." "On main speaker," Thrawn said. "Chimaera: transmit your authorization codes," a harsh voice called amid static. "No reply," Thrawn ordered, "and accelerate." The Thunderbird drew closer and another more threatening message was received. Pellaeon had had enough. "Answer it," he ordered. "Belay that," Thrawn ordered sternly, glaring at Pellaeon. "Admiral!" Pellaeon protested, "They're bound to fire on us. They've probably called for reinforcements!" "I agree, they certainly should be." Thrawn's eyes glittered, "But no reinforcements will be arriving. Not from outside the system, anyway." "What do you..." the realization came. The other destroyers and cruisers, sealing off the system. "Yes, Captain," Thrawn said softly, "the dye has been cast. And now we will see where it will stain." "Chimaera!" The angry voice exploded from the speaker, "Lower your shields and prepare to be boar--" The speaker cut out as Thrawn flipped a switch at his board. "Your test has gone far enough, Admiral!" Pellaeon snapped, eyes dancing between Thrawn and the forward viewport. "Not yet, Captain," Thrawn replied quietly. "Soon, but not yet." The stress lines in Pellaeon's face deepened as his mouth moved to speak; but the words were washed away by the mind- numbing rumblings of thunder within the Chimaera as space was lit aflame by the green lightning of turbolaser blasts. The Thunderbird's guns pounded into the hull, Pellaeon rocked back and forth with each blow. Two new destroyers entered the fray as, suddenly, the Chimaera was hammered upon from all sides. Pellaeon looked helplessly around his trembling bridge. He heard the increasing rumbling as the shields begin to fail. The sound of crewers shouting and alarms screaming. The memory of the Battle of Endor flashed into his mind. But this time, there would be no escape for his ship and crew. He clutched to the back of Thrawn's chair, cursed the Grand Admiral for doing this... and himself for letting it happen. And just as Pellaeon said a final goodbye to his ship-- Everything stopped. A nerve shattering calm fell upon the scene as the three destroyers ceased fire; their running lights suddenly black. For a few heartbeats Pellaeon was frozen, his jaw slacked as he stared blankly out the viewport. The bridge's instruments were the only sound save the occasional shuddering breath from a startled crewmember. "The entire Imperial network..." Pellaeon breathed, "the defense platforms... the stations... the Star Destroyers, all dead." He swallowed a mountain-sized lump, "It's... incomprehensible. It's..." "It's the seizure of power in the truest sense." Thrawn said softly, a snakelike smile curving his lips. From the far edges of the sector three Star Destroyers came up to flank the Chimaera... and hold position. From their hangers, multiple squadrons of TIE fighters and bombers swarmed into the dead space metropolis like bees moving to collect honey from the hive. Casually Thrawn tapped a switch, opening the universal communications channel to all ships, bases, stations and outposts in the system. "Imperial Forces," Thrawn called patiently, "now that I have your collective attention; I request Admiral Vorath to board the shuttle coming in now. Any attempt to restore your systems, or refusal of my request, will meet with severe consequences. I await your response." After a few moments the shuttle captain radioed back, "Sir, Admiral Vorath is refusing to board." "It appears," Thrawn said, tapping another switch, "the good Admiral needs more incentive. Thrawn to 'TSV'-Task Force, begin firing on prearranged targets." At his command Thrawn's warships fired on the central base, loading bays, ship repair depots and medical frigates. The massive turbolasers flashd again and again, and space was lit up by explosions as the defenseless equipment was pulverized. The Interdictor cruisers bore down on the disabled enemy ships as Thrawn's destroyers fanned out before the Chimaera, laying waste to everything in their path. After a few moments, the unchallenged assault ended. "Admiral, don't be a fool." Thrawn continued, lacing his fingers, "This attack was light compared to what could happen. Consider the welfare of your troops and cooperate." They waited. The attack was light, indeed. For although the blasts looked ferocious, the damage is superficial. After a few moments the shuttle captain radioed again, "We have him, sir."
Admiral Vorath stood before Pellaeon in the Stormhawk's hangar. He round face didn't flinch, his eyes didn't waver. "So," he said with disgust, "what convinced you to betray an Empire that cared for you so well for so long?" Pellaeon opened his mouth but was cut of by Thrawn, striding down his shuttle's ramp. "He was following my orders, Admiral. That doesn't constitute betrayal. Quite the opposite, in fact." "I didn't think there were any Grand Admirals left," Vorath said angrly. "Well, now you know," Thrawn replied patiently. "Just as I know that the Empire isn't what it was before the Warlords left it. I find that very upsetting, Admiral." "It's going to take time to recover from that mess at Endor," Vorath bit out. "Yes, this I would agree with. Tell me, what have you been doing to disrupt the Rebellion in the meantime?" Thrawn asked casually. "What did you do to our ships and equipment?" the admiral sneered. "I simply used what the Emperor, himself, provided me," Thrawn shrugged. "There are certain antitreason safeguards hardwired into all Imperial technology. This particular safeguard activates a program that instructs all computers containing its counterpart programming to lock out all command/control functions until the safeguard is deactivated from its origin point with the appropriate code." "Now," he said with quiet deadliness, "you will answer my question, Admiral." "We need time to regroup," Vorath insisted sourly, "The New Republic is too powerful to attack directly right now." "The New Republic is little more than an illegally formed temporary government of fools and malcontents." Thrawn countered coldly. "I think it more likely that today's Empire isn't one. Emaciated by a petty group of self-important leaders attempting to grab power they shouldn't have and can't control. I've come to put the Empire back on track." "And just how will you do that?" Vorath snapped. "The way I would nurse a sick Chal'la tree to health," the warlord replied. "Make the tree strong again--" A slight motion from his hand... and a small robed figure leaped at Vorath from behind. The alien assassin reached around... pulled Vorath's head back-- And slit the admiral's throat. "... by pruning the diseased branches," Thrawn concluded. Vorath's eyes bulged; gasping for air, he dropped to his knees. A red stream rolled down his tunic and his gloves were blood-soaked as he instinctively grasped his throat. The assassin held Vorath by the hair... before a red stream making its way toward the Grand Admiral's feet. "There," Thrawn said softly, watching the him die. "That, Admiral, is how I will heal my Empire. Those who cooperate will flourish. Those who resist... will be pruned." Through his terrible shock, Pellaeon suddenly noticed the docking bay's main comlink viewer had recorded the entire incident-- And relayed the grizzly scene over the entire Imperial network. Thrawn walked up to the screen. "For the time being," he said with icy firmness, "my name isn't important. It is sufficient for you to know that, from this moment forward, I am the head of the Empire. Those of you who want to see the Empire rise again will follow me. Those who do not follow, will be destroyed." With that he turned. "Rukh," he said to the alien assassin, "dispose of it," gesturing off-handedly to the dead admiral. "And let's get back to the Chimaera, shall we? We have work to do."
It took some time for Thrawn to assume power. Some accepted his rank as Grand Admiral almost immediately. Others took more direct "convincing." But eventually all the diseased branches were cut away, and the tree accepted its new root. In the Ready Room of his flagship, the man who was the driving force behind the Empire's impending rebirth sat leisurely at his desk. Looking out the viewport at his forces and sipping a mug of a very strong smelling ale, as he recorded a log entry: "--work on the Chimaera is going as planned. As to the other projects: the production of the Scimitar bomber is also proceeding quite well. Unfortunately, the resources aren't there to mass-produce them for mainstream use; nor to begin production of my other ship designs... yet. But I think a valuable goal can still be attained with the few Scimitars we will soon have." A smile creased Thawn's lips, "Imagine the Rebellion's surprise when we start throwing some of their own technology back at them." He paused to gently sip at his ale. Patiently savouring the rich biting flavor and aroma. "Admiral Vorath was correct, of course," he continued thoughtfully. "It will take time to rebuild the Empire. It has withered badly. But then," he added with a note of dark humor, "I knew it would. One of the reasons I stayed away after Endor was to allow the Rebellion to purge my rivals for me. That, and to allow the Imperial leadership to tarnish, making any opposition to my power seizure--" The hail chime signalled. "Pause," Thrawn commanded the recorder. "Enter," he called. In stepped Captain Pellaeon. Walking briskly, he stopped at ridged attention before the desk, "Sir." "Report, Captain." "Modifications to the Chimaera are complete. The test stages are being run now," Pellaeon said in flawless military fashion. "And the raid task forces?" Thrawn asked. "Awaiting your orders, sir," Pellaeon replied. "Excellent. Then, Captain Pellaeon, order all combat- ready ships prepared for the pull out." Thrawn ordered, eying Pellaeon carefully. "Yes, sir," he replied hesitantly. "Our forces have been hiding here for far too long, Captain," Thrawn said patiently, as if reading the captain's thoughts. "Led by fools and cowards attempting to fill roles too big for them. In order for the Empire to triumph again it must come out of hiding and act. Finally leaving the security of the Galactic Core will make that happen." Pellaeon stood silent, expression unchanged. "Permission to speak freely," Thrawn said patiently. "Sir," the captain said, sounding as if he were on the verge of combusting from holding his words, "would leaving the Core not be premature. Our numbers are still few and the majority of our crewers grossly inexperienced." "The voyage to the Frontier Regions will be an excellent opportunity to begin the remedy to the later," Thrawn replied thoughtfully. "And to the earlier, well," another of those cold smiles, "you have a valid point. But that, to, can be remedied... and will be." "Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied, conceding defeat. "We will succeed, Captain," Thrawn replied coolly. "It will take time, patience and stealth... but it will be remedied." He lifted the mug before his lips, those red eyes studying Pellaeon over the rim. After a few heart beats, "Order the ships to begin preparations. Dismissed." "Yes, Admiral," with a click of his heal, Pellaeon snapped around and marched out. Thrawn watched the door close. A wide smile rapidly curving those cool blue lips. He leaned back and turned his chair back to the viewport. "Resume," he called to the recorder. "--Effectively impossible." He completed the interrupted statement. "Miscellaneous business: I find Captain Pellaeon an interesting prospect. He isn't afraid to question my orders. Amazing, considering those years of serving under Darth Vader. I find him wanting in certain respects, however. He seems to have difficulty accepting new methods and strategies outside established Imperial procedure. I see many interesting debates between him and me in the future. But he can be taught. After his performance at Endor... he can definitely be taught." Another long sip, he tilted his head thoughtfully to the side. "Primary business: the depletion of our forces is as bad as I knew it would be. While the Empire still has recruitment, training, and ship-building centers it won't be enough to launch a full-scale offensive. Step one: get to the protective seclusion of the Frontier Regions. Step two: begin the sporadic raids on Rebellion-held outlying regions. That should be enough to put the Rebels on edge while allowing me to pool together the information I need to uncover a few of the Emperor's precious secrets. Step three: a certain financial transaction that will bring the fragile Rebel government crashing down like a house of sabacc cards. And then, I will lead the Empire to victory over the New Republic's shattered remains." He stopped with a satisfied smile, "The irony is so perfect it is artistic. We will bring down the rebels, now that they are in power, using the same methods they once employed against us." Leaning his head back, Thrawn closed his eyes to slits as he gazed out into the vastness of space. "It will take time," he said quietly, almost absently. "Oh, yes, it will take time. But soon enough we will strike out from the darkness like a serpent and inject a venom to kill the Rebellion's so- called New Republic once and for all." Oh, yes," he added quickly, "an order for Supply and Procurement... I really must get a fresh supply of this wonderful Forvish ale." And as his eyes fixed on the universe's limitless expanse, shimmering like rubies set in the middle of a raging fire-- Again, the Warlord smiled.
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