Chapter Text
There are any number of rules, regulations, and policies within the ranks of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force, but out of all of them, there’s one you never, ever, ignore.
If Admiral Ar’alani summons you, you get your ass in gear.
Lieutenant Commander Eli Vanto knows that lesson well, despite his status as one of two humans within the Chiss Ascendency. Ar’alani is an exemplary commander, and more than that, she’s always done right by him, but Eli can’t help the shiver of unease that crawls up his spine when Lieutenant Afranta rather abruptly delivers the summons. Nothing abrupt that happens on a starship is particularly good. Historically, less so when it involves him.
His mind strays to Thrawn for an instant, like knocking his tongue against a sore tooth, but he corrects course immediately. There have been too many years and too many disappointments between the news of Thrawn’s disappearance and now to let his imagination go racing ahead of him now. Thrawn is only one reason that Ar’alani would call for him specifically with this kind of urgency.
The other is that she needs someone from Lesser Space.
Eli’s boots click sharply against the cold floors as he moves quickly through the halls of the Relentless, still a little thrown by the layout of the new flagship. He would have preferred to still be aboard the Steadfast or, better yet, aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer, but he can hardly complain about a position on the CEDF’s new Worldeater-class heavy cruiser. For someone who has been languishing in the rank of Lieutenant Commander for as long as he has, the assignment was almost enough for certain people to mutter about nepotism.
Well, not almost. They did mutter. Just not where Admiral Ar’alani could hear them.
He sees her now, cutting an impressive figure in the ship’s hangar bay, stark and easy to spot in her white uniform. She looks contemplative, her chin tilted upwards, her mouth set in what’s very nearly a frown. But Eli barely notices her, too busy staring at the ship looming behind her. He stops in his tracks.
Ar’alani turns her head at the abrupt absence of movement. He can feel her cool gaze appraising him, probably the way his mouth is hanging open a fraction of an inch most especially. She nods, as if to herself. “Lieutenant Commander,” she says, “am I correct in assuming you can identify this ship for me?” She nods toward the ship.
“I—yes, ma’am,” Eli says, stepping closer. Hangar crew and curious officers swarm around them like flies on a yubal, but Wutroow is the only one allowed close. She stands to Ar’alani’s right, hands on her hips, looking up at the shuttle with squinted eyes. She looks almost skeptical. “That’s a T-6 shuttle, if I’m not mistaken.”
A relic, especially now. It was outdated even during his time in the Imperial Navy. Not that he ever saw them. They were a jedi’s transport, and there wasn’t much use for them after the Clone Wars. Eli only even recognizes it now from a childhood growing up in his parent’s shipping company, but most especially growing up with an older cousin obsessed with every type of ship in the known universe. He used to tap through the holonet pictures, pointing out specs to Eli listening with the rapt attention of a little boy who doesn’t much care about ships but does think his older cousin is very, very cool.
A relic, but a well-cared for one at least. He’s drawn forward by his own curiosity, coming up beside Wutroow to give it a closer look. The paint is fresh, the engines well-maintained. Originally the shuttles were unarmed, but someone’s retrofitted it with two blaster cannons. Not enough to do much damage, but enough to give a little sting to enterprising pirates in the process of executing the T-6’s true maneuver, which is to run away. It’s no wonder they were caught. The [i]Relentless[/i] isn’t fast, but she’s named that for a reason. Once the T-6 was caught in her tractor beam, it wasn’t getting out.
Eli blinks, suddenly aware that both Ar’alani and Wutroow are watching him expectantly. Probably because he’s given his entire assessment in his head. He clears his throat. “It’s Clone Wars era. At least fifteen, twenty years old. They were made to be jedi craft but—” He shakes his head. “There’s none of those left. Probably someone found it in a scrap yard and patched it up again.” He nearly asks how they found it, but bites his tongue at the last moment. The Admiral is meant to ask questions, not him.
But he really would like to know.
It’s a strange bit of nostalgia, staring at a piece of Lesser Space, right there in front of him, almost like something from a dream. It’s been long enough that he’s gotten used to the taste of cheunh syllables and the faint glow that comes from red chiss eyes. The only other human contact he’s had in years is his own reflection in the mirror, older and a little sharper than when he first arrived at the Ascendency. He hadn’t realized how young he’d been then.
Well, he’s seen Ronan too, but sometimes no human company is better than certain human company.
“You served as Mitth'raw'nuruodo’s translator during the beginning of his time in Lesser Space, did you not?” Ar’alani says, as if ripping the thoughts of home straight from the top of his mind. Her face betrays nothing, but Eli feels it again—trepidation sitting cold on his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck prickle. She knows that he was as well as anyone. There’s more to it than that, just like there’s more to the shuttle parked in front of them.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his mouth dry. He tears his eyes away from the shuttle to look up at her, his gaze steady, if a little wary. “I was.”
A shadow of a smile flickers across her face, so brief and ephemeral that he might not have seen it at all. “It seems we may be in need of your services again, Commander.”
*
The holo-projection flickers, displaying the two figures in the other room. It’s not an interrogation room, exactly. More of a holding room. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re being watched.
“The one knows some Mees Caulf,” Admiral Ar’alani says, nodding toward the holo-projection, “but Galactic Basic appears to be their native language.”
“You understand Basic,” Eli says neutrally, not quite making a point, but close to it. Ar’alani hadn’t been quite as interested in Basic as Thrawn, but she saw the use in knowing a degree of it and Eli did his best to teach her. Her demanding schedule left more than a few holes in her education, but she’s still quite adept at understanding it, even if she’s not fluent.
“And you speak it,” she counters. She shakes her head. “I don’t want to leave any room for error here.”
It’s important. The fact scratches at the back of his mind, picking at a train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he saw the shuttle with its two little late-addition blaster cannons. “How did they get to be here?” He asks. “Was their ship in distress?”
It would take next to nothing for the Relentless’s tractor beams to pull in the shuttle, but technological capability wouldn’t be the problem. CEDF policy dictates that its ships don’t don’t act until fired upon, and it’s hard to believe that a little boat like the T-6 would fire on a Worldeater-class warship and not expect to be turned to space dust.
Ar’alani turns her glowing red gaze to him, and her expression doesn’t outwardly change, but somehow it tells Eli all he needs to know. “They were within the Ascendency’s borders,” she says. “I’m not interested in taking unnecessary chances right now.” The implication is a heavy one, and one she doesn’t need to elaborate on. The grysk threat has been pressing in on all sides, slowly strangling the Chiss Ascendency while the Syndicure fights amongst itself. There have been reports of a suspected client species harrying the border at the East Quadrant as of late, which is exactly why Ar’alani has the Relentless patrolling space on the opposite end of chiss territory, waiting for trouble.
Eli grimaces faintly. He understands—with the grysk method of subjugating client species, threats can come in any ship, shape, or size. Similarly, it entirely makes sense to utilize his knowledge of Lesser Space, especially if there’s any chance that the grysk colonization has extended that far. But—
But when the Supreme Admiral chews her ears off for violating their beloved non-aggression protocol, Eli doesn’t much want to be within arm’s reach. As the lone non-chiss within the CEDF’s ranks (somehow they declined to offer Ronan a position) Eli is already the much-beloved punching bag of the Syndicure. He’s not really looking toward to being dragged into a new mess.
Then again, getting dragged into messes is apparently what he’s good at. It certainly happens often enough.
Ar’alani catches the look, and her mouth twitches in a smile. “Have faith, Commander. I have a feeling about this.” He notes that she doesn’t specify if it’s a good feeling. Instead she turns back the holo-projection with a nod. “Tell me what you know.”
Eli bites back a sigh and turns his attention back to the holo-projection, where the two figures are seated side by side at a table. One is leaning back in her chair, her feet on the table and her arms folded across her chest. She’d look almost bored, if it weren’t for the taut lines of her body.
“She’s a human,” he says, pointing. “Mandalorian, based on the armor. A lot of them work as bounty hunters, last I heard, but I don’t know what would bring her all the way out here.” His attention shifts to the other figure. This one is taller, more serene. She sits with her back straight and her eyes forward, half-lidded as if in quiet meditation. “That one’s a togruta. I don’t know much about them.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably. “There...weren’t many non-humans in the Imperial Navy.” Just about one, really.
It’s barely anything to go on, but Ar’alani nods anyway, as if he’s actually said something useful. She opens her mouth to speak, but a messenger from comms arrives, and she steps aside to speak with him.
Eli takes the extra time to study the holo-projection further, but if there’s anything useful to find, he doesn’t see it. Frustration bites at him. He learned a lot from Thrawn, but he doesn’t have the same near-supernatural ability to read the situation, and especially not in the same ways. He can’t look at the colorful patterns on the Mandalorian’s armor and extrapolate her favorite fruit.
Something warm slips into his hand, and he startles.
“Sil’vee,” he says, looking down at the sky-walker that’s come up beside him, tucking her small hand into his. “Where is your caretaker?”
She looks up at him with wide eyes, her lips quirked in just enough of a mischievous smile for him to see. Sil’vee is what he’s come to recognize as a good age for a sky-walker—at nine, she’s old enough to be seasoned but not so old as to have to worry about her third sight fading just yet. It’s a brutal assessment for a nine year old girl, but he’d been with the CEDF long enough to accept the reality of the sky-walker’s role there. He likes them, and he finds that they like him. Probably because he treats them like children and not military assets—that and the sweets he sneaks them when their caretakers aren’t looking.
“Looking for her questis, probably most likely,” Sil’vee says innocently. “They get lost really easily.” She’s as smart as a whip, which will serve her well someday. In the meantime, it’s mostly giving the crew of the [i]Relentless[/i] gray hair. “Is it true we have prisoners?” She leans forward to get a better look at the holo-projection, her eyes bright.
“Guests,” Eli corrects her, though he’s not entirely sure she’s not closer to the truth. Are they still guests if the doors are locked? “You should…”
She should leave before Ar’alani tells her off for wandering, but the words die in Eli’s mouth, distracted as one of the so-called guests moves. The togruta woman stirs as if waking, raising her head and looking—
Directly at him, as if straight through the holo-projection. No, not at him. Her eyes are canted slightly downward, closer to his middle than his face. She’s looking at Sil’vee.
He hears a soft inhale from his side. “Who is she?” Sil’vee asks, awestruck.
“That is a very good question,” Admiral Ar’alani says from behind them. Eli jumps. Sil’vee doesn’t. On the holo-projection, the togruta woman looks away again. “I suppose it’s time to find out.”
*
Eli steps into the room, and the mandalorian’s boots immediately slip off the table and hit the floor.
“No way,” she says. “A human?” She turns to her companion. “What’s going on here?”
“I have a feeling we’re about to find out,” the togruta says, her eyes trained on Ar’alani—not quite wary, but close to it. She has a look in her eyes that Eli almost recognizes. Like she knows more than she’s letting on.
“My name is Lieutenant Commander Eli Vanto of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet,” Eli says. The Basic almost feels strange in his mouth after so long speaking Cheunh, but comfortable, like releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He tries not to wince at his Wild Space accent, alive and well. An old habit. In the Ascendency, he gets plenty of looks about his accent in Cheunh too. “I’ll be translating for Fleet Admiral Ar’alani.”
Ar’alani nods and Eli doesn’t miss the mandalorian giving the togruta another sharp look, her eyebrows raising fractionally. What had inspired that reaction?
Another shiver of intuition crawls up his spine. Chiss. It was the word chiss.
He looks to Ar’alani, almost mirroring the mandalorian, but Ar’alani and the togruta are only looking at each other, their gazes cool and appraising and almost as if a translator isn’t necessary at all. Somehow they’ve already come to the conclusion that Eli and the mandalorian are only just arriving at.
“My name is Ahsoka Tano,” the togruta says. “This is Sabine Wren. We’ve come a very long way searching for someone very important to us.” Her eyes flicker to Eli, just for a moment. They narrow slightly. “He was last seen over the planet Lothal.”
Eli’s nerves are all up, sparking like live wires. Lothal. Of course he knows the name Lothal. How can he forget it?
Ahsoka tilts her head, the intensity of her gaze meaningful as she locks eyes with Ar’alani. “He was last seen with Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
*
“You knew,” Eli snaps, jabbing a finger at Ar’alani from across her desk. “You knew why they were here.”
It’s not how a subordinate talks to their commanding officer, and he’ll regret it later, but for now he’s too angry to think better of it. He kept his composure in front of Ahsoka and Sabine. Now, alone with Ar’alani in her office, he’s run all out of patience.
“I suspected,” Ar’alani says cooly, in a move that reminds him so strongly of Thrawn that he wants to tear his hair out. She suspected, but chose not to enlighten him to her suspicions before sending him in there to have a bomb dropped on his head.
“What would you have done if I’d told you?” Ar’alani says, her voice sharp but patient. She raises her eyebrows pointedly. “What would you have done if I’d been wrong?”
Eli stops, the line of his shoulders still rigid and tense. He’s gotten better at moderating his response to Thrawn’s name, at pressing down the stupid hope that it triggers on instinct, but it’s still there, somewhere inside him. Travelers from Lesser Space, on a mission to find Thrawn—well, someone adjacent to Thrawn at least. He wouldn’t have been able to help the way his heart tripped at that.
And the disappointment would have been harsh if it had turned out not to be true. The disappointment ages poorly, more bitter every year, like a particularly bad wine. Peaks of hope only give way to valleys of grief, and he hasn’t learned how to live comfortably in them yet.
Ar’alani only nods at the telling silence. Somehow, her being right only irritates him more.
“What happens now?” Eli says shortly, turning the subject toward something more productive. “You wouldn’t have broken the non-aggression protocol just to confirm a hunch. You’re planning to do something.” He knows that Ar’alani was Thrawn’s friend just as much as he was, but she’s also a Fleet Admiral of the CEDF, and practical on top of that. She doesn’t do anything without a purpose.
“What happens now,” Ar’alani says, “is that we aid them. We will discuss it with Ahsoka and Sabine once I’ve arranged the details, but I believe they already suspect my intentions. I want to have a hand on this, most especially if it might involve one of our own.” It doesn’t escape him the way she says our own as if it doesn’t matter that Eli himself is not chiss. “It would be foolish of them to travel through the Chaos as ignorant of it as they are. It’s a wonder they made it this far without a navigator at all, considering Lesser Space’s attachment to their computers.”
There are a million things he should ask—what will the Syndicure think? Will the Syndicure even know? Will the Supreme Admiral? Suddenly it feels like they’re hopping out of the frying pan and straight into the fire, but that’s not what’s at the forefront of Eli’s mind. He opens his mouth. “I—”
“I would like you to be among those who accompany them,” Ar’alani says before he can even ask.
That raises the question who else she wants to accompany them, but it lays to rest one fear at least. Eli feels his shoulders loosen a degree. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“The grysk threat is only growing. We need to act, and soon, before it’s too late. Even if that means decisions that are a bit...unorthodox.” She leans back in her chair, her chin resting in one hand, her fingers pressed contemplatively against her cheek. Her eyes look far away. “It’s time for Thrawn to come home.”