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From the second he entered the bunker Ivant knew this was not what Mak’ro had assumed it was. Every one of the Empire’s caches - and there had been many - had looked more or less the same; stuffed to the brim with stockpiles of water and food, racks of weapons and piles of armor, tanks of tibanna and other compressed gasses, extra battery packs, survival gear, raw materials for clothes, replacement parts for droids, boxes of tools, and practically anything else that might be needed to eke out another few months of jump-by jump travel until the next cache was reached.
This bunker was far smaller, for one - it contained some food and water, a few weapons and armor pieces, some compressed gas - but in far, far fewer amounts than Ivant had expected to find. It wasn’t even that the numbers were lower due to lack of space; the vast majority of the room was open. There was a table in the center of the room with a single chair and a small metal box on top, and the back wall was taken up by Lesser Space-style computer terminals and screens. No wonder Iunhe hadn’t known what she was looking at - compared to Chiss designs, these looked positively antiquated. Depending on when they had been installed, they might actually be antiques, Ivant realized, but as best he could tell with a quick glance they were still functioning.
Closer examination would come once he dealt with the container waiting for him.
Filled with a strange, mixed sense of anticipation and dread, Ivant reached out and placed his palm on the biometric scanner. After a moment, it beeped and the lock disengaged. He slowly lifted the lid, then slammed it shut.
“Everyone out. Now.” Ivant didn’t bother looking up; the team knew from the tone of his voice he was not going to tolerate any questions to his order. Even Iunhe stepped out with little more than a concerned glance back. Once the door closed and he was alone, Ivant curled in on himself, suppressing a sob. He slowly opened the box a second time, the scent trapped within filling his nose.
Imperial-issue soap. Hair gel. The strange but pleasant smell that he had learned was common to all Chiss. And something else, some quality that had always been unique to Thrawn himself. Ivant allowed himself to get lost in memory, flashes of happier days when he was still Eli, and he hadn’t yet been parted from the most important person in his life. Standing together on the bridge. Sparring in the dojo. Late nights working, or socializing. Getting ready for Ascension week parties and falling in bed together after said parties. Thrawn had always been particularly amused at flaunting the rule that said they were not allowed to be together - a human and an alien - while in the shadow of the Imperial Palace itself. It had been part of his own small rebellion, Ivant figured, a way to remind himself that while he might have worked for the Empire, it was not who he truly served.
Aside from the trapped scent, there were two other objects in the box. The first, a letter written on flimsi; he recognized Thrawn’s hand in the elegant strokes of the letters. The second..
The second. He picked it up, and closed it in his fist before returning his attention to the letter. At first it was nonsense - not only had it been a very long time since he had read written Basic, the message itself was gibberish.. until he remembered the cipher they would use with each other, to ensure their messages would not be easily read by eyes they were not meant for. It took a bit of time to translate, but it came back far quicker than Ivant had guessed it would after so much time.
My Eli,
If fortune is with me, you will never read this letter. But if it is not, I hope it finds you well. My situation in the Empire is rapidly becoming untenable, and I have plans in place to return to the Ascendency as soon as my present task is concluded. On the off chance that I have not yet returned, it is quite likely that I have been arrested and executed; know that it fills me with great sadness and regret to think that I will go to my death without having seen you one last time. Should that outcome occur, Commander Hammerly has been instructed to send a message to you with the coordinates to this location.
I look forward to seeing you again; sometimes, knowing you are safe and waiting for me is the only thing that brings me comfort and allows me to keep me moving forward.
Yours,
Mitth’raw’nuruodo
PS - The day we met will open the way.
Ivant read the letter three times, then slowly opened his hand. Sitting on his palm was a small clay figurine of a curled-up lizard, sloppily painted in yellow and brown. He had been a child when he made it, and had kept it with him when he left home; a good-luck charm that has served its purpose well over the years. When he had boarded the shuttle to leave the Chimaera one last time, Thrawn had given him his journal; Eli had given Thrawn the lizard, and told him to hold onto it, and give it back when he came home. When they had unexpectedly met a year or so later, the lizard was still in Thrawn’s quarters, sitting on a shelf over his bed.
And now it was here.
What did that mean?
Ivant folded the letter and slipped it into his tunic. He clutched the lizard to his heart in an unconscious salute, then turned back to the computers.
The first section of machinery he couldn’t identify the purpose of at all - there were a great number of electrodes on a shelf, connected to a device by a bundle of wires as thick as his arm. Next to that were cabinets full of datacards - hundreds of them - but in size and shape that he wasn’t familiar with; they appeared to be made to fit into the machine itself, judging by the slot on the front of the device. They sat in holders on tracks that it looked like would feed them into the larger machine. Not wanting to interact with or alter something he didn’t understand, Ivant moved on to the more recognizable computers.
There was a lot of data being displayed on the monitors: rows and rows of what seemed to be chemicals or other materials and their relative levels. Ivant couldn’t identify the vast majority of them - chemistry had never been his strong suit. He could barely pronounce some of the things listed, but whatever they were, and whatever they were a part of, the computer seemed happy with the numbers it was displaying - some were higher than others, some lower, but all were in the acceptable ranges listed, lit in green. He slowly moved down the line, studying each screen, until he reached the last monitor. This one didn’t show chemical levels - it showed a constantly updating series of lines. Again, most meant nothing to him, but two in particular caught his attention. The first, labeled ‘Status: Delta’ was a long line with the occasional gentle rise and fall above and below the center point; it reminded him of a series of smooth, rolling hills. The second was a repeating pattern: a small dip, a sharp spike, a more gentle rise, and then a flat line until the next small dip. There was little variation in the pattern that he could detect.
While the bulk of the data was a mystery, he recognized that second line. Ivant froze in place, barely able to breathe as he watched the updates scroll past. It wasn’t possible. It was not.
He eventually broke his gaze from that line, ignoring the silent tears flowing down his face, and focused on a number pad on the wall next to the monitor.
The day we met will open the way.
Ivant raised his hand and keyed in a date, so many years in the past but not forgotten.
The pad flashed red and gave a harsh beep. Incorrect entry. Ivant started to panic when another fragment of memory surfaced.
“In the stories the Chiss used Sy Bisti in their dealings with us.”
“As you also used that language with us.”
Sy Bisti used a different date format than the Empire. He re-entered the code in the proper format, and held his breath.
The keypad turned green. It beeped in confirmation. A door, the edges well hidden, unlocked then opened.
Ivant stepped inside.
The area behind the door was open, the dim space lit with gentle blue light emitting from a large, cylindrical tank standing upright at the far end of the room. Mouth hanging open, his eyes wide with disbelief, Ivant approached it step by slow, halting step. There, floating in the center of the tank, was a figure.
Long black hair.
Blue skin.
He was younger than he had ever been while Ivant had known him, but he would recognize that face anywhere. The lines of the nose. The angle of the jaw. The shape of the lips and the eyes, the arc of the brows, the curve of the ears.
Thrawn.
Ivant pressed himself against the glass, unable to look away. The computers monitoring him in the other room had said everything was healthy, normal. Thrawn’s heartbeat was strong and even. He slept in stasis, had been sleeping for years now, decades maybe; waiting for the day that Eli would come and wake him.
He didn’t know how long he stood there listening to Thrawn’s slow breathing and examining every detail of the man - his fingers, his toes, the dip of his navel, the planes of his muscles. There were electrodes - sensors, he presumed, attached to his body, with a large number of wires emerging from the base of his skull. Ivant’s eyes hurt from staring unblinking; his muscles hurt from being so tense for so long. He ignored it all - even with the man himself in front of him, he couldn’t believe it was true. Thrawn was alive. He ached to touch him again, to hold him, to tell him all the things he hadn’t gotten a chance to say, all the things he had wished he could say to him.
Eventually he dragged his attention away from the tank to the monitor on the wall next to it. There was a single prompt on the screen, the text blinking.
Begin memory transfer procedure? - YES
And then it all clicked, and Ivant understood. The body before him was a clone; an empty shell. The datacards in the other room was where the real Thrawn waited. He had taken all of his knowledge and memories and downloaded them for this, his next iteration, to receive. A young, healthy, body with the advantage of decades of learning and experience to call on.
Shaking, Ivant reached out to the screen. His finger hovered over the ‘YES’ button for several minutes.
His arm dropped.
He couldn’t do it.
Thrawn had not been a perfect man. He had occasionally done terrible, unconscionable things in order to keep the Ascendency and other loved ones safe, and Ivant knew that each time a small part of Thrawn had suffered for it - but to not take the action for the sake of his own self wasn’t an option that had ever occurred to him, that would ever occur to him.
All Thrawn had ever wanted was to protect. He had sacrificed for his people, over and over, and they had always demanded more, and more, and more. And once he was inconvenient they had tossed him aside, and he had forgiven them, and still strove to protect them.
The Chiss had not changed. They would treat him no differently this time around than they had the first time. He would have to not only have to cope with the memories of his prior experiences but would go through the same thing again, or a variant that ended up at the same place. The patterns were clear. It might well be worse the second time - Thrawn's mature mind, accustomed to doing as he wished to do and judged best, would fit into the Ascendency even more poorly than he had when he knew nothing else. Thrawn would have a long life ahead of him - even if he was still subject to accelerated aging - full of loneliness and frustration and pain. Ivant was old, and powerless, and would not be able to prevent the inevitable from occurring.
But there was one thing he could do. He could grant one kindness, a final act in thanks to the man that had made him into who he was.
Sometimes terrible things had to be done to protect those that were the most important.
He lay his hand against the tank, and kissed the surface of the glass.
“I love you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, more than anything else in this life. But you’ve already given more than any one person can be expected to give. You, more than anyone, deserve to rest. Forgive me.”
------
The few boxes of supplies in the bunker had already been taken back to the shuttle. Ivant placed the detonators throughout the bunker himself, primed and ready to go. It would be quick and painless - there was enough explosives to make sure of that. Lingering in the doorway to take one last look at the sleeping clone, Ivant turned and made his way to the cabinet where Thrawn’s memories were stored. He set the clay lizard on top, then turned and left the bunker. His shuttle was waiting; it was a short flight to where Iunhe stood waiting near the other shuttle with the rest of her team, holding the activation remote. Ivant hadn’t entirely trusted himself not to give in to sudden impulse and set the detonations off while he was still in the building. He disembarked and strode up to her, then held out his hand. Iunhe placed the remote on his palm, not bothering to hide the concerned expression on her face at the empty look on his.
Ivant turned to look at the bunker in the distance and let his thumb hover over the button.
“Fire in the hole,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
He counted to three, then pressed the button. There was a great flash of light and swirls of flame as the building was consumed. There was no need to examine the site. As he had intended, there was nothing left behind but ash.
The flight back was silent.
------
Ivant sat in his office chair in front of his holopad and called Mak’ro. When the Admiral’s image materialized, Ivant said two words:
“It’s done.”
“Very good,” Mak’ro replied. “Return to your patrol and report anything out of the ordinary. Otherwise, continue on. You’re due for restocking at Naporar in three months; I’ll speak to you again then.”
“Understood, Sir.” The holo faded when Mak'ro disconnected, taking all the light in the room with it. Ivant sat quietly in the dark, his mind blank and body numb for several long minutes. Eventually he gave a deep, bone-weary sigh and climbed to his feet; he slowly headed back to the bridge, feeling older and more alone than he had in a very, very long time.