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"The raids along our outer border at Celvis and Yashuhvu are increasing in frequency but, thanks to the heightened foresight of our Navigators as a result of their new training, we have been given plenty of warning to repel the invaders each time," Thrawn was reporting, calm gestures at the holographic map emphasizing his points as he spoke to the Defense Hierarchy Council.
The Supreme Generals gathered behind the podium in the meeting chamber listened attentively. Ja'fosk looked a little bored on the end, his head leaned on his fist, but at least respected the former Imperial Grand Admiral enough not to interrupt.
Thrawn scanned their faces as he spoke. Ja'fosk and Ba'kif he knew from before, but most of the Council was new, added or promoted during the course of his exile. They had been skeptical of him at first, and of his strategy for dealing with the current problem—none of them had seen the first skirmishes, knew anything about how the enemy operated—but his results spoke for themselves. The Grysk's slow encroachment had been halted. They no longer made headway into Chiss territory. That was something undeniable, even to the inexperienced heads of the Council.
"Though encouraging, the rebuffed raids signal only the beginning of the turning point in our efforts against the Grysk. If we wish to maintain our borders and keep the Ascendancy secure, we must go on the offensive and strike at their place of forward operations."
One of the younger generals stirred, eyes attentive. "How do we accomplish that?" he asked curiously.
Pleased, Thrawn changed the holoprojection feed. "It is a simple matter to calculate the origin point of the raider vessels from the positions where they drop out of hyperspace, cross-referencing of course our own navigational data to determine the most likely safe route through the Chaos they could have come through." Extending an arm he pointed at a specific area of the map. "If you observe this quadrant—"
He went on, but his audience was no longer paying attention, distracted by something happening in the wings behind him. Thrawn keened half his attention back that direction, surprised to see Eli Vanto speaking hurriedly to the guards at the chamber's entrance. Vanto looked in distress, and as soon as the sentries let him pass he rushed right up to Thrawn and whispered frantically in his ear.
"Bridger's escaped. He lost his escort somehow and fled the compound, last seen heading north," was the harried report.
Thrawn's eyes widened a fraction. Quickly composing himself in front of his superiors he held up a hand.
"My apologies, gentlemen, it seems there is a pressing matter that I must see to," he told them. He gestured with his chin. "Lieutenant Vanto, take over please," he instructed.
A round of discontent murmurs went around the room as Vanto stepped up and Thrawn pulled together his jacket and coat.
"Your Jedi give you the slip again?" Ba'kif withered.
The vaguest flash of irritation crossed the Grand Admiral's face. "It will be addressed momentarily," he said, in a short, clipped voice.
He swept out of the room, walking purposefully down the hallway as numerous members of his senior staff came to alert and fell into step beside him.
"Comm the Chimaera," he ordered, adjusting the buttons on his sleeve. "Let them know we have need of the gunships."
-SWR-
Cold air rattled in his lungs as he ran, panting heavily, eyes straining the sky for signs of his pursuit. The wind was bitingly bitter, the sparse stripped gray trees offering no protection from it, nor any cover for him as the gunships bore down on him. His fingers and toes were already numb and he was beginning to understand why most of the inhabitants stayed underground.
He ran, heedless of the direction and with no plan in mind except to get as far away as he could before he was caught.
Which was looking to be sooner rather than later, he thought grimly, as the whine and engine-roar of the Chimaera's two surviving gunships grew louder behind his head.
A tall craggly cliff edge rose up on his right side, and to his left, through the trees, was a long flat icy plain. Neither option offered much help to him. Breathless, Ezra craned his head back over his shoulder, glimpsing the ships in his periphery.
They were gaining fast.
Ezra veered closer to the cliff face, reaching up, grasping hold of snow and stones with invisible fingers and pulling it down.
He heard the yelps of alarm and the glut of snow hitting one of the gunships' wings, sending that ship veering off wildly. The other one kept on him though, and stun shots began pinging off of trees and ice next to him.
Ezra pumped his arms and legs, trying to increase speed. The other gunship had recovered, was ahead of him now, swiveling around and descending. Its open sides bristled with Chiss commandos, wrapped up in heavy winter gear.
Throat tightening, Ezra looked straight forward and willed himself to sprint even faster, hoping to make it through an open gap between—
He heard something shot out of a barrel behind him, a rapid whoosh!, and then metal wires wrapped around him and tangled him up and he was sizzling, electric shocks arced from the capture net through his body.
Ezra seized, every muscle tensing painfully, tingling, his jaw locking on a scream as the sparks reverberated through him.
He fell forward to the ground, skull rattling as his head hit the ice.
In a daze, he lay there, feeling the shocks subside. He was numb, his body was still twitching but otherwise would not move, could not move. His arms were trapped underneath him. His hands were useless. The net wire scraped him with every small flinch. Pain throbbed through his head and he was disconnected from all his senses. Sound was far away, and his eyes wouldn't focus.
He floated, dizzy, and all he was able to do was listen to the troops approach him.
Shouting. Crunching footsteps in the snow.
A dark blur fell over him in shadow. Weakly, Ezra flicked eyes up.
The looming figure above him was undefined, save for glowing red eyes and a severe frown. Ezra's stomach sank a bit as the figure pulled out a blaster and pointed it down.
The last thing he saw was blue stun rings.
-SWR-
Everything ached.
His muscles were sore and tender. He could feel it as soon as he was aware of himself, and groaned softly.
Turning his head, Ezra started to catch snatches of voices outside the room. Raised yelling, harsh and annoyed.
"—no wonder he keeps trying to get away from you! Do you have any—"
Feeling started to come back to his limbs. The air smelled cold and sterile, and slightly antiseptic.
"—shoot him myself if you can't—!"
His eyes blinked open.
Seeing the unfamiliar gray-white medbay walls Ezra took in a sharp breath and shot upright—
—only to feel himself jerk to a stop, his wrists and ankles strapped tightly down to the gurney he was laying on.
Ezra sat for a moment, processing, then flopped back down with a heavy, disappointed sigh.
"Of course," he muttered.
Predictably they'd taken his clothes and equipment; Ezra now wore a loose-fitting teal shirt-and-pants patient set. Some kind of bandage was on the back of his neck but, of course, he couldn't exactly reach up to touch it.
Ezra idly tested the straps holding him down as he waited for whatever drama was happening outside to finish.
He wasn't sure who was yelling—he knew the voice but couldn't place it to a name—but he recognized Thrawn's calm monotone speaking in response. Eventually the shouter seemed to wind down and finish making his point. Footsteps echoed away down the hall, and then Thrawn came in, backed by a pair of guards.
Thrawn's gaze was even and neutral, hiding all hint of emotion. Ezra glared back warily as the man approached the bed and stopped, observing him for a moment.
A beat.
"Will there be any issues if your restraints are removed?" Thrawn asked calmly, a hint of clipped pointedness in his tone.
Ezra lowered his eyes, resigned.
"No sir," he muttered.
Thrawn nodded to the guards and they came forward, unstrapping his wrists and ankles, keeping their blasters firmly trained on him the whole time. Ezra didn't move, sitting there silently and compliantly as they freed him.
The guards backed off, still eyeing him, hands twitchy on their sidearms.
Thrawn turned his head over his shoulder to address them.
"Please leave us a moment," he requested.
One of the men started forward in concern. "But sir—" he objected.
A look from Thrawn ended his protest. Both guards nodded respectfully and exited the room, though Ezra saw them lingering just outside the open doorway.
He scowled as he sat up a bit. Enoch was the one who'd spoken—Thrawn was inexplicably fond of the Imperial officer despite his repeated attempts during their exile in Wild Space to murder Ezra. Or perhaps because of said repeated attempts.
He felt Thrawn's critical gaze on him and refused to meet the red eyes, stubbornly.
There was silence for a long heartbeat before Thrawn spoke up.
"This alliance will not work if you continue not to cooperate."
"We don't have an alliance," Ezra snapped, turning his face up finally, glaring. "We never did. We had a temporary truce when we were stranded in Wild Space." He shifted back on the gurney. "Now we have a 'you do whatever the hell you want while keeping me from going home'," he said.
"I understand your frustration—" Thrawn began.
"Do you?" Ezra interrupted sharply. The derision was clear in his voice. "Because to me it looks like you get everything you wanted, while I'm stuck being your prisoner."
"What home do you believe you can go back to? " Thrawn challenged, jaw pinching tersely. "Lothal has likely long been destroyed for its uprising against the Empire." The red eyes looked down his pointed nose. "Even if your Rebel Alliance did somehow manage to topple Palpatine, it would be ill-suited to defend against the threat that is coming." Thrawn shifted back to neutral, clasping hands behind his back. "A threat that I must fortify the galaxy against if my people are to survive," he said.
It was all the same crap he'd been saying for years. There was no way the Alliance could strategically win, it would take too long for a new government to rebuild even if they did, there was some greater worse evil out there that Thrawn needed Ezra's help, specifically, to defend against. Every day it was sounding more and more like an excuse to keep denying Ezra his due reward for his well-earned victory over Thrawn at Lothal, more and more like a means of punishing him for beating Thrawn, of preventing him from returning home.
"You don't need me for any of that," Ezra argued, making plaintive, almost desperate gestures, his eyes crinkling, trying to appeal to the shred of decency he knew the man had. "Let me go."
Thrawn was unmovable. "I cannot. You have proven too valuable an asset to my plans," he told Ezra.
Ezra scoffed. "Yeah right. You're just afraid I'll tell everyone where you're hiding so they can come drag you back to face justice," he said, crossing his arms sourly. Ezra had not made it a secret, during their time stranded in Wild Space, that he intended to have Thrawn stand trial for his crimes under the Empire, before whatever new government his friends managed to build—and he knew they would. Even if Thrawn had kept very careful control over what Ezra was able to find out about the wider galaxy, Ezra had felt it when the Emperor died, knew the Alliance had claimed victory. Thrawn's days playing the hero were numbered.
Thrawn's posture bristled, ever so slightly. "Everything I have done, no matter how unpleasant, I did for the sake of protecting my people," he defended.
"So did I," Ezra countered. He pinned Thrawn with an accusatory glare. "Only difference is that I didn't hurt innocent people in the process."
"We are not going to have this discussion again," Thrawn cut him off, turning away from him, radiating aggravation. Ezra took a bit of petty satisfaction in the fact that he could still get under the man's skin.
He watched Thrawn school his posture, ever the picture of unflappable calm. The muscles in his back shifted as Thrawn took in a steady inhale and spoke again.
"The Defense Council has grown increasingly impatient with your repeated attempts to escape." Thrawn half-turned to face towards him again. "If I do not wish to be brought before the Syndicture for an accounting, I must keep greater control over you." He looked unusually grieved. "I am sorry," he said.
"For what?" Ezra asked.
...
Thrawn's long silence made him anxious, made his pulse flutter.
Ezra's eyes widened slightly, bewildered. "What are you talking about?" he pressed, voice starting to strain and waver. One hand crept up towards the bandage on his neck as his stomach dropped. "What did you do?!" he demanded in horror.
The Grand Admiral's eyes were cold and unfeeling as he stared down at Ezra. "You have been surgically implanted with a microchip transmitter, between your third and fourth neck vertebrae. It will track your location and limit your movement to within a two hundred yard radius," he explained bluntly. "Outside of that area, it will send an electronic pulse that will overstimulate your nervous system to the point of partial and temporary paralysis. If you continue to try to push the boundary of your allowed area, the pulse will strengthen to a shock that will render you unconscious," he warned. He leaned back slightly on his left leg. "I do not recommend attempting to remove the chip yourself, lest you wind up accidentally severing your spinal cord," he cautioned, tone horribly casual.
Ezra gaped, bald alarm in his wide eyes. "You..." he sputtered in outrage and horror. "You..."
He couldn't even articulate his thoughts, head spinning with revulsion and betrayal and anger.
As if Ezra had not spoken, as if he had not just revealed the horrifying fact that Ezra now had what amounted to a slave transmitter inside him, Thrawn delivered his next proclamation with indifferent formality.
"I am entrusting you to the command of Thalias, who will be your handler moving forward. There is a new class of Navigators from the Springhawk who need to be trained in your precognitive foresight. They will be brought to the facility here for you to instruct them. It will be another rotation before you are healed, and then you will begin immediately."
He finished, acting for all the world like their business was concluded.
Ezra slowly shifted his feet down to dangle over the gurney. He was stiff with shock and trembled with rage as he stared back at Thrawn, who was expressionless as a statue after proclaiming Ezra's next orders.
The tension held for a moment before Ezra lunged forward, seizing a scalpel left on a tool tray near him.
"You karking bastard!" he yelled, furious.
Thrawn halted Ezra's attempt to stab him before the guards at the door could even twitch forward. One hand seized his wrist, the other his throat; he was spun around and pinned against the nearest wall in an instant.
Ezra choked slightly, the pressure Thrawn's grip had on him just slightly tight enough to be dangerous. He squirmed, trapped in place, not dropping the scalpel even though Thrawn's grasp was crushing and painful.
He looked up into Thrawn's placid expression. The Chiss didn't look angry just... vaguely disappointed. Which was almost worse.
Thrawn waited until Ezra had stopped struggling before speaking again.
"Your naive insistence upon seeing me as the enemy is what has led to this," he said. "I have been telling you, Bridger, things are not as black and white as you persist in viewing them. There are greater things at stake than your petty grudge, and you will not undo the years of work I have put into defending the Ascendancy from her enemies," he continued, an angry pinch briefly forming between his brows. "Enemies that will move on to the wider galaxy next. If you truly wish to work for the greater good of your home, Bridger, you will put aside your own personal morals, and fall into line," he warned coldly.
"You don't get to lecture me," Ezra said through grit teeth. "You put a damn stunner in my neck!"
"I have done many things I did not think I would do for the sake of my mission," Thrawn dismissed.
He released Ezra, stepping back to straighten his cuffs and collar, brush lint off his sleeves.
"One more will hardly make a difference."
He held out a hand expectantly.
Ezra stared at it for a long moment, his initial flush of outrage subsiding, insides sinking. Through the Force he could feel Enoch vibrating at the doorway, waiting for Ezra to give him an excuse.
With a resigned sigh, he passed the scalpel over.
Thrawn returned it promptly to its tray and resumed a formal stance, hands behind his back. "There will be no more escape attempts," he pronounced sternly. "The Syndicure has made it very clear they consider you more trouble that you are worth." The red eyes were fixed warningly on him. "Do not give them a reason to eliminate you."
The threat might as well have been Thrawn's own. And Ezra knew from experience that he should only push the former Grand Admiral so far.
He looked down at the floor with a sullen glare in response.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I got it."
Thrawn nodded crisply in acknowledgement, then turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving Ezra standing there.
Ezra wondered briefly if he was going to be strapped down again, but the guards followed after Thrawn and no medical personnel entered the room to attend to him. Apparently Thrawn was satisfied that informing him about the stunner chip would keep him in line.
And Ezra hated that he was right.
He sighed again, and poked around the cabinets and supplies out of boredom until a nurse finally arrived and snapped at him to stop.
-SWR-
The chilly breeze wafted in his hair as he stood out on the balcony.
Ezra reached up and felt the back of his neck. The surgical scar was almost undetectable. A very clean, professional job. Thrawn likely hadn't been kidding when he'd warned Ezra not to try an amateur extraction.
His breath fogged as he exhaled softly, dropping his hand, leaning his arms on the railing.
His newest class of Navigators was even younger than the last batch. The oldest couldn't have been more than twelve. All too bright, too innocent. They weren't ready for the war that was brewing.
...He'd have to take them with him when he left, Ezra determined.
The stars twinkled high above, pale white in the frigid night sky. Eli had tried to teach him about local constellations but Ezra hadn't been terribly interested. Now though, he looked up towards the heavens and wondered if the wider galaxy was even visible from here.
Ezra firmed his hands, curling them into fists on the snow-covered stone.
He would get back. He'd return with help for the innocents he'd come to care for here, for the people threatened by a war not of their own making. But he'd do it on his terms, not Thrawn's. He would escape. He would break free.
He was nothing if not a proud and persistent pain in Thrawn's ass for it.
His next attempt would have to be more carefully considered. The last one had been half opportunistic impulse, half desperation. He'd be more thoughtful this time. Thrawn had said he was limited to a range of two hundred yards. So what determined that range? There had to be some kind of anchor or transmitter the chip in his neck communicated with, that told his captors when he was too close to the boundary of his allowed area.
So. His first task was to find and destroy that transmitter.
Surreptitiously of course.
Mulling over his options, Ezra let himself stare up towards the sky and the foreign stars, trying to ignore the ache of homesickness in his chest.
Destroy the transmitter, get the girls out, get home, he recited, making himself the firm promise.
Whatever happened he had to try.
He would make it home.
His family was waiting for him.