Chapter Text
Partagaz does not raise his voice. He never has.
That, Yularen thinks, is why people fear him more than interrogation rooms.
Former Supervisor Meero's files sit between them like a minor heresy: clean, meticulous, wrong only in the way that truth is wrong when it belongs to the wrong person.
"So," Partagaz says, no warmth in his tone, "as you can see, Supervisor Meero has been keeping a diary."
Yularen does not touch the datapad. He has learned that touching things first is how you inherit responsibility. Instead, he studies Partagaz’s face—the faint crease of disappointment, the bureaucrat’s equivalent of blood on the floor. Something else lies beyond that, too, but Yularen won't recognise it until it is too late.
"Unofficial logs," Partagaz continues. "Cross-sector synthesis. Pattern recognition beyond her remit. All from, of course, sources wildly beyond her clearance." A pause. "But her conclusions... have merit."
Ah. There it is.
"And she did not think to disseminate?" Yularen muses, leaning back on his chair. It's white, of course. Every inch of the room is pure, unmodulated white. A striking symbol of purity, perhaps, but not a very considerate colour on the eyes.
"She recorded," Partagaz says. "She did not submit."
The difference is everything. The Empire is not opposed to ambition. It simply insists on owning it.
Partagaz slides the datapad forward at last. Onscreen: names that are not names, routes that look like commerce until they don’t, a hypothesis sharpened into inevitability. One figure circled and circled again; like a scavenger circling the clouds high above a thriving thing in the desert, waiting for the inevitable fall.
Luthen Rael.
Yularen takes the datapad.
Of course Partagaz can't send just any ISB Agent or the other to deal with a situation this sensitive. The meaning is clear. He doesn't trust his subordinates enough to handle the level of delicacy required to keep this Luthen Rael's work intact enough to study the operation at further length. This is not a genius they are dealing with; it's someone with experience.
And that is so much worse.
"He runs an antique store as a front, you say?" Yularen says mildly, setting the datapad down. The perfect thought comes into his mind. "How comfortable are you with involving the Navy?"
Partagaz looks at him now, slightly disgruntled. "The Navy?" he says, barely forcing the word through. "The Navy have no subtelty for matters such as these."
"Not the general majority, no," Yularen agrees, and he smiles with all his teeth. "But I have a man in mind."
"Enter," Yularen says.
The door slides open to reveal a single man, backlit by the dying sun over Coruscant. The light catches his eyes, red as the horizon itself. The door seals behind him, and he steps forward, as if in finality.
“You sent for me,” Thrawn says. It's not a question.
“I did,” Yularen replies. He joins him at the viewport, offering the city below as neutral ground. “This is not an official briefing.”
“Then I will listen unofficially,” Thrawn says, mild as ever.
Yularen studies him from the corner of his eye. The uniform still bears the marks of a man climbing, not yet weighed down by a rank. And climb, Thrawn will, Yularen is sure. He wonders, not for the first time, whether the Empire understands what it is cultivating.
“There is a collector on Coruscant,” Yularen says. “Of antiquities.”
Thrawn looks curious. "An inefficient hobby, in most cases," he says, distaste obvious in his tone.
“So I've heard.” Yularen pauses. Then leans forward, opening his palm to reveal a scrap of flimsi with some neatly written words on it. "This is his address. I think you might like to pay him a visit, Commander... you may find it interesting."
Thrawn quirks an eyebrow. "Oh?"
“I would appreciate discretion,” Yularen says, steepling his fingers on top of his desk. “Historically, you have shown aptitude for such things, Commander Thrawn.”
Thrawn considers this. Then, almost pleasantly: “May I bring my aide?”
Yularen nods. “Ensign Vanto has an excellent reputation.”
“I find him useful,” Thrawn says, distantly. He looks back out at the city, already elsewhere. “I have a few trivial duties yet to complete. When would you say it is a good time to drop by?"
"Forget all other duties," Yularen says. Then, grudgingly, he allows himself the smallest smile. "You will start immediately."
"Ah," Thrawn says from the passenger side of the speeder, "here will do. There is a parking space a block away..."
"Here?" Eli Vanto says. He still pulls up the speeder, already eyeing the parking lot, albeit sparing a suspicious glance at Thrawn. "The antique store, sir? I thought you were partial to, uh, less... capitalist means of viewing art."
"True," Thrawn says, nodding idly. "But we are not here for pleasantries, Ensign Vanto."
Eli shifts the speeder into the parking space neatly, pressing two buttons so they can get out. He glances a suspicious look at Thrawn. "Aren't we?"
Thrawn makes no move to reply.
Upper Coruscant barely has any traffic. Currently there are just a few pedestrians, dressed in a way that oozes credits behind in their dress-trails. The entire block is composed of shops—a pleasant day for the upper classes, and a financial mausoleum to anyone lesser. All the buildings are near identical; yet they all have different items advertised classily in their windows.
Thrawn chances a glance at Eli and finds his suspicions proved correct—his aide's brows are furrowed ever so slightly, trying to make sense of their visit. The door of Luthen Rael's antiquities looms in front of them—a structure so staggering in its normality compared to the other buildings, especially given what he suspects now.
This, Thrawn thinks, a wonderful wave of anticipation washing over him, is what it is. Not those little fighters in their X-Wings, not the frantic uprisings and clumsy protests.
This is the Rebellion.
He turns to Eli as they reach the door.
"Do not bother to deduct a reason for our visit. No one could predict the truth. It is, by nature, designed that way," Thrawn says, looking away with a slight smile. "Besides, you'll know soon enough."
Eli doesn't have time to respond to that before the automatic glass doors slide open.
They march in.
The room, full of old items, carefully arranged about the space, smells like Chandrillan Lavender.
Chandrillan Lavender... that is important. Not in a way he fully cognises yet, but... he would have to remember that.
"Just a moment—" comes from behind the store-front; a deep, gravelly voice, designed to sound cheerful by force. By the time the man slides into the front, his mask is in place, his legacy all secure.
"Ah!" says Luthen Rael, no real emotion on his face but absolute joy. "Welcome, officers! My, this is a first!"
If he's put off by Thrawn's distinctly inhuman appearance, he doesn't show it.
Eli gives Thrawn one last questioning look before he takes his place near the door; still as a statue, watching. A rush of abrupt appreciation for him goes through Thrawn.
"Good afternoon," Thrawn says pleasantly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Luthen Rael, I presume?"
A girl slips into the room just then. Thrawn's eyes shift to her momentarily as she smiles in greeting at the two of them.
Luthen catches this, and darts his eyes back to find his partner. "Yes, I see you're already familiar," he laughs brightly. He gestures with his head behind himself. "And this my assistant, Kleya. What can we do for you today, Officer..."
"Thrawn," Thrawn says coolly. "Commander Thrawn." He doesn't introduce Eli.
"A Commander!" Luthen guffaws in awe, turning back to Kleya momentarily, as if to share his sentiment. Her eyes are wide, too, and she nods appreciatively, eyes grazing over the two of them. "Well, well. What can we do for you, Commander?"
"I only wished to have a look around," Thrawn says politely, letting his eyes wander around. "If that is alright."
"Of course, of course! Here—we have items from all across the galaxy. And some even from the outer reaches of space," Luthen says heartily, sweeping his arms over the place. Hesitating for a brief moment, he steps forward, an outreach into Thrawn's space. Behind him, Eli stiffens slightly, in a way that is percievable only to Thrawn.
Kleya coughs suddenly, still at the far end of the storefront. "Commander, can I bring you anything to drink? Caf, maybe? Water?"
Thrawn looks at Luthen for a long moment before his eyes travel to meet Kleya's. "No, thank you," he says easily. Then he looks back at Luthen. "Do start with your most fascinating piece, Mr. Rael. I'm afraid I tend to get... bored rather easily." A hollow threat of walking out, one that he doesn't really mean.
Luthen smiles kindly. "Yes, of course," he says. "I'm sure we can find something suited to your taste..."
"The new piece, maybe?" Kleya suggests as she walks to the back.
"Ah, yes." Luthen picks up what Kleya seemed to be referring to—something stringed to look like a double-sided harp, with three Krayt dragons placed on top of each edge and the middle. It is made of some shining gold metal. "This was unearthed just four years ago, but it was made a long time ago, during the time of the Old Republic—"
"Ah. Rakata, I take it." Thrawn hums, amused. “Or perhaps, more accurately, a faithful imitation. The asymmetry in the dragons’ crests suggests post-Imperial revivalism rather than original manufacture. The Rakata, after all, were known to be very precise in their art.”
Thrawn's eyes flicker discreetly to Eli, who is looking down at the floor with a slight smile—but it goes as soon as it came.
Luthen blinks.
"You have a very good eye, Commander," he praises eventually, and an edge develops in his tone. "But I'm afraid you're a little mistaken... these days there is much evidence of a sect of Rakata artisans who believed art was created by hand, not by tools or any measurements. The carbon dating profile in this instrument shows that it is well beyond our time."
Thrawn inclines his head, accepting the barb as a data point. "I had thought the Rakata civil war at the end of times saw those pieces to the end of their lives?"
"Yes, and that is what makes this find so incredibly priceless," Luthen smiles. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Though acquiring it was quite a pain—you know those old laws to keep dangerous items off public markets—it is quite worth it."
"Yes," Thrawn agrees. Then he looks down again, letting his mind waver off Rael as he absorbs the history of the piece. "It was designed for ceremony—for grief, for memory. It is curious, given that the Rakata constructed more feats of engineering marvel in their art towards the end of their times; not so much as for sentiment."
"There are always exceptions," Luthen exhales a soft laugh. “History is full of contradictions and all these... sides.”
"Quite," Thrawn muses. "Though neutrality is just as barbed as any side."
"Is that meant politically?" Luthen laughs. "I don't dare venture into politics. It's far too demanding. Why, I remember when there was that uprising a few levels below us, about, ah... some funding or the other. Was it for the clones? They'd come knocking on our door, if you'd believe it!"
"That was the Republic, Luthen," Kleya sounds helpfully, from where she's rearranging some trinkets.
Luthen laughs. "Yes, I keep forgetting. Empire, Republic, really... it's too much to keep track of."
His eyes—if one knows how to look—seem pained.
Thrawn looks around the store, unbothered but observant. "For a man uncaring of Galactic politics, it is curious that you should have not one, but two of the late Senator Amidala's commemorative head-wears. I assume it is in fact, that?"
"Oh, come now. Who doesn't know Padmé Amidala?" Luthen goes over to one of the head-wears, and touches it delicately. It's red and gold, expertly adorned with jewels and a black stone right at the centre, exactly where her forehead would be placed. "This—" he says, lifting it up, "—is one she wore during her tenure as Queen of Naboo."
The corners of Thrawn's mouth twist down.
The piece is alive with intention. A queen’s identity distilled into gold, stone, and fabric; doomed as it is to pass through hands of men and women who care little for all the personality it sings of. He imagines it resting on a Queen's head, heavy and yet freeing.
That is the first failure of a collector, Thrawn thinks. Not to hoard, but to fail to understand the language objects speak. The shopkeeper leaves markers, cues. Luthen believes these are distractions. They are not.
But comprehension is what he seeks here. Not victory, or leverage. Not even amusement—though the latter has its appeal. No, he seeks understanding. The patterns of insurgency are rarely obvious. They are encoded in human behavior, in habits, in objects left for interpretation. And it is curious, that Rael would have such a piece displayed. He'd have to ask Eli of his thoughts on it.
(Something tickles at the back of his head. It was not so long ago that Thrawn should forget his brief encounter with Senator Padmé Amidala. While it would be a sacrament to say she was a friend of his, he knew her as a brilliant strategic mind and a courageous leader.
Perhaps it is the unsettling feeling that comes with looking at a dead woman's clothes—and yet...)
Looking up, Luthen chuckles, unwittingly moving Thrawn's thoughts to more relevant matters. "Yes, many don't know that about her." He turns it around, as if inspecting it. "It was made for her when she served as Queen, and was given to her by the people upon her resignment."
Thrawn steps closer at last—not to the head-wear, but to the case behind it. His reflection fractures across the transparisteel, blue skin cut into careful angles by Naboo gold. He studies the plaque beneath the display.
“Provenance?” Thrawn asks mildly.
“Impeccable,” Luthen replies at once. “Acquired through private Chandrillan channels and authenticated twice.”
“Mm.” Thrawn inclines his head. Chandrillan, hmm? “Then you will not object to a third assessment.”
Luthen laughs. It is an old sound, worn thin from use.
“I’m afraid that would require paperwork far beyond my patience.” Luthen sets the headpiece down carefully, like it will shatter if set down too roughly. Thrawn finds himself grudgingly agreeing with the sentiment. "I call myself a fan, Commander, but not that much of a fan."
"Forgive me. I meant a less formal assessment." Thrawn looks down at the headpiece, letting his eyes flicker up to Rael just once; just enough to make him uncomfortable. It is used more to his advantage than not that humans tend to find Chiss eyes unnerving. "You must think me conceited. Despite my formal position, I posses some talent in the arts." He smiles briefly, and continues before he is interrupted. "Though forgeries have their own beauty to them. Ensign Vanto, how much free time do we have left?"
If Eli is perturbed with the sudden question, he doesn't show it. Experience can whittle even the hardest bark, Thrawn supposes, with some appreciation.
"Two hours, sir," Eli says plainly.
Luthen and Kleya glance over at Eli, no doubt surprised by his Wild Space accent.
"Very good," Thrawn says, pleased with his assesment so far. Dragging this encounter out would be most unwise. "I'd like to purchase this item."
"It was obvious what we were there for, if only because I knew to be suspicious," Eli sas as they walk out, watching Thrawn with some curiosity. "Question is who tipped you off—uh, you want me to carry that, sir?"
"I am fine," Thrawn says, as he nearly avoids a pedestrian while carrying the large box containing Senator Amidala's headpiece. "It was Yularen. By extension, I assume, the ISB. Perhaps some high ranking official, though I doubt this case is open to the entire Bureau."
"But—" Eli glances around to check if anyone is close, "—the ISB rarely needs more than a shred of evidence to arrest someone."
"I suppose they see more use for him," Thrawn suggests, swerving wildly again.
"I'll take that, sir," Eli says, motioning with his hands to get the box. Thrawn sighs, recognising a lost cause, and hands over the box. "I lied, back in the store. You were due on deck a long time ago."
"This takes priority, or so I am told," Thrawn says pleasantly. They see their speeder. "Did you know an art gallery opened last week, not two blocks from here, Ensign Vanto?"
"With all due respect, sir," Eli starts, which more often than not means no respect at all, "I will faint on you, publicly, if we have to look at any more art today. Lunch, though—that sounds doable."
"Indeed," Thrawn says, feeling his mouth curve into a genuine smile. They get into the speeder, and Eli unloads the package carefully into the backseat. "Same place as last time?"
Eli grins in answer.
"So how come you bought that thing?" Eli asks once he's happily settled with his deep-fried Nuna legs, sitting opposite Thrawn. "Senator Amidala's headpiece?"
"Naboo art is always worth buying," Thrawn says, cutting a piece of bread that Eli assures him he will like. He thinks, then, of Darth Vader, and twists a smile. "I've made Senator Amidala's acquaintance in the past, actually."
"Seriously?" Eli says, pausing.
Thrawn hums, and eats his bread. "You were right," he says to Eli. "This is quite good."
"Told ya," Eli says, eyeing him with narrowed eyes before returning to his Nuna legs. He changes the topic expertly. "So do you think we'll be returning to Rael's store?"
"I imagine we're going to be stationed on Coruscant for quite some time. Whatever I've gathered from Rael must already be known to the ISB," Thrawn admits. Then lowers his voice slightly. "Did you notice he had Jedi artifacts on display?"
Eli raises his eyebrows. "I didn't," he says. "But I'd thought any relic related to the Jedi were banned?"
"They are," Thrawn agrees, cutting another piece. "Possibly Mr. Rael has gone through a lot of trouble to acquire permission for them. Especially given that there is no large market for such things, for fear of being caught with them."
"I don't understand," Eli says. "Doesn't that just make him more suspicious? He's risking a lot by displaying them."
“A man in possession of restricted artifacts, displayed without fear, is either extraordinarily careless… or extraordinarily well-connected," Thrawn starts evenly. "Though consider this. If you, an innocuous antique dealer, were seen collaborating with a known ISB official, you would want an alibi, would you not? And what better excuse than seeking a permission grant for Jedi artifacts? Something that is not so trivial as to be excused to a minor official, and yet not important enough to draw the eye of anyone who might suspect larger malintentions."
Eli places his Nuna leg down very slowly. "...You think Rael has an ISB plant."
"I suspect it strongly," Thrawn confirms, then looks down at his food. "I think I'll order this bread next time as well. Let me guess—from Ryloth?"
"Got it in one, sir," Eli smiles tiredly at him. He seems to think of something else. "Rael has Chandrillan accounts."
"Yes. And the store was also perfumed with Chandrillan lavender," Thrawn adds, pleased with Eli's observation. "A distinct fragrance, though well-used by Coruscantis. But there is something that links Rael very close to Chandrilla. Do you have any ideas?"
Eli gives him a look, knowing very well that Thrawn's already arrived at a conclusion.
Regardless, Eli tries. "Didn't the Chandrillan Senator desert recently?" Eli asks, scratching his cheek. "I remember her speech, accusing Emperor Palpatine."
Thrawn smirks lightly. "It was a well written speech," he comments, and continues. "There was a man who aided Senator Mothma in her escape from the Senate," he says, lifting his fork. "I don't recall his name, but a quick search once we're back will settle it. Oh," Thrawn adds. "Yularen has arranged living quaters for us for the duration of this investigation."
Eli whistles lightly. "Rael must be a big fish," he says, biting into his food.
Thrawn watches him with half a smile. "Must be," he echoes.
"Fancy," Eli says with a little bit of awe as he and Thrawn walk into their apartment. He looks around at the splendour and extreme lavishness of the place. "And here I thought they'd be cramming us into a tiny room with just one threadbare bed."
"We are on the Ambassadorial District," Thrawn says, similarly looking around.
"Still," Eli laughs lightly, throwing a single bag on the floor and stretching. "We have five rooms. Five! What are we gonna do with them?"
"Ignore them, most likely," Thrawn says, faintly amused. "I'm going to make a call to Colonel Yularen. Will you look at the files concerning the man who aided Mothma in the meanwhile?"
"Yes, sir," Eli says, smile still a happy residue on his face.
They face each for a meaningful moment and just—breathe in the shared air. It feels like a memory, and Thrawn knows it likely is one, too.
Then they're off to work.
Eli heads for the room nearest the kitchen, while Thrawn claims the one closest to the main entrance.
A large window dominates the far wall, offering an unobstructed view of the Imperial Palace. The décor is sumptuous, and Thrawn is quick to dismiss it. He sets his bag down, clears the desk of useless ornaments, and begins arranging a secure call-space. Once he's done, he clicks Yularen's contact and waits.
A hologram of Yularen's face springs up in less than six seconds within calling.
"Commander Thrawn," Yularen greets pleasantly, before diving into business. "You have an update?"
"I assume much of my deductions are already known to you," Thrawn starts, seating himself on a plush red chair that matches with most of the décor. "The most important of which is that I strongly suspect Mr. Rael has a contact within the Imperial Security Bureau."
Yularen's eyebrows shoot up.
"Ah," Thrawn says, smiling lightly and without humour. "Forgive me for assuming, then."
"How did you arrive at such a conclusion?" Yularen asks.
Thrawn repeats the same reasoning he'd used to explain the logic to Eli.
"I see," says Yularen gravely, looking worried and thoughtful and distant at the same time. "Your intervention was truly a wise decision on my part, Commander Thrawn. Rest assured, I will be looking into this." He pauses. "What else have you discovered?"
"Not very much," Thrawn admits. "I'm certain Rael is connected to Senator Mothma, but little can be done about it now. Ensign Vanto is looking into the records of the man who aided her in escaping from the Senate presently. Though I cannot say yet if he works directly for Rael or if he is hired muscle. I imagine I will know shortly..."
"No, not hired," Yularen corrects. "I'll save your time. The man's name is Cassian Andor, and he's been wanted by the ISB for a very long time; initially due to his connection to Axis—Rael, that is—but recently he has proved to be extremely dangerous. I'll send you the ISB file. Former Supervisor Meero, the one who unearthed Axis, was quite... fixated on him."
"Former?"
"She was imprisoned," Yularen says. "To find Axis, she breached several layers of secure information, leading to leakage into rebel hands."
"What a waste," Thrawn mutters, furrowing his eyebrows at Yularen. "Can her release be arranged at least for the duration of completion of the case? I imagine my involvement wouldn't even be necessary if she were to be given the appropriate resources."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Yularen says, shaking his head. "Major Partagaz was very particular. You may, however, meet with her under secure circumstances—if that is what you require to obtain further information on Rael."
Thrawn frowns. "It'll hardly be necessary, but perhaps it'll speed up my timeline," he allows, shaking his head at human ficklety. Really, what a waste. "Ensign Vanto and I will meet with her."
"Excellent. I'll arrange it," Yularen says, satisfied. He nods once. "Send over anything else you think is important. And be careful not to visit too often, Thrawn."
"Understood," says Thrawn.
The line cuts off.
Thrawn wanders over to Eli's room and opens it without knocking.
"Cassian Andor," he says as way of greeting.
Eli doesn't look up from his datapad before answering.
"He has quite the record," Eli agrees, clicking something aggressively. "Ferrix, Aldhani, Narkina-5... even Ghorman—oh, hey, he stole a Starpath unit..."
"Aldhani?" Thrawn asks, interested. "He was involved in the robbery of the Imperial payroll? Impressive," he allows, sitting down on Eli's bed and pulling out his own datapad. "Who were his associates?"
He sends the ISB file on Andor to Eli wordlessly.
Eli recieves the file with a ping! and immediately opens it without comment.
"Six outside perpetrators, including Andor," Eli says, scrolling through the list. "Only one of them is identified—Taramyn Barcona, former stormtrooper, killed by Imperial forces. And... oh, a double agent, also killed; by the name of Lieutenant Gorn."
"Anything of note on the ex-stormtrooper?" Thrawn asks, skimming through Andor's offences. He dismisses the Lieutenant without so much as half a glance. Eli takes this in stride.
"Deserted during the Battle of Mimban," Eli says. "Nothing else." He looks up. "Did Yularen know about the ISB plant?"
"No," Thrawn says, shaking his head. Eli waits for elaboration, but Thrawn is already thinking, caught up in some other web of information and clues.
He gets distracted for half an hour or so by a revolution seemingly stemming from Andor's mother's funeral on Ferrix, Andor's home planet. Dedra Meero's entire career was setback by Andor's elusiveness, he realises. He quietly pulls up Ferrix's file, and then Narkina-5, Ghorman, and finally Aldhani—the operation that strikes him most.
Another hour passes. The sun is starting to set outside.
"A lot of dead ends," Eli notes idly, speaking after a long time of quiet. "What about Luthen's assistant?"
"Kleya," Thrawn says, opening the Axis files to get more on her. She, too, is a dead end. Rael is, at the very least, extremely elegant in his operations. "Kleya Marki. Officially, she is Luthen's daughter. It says her mother is estranged, but no name is listed."
"You don't think she's really his daughter, sir?"
"I think neither of them are what they say they are," Thrawn says, shrugging lightly. "I doubt even their true names. But Rael used to be in the military in some form. Ground trooper, I'd say."
Eli looks up, piqued. "Why do you say that?"
"His posture, for one, and..." Thrawn hesitates. It's not often anymore that he can't put his thoughts into the appropriate words. He tries instead in Sy Bisti: "The frame of his face. It was... altered."
"Changed?" Eli offers, biting his thumb absently. "Do you mean by surgery?"
Thrawn shakes his head. "His shape of his head is... used to a helmet."
Eli has spent a quarter of his life trying to understand Thrawn. "Oh. I get it," he says predictably, nodding. Then he grimaces. "Guess there are too many records galaxy-wide to cross-check them all with Rael, huh?"
"People leave traces," Thrawn says. "Probably, 'Luthen Rael' is some sort of derivative of his true name or tribute to his old life. Possibly it's even an anagram of some sort. Though," he admits, "even then, the search is too wide to manage."
Eli slants a small smile that says "you don't have to entertain me" before turning back to his files. Thrawn has to force his gaze away from lingering fondly on him.
Thrawn abandons his datapad eventually, and shuffles back so he's leaning on the bed's headboard. He stares at the marbled ceiling, reflecting light from the fading evening, and he does what he does best: he thinks.
Ferrix. Aldhani. Narkina-5. Ghorman.
Hm. Thrawn casts away Narkina-5. It doesn't fit the pattern.
Ferrix. Aldhani. Ghorman.
Ferrix is Andor's home planet. It's possible that his rebel activities there were enacted without Rael's support. Or Rael could have used Ferrix to recruit Andor. It doesn't fit the pattern, either.
Aldhani. Ghorman.
Aldhani. Ghorman.
Aldhani in particular is interesting—Thrawn has been informed of it previously. The Empire's response to the theft of an entire sector's quarterly payroll had been harsh and merciless. No doubt it was the reaction the rebels—Rael, to be precise—had expected. And it had worked. The rebellion grew larger than ever before at the hand of the Empire-wide fallout.
Thrawn's first thought had, admittedly, been to set a trap for Luthen, one he could not deny. But this is a man who plays the rebellion like a game, even if he doesn't think it is one. A trap would be obvious and unwise for a man of his caliber. And besides, the goal is not to detain him; any ISB fool can manage that. No, the goal is to make him sing.
Aldhani was only a step in the game. Ghorman—Ghorman isn't the end goal, either. But—
The Starpath unit.
Andor had stolen the Starpath unit ship. The first and only theft in his file.
Thrawn pulls up the file relating to the Starpath schematics, wondering if they are something like his own (or Morgan Elsbeth's, rather) TIE Defenders—an advanced model, superior to regular TIE fighters, but structurally familiar—but no, the schematics are entirely different. Unlike Elsbeth, the engineer hasn't just changed the engine manifold, they've included crystal-energy amplifolds.
But that doesn't make any sense. Regular power crystals aren't easy to acquire, even if they aren't—
—Even if they aren't Kyber crystals.
Kyber crystals, like the ones that power the Death Star.
But Project Stardust is under lock and key. The rebels can't have known—it all probability, the theft of the Starpath unit had been convinience and coincidence. But would they not wonder about the structural choice? It is hardly on brand for Imperial fighters, even disregarding the frankly inefective cost to produce them.
But then again—ah, the files that Meero had illegally accessed. Thrawn snatches his datapad and opens the folder quickly, skimming through the titles rather than the contents of the individual files.
Most are straightforward; small steps to the identity of Axis (it's quite brilliant, going through her methodology—she'd arrived at Axis through Cassian Andor, instead of the other way around, her first suspicions raised on Ferrix, then recurring almost as a mania... but genius is genius, Thrawn knows too well), but some files appear seemingly at random. There are many on the Starpath unit, the gravity of which Thrawn has already realised, but also on other seemingly random attacks throughout the galaxy. Senator Mon Mothma, whose involvement is already known, but there's... Alderaan, some fallouts of Ghorman, the Aldhani aftermath, rebel cell consolidation...
Rebel cell consolidation? Why would she...
Oh.
Very suddenly, Thrawn understands what's truly at stake.
"Project Stardust," Thrawn says abruptly. Eli looks up, bemused. "But they didn't know about that. They knew the Starpath unit was different, and they got the information from... not one, but various plants within the Empire."
"...Thrawn?" Eli asks; confused, but wary of the big names being thrown around.
"Rael," Thrawn says. "He has resources. He's building something larger." Realisation starts to dawn on him, and his red eyes glow in triumph. "Luthen Rael is a member of a Rebel Alliance."
...Eli drops his datapad.
Thrawn and Eli have never collaborated a spreadsheet so quickly in their lives. The evidence, once you know to look for it, is staggering.
Thrawn wonders, distantly, if Palpatine already knows.
Thrawn quickly calls Yularen to update him.
"If your suspicions are correct—"
"And they are," Thrawn cuts in.
"If they're correct, I'll have to take this straight to Emperor Palpatine," Yularen says seriously. "Thrawn, I may ask you to speak to him personally. But you must be absolutely certain of it. Your reasons, while logical, may not prove to be enough for his Majesty to entertain your deduction."
Thrawn furrows his eyebrows. "While I agree that we do not have solid proof of a Rebel Alliance, we are already experiencing their forces," Thrawn explains. "Cassian Andor knew to steal a Starpath unit—his only theft in all his years of rebel activity—the mechanism of which, as we both know, is linked to Project Stardust."
Yularen stares at him, eyes wide.
Thrawn frowns as a beat passes. He'd thought the involvement of the Death Star would be enough to spur things into action. No matter; he has more evidence.
"Even disregarding that," Thrawn starts, "Senator Mon Mothma, for one, undoubtedly aided by Rael, would only have left to become the face of an organised effort. The evidence is indisputable even when Rael isn't involved. Consider—"
"You've made your point, Commander," Yularen sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes. He glances at Thrawn through the hologram. "This breakthrough, as you understand, is highly sensitive. I suggest you be very careful with this information." He smiles faintly, like an afterthought. "This is good work, Thrawn. And in an exceedingly short time frame, too. I expect you have many promotions coming your way."
"My own advancement is infinitesimal compared to the glory and progress of our Empire," Thrawn says evenly. "And though I have had many promotions through the short time I've served it, Ensign Vanto has never recieved the same credit as I. His rank has been ignorantly stagnated for too long a time."
Yularen has a strange look in his eye as he replies. "Of course," he answers. "I'll see to it personally that the matter is attended to."
"Thank you, Colonel," Thrawn says, inclining his head slightly forward. "I assume I'm still on the task with Rael?"
"Ah, yes. Regarding that," Yularen starts, clasping his hands in front of him. "Major Partagaz was thoroughly impressed with your work finding out about the existence of an ISB plant. He wants to speak with you personally tomorrow, at the Bureau headquarters, regarding the Rael case. You've impressed many people already."
Thrawn blinks lazily. "I see," he says. "It would, of course, be my honour. Is Ensign Vanto invited?"
"He goes where you go?" Yularen suggests, lip curling up. A joke, Thrawn realises belatedly.
"We make a good team," Thrawn answers, face impassive but for a tiny smile. "That much, I believe, clear."
"It is," Yularen agrees in good humour. "And yes, Ensign Vanto is invited if you wish him to be. Between us, it is up to my knowledge that you will be tasked with the Rael case heading forward. Any and all ISB resources at your disposal, of course. Get whatever information you can out of him."
Thrawn nods.
"And... Commander," Yularen adds just as he goes to cut the call, "it is my belief that Major Partagaz will offer you a position at the ISB." Thrawn blinks in surprise, but Yularen barrels on: "I am aware that you are dedicated to your service in the Navy. But that is precisely why I wished to inform you in advance. Take the night to think over it. I... think you are well-suited for the role."
And without warning, Yularen ends the connection.
Thrawn stares at the inactive comm-stick for a full minute, startled.
His thoughts are interrupted by Eli, who similarly enters without knocking. "Why did Yularen just send us ISB passes?" he scrolls a little further, and adds: "And prison passes?"
"We're going to be paying a visit to Major Partagaz and Former Supervisor Dedra Meero," Thrawn explains. "Tomorrow, most likely."
Eli raises an eyebrow. "What does Partagaz want with you?" he asks. "I thought he didn't like the Navy."
"Yularen believes it's to maintain that," Thrawn says.
It takes Eli a moment to understand. Thrawn sees the exact moment that he does: his eyes widen, and his eyebrows raise up into his forehead dramatically.
"...Oh," Eli says.
"I don't plan to take up his offer, generous though it may be," Thrawn assures him, frowning.
"You'd enjoy it," Eli says after a beat, his face unusually impassive, like he's trying very hard to keep it neutral. It only confirms further what Thrawn already suspects; Eli has an opinion on the matter, and it seems to be in line with Thrawn's choice.
"Would I?" Thrawn says, giving him a meaningful look.
Eli shrugs.
The gesture makes Thrawn smile faintly. "I'm not taking it, Eli."
Eli tries hard to hide a similar smile growing on his face. "Alright," he says, lingering in the doorway, "but don't do it for me, or something stupid like that. ISB would suit you well, whether or not I'm there."
"You underestimate your worth," Thrawn says, furrowing his eyebrows. "My consolidated reasons for declining the offer may not solely rest on you, but I will not pretend that you were not a deciding influence."
Eli has that amused-but-hesitant look in his eye which means he's doubting himself. Instead of assuring him with the endless praises (that he no doubt deserves) like he wants to, Thrawn grudgingly sits back and lets him come to his own conclusions, whatever they might be.
"Thank you," Eli says finally in shaky Cheunh, his voice fond. He dawdles for a long moment before exiting the room swiftly, the door snapping shut after him.
Thrawn smiles at the empty room and clicks his datapad on.
He's made the right choice.