Chapter Text
The datapad on Thrawn’s desk contained seventeen separate project proposals, each requiring specialized technical support that the Chimaera’s standard crew could not provide. He reviewed them methodically, categorizing by priority and resource requirements. Three were official Navy projects with proper authorization and oversight. Five were semi-official—within his purview as an admiral but likely to generate bureaucratic friction if examined too closely. The remaining nine existed in the gray territory between tactical initiative and procedural violation.
All of them required a slicer of exceptional skill and unquestionable discretion.
“We need a slicer,” Thrawn said, setting down the datapad.
Lieutenant Commander Eli Vanto looked up from the supply requisition he’d been reviewing. “Sir?”
“A dedicated technical specialist. Someone capable of handling complex encryption work, system security analysis, and data architecture projects.” Thrawn gestured toward the datapad. “The Chimaera operates with greater autonomy than most Star Destroyers, which provides tactical advantages but also creates gaps in technical support. I require someone who can work independently on sensitive projects under my direct supervision.”
Eli set aside his own work, attention sharpening in the way that meant he’d caught the subtext. “Official projects or...?”
“Both.” Thrawn met his gaze directly. “The nature of our operations requires flexibility that standard Navy protocols do not always accommodate. I need someone who can handle routine security work and encryption updates through proper channels, while also being available for projects that may not appear on official manifests.”
“That’s a tall order, sir.” Eli pulled up a personnel database on his datapad. “Most slicers with high-level clearance work for Imperial Intelligence or the ISB. They’re not going to want to transfer to a Star Destroyer, even one commanded by you. And the Navy’s cyber security division has good people, but nobody who’d be comfortable working in... ambiguous... command structures.”
Thrawn considered the problem with the same analytical approach he applied to tactical puzzles. The ideal candidate would possess technical brilliance, security clearance sufficient for classified work, and the judgment to understand which questions should not be asked. They would need to be trustworthy not merely in the sense of Imperial loyalty, but in the more personal sense of being able to work closely with Thrawn himself without becoming compromised by proximity to his unconventional methods.
“Begin with official channels,” Thrawn said. “Submit requests through Navy personnel administration. But also make inquiries among your personal contacts. Someone with the necessary skills may not be prominently positioned within existing hierarchies.”
“I’ll start reaching out.” Eli made notes on his datapad. “Should I prioritize technical skills or security clearance?”
“Technical skills. Clearance can be arranged if the candidate merits it. Genius cannot be manufactured through paperwork.” Thrawn returned his attention to the project proposals, already considering how to sequence them once appropriate support was available. “I also require someone who can work with minimal supervision. The projects I have in mind will often require independent problem-solving and creative approaches to complex systems.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll put out feelers and see what comes back.” Eli paused. “This might take a few days. People with these qualifications aren’t exactly sitting around waiting for assignments.”
“Then we proceed with existing resources in the interim,” Thrawn said. “But make this a priority, Commander. The projects I have planned will require expertise we currently lack.”
Two days later, Thrawn was reviewing tactical reports in his office when Eli entered with an expression of cautious optimism.
“Sir, I’ve had responses to the inquiries about a slicer,” Eli said. “Most of the official channels came back negative—nobody wants to leave comfortable positions in the Core to work on a Star Destroyer. But I reached out to some of my old contacts from the Academy, and word apparently made it to Colonel Yularen.”
Thrawn looked up with interest. “Yularen contacted you?”
“He sent a priority communication requesting to speak with you directly. Said he might have someone who fits your requirements.” Eli’s tone carried a note of curiosity. “He didn’t give details, but he seemed... pleased about something.”
“Transfer the communication to my console.”
Eli keyed in the commands, and moments later, Colonel Wullf Yularen’s stern features materialized in holographic form above Thrawn’s desk. The ISB officer looked satisfied in the carefully controlled way that meant he was about to solve someone else’s problem while addressing one of his own.
“Admiral Thrawn,” Yularen said with a crisp nod. “I understand you’re looking for a slicer.”
“Your intelligence network functions efficiently as always, Colonel,” Thrawn replied. “Commander Vanto made inquiries through several channels. I take it word reached you.”
“Through three separate sources, actually.” Yularen’s expression held approval. “When multiple people tell me that Admiral Thrawn is searching for top-tier technical talent with high clearance requirements, I pay attention. Particularly when I have someone in my department who matches those specifications perfectly.”
Thrawn leaned forward slightly. “You have a recommendation?”
“I have a civilian contractor who’s being wasted in her current position.” Yularen pulled up a file, and data streams appeared in the holographic space between them. “Bethari Kobak. Twenty-five years old, advanced degree in code mechanics from the University of Corellia, employed by the ISB for the past two years as a registered slicer. Her technical work is exceptional—genuinely brilliant—but her supervisor wants her gone.”
“For what cause?”
“She has a habit of hiding in droid maintenance closets during departmental meetings.” Yularen’s tone carried reluctant amusement. “Her supervisor considers it insubordination and lack of professionalism.”
Eli made a small sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. Thrawn studied the data Yularen had provided, analyzing the pattern it revealed.
“Hiding while neglecting her duties?” he asked.
“No, and that’s what makes it interesting.” Yularen gestured at the performance metrics displayed in the hologram. “She takes her datapad with her and continues working. Her productivity is thirty percent higher than her peers, and her error rate is effectively zero. She simply won’t sit through meetings and social obligations. Her supervisor sees insubordination. I see a mismatch between talent and environment.”
Thrawn examined Bethari Kobak’s work history with growing interest. Her technical accomplishments were impressive—she had redesigned encryption protocols for three separate ISB departments, identified and patched security vulnerabilities in classified communication networks, and developed custom algorithms that improved data analysis efficiency by forty-seven percent. Her academic record showed excellence in all technical coursework but mediocre performance in collaborative projects and presentations. Her supervisor’s evaluations included phrases like “poor team integration” and “refuses to participate in professional development activities,” while simultaneously noting that her individual work product was exemplary.
“Social anxiety,” Eli said quietly, reading the data over Thrawn’s shoulder. “Not insubordination.”
“Precisely.” Yularen nodded. “The ISB values conformity and hierarchy above all else. She values solving complex problems and being left alone to do so. We’re about to terminate her contract because she doesn’t fit our organizational culture, but her skills are exactly what you described needing.”
Thrawn continued reviewing the file. Bethari Kobak was from Birren in the Inner Rim, a stable sector with strong Imperial loyalty. Her father had been Commander Zivai Kobak, Republic Navy, killed aboard the Triumphant during the Clone Wars. She had one close friend from university, currently employed by Sienar Fleet Systems. Her background check revealed no concerning associations, no radical politics, no questionable contacts. She appeared to be exactly what her record suggested—a gifted technician with limited social skills and no interest in workplace politics.
The technical specifications of her recent projects caught his attention. Her work bore the hallmarks of genuine expertise—elegant solutions to complex problems, with attention to systemic implications that suggested she understood not merely code but the broader architecture of digital infrastructure.
“What are her security clearances?” Thrawn asked.
“Top level for ISB civilian contractors. She’s worked on classified encryption projects, analyzed sensitive intelligence data, had access to secure communication protocols. Never a single security incident or concern.” Yularen’s expression turned serious. “I’m offering her to you because she deserves better than being pushed out for the crime of being awkward. But I’m also offering her because she’s genuinely talented, and the Empire wastes too much talent on bureaucratic conformity. You, of all people, should understand that principle.”
The comment carried weight beyond its surface meaning. Yularen had been one of the few senior Imperial officers to consistently support Thrawn’s advancement despite the political complications his presence created. The offer represented both professional courtesy and implicit acknowledgment of shared experience as outsiders navigating institutional rigidity.
Thrawn made his decision. The pattern was clear—exceptional technical skill, appropriate security clearance, demonstrated reliability, and personality traits that suggested she would adapt well to working independently on sensitive projects. Her social difficulties were irrelevant to the position’s requirements and might even prove advantageous if she was more comfortable focusing on work than navigating office politics.
“Send her to the Chimaera,” he said. “I will evaluate her capabilities personally.”
“I’ll have transfer orders processed by end of day.” Satisfaction showed in Yularen’s posture. “One warning, Admiral—she doesn’t respond well to large groups or high-pressure social situations. If you throw her into a senior staff meeting on her first day, you’ll probably find her in a maintenance closet on your ship too.”
“Then I will meet with her privately and assign her work suited to individual effort,” Thrawn said. “Thank you, Colonel. Your assistance is appreciated.”
“The pleasure is mine. I’d rather see talent properly utilized than wasted on bureaucratic pettiness.” Yularen’s image flickered slightly as the connection began to terminate. “She’ll be ready to transfer within forty-eight hours. I’ll send her personnel file and security clearances ahead of her arrival.”
The hologram dissolved. Eli looked at Thrawn with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Sir, are you sure about this? If she’s as uncomfortable with social interaction as Yularen suggests—”
“Her work will be primarily technical and independent,” Thrawn interrupted. “I require expertise and discretion, not social polish. If her greatest flaw is inability to tolerate bureaucratic meetings, that is hardly disqualifying. Many of history’s most brilliant minds worked best in isolation.”
“As long as she can handle working for you,” Eli said carefully. “Your reputation isn’t exactly comforting to someone meeting you for the first time.”
Thrawn acknowledged the observation with a slight inclination of his head. He was aware that many found him unsettling—his appearance, his analytical approach, his growing reputation for unorthodox tactics created a barrier that some officers never overcame. But he had also learned that those who could see past initial discomfort often became his most valuable colleagues. Eli himself demonstrated that principle.
“If Miss Kobak survived two years in the ISB, she can adapt to the Chimaera,” Thrawn said. “Arrange quarters in the civilian specialist section and workspace access to secured systems. I want her to begin with routine projects—security audits, encryption updates, system optimization. Once I have assessed her capabilities and judgment, we will expand her responsibilities accordingly.”
“Yes, sir.” Eli made notes on his datapad. “Should I have someone meet her when she arrives, or...?”
“I will meet with her personally upon her arrival. A private introduction will be less overwhelming than formal presentation to the senior staff.” Thrawn moved to the viewport, watching stars streak past in hyperspace. “Arrange a workspace for her first—somewhere quiet, away from high-traffic areas. Let her establish familiarity with her environment before introducing additional variables.”
“That’s... actually very considerate, sir.”
“It is practical,” Thrawn corrected. “An anxious employee who spends her time hiding is of no use to anyone. An employee who feels secure enough to focus on her work is an asset. The accommodation required is minimal.”
Eli smiled slightly. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
After Eli departed, Thrawn remained at the viewport, considering the upcoming addition to his staff. Somewhere in the ISB bureaucracy, an anxious young woman hid in maintenance closets and rewrote encryption protocols while her supervisor complained about her inability to conform. Soon she would be aboard the Chimaera, working on projects that required exactly the kind of focused technical brilliance she apparently possessed.
There was something intriguing about the pattern Yularen had described—exceptional competence paired with social difficulty, isolation chosen rather than imposed, talent that manifested despite rather than because of institutional support. Thrawn understood that pattern well. He had spent years navigating Imperial systems that alternated between valuing his abilities and resenting his presence.
The Chimaera would provide Miss Kobak with an environment where her skills mattered more than her social limitations. And in return, she would provide him with the technical expertise necessary to pursue projects that required discretion, creativity, and the kind of problem-solving ability that couldn’t be found in standard Navy personnel databases.
It was, Thrawn reflected, a transaction with potential to benefit both parties considerably.
Now he simply needed to ensure that their first meeting did not send her fleeing to the nearest maintenance closet. That would require a more delicate approach than he typically employed with new personnel. Most officers expected formality and distance from their commanding officers. Miss Kobak, if Yularen’s assessment was accurate, would likely respond better to directness and clear expectations delivered without the weight of social performance.
Thrawn found himself looking forward to the challenge of determining the correct approach. After all, understanding how to communicate effectively with an individual was merely another form of tactical analysis—one he had considerable practice in executing.
In forty-eight hours, Bethari Kobak would arrive. And then they would discover whether Yularen’s confidence in this unusual placement was justified.