Cold Embrace - A Star Wars Fan Fiction

Tension

Silence. For the last few hours, the bridge of the Chimaera had been a soundboard for the foils and struggles of war. Officers barking orders left and right, engineers scrambling to keep the burning husk of a ship intact, but now, there was silence.

But it wasn't the peaceful mind of silence. This was a silence that invoked nothing but nerves and panicked breath. Everyone on the bridge knew that things had taken a turn for the worse, and none more than Cam. The silence spread like an infection. Even the still-present sound of capital ships exchanging fire outside was drowned out by the atmosphere in the room.

Thrawn was stood where he had always been stood, at the helm of the Chimaera, looking out of the window at the destruction before him. He had his back turned on the vast majority of the crew, and yet they still had the impression of those piercing red eyes watching their every move.

The silence lasted what felt like a lifetime. Every single person on the bridge was rooted to the spot, waiting for something, anything, to defuse the tension. Who would speak first? Who would dare face the Chiss' ire?

His voice cut through the air like a knife.

"Report." Thrawn demanded, much to the crew's shock.

Cam looked at his monitor. He'd already looked five times, he already knew what the situation was, and what information he had to give Thrawn, but for some reason he felt the need to look again. Perhaps for clarification, or perhaps to delay having to face the Grand Admiral's wrath.

He gulped, and opened his mouth.

"Confirmed. The Corellian freighter has made moonfall," he stated, as formally as he could manage, though his nerves were plainly obvious to all, as every word was pained and heavy in his throat.

The silence returned. Thrawn made no response to his subordinate's report, instead remaining fixed on the spectacle before him.

Or rather, he made no visible reaction. Inside, his mind was racing. He'd had the perfect opportunity to eliminate the Republic elite in one fell swoop. Everything from the precise hyperspace jump, the concentrated attack to the Home One's engines, the concealed ION bomb, had been meticulously planned. Every detail checked and checked again, every contingency accounted for... except for that one factor that Thrawn could never have predicted... The Force. The mystical energy field surrounding all living things, the one concept that remained alien to Thrawn in all his years of studying the galaxy. His battles were fought, and won, on cold, hard logic. The idea of the Jedi and their "magic" was simply incompatible with his strategic methods. It had been the reason for his defeat on Atollon all those years ago, it had been the deciding factor in the Rebels' retaking of Lothal and, if word was to be believed, it had been the ultimate reason for the death of the Emperor and the subsequent fall of the Empire.

He replayed the incident in his head. The two Republic fighters were disabled, hanging motionless in the vacuum of space, with a squadron of twenty TIE Fighters headed right for them. Then, without reason or warning, the Millennium Falcon had begun to move, slowly but surely, out of the the TIE squadron's flight path. After moving a relatively short distance, it was caught in the gravitational pull of a nearby moon, and was sent hurtling towards the moon's surface. The X-Wing however, had remained perfectly still, and the TIE Fighters blew it to smithereens.

No one, no matter how powerful, could have survived that.

It was at this moment that he snapped back into reality, as he heard the voice of his first officer addressing him.

"Sir, there appears to be a transmission for you," Cam said, eyeing the red flashing light that had suddenly appeared on his monitor with confusion. "But it's an unknown signal, it isn't registering on any Imperial frequencies,"

Thrawn immediately knew what it was, and who it was from.

"Divert it to my personal chambers," he instructed. "I'll take it in there,"

"As you wish, Grand Admiral," Cam responded.

With that, Thrawn hastily left the bridge, though no visual indication of stress or imminence contorted his ever cold outlook. He strode purposefully down the battle-worn corridors of his prized flagship until he reached his personal quarters. A quick scan of his code cylinder, and the door slid open. He entered... and locked himself in.

The red transmission indicator was still flashing on his holodeck. He sat at the desk and pressed the 'receive' switch.

"Yes?" Thrawn opened.

There was no hologram, only a voice. A voice Thrawn knew.

"Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo," the voice began, calling the admiral by his full, Chiss name. "The high council demands a report on your progress,"

Thrawn hesitated. The news he had to give was far from perfect. The question was whether he could word it so as to sound more positive than it was.

"I have engaged the enemy, and have almost succeeded in eliminating their key personnel. I am moving in for a final assault as we speak," he declared.

"You must make haste," the voice replied. It was a young voice, but its youth was not at the expense of authority and precision. "You know what we're dealing with,"

"I shall, and yes, I am fully aware of what we are dealing with," Thrawn responded.

Before speaking again, Thrawn took a very quick look around the room, and checked the door to make sure the lock was secure. He already knew it was, but the secrecy of this conversation could not be overstated. One final precaution, realising that he no longer needed to speak in Galactic Basic, he reverted to his mother tongue, and continued.

"How are things on your end?" he asked. As the words came out, he noticed a clear shift in his tone. Whether it was intentional or not, his lexis was more relaxed, less formal than usual.

"Not good," came a concerned response. "The high council are panicking, there's even talk of massing our battle fleet,"

"It will not come to that," Thrawn said firmly.

"I hope you're right," The voice was no longer authoritative, but nervous.

"Of course I'm right," Thrawn stated with a hint of reassurance in his voice.

"Be safe," the voice concluded, and the transmission ended.

As he sat in darkness, it suddenly dawned on him. The dire situation he was trapped in, and what he could lose... who he could lose if this didn't work...

His expression hardened. He got up, unlocked the door, and made for the bridge.

It had been just under ten minutes since the Grand Admiral had left the bridge. Cam was waiting anxiously, unsure what to do next, when the doors slid open again and Thrawn stormed in.

"I want two elite attack squadrons prepared and assembled in the hangar bay, immediately," he ordered. His demeanour was cold as ice, and his expression was one of death itself. If looks could kill, this one could.

"Yes... of course, sir," Cam stuttered. "May I ask what for?"

"We've toyed with these traitors long enough," the Chiss stated. "Two squadrons," he repeated. "One will go down to the surface of Chandrila's third moon, investigate the crash site and eliminate any and all survivors. The other will board the Republic flagship... and sterilise it,"

Cam took a heavy breath. If this mission was nearly over, it sure as hell didn't feel like it.

"It will be done, Grand Admiral," he complied.

"One more thing, Captain Vixor," Thrawn interjected.

"Yes sir?" Cam asked.

"I shall be joining the attack force on the ground. I therefore leave the Chimaera in your capable hands," Thrawn announced, before leaving the bridge once more.

It's just like the old saying. If you want someone killed right, kill them yourself.