Jan 28, 2021
Paris, 2020
seen from Germany
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Paris, 2020
Paris, 2020
Look -- on the list of things I expected from today, sympathy for Pellaeon was not included.
An icy chill ran up Pellaeon’s back. “That’s impossible,” he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. “Thrawn is dead. I watched him die.”
“Yes, sir,” Mavron said, nodding. “But according to the report—”
“I watched him die!” Pellaeon thundered.
The sudden outburst surprised even him. It certainly startled Ardiff and Mavron. “Yes, sir, we know,” Ardiff said. “Obviously, it’s some kind of trick. Lieutenant, I imagine the rest can wait until you file your complete report. Why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mavron said, clearly glad to be given the opportunity to escape. “I’ll have my report filed within an hour.”
“Very good.” Ardiff nodded. “Dismissed.”
He waited until Mavron had gone and the door was once again closed before speaking. “It is a trick, Admiral,” he said to Pellaeon. “It has to be.”
With an effort, Pellaeon pulled his thoughts back from the memories of that awful day at Bilbringi. The day the Empire had finally and irrevocably died. “Yes,” he murmured. “But what if it’s not? What if Thrawn really is still alive?”
“Why, in that case …” Ardiff trailed off, his forehead wrinkled in sudden uncertainty.
“Exactly,” Pellaeon said, nodding. “The time when Thrawn’s tactical genius could have done us any good was—when? Five years ago? Seven? Ten? What could he possibly do now except bring the New Republic down on us in panic?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Ardiff paused. “But that’s not what’s really bothering you.”
Pellaeon looked down at his hands. Old hands, gnarled with age and darkened by the sunlight of a thousand worlds. “I was with Thrawn for just over a year,” he told Ardiff. “I was his senior fleet officer, his student”—he hesitated—“perhaps even his confidant. I’m not sure. The point is that he chose the Chimaera and me when he returned from the Unknown Regions. He didn’t just pick us at random; he chose us.”
“No, there wasn’t much Thrawn did at random,” Ardiff agreed. “From which it follows that if he’s back …?”
“That he’s chosen someone else,” Pellaeon finished the other’s sentence, the words a sharp ache in his heart.
Paris, 2020