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The young woman who sneaks her way into Thrawn’s office is dirty-faced and split-lipped, with torn coveralls and snarls in her hair, thick lenses concealing her eyes. She, to the disgruntlement of two troopers and Captain Enoch, had managed to make it aboard the ship and to Thrawn’s private sanctum without being discovered. Therefore, upon her discovery—and following Enoch’s very thorough dressing down of the troopers on duty (had they learned nothing from the multitude of incidents involving Ezra Bridger?!)—Thrawn had decided that she earned the right to a confrontation if she so desperately wanted it.
“You wished to speak,” Thrawn bids her. “Do so.”
Her lips purse. “You will help me.”
The girl’s accent is horrendous. Pellaeon does not react, he knows better. Thrawn cares very little about the homeworld or progeny of his troops so long as they are eager to learn and follow orders. But one of the troopers in his guard—one of Pellaeon’s that has been assimilated into this reforged Seventh fleet—makes a little grunt, stifling a laugh.
“The Grand Admiral does not have time for children,” Captain Enoch tells her, though his eyeless helmet turns to regard the trooper who had stepped out of line in silent warning.
Turning her head to see Enoch in her periphery, she speaks once more. “Tah bazir vatt’i ch’en.”
Enoch whirls back around, makes a quarter turn to face the girl’s back. His chin tips up toward Thrawn, but his focus is on the girl as she—
She removes the skin-tight goggles on her face, revealing a line of filth-free azure skin and crimson eyes that burn almost too brightly to be viewed head on.
Pellaeon has never seen a Chiss that is not Thrawn before. He cannot help the way he stares at the girl. His estimation had placed her at young, possibly teenaged, maybe adult. He had expected her to be a Rebel, one of Bridger’s people, a short conversation and an even shorter escort to the nearest airlock.
The girl’s lips twist in a silent snarl in his direction, but Thrawn steps forward. “Captain Enoch, retrieve a warm cloth and summon the Chief Medical Officer.”
“A medkit will do jus’ fine,” she husks out, switching back to Basic, her words heated like some Wild Space planetoid. She lifts her eyes to Thrawn, who nods his assent. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t treat myself, no offense.”
“By all means,” he allows magnanimously, before returning his focus to Enoch. “A meal as well. Tell them it is for me.”
“I ain’t here to endure your hospitality,” she growls at him, like some feral little thing.
Thrawn’s eyes meet hers. She does not look away. He tilts his head, ever so slightly. “We have met before,” he tells her.
“Yes,” she agrees. Still, her eyes burn. “My name is Un’hee.”
-
“The girl is looking for her father,” Pellaeon recounts their earlier conversation as he and Enoch stand across from Thrawn’s command chair, the large holotable between them. He holds his hands behind his back in parade rest. “We can spare a squadron, maybe a light cruiser. Let them go.”
Enoch, unbeknownst to Pellaeon, rolls his eyes behind his helmet. “Saying that is protocol, Captain Pellaeon. It’s what the Ozlzy-esehembo call their ship’s commander.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Noted,” Enoch returns, then falls silent instead of goading Pellaeon for not having learned Cheunh. That will only cause problems.
Thrawn is still silent, still mulling over the conversation from earlier. The girl, he knows, has been escorted to Thrawn’s personal quarters, assigned to the adjoining room next door. Not even Enoch has been allowed in that space before.
And speaking of— “Sir, Un’hee said something I didn’t understand.”
Thrawn lifts his eyes. The shift in them from pensive at middle distance to focused and locked on Enoch specifically is honestly equal parts extremely cool and utterly terrifying. “Go on, Captain Enoch.”
“She said her father was—“ he frowns as he recalls the words. “‘More than forever?’”
Beside him, Pellaeon frowns. “Sounds like an incorrect translation, Captain Enoch.”
Thrawn’s eyes return to a focus on nothing, dimming ever so slightly. “It is not. The phrase refers to a person with whom one’s ties defy the boundaries of familial bonds. I believe it is most similar to marriage in Human culture.”
Freezing, Enoch looks to Pellaeon. He does not want to ask the question. He is afraid he already knows.
“So is this partner of theirs important?” Pellaeon asks, when enough time has passed in silence.
Thrawn does not reply, which, yes, Enoch had been counting on. If it had been himself asking the question, Thrawn would likely space him—and deservedly so, given the man’s desire to tutor him in his people’s culture.
“Respectfully, sir? Learn some Cheunh,” Enoch says in Pellaeon’s direction. “I’ll even teach you.”
Pellaeon’s face shifts in a complicated ripple of confusion, irritation, and surprise. “Out with it,” he says, “What am I missing, Enoch?”
“That girl is speaking of the captain of the ship she was serving on—“
“Wrong.”
They both look up at the utter vehemence that drips from Thrawn’s voice.
“The man she seeks is indeed her father,” the grand admiral clarifies quietly. “She is not embellishing.”
Gilead flinches. “And your spouse,” he realizes gravely.
Mentally, Enoch releases a sigh. He had not wanted to be the one to speculate.
“Yes,” Thrawn murmurs, his tone deadly. “As for Un’hee’s request, I am honor-bound to locate my mate and avenge him.”