Before I get going, the usual disclaimer about how I don’t own anything but my own character. Not making any money, please don’t sue.

Story for ADULTS ONLY!
1

“Yes, sir.” Pellaeon hesitated. “I thought we were going to give her time to get the Katana’s location for us.”

Thrawn’s expression hardened. “She’s not part of the Empire anymore, Captain,” he said. “She may want us to believe that she’s coming back - she may even believe it herself. But she isn’t. No matter. She’s leading us to Karrde, and that’s the important thing. Between him and our Corellian renegade we have two leads to the Katana fleet. One way or another, we’ll find it.”

Pellaeon nodded, feeling the stirrings of excitement again despite his best efforts to remain unemotional about this. The Katana fleet. Two hundred Dreadnaughts, just sitting there waiting for the Empire to take possession…

“Signal the Judicator, and instruct Captain Brandei to follow Jade and collect Karrde. Then set a course for the Riordan system; a planet called Taran,” Thrawn said, his gaze staring off through the viewport.

“Ah, yes sir.” Pellaeon wondered at his superior, but had grown somewhat accustomed to the Admiral’s frequently shifting focus. The Riordan system was a rather backwater territory, loyal to the Empire but largely desolate.

Thrawn looked up, a small smile on his lips. “Indulge me, Captain.”
2

“Madam,” A mild, tinny voice came through the landspeeder’s dashboard comm display. “Madam, are you free?”

“Yes Lucius, what is it?” Lysandra Tahmoraes returned, keying the display as she did so. A small, prim looking man appeared on the screen.

“I thought you’d like to know, madam, an Imperial Star Destroyer has just entered orbit.”

“Mm, really. To what do we owe the pleasure, I wonder. Do you have an ID?”

“Tentative only, madam. The lettering on the hull seems to indicate it is the Chimaera.”

The Chimaera? This was interesting indeed, Lysandra mused.

“Shuttles appear to be launching now, madam. Shall I extrapolate their likely landing site?”

Lysandra smiled slightly. “No, thank you Lucius, that won’t be necessary. Please cancel the remainder of my appointments for the day. You and the others may take holiday for the rest of the week.”

The man looked slightly taken aback. “All the others, madam?”

“Yes, Lucius. Enjoy this weather we’ve been having, and spend some time with those lovely children of yours.”

“Very well then, madam. Thank you.”

Lysandra switched off the comm with a quick flick of her wrist, and spun the landspeeder about. She’d been heading into the town nearest her estate to meet with some local officials about small bureaucratic matters - mostly trivial tasks that could wait. Her guest, if she had assumed correctly, would not.
3

Lysandra pulled up to the small airfield just as three Lambda class shuttles were setting down on the landing platform. Sliding the speeder into park, she climbed out and walked forward to meet the visitors, hands clasped behind her back. She wore an elegant, dark gray suit of a crisp, modern cut that flattered her lithe figure. She was relatively tall for a human female, and kept herself in excellent physical shape. Sleek, golden brown hair hung in loose waves nearly to the middle of her back. It moved slightly in the warm breeze. Taran’s climate was moderate and usually pleasant, but the last few days had been particularly warm, indicating the slightly early arrival of the summer season.

A handful of stormtroopers marched down the ramps of all three shuttles. The line debarking from the left most craft continued to include a few standard naval troopers and mid-level officers. The pale blue skin and glowing red eyes of the man who followed confirmed that Lysandra had been correct.

Grand Admiral Thrawn.

His crisp, white Grand Admiral’s uniform gleamed in the afternoon sun as she continued forward to meet the Imperials. Looking dapper as always, Lysandra thought.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Lysandra said, smiling and offering her hand as he approached. “What a pleasant surprise. Welcome back to Taran.”

“Lady Tahmoraes,” the Admiral replied, taking the proffered hand and bowing slightly over it. “The pleasure is mine.” He favored her with a small, dignified smile. “How goes the antiquities business?”

“Oh, it goes. Your timing is impeccable as usual, Admiral. If you’d arrived only two days earlier I’m afraid I’d have missed you. I just returned from an expedition.”

The two blue-black eyebrows lifted slightly. “Indeed. I trust your trip was fruitful?”

“Yes, quite. We recovered some interesting…religious artifacts. Perhaps you’d be interested in studying them.” Lysandra paused, regarding the glowing red eyes and cool blue features; cocked her head slightly to the side. “What brings you to Taran, Admiral?” she asked simply.

“I’ve obtained some rather unique works that I’d like dated and interpreted,” Thrawn said, his voice as cool as his expression. “They display an unusual dialect. Although our protocol droids have completed the initial translations, I believe we’d benefit from the scrutiny of someone with your linguistic expertise and specialized equipment.”

“It would be my pleasure, Admiral,” Lysandra replied honestly. Since their introduction, the Grand Admiral had produced some of the most obscure and fascinating pieces she’d ever seen. Stars only knew where he found them, and what became of their creators. “Come, please.” She extended an arm toward the speeder. “I’ve arranged for some afternoon refreshment.”

The Admiral inclined his head slightly. “Thank you.” He turned back toward the shuttles, gesturing to his troops. The stormtroopers had finished loading several boxes varying in size aboard two hovercraft, and they steered into an escort formation around Lysandra’s long, angular speeder. It was an antique model, sleek black and chrome with an enclosed top. She climbed in behind the wheel, while the Grand Admiral settled himself in the passenger’s seat. Starting up the engine, she headed down the long road to her country estate.

“I see that your usual bodyguard is not with you, Admiral. I hope there’s been no personal trouble.” She hazarded, not really expecting an explicit answer to such a bold inquiry.

“No,” the Grand Admiral replied, sounding ever so slightly distracted. His glowing eyes gazed through the speeder’s window, focusing on nothing in particular. He seemed to bring himself back from his musings. “Your expedition was to Yavin, I presume?”

Well informed, as usual. “Yes,” Lysandra said. “Beautiful world, really. A shame its become virtually infested with liberals and other dregs of the galaxy. The jungles are still quite peaceful, thankfully.” She paused as their party maneuvered through her estate’s perimeter security gate. Meticulously landscaped lawns sprawled across the rolling hills, with trees and decorative plants dotting the property. Dark and regal and imposing, the castle-like stone complex loomed directly ahead of them. Large, drooping Kahlore trees lined the main road in two precise rows, filtering the bright sunlight as they continued their approach. Lysandra’s father had found the property many years ago during one of his own expeditions. He’d had the place restored, added modern conveniences, and made it his home. Lysandra herself had made some more recent improvements in light of the galactic conflict, and the place was in essence a rather elegant fortress that housed an extensive museum and library.

“The temples themselves are quite impressive - I don’t know if you’ve had the opportunity to see them personally. The interiors are true masterpieces. The Massassi use of space is a rather interesting reflection of their culture…deadly to the casual explorer, of course.” Lysandra glanced at the Admiral with a rather mischievous smile. “Great fun.”

Thrawn glanced back at her, a hint of amusement touching his face. “I’d have expected no less.”

They continued in silence, pulling up through the archway of the complex’s main entrance and coming to rest in a large courtyard. A large fountain occupied the center of the yard, surrounded by a hexagon of roofed, open patio. Flowering vines cascaded down the support beams.

“Well Admiral, I’m sure you don’t have much opportunity for leisure but I hope you’ll enjoy your stay. I’ll show your men inside with their cargo. Perhaps you’d like to take in the grounds while I do so, the garden is quite pleasant this time of year.” They climbed out of the speeder, standing once again in the warm spring sun. The air carried a subtle, pleasant mixture of the various fragrant plants around them.

“Your hospitality is appreciated, my lady,” Thrawn said smoothly, again motioning to his company. The stormtroopers disembarked and began unloading the vehicles onto repulsor sleds.

“My pleasure, Admiral. I’ll be with you in a moment, then.” Lysandra keyed her comlink and a large door slid ponderously open at the rear of the courtyard. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, please?”
4

Some hours later, Lysandra stood in her laboratory, carefully squeezing a drop of liquid onto one of the ancient tablets the Grand Admiral had brought for her to inspect. The drop bubbled and fizzed on contact, producing a tiny plume of green gas. She nodded absently, leaning over the examination table to peer at the place where the drop had reacted. Just as she’d suspected.

She wore a loosely fitted white blouse of a very soft, silky fabric and a slim pair of rich brown suede riding pants with high boots. Her hair was elegantly tied up at her nape, a few loose tendrils framing her face around the rather ridiculously large goggles she wore for chemical tests. Lysandra moved a gloved hand gently over the surface of the tablet, feeling the indentations of the strange language beneath her fingertips. A soft footstep sounded at the door behind her.

Lysandra stood up, removing the goggles and letting them hang around her neck. “My tests confirm your estimates, Admiral,” she said, turning to face him. “I’d place this sample at around four million standard years old.”

“Excellent,” Thrawn said, stepping up to the table and looking down at the slab.

“A very interesting material,” She continued, “Especially given its age. Although the lettering appears quite meticulous you can see at the edges and at intersecting lines, here and here,” She placed a finger on one of the more complex glyphs. “That the instrument used was quite crude as such things go.”

The admiral nodded. “Any speculations on the markings, themselves?”

“I haven’t gotten very far in the translation yet,” Lysandra said, peeling off the examination gloves and removing the goggles from her neck. “The text seems to flow from bottom to top, right to left, indicating what was most likely an ongoing work. I suspect it’s a clan or family historical record.” Glancing up at the admiral’s expression, she knew she hadn’t told him anything new. “The grain and curvature suggest it was taken from the wall of a building.”

“Indeed it was,” Thrawn replied, still studying the slab that lay under the examination lights.

Clearly, he wasn’t going to give her any more to go on. Not that she wanted him to. This guessing game had always been part of the fun. “I want to run several of the phrases through the archives. I’ll input the scan in a moment and we should have something more by morning.” She gathered a few datacards and walked them to the lab’s terminal. “Did you enjoy those pieces from Yavin?” She asked, sitting down and tapping a few keys, starting the scan download into the main library archive search.

“They’re quite fascinating.” Thrawn drew himself up from scrutinizing the tablet, regarding her from across the room. “I suspect several of them are Force-activated.”

Lysandra nodded. “Yes, I agree. I’ve been running tests on some similar items recovered from the Jedi temple on Coruscant. Although in more recent years it seems the Jedi moved away from such archaic tools in favor of modern technology.” She finished with one card, inserting the next. “They’ve been unresponsive to all electrical and other power sources I’ve exposed them to, not surprisingly.”

Thrawn strolled about the room, studying the other pieces that lay about on examination tables, occasionally stopping to peer more closely at a particular item. “Probably futile,” he agreed. “Although, the implications could be quite far-reaching if an engineered frequency was able to trigger a response.”

“Much to the dismay of certain beings who fancy themselves omnipotent, yes,” Lysandra said dryly. “One can only hope.”

The admiral’s glowing red gaze turned up to her from across the room. “You never have cared for Jedi, have you,” he said mildly.

“Have you, Admiral?” she countered, turning away from the console and stacking the data cards neatly to the side.

He shrugged minutely. “I suppose they have their uses.”

Something in his voice gave Lysandra a chill, and she opted to change the subject. “Well, I don’t think there’s any more to be done with this tonight.” She stood up from the console station. “I typically take one of my mykani’s out for a trot before the sun sets.” She paused. “Will you be staying the night with us topside, Admiral? There is a suite ready for you. I quite insist that you make yourself at home if your duties will allow you to stay.”

Thrawn smiled faintly. “I do appreciate that, my lady. Perhaps I will.”

“Very good, then,” she said, leading the way out of the laboratory. The stormtroopers had taken up posts along her corridors, a presence that would cause most people discomfort. Lysandra, however, felt pleased for the reminder that there was still order somewhere in the galaxy. “Would you care to join me for a ride, Admiral?”

“Certainly.”
5

They walked out to the stables behind the complex, chatting quietly about the various works that she’d recovered since their last meeting, and the adventures that had taken her across the galaxy. Lysandra had been tempted to ask about the war efforts a few times since his arrival, but knew it wouldn’t be good form to inquire. She was mildly surprised the admiral had elected to stay the evening, and wondered if he was seizing the opportunity to study her collection or simply needed some time with his feet on firm ground. She’d often pitied the officers and crewers of the Empire’s massive Navy, sitting aboard their pointed heaps of metal for months, breathing only recycled air in artificial lighting and eating less than appetizing rations. Such was war, she supposed. Perhaps the admiral simply needed an interpretation of his samples, and wanted to see that she worked quickly to complete them. Lysandra never recalled his visits lasting for longer than an afternoon or evening while her father was alive. Of course, she hadn’t been much more than a child then.

As they approached the stables a large, long-haired beast with long legs, a wide flank, and a tapered muzzle began huffing excitedly, stomping about in its stall impatiently.

“Peace, Thadeus,” Lysandra said, reaching forward to pat the beast’s shaggy head. “We’ll run you in a moment.” She proceeded to the next stall. The beast there was lying in a corner with its long legs folded up underneath it, looking up at her forlornly. Lysandra frowned. “What’s the matter, Cicero?” The beast snuffled and gave a piteous groan.

“Oh, dear.” She sighed, noting the mucus dripping down her mykani’s muzzle. “Someone has a bit of a cold, I see.” She turned to Thrawn. “That’s all right, Thadeus is the younger of the two and he’ll do fine with the both of us.” She took down a harness hanging nearby. “Come on then, little one,” she said, as the healthy beast gave an excited bleat.

With the mykani harnessed, she turned to look at Thrawn. “After you, my lady,” he said, raising an arm over his head and opening his hand. She reached for it, hauling herself up and throwing a leg over the beast’s broad back. The admiral followed with a long step up, seating himself behind her. She felt a brief tingle as his long, pale blue fingers came to rest on her hips. Silently admonishing herself, she gave Thadeus a brief flick of the reins. With a nudge from her heels, they were off at a brisk trot.

They rode in silence, enjoying the cooler evening air and the large sun that was rapidly sinking and taking on tinges of red. Taran’s moon was on the rise, faintly visible just above the horizon.

Lysandra eased her mount up to a gallop as they broke out of a small wooded area, and onto open land once again. They continued on to a small beach that marked the end of her property and the beginning of Taran’s largest ocean. The sand was blindingly white and the water a clear turquoise. They arrived just as the sun had slipped halfway below the horizon line; it was now a reddish purple, casting a rainbow of colors over the ocean.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” she said as they dismounted and walked onto the sand. The rushing of waves sounded rhythmically out in front of them. “I come here every evening. The effect is always a bit different.”

“Yes,” Thrawn said from beside her. He stood gazing forward, his expression unreadable in the dim light. His eyes seemed to glow brighter as the light fell. “This was one of your father’s favorite spots, as well.”

Lysandra turned back to the horizon, saying nothing. Her father had died just before the Empire had collapsed at Endor. She was almost happy he had been spared witnessing the chaos and confusion that had followed. They walked along the shore in a comfortable silence for a while longer, the mykani trotting ahead, occasionally swatting at the waves frothing up on the sand. The beast stopped to sniff at something of interest, and caught a wave full on the muzzle. It let out a great snort, shaking his head and letting out a violent, rumbling sneeze. Lysandra chuckled quietly, turning to see Thrawn’s brief smile. He had a handsome face, she thought, for all its being a subdued pale blue. It didn’t often show emotion, but she rather liked that - it made those infrequent times seem more genuine. She studied him, trying unsuccessfully to guess his age.

The sun had sunk almost completely behind the horizon line, leaving the moon in full view. The orbiting body’s size made most of Taran’s evenings bright enough to see comfortably. Still, Lysandra could hear the beginnings of nighttime sounds coming from the nearby forest. “I suppose we should be heading back,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Thadeus,” she called, and the beast looked up from its wave-swatting. She slapped her thigh twice, and the mykani loped back toward them, tail swishing.

“That’s a good one,” she said quietly, looking up at Thrawn. “Admiral?” Lysandra raised her brows, gesturing to the beast’s flank. He hoisted himself astride the mykani, grasping the harness with one hand and leaning forward, extending the other to help her. She swung up in back of him settling her hands on his belt. Why did she have to will them not to tremble, she wondered? It must be the uniform he still wore. Meant for intimidation, those things. She felt small, looking at his tall back and broad shoulders. With some difficulty, she craned her neck to look ahead of them.

“A light squeeze should get him started,” she said, and they were off at a brisk trot.

Their pace slowed as they picked their way through the now quite dim forest. They were almost to the edge when Thadeus stopped suddenly. Leaning slightly to peer around Thrawn’s shoulder, Lysandra saw him give the reins a flick. Nothing. She found herself bumping against Thrawn’s back as the beast leaned forward, lowering itself into a half crouch, its muzzle near the ground.

“Oh,” she said warily, “No.” Some five meters ahead of them was a smallish, furry animal picking at a fruit-bearing bush. “Thadeus,” she said warningly, “Leave it be.”

Thadeus, intent on the little animal, ignored her. “He’s usually quite well behaved,” she murmured over Thrawn’s shoulder. “It’s these blasted nymots. I’ve tried to clear them off the property but they’re quite resilient.” She slapped the back end of the mykani’s flank. “I said leave it be!” she said sharply.

The nymot must have heard her, because it snapped its head around toward them. Then, dropping the fruit, it turned and bolted down the path. With a bleat, the mykani launched itself after it, taking its riders with it. Lysandra sucked in her breath quickly, clinging tightly to Thrawn’s waist as they were tossed and jostled along with it. Branches flew precariously near over their heads. “Thadeus!” she yelled. Thrawn yanked back on the reins hard, causing the beast to stop and rear up, bleating in protest. Lysandra threw her arms around the admiral to keep herself from sliding off the back end. Her body slammed back into him as the beast set back down on all fours and continued its mad chase of the nymot. Lysandra yelled again, giving the beast another sound whack on the flank when she could free a hand.

Her eyes widened as she noticed a fallen tree coming up ahead of them, fast. If they kept charging toward it, Thrawn would catch the trunk squarely in the chest. “Admiral!” she cried.

“I see it,” he yelled back to her. Turning half around in his saddle he seized her by the belt. “Hold on!” He levered himself up deftly and launched them both off of the creature’s back.

They landed on the thankfully soft forest floor with a collective “oomph”, the momentum of their flight sending them rolling a few times. A moment later Lysandra found herself sprawled on her stomach, half on the forest floor and half on the admiral, who lay on his back. Flushing briefly, she pulled away and sat up. “Are you hurt?” She asked.

“No,” Thrawn said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Although I’m glad to have brought a change of clothing.” His pristine white Grand Admiral’s uniform was now sullied with grass stains and dirt.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Lysandra said, standing and offering her hand.

“Not to worry,” Thrawn said, waving her away and pulling himself up. He looked down at her, reaching for her hair. It had half unraveled from its chignon and cascaded a bit messily down her back. He pulled a large twig from behind her ear.

Lysandra couldn’t help but chuckle. To her surprise and pleasure, the admiral chuckled with her. He turned back toward the path, offering his arm. “Come then, my lady, we should get back to relative safety.” Lysandra felt her cheeks warm slightly as she took it, walking along with him.

They walked the rest of the distance to her estate, her arm in his. It began to sprinkle a warm rain as they approached the veranda. Thadeus’s bleating came on the breeze. Lysandra sighed. “He’ll be back in his stall by morning, tail between his legs no doubt.”

They stepped toward two stormtroopers who had taken up position at one of the back entrances to the house. Lysandra let her body fall away from Thrawn’s slightly, aware that he might not wish his men to see him so familiar with her. His arm held fast, however, and they continued past them toward the guest wing of the complex.

As they neared the suite Lysandra had arranged, she looked down at herself, belatedly realizing what a mess she must look. To her dismay, she saw that the rain had turned her soft white blouse a bit transparent. She let go of the admiral’s elbow and self-consciously crossed both her arms in front of her.

“Well, good evening, Admiral. I’m sorry for the unforeseen excitement. Is there anything you’d like before you retire? A drink or some other refreshment, perhaps?”

He stepped in front of her, perhaps a bit too close for comfort, and looked down at her with those flashing eyes. He reached for her arms, unfolding them and bringing her hands up in front of her. Gallantly, he took her left in his right and raised it to his lips. He held her other hand at waist level. “Thank you for an interesting evening, and again for your hospitality. I would enjoy a drink, as I would continue to enjoy your company, my lady.”

“Ah, yes,” she managed. “Of course. I’ll just be a moment to clean up. Forvish ale, I presume?”

He nodded, finally releasing her hands and her gaze. “Please.”

“That suite has quite a large fireplace in the sitting area, I’ll send a droid along to light it for you,” she said, grateful to escape the intensity of those eyes.

“No need,” he said.

“Very well.” She turned and strode down the hall to her wing of the building, wondering why she suddenly felt like such a schoolgirl.
6

Lysandra returned perhaps fifteen minutes later. She wore a long white gown, simple but elegant in cut. The fabric gathered at her collarbone around a jeweled fastening which circled her neck, creating the look of a necklace from which the dress flowed. The rest of the fabric hugged her slender curves and flowed down just above the floor. Her golden brown hair was brushed out and hung straight down the middle of her back.

She came to the door of the guest suite and knocked softly.

“Come,” Thrawn’s smooth voice came quietly from within. She stepped inside.

The admiral had apparently lit the fire himself, although a droid had delivered the drinks she requested. It turned and wandered ponderously out into the hallway as she entered. “Pardon me, madam.” It quipped in a rather irritating electronic tone. Lysandra grimaced slightly. She disliked droids, but their memories ceased to exist at the push of a few buttons, a convenience in times like these. While she had the utmost confidence in the discretion of her employees, the private environment was a courtesy her father had taught her to bestow on especially prestigious clients.

Thrawn had donned a simple, black jumpsuit. A bit more form fitting than his uniform, Lysandra noted in spite of herself. From the looks of it, the admiral made time to take care of himself. He gestured to one of the overstuffed chairs near the fire, and stepped over to the drink tray to pour two glasses from the carafe. Turning and walking back towards her, he handed Lysandra one of the glasses and took a seat in the chair opposite hers. He leaned back in the chair, feet planted on the floor and set a bit apart. His arms draped with casual elegance across the sides as he swirled his drink gently in one hand and studied her thoughtfully with those soul-piercing eyes.

Lysandra did her best to look just as relaxed, although much to her chagrin, she did not feel it. Who was this man, she wondered with mild annoyance, to stride in and make her feel bloody awkward in her own home? No one made her feel uncomfortable, certainly not on her own land.

Except Thrawn, with his cool blue features and modulated, aristocratic voice that flowed richly with overtones of command. She sat there, long legs crossed, sipped her drink, and refused to be goaded into nervous chatter. Finally, he spoke.

“Tell me, my lady, why do you stay here in solitude?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged slightly. “This has been my home since I was a child,” she answered. “I enjoy its peace, its beauty. I do entertain clients occasionally, and my employees are almost always here with me. As you know, I travel extensively.” She took a measured sip from her glass. “I have no need of anything more.”

He appeared to think on that momentarily. “How old are you, now?”

She blinked. Coming from anyone else, a question like that would elicit a frosty gaze and a scathing retort. “Thirty one standard years.”

Thrawn nodded, turning his eyes to the fire. “Do you not wish to marry? To begin a family of your own?”

Lysandra frowned slightly. “I have no need of a man,” she answered shortly. “I do as I please, when it pleases me.” Enough of this, she thought. “And you, Admiral? Do you have a wife somewhere, anxiously awaiting your return from this war?”

He sipped his drink, eyes still on the fire. “No,” he said. “Although my position hardly allows for such things.”

“No?” she asked, not ready to let him off the hook. “Rank has its privileges, does it not?”

The glowing eyes returned to her. “Perhaps,” he said, clearly ending the line of questioning.

They sat in silence a while longer, enjoying the warm glow of the fire and sipping at their glasses. Lysandra began to relax. It was rather nice to have someone about who could join her in a comfortable silence. Despite the early hour she found herself a bit tired, and closed her eyes for a few moments.

“I don’t mean to keep you,” he said into her thoughts.

“Not at all,” she said, smiling slightly but keeping her eyes closed. Insect noise mingled with the distant sound of the sea, floating in through the open veranda doors on a warm breeze.

She heard him stir. “I have something for you,” he said. Opening her eyes, she saw him stride over to a long case in the corner of the room. He flipped the lid and withdrew a box that was perhaps the length of her arm, and half as wide as it was long. He brought it back over to his chair, carefully withdrew a tall sculpture, and set it down gently on the small table between them.

Lysandra sat up, gazing at the piece in awe. It was strangely beautiful, hypnotic. It writhed in the firelight like liquid. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

With an effort, she lifted her gaze up from the table to Thrawn. He was studying the piece with an almost wistful expression on his face. “Where did you find this, Admiral?” she asked.

“It was my one failure, out on the Fringes. The one time when understanding a race’s art gave me no insight at all into its psyche.”

Lysandra looked back at the sculpture. It was indeed like nothing she’d ever seen. “Perhaps with further study, other works…” she trailed off, absorbed in the slow undulation of the piece as the firelight was bounced about it.

“That will be difficult,” Thrawn said quietly, his voice like velvet. Lysandra started to ask what he meant, but something in his expression stopped her cold. He seemed to bring himself back to the present, shifting his gaze to look at her. “I would like you to have this.”

Lysandra’s brows lifted as she turned back to him. “Admiral, I’m flattered but really, I couldn’t accept such a treas-“

“I insist.” He cut her off, his eyes scalding her.

She opened her mouth to protest, faltered. “Ah, well, thank you, Admiral. I’m not sure what to say.”

He leaned forward, reaching his hand out to rest lightly on hers. “You needn’t say anything. You and your father have provided me with invaluable assistance over the years.”

She looked down at his hand, its subdued, cool color in contrast to the warmth she felt on her skin. Suddenly she was acutely aware of the crackling of the fire, the insect chatter floating into the room from the open balcony, his closeness.

Slowly, deliberately, he stood - taking her hand in his and gently pulling her up in front of him. He held her hand at his chest, stroking it with his thumb and gazing down at her intently, an unspoken question in his flaming red eyes. She let out a breath slowly, trying to calm her fluttering heart, half closing her eyes in silent consent.

Shifting his hold on her hand, he laced his long blue fingers in between hers. His free hand moved up to run across her jaw line, tipping her head back as he reached her chin. She stood paralyzed, scarcely breathing, her eyes closed. Stars, what was she doing?

She felt him bend down to her, felt his breath on her skin, nearly collapsed as his lips skimmed lightly over hers. He paused, tasting her, and she let out an almost imperceptible sigh. Suddenly, he released her hand and grabbed her roughly, one arm snaking around her waist and holding her fast against him, the other hand buried in her hair as he cupped the back of her skull and kissed her fiercely.

Lysandra returned his passion without thinking - without the ability to think. Her hands came to rest on broad shoulders as his mouth closed over hers. His tongue probed her mouth, exploring the warm depths. Her hands traveled up around his collar, stroking the soft skin of his neck and skirting briefly behind his ears. He shuddered, wrapping her more tightly in his arms, his lips continuing their assault. She moaned softly, running her fingers up through his shimmering blue-black hair. She grabbed and pulled, almost involuntarily, and his head came up and back as he winced slightly.

“Oh,” She whispered, her eyelids heavy and her lips swollen with passion. He looked down at her, eyes flashing predatorily. “Forgive m-” She could say no more as his mouth crushed down on hers once again. He held her in a steel grip, moving her slowly backward until she felt the wall behind her. They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity, Lysandra pinned between the wall and Thrawn’s hard frame, hands trapped against his muscled chest. Her fingers spread and drifted slowly down his torso as his mouth claimed hers again and again. When she reached his belt he tore away from her, grabbed her hands and threw them away, and swept her up in his arms.

She held on tightly, bringing her face close to his, stroking a high cheekbone and nipping gently at the other. He bore her into the other room and gently lowered her onto the bed; leaning over her, his eyes burned into hers. Her dress had drifted up almost to her knees, and he ran a hand along the soft, exposed skin of one leg, drifting up past her knee and to her thigh. Closing her eyes and leaning back into the pillow, Lysandra sucked in a breath, her skin tingling at the contact. He kissed her again, slowly, lingering over her, fingers stroking the silky skin of her upper thigh.

She opened her eyes as he pulled back momentarily. Boldly, she reached for the collar fastening of his tunic, pulling it open in one swift movement and revealing an exquisitely muscled, smooth blue chest. Her fingers slid down his hot skin, yanking open his belt when they reached it.

Thrawn gave a low growl deep in his throat, tossing his tunic and belt aside and ripping her dress up over her hips. He knelt on the bed, one knee between her legs, and worked the dress up and over her head. He paused, eyes raking over her exposed flesh. His hands found her breasts, caressing them torturously, his eyes never leaving hers. At last he bent his head and took a delicate pink nipple in his mouth.

Lysandra gasped, her head flying back. Her hands worked desperately at his hair as his attentions moved to her other breast. Shuddering, she could take it no longer. Wrenching his head up in her hands, she looked into his eyes, her breathing coming fast now. “Admiral,” She said, the pleading in her voice barely registering in her own mind.

He smiled wolfishly. “Yes, my lady?”

She closed her eyes, exasperated. “Take me,” she breathed, not caring how it sounded.

Rustling came as he removed the rest of his clothing and her undergarments. Suddenly he was there, pressing against her, demanding to be let in. She opened herself to him, reaching for his shoulders…

Abruptly he rolled, flipping her over on top of him. His hands seized her hips and lowed her down on top of him. Gasping, she felt his hardness slide into her, filling her to the hilt.

They sat there heaving for a brief moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Then, slowly, she lifted up, pulling him nearly out of her, then sank back down. His eyes closed and his head went back, pleasure sweeping over his hard features. His large hands rested on her hips as she moved slowly, sensuously, up and down his length.

She felt the pleasure start to mount inside of her almost immediately, although she did her best to fend it off for as long as she could bear. She started moving faster, harder, and his eyes came open into red slits. His hands roamed over her breasts and down her torso, coming to rest firmly on her hips. He started thrusting underneath her, and she began to succumb to the sensation growing inside her.

Finally, she could stand it no longer. Her back arched, hands clutching at her hair, riding him without shame or pretense. The warmth exploded within her and she cried out, falling forward to rest on his hard chest. Moaning softly, she buried her face in his neck, kissing it along his collarbone.

He rolled with her once again, now lying on top of her, and pounded into her with a fury that made her gasp and whimper with pleasure. He abruptly called out, his face buried in her hair, his body shaking and quivering. She felt him convulse inside her as he spilled into her. He lay on top of her, panting, still inside her, as she ran her fingertips up and down his muscled back in a gentle caress. She heard him groan softly into the pillow next to her ear.

A while later, he rose up on his elbows to gaze at her for a moment, then kissed her lips tenderly, lingering on them. He finally withdrew from her, leaving her feeling dreadfully empty but satisfied. She smiled at him, running her fingers through his hair and down his back again. He smiled back and kissed her forehead, cheeks, and chin before returning to her mouth. Pulling her with him and holding her close he rolled onto his side, cradling her in his arms, holding her head under his chin. She reached around him and snuggled closer, throwing a leg over his hips. Wordlessly, they stroked each other gently, and drifted off to asleep.
7

Lysandra awoke in the dark to the sound of Thrawn’s comlink chirping. His back was to her, but he firmly held the arm she draped over his side. He stirred, gently releasing her, and sat up on the edge of the bed.

“This is Thrawn,” he said, his voice sounding just as clear and cool as always. She couldn’t hear the response.

“Yes,” he said, standing and walking across the room toward the balcony. She smiled, enjoying the dim view of his pale blue posterior as he retreated.

“Sir, report from Honoghr,” Captain Pellaeon spoke into the comm. “Khabarakh Kihm’bar has escaped.”

A heartbeat of silence followed. “Indeed,” Thrawn’s voice came back. “Interesting timing.”

“I should say so, sir,” Pellaeon said, frowning slightly at the console. Had the Grand Admiral somehow missed the insolence of his hired alien guns?

“What report from the Judicator?”

Pellaeon resisted the urge to shake his head in bewilderment. “Still en route, sir. Jade has changed her course twice thus far.”

“Very good. Thank you for the update, Captain.”

The connection broke. What in the Empire is the admiral doing down there? Pellaeon wondered.

Lysandra was beginning to doze off again as she felt Thrawn climb back into bed. He gathered her in his arms and held her close at his side. She sighed happily, nuzzling her head against his shoulder. “What time is it?” she asked softly.

“Early,” he said simply. “Go back to sleep.”

She was already halfway there. A while later she woke to the chirping of birds and the first rays of sunlight pooling on the balcony. Thrawn was spooned around her, breathing regularly.

Lysandra lay there for a little while, listening to the sound of his breath, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. How would it be, she wondered, after the wonderful indiscretions of the night before? Pondering the thought for a moment, she decided it didn’t particularly matter. He was at war, and she pined for no man. Glancing at the bedside chrono, she saw that it was nearly 0600. Time to check on the results of her phrase dump-and-search, but first, time for a shower.

She eased herself out of Thrawn’s arms, bending over to gently kiss a pale blue temple before padding quietly out of the room. She threw her dress on and let herself out, glancing over her shoulder at the sculpture the admiral had given her briefly as she left.
8

Lysandra was deep in her work by the time breakfast rolled around. Reminding herself of her hostess duties, she left the translations in her study and strolled down the halls to the conservatory where she’d ordered the droids to deliver food. She wore a crisp pair of black, expertly tailored trousers with heeled boots and a sleek, high collared top of the same color. Her hair flowed loose down her back and she felt a new life in her step as she approached the sunny, open room.

“Good morning,” she said pleasantly as she entered. Thrawn was seated in a high backed chair near one of the many windows, skimming through a datapad. He wore his pristine white Grand Admiral’s uniform once again, Lysandra saw with some pleasure. He wore it well.

He glanced up, a small smile touching his lips. “Good morning.” He returned, setting down the datapad. Lysandra walked up to him, stopping just in front of his chair. “You rose early,” he said, reaching out to run a hand behind her knee.

She smiled. “I trust you slept well.”

He nodded, eyes still on her face.

“Good. Shall we?” She motioned to the table where the breakfast service had been arranged.

He stood and they sat down together, as comfortable as they had been the day before, if not more so, Lysandra noted.

She poured two steaming cups of a bitter liquid to which she had become unreasonably addicted, along with the rest of Taran’s populace. Caffe, they called it. “I’m making some progress with those pieces you brought,” she remarked conversationally. “Fascinating species.”

Thrawn said nothing, but looked at her expectantly.

“Warriors. Warriors with an extensive tradition of ritual and clan honor. Remarkable hunting and tracking abilities, from the sound of it, although the society itself still seems quite primitive. Loyal to a fault, if I had to guess.”

The neutral silence across the table, she knew, meant she should continue. “The one really intriguing detail, however,” she paused to take a sip of caffe, “lies in a heavily repeated phrase rentau’medokh kasem en kham’edokh. I stumbled over the exact translation for a while, assuming at first that it meant ‘the blood of your clan’. However, after studying the glyphs a bit more closely and cross-referencing some of the more ancient dialects of the outer rim, I think it’s more precisely ‘the scent of your family’. It seems that these beings can actually detect clan ancestors over generations upon generations. Scent tracking abilities are quite common in hunter species, but I’ve never seen something this powerful recounted by sentient beings before. Quite unique.”

She was spreading a sweet glaze over a piece of warm bread when she noticed the admiral’s stony silence. She looked up. His expression was frozen, eyes burning off into space.

“Admiral?” she asked, concerned.

He brought his eyes back from infinity. “Are you quite sure?” he asked, his tone quiet and deadly.

“Yes, as sure as one ever can be with these things,” she said mildly, wondering at his reaction. “Is everything all right?”

He hissed through his teeth softly. “No,” he said, standing up and stalking over to the windows, hands clasped behind his back. A quiet rage seemed to hang about his shoulders. “No, it most certainly is not.”