Thrawn was attending a meeting with his highest ranking officers present onboard. They had to discuss the Empire's next move, and, needless to say, there were numerous divergent opinions. Admiral Rhys thought it better to promote a purely defensive policy, while General Sin-Durrel encourage more aggressive moves to get at least few systems back under Imperial jurisdiction. Their discussion quickly turned to full-on fighting, so that it became difficult to hear anything over their raised voices.

Pellaeon, seated to the right of Thrawn, merely waited, confident in his superior tactical abilities, although the growing quarrel made him feel uncomfortable. Imperial officers should be working together, not fighting over strategy. However, the grand admiral didn't seem at all interested in the discussion.

Actually, Thrawn was merely waiting for the two officers to calm down. While they sent furious glares at each other, he thought about his own strategy. Which system should be next on the list? Maybe the Harad sector-- Haradrim people were easily influenced, and would most likely come to surrender if they thought they had no chance to withstand an Imperial attack. With the Chimaera and two more destroyers--

"Admiral? Sir?"

Thrawn blinked, and looked at Pellaeon, who stared at him, seemingly worried. How long had he been gazing into space like that? The Chiss frowned. Him to let his attention be distracted like that. Raising his head, he became aware of the fact that everyone was staring at him, with a bit of uneasiness. The grand admiral sighed unnoticeably. At least now he had their full attention.

"I think we will be heading for the Harad system for now," he said calmly. "Meanwhile, I want you all to give more thought about the decisions we'll make regarding the Empire's policy. Dismissed."

They left the room, but Pellaeon sent his superior an odd glance before passing through the door. He seemed concerned by something, and for a minute Thrawn thought about it. Maybe he should talk with his flagship captain about it-- but later. For now, it was about 0300, and he felt exhausted.

He rose and headed to his quarters, carrying the last files he needed to read. The following day, he would have a lot to do. Coordinating the fleet was not an easy task, and he found himself admiring Vader for the amount of work the Sith Lord had had to assume every day. But actually, Thrawn wasn't sure that man did understand the concept of "rest". Nor did he himself, as a matter of fact. However, he had an Empire to rebuild, and just didn't have the time to be on holidays.

Once he was in his quarters, he headed to the shower. Ten minutes later, he dried himself and went to bed, cursing the headache hammering in his brain. How did the Death Star come to end up in his head?

***

Pellaeon made his way towards the command deck, thoughtfully pacing. Admiral Thrawn had him worried. He didn't seem in his normal state. It wasn't like him to be distracted like that, nor to interrupt an important meeting as abruptly as he had.

Oh, well, he was just being paranoid. Maybe the admiral just had had enough watching his men quarreling like children on a playground, and decided it would be good for them to think a little bit about what they wanted-- apart from antagonizing each other's efforts.

But, still. He had been silent almost a whole minute before he answered Pellaeon's call. Maybe he was just tired? Or that was a normal state for him at this stage of his life-- After all, the Chimaera's captain didn't know anything about Thrawn's species. The admiral didn't talk about it, was on the contrary, quite secretive about his life. Not that Pellaeon expected him to be fraternizing, but still--

Whatever the problem might be-- if there even was a problem-- the captain couldn't do anything about it so-- he'd better be getting on with his duty.

***

Thrawn awoke roughly, breathing hard. His headache was still there, but that wasn't what had awoken him. It was-- a nightmare? He hadn't had any nightmares for a very long time.

The admiral checked his chrono. He had slept for barely two hours, but he felt he couldn't rest any more this night-- as far as there were nights and days onboard a starship. He went for the fresher and put water on his face, then got dressed in his white uniform. Then he headed to the SOM-- the Superior Officers' Mess.

No one was there yet, since the next watch wasn't set until 0600. It suited the Chiss perfectly, since he wasn't in a talkative mood. Ordering a coffee, he seated himself at one of the tables and sipped it slowly. He was hungry, but the very idea of eating something made his stomach turn over. Was he sick? Now, that was a ridiculous idea. Grand Admirals just don't have time to be sick. Perhaps in a few decades, but not now. No, most likely he was just a bit tired, and the next day he would be fine.

For now, he decided he should as well be making his way toward the bridge, to see how the Chimaera was doing. And then, he had some paperwork to do, reports to read, missions to order.

When he strode on to the main deck, the crew's activity seemed to escalate. Wherever Thrawn was present, he had that same effect. Rukh was there, too, waiting in the shadows as usual. He wasn't allowed in Thrawn's quarters, so when his Lord was getting some rest he usually went there. Maybe he was spying on the crew. The admiral had never asked, and Rukh had never volunteered.

"Admiral." It was Pellaeon.

"At ease, captain. How's it going with the Chimaera?"

"Quite well, Admiral. I have been thinking about new exercises for crew-- it they get used to the schedule, it's useless. They need to be ready to be surprised any time," Pellaeon prompted, smiling.

"Of course. You're right. Put something on schedule and have the data on my desk for tomorrow," Thrawn ordered, after thinking about it.

"Yes, sir."

"What is our ETA at Harad?" the Chiss inquired.

"Twenty-four hours, sir. We could be there faster, but we are waiting for the Judicator and the Inquisitor to meet with us," the captain explained.

"All right. Then I'll be in my office. Let me know when Captains Bergen and Solari are here."

On these words, Thrawn headed to the door at the other end of the main deck. Pellaeon watched him leave. Wasn't the admiral a bit paler than usual? It was difficult to say-- no, surely the bridge's lighting caused this strange effect.

But then, Thrawn faltered and fell to the ground.

Pellaeon stared at him in disbelief for several seconds, then steadied himself and ran to the side of his admiral. Rukh was already there, but he was useless at best.

"Medical team to the bridge at once," Pellaeon ordered, trying to sound calmer than he was.

Gently, he turned the admiral to his back, trying to remember whatever he had learned about basic first aid when he was taking courses back on Carida. To his dismay, he didn't remember much, and felt totally helpless. Finally, his hand reached Thrawn's neck to check the heartbeat. Wasn't it a bit too fast? It was hard to say. Maybe his species' heart beat faster naturally-- Oh, sith!

The captain checked then his admiral's breathing. It was a hard, hissing sound that came out of Thrawn's lips each time he exhaled. And now? What should he do? And what the hell was taking that medical team he had asked for, what seemed a very long time ago?!

Pellaeon found himself at the edge of the deepest despair. Grand Admiral Thrawn was, he could feel it, the last hope of the Empire. If he died, everything Pellaeon had fought for would die along with him. No, he couldn't die, that was inconceivable.

The strange idea of waving an artistic artifact in front of Thrawn to motivate him to live crossed the captain's mind. He got rid of it, and at last saw three men coming, clad in meds' white uniforms. He sighed with relief. They would know what to do, they would save the admiral.

Stupefaction went across the faces of the three men as they knelt beside the Chiss.

"Captain, what happened?" urged the first of them, a blond young man with the name "Jurgen" on his ID card.

Pellaeon stared at him for a few seconds, then came to himself and promptly answered. "He just tumbled down on the bridge. I have no idea why."

The three meds shared a look that didn't reassure Pellaeon one bit.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked sharply.

"Sorry, sir." Jurgen apologized, before he put his hand on Thrawn's neck, as the captain had done before. "Do you happen to know anything about the admiral's species which could be of use?"

"I'm afraid not," Pellaeon said, shaking his head.

"Then we'll have to check whatever we have about the admiral's records," Jurgen concluded.

He resumed his examination, and after ten minutes or so, which seemed very long to Pellaeon, he ordered his men to put him on a stretcher. They didn't salute Pellaeon before they left, but he couldn't have cared less. Dreadfully worried, Pellaeon began to pace the deck. He knew he was only raising the anxiety level on the bridge when he should have tried to calm the crew, but he couldn't help it.

Noticing everyone staring at him or at the place where the admiral had fallen, Pellaeon exhaled an angry growl. "And just what are you looking at? Back to work, at once!" he ordered icyly, before resuming his pacing.

After an hour or so, he finally gave up on pretending being interested by the engineering report about the Chimaera's engines, and headed to sick bay.

The door opened in front of him, and he smelled the odor of drugs, a smell he had always hated. He noticed a 2-1B droid standing by, but ignored it, and looked around until he saw a human medic. He strode to the man, who stood to attention.

"Captain. I'm Commander Green. Can I help you?"

"Yes, you can," Pellaeon snapped. "How is Admiral Thrawn doing?"

The doctor put down the file he had been reading.

"Quite well, actually. His life is not in danger."

"Has he regained consciousness?"

"Not yet. Do you wish to see him?"

"Yes."

The doctor led the captain to another room in which there was only a bed and a chair. In the bed lay Thrawn, looking paler than usual in the white sheets. A bit relieved to see that his breathing seemed normal now, Pelleaon turned to the medic.

"Have you an explanation for this fainting?"

"I think so," the medic said, sounding disgusted. "Strain, mostly. He works too much. His body just can't keep up. He has to rest sometimes, like all of us."

"And if he doesn't?" Pellaeon enquired, feeling his mouth dry from anxiety.

"Then he will fall sick," the medic answered, shrugging. "And might endanger his health."

The captain took a deep breath. That wasn't going to be easy. But a moan from the bed got his attention back on his admiral, and the second later he was by his bedside. A glitter of red shimmered as Thrawn opened his eyes. The doctor stepped forward.

"How are you feeling, Admiral?" he answered smoothly.

Thrawn blinked and frowned, as if trying to remember something.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

"You... fainted," Pelleaon said, ill at ease, wondering how the admiral would react to that.

"I see," Thrawn answered calmly, remaining impassive. "For what reason?"

"Strain," the medic prompted. "It seems you haven't rested enough in the past few days, and you have been under a lot of stress. You should be more careful."

Thrawn didn't answer, but his eyes glowed slightly.

"I see," he eventually repeated. "When will I be able to come back to full duty?"

The medic snorted.

"I'd say at least one week. But since I'm sure you won't listen to me, any time you please."

There was a low chuckle, and it took a few moments for Pellaeon to understand it came from Thrawn. It was the first time he ever heard the admiral laugh.

"I can't afford to stay in bed that long, of course," came the smooth reply, "but I'll try not to exhaust myself excessively."

"In that case, I'd like to examine you each day, to check how you're doing."

"As you wish," conceded Thrawn, then tried to sit up.

The medic kept him in the bed.

"I cannot let you stand right now. You have just regained full awareness. It wouldn't be wise. Please rest here at least for two hours."

"Nothing needs your attention right now," Pellaeon pointed out, and received a thankful look from the medic.

"All right, I surrender," Thrawn said, looking really amused. "You should be flattered since it's the first time I have ever done that."

"We are not a rebel fleet," the captain protested, sounding outraged even though he tried, without much success, to refrain a smile.

"All right, we won't bother you any longer, admiral. I'll see you in two hours," the medic said before hauling Pellaeon behind him out of the room.

Once they were alone, he shot a sharp glance to his commander, seemingly hesitating.

"If you have something to say, say it," Pellaeon scowled, a bit annoyed.

"You've just seen how hard it is to keep a military chief in bed," the medic finally said. "If I am to get Admiral Thrawn to have some rest, I'll need your help."

"And what can I do?" inquired Pelleaon.

"Make him delegate as much work as possible. Don't speak of any problem you can handle yourself. Have the ship doing perfectly well so he doesn't have to bother. And don't overstrain yourself, because I won't be able to survive if I have two exhausted officers in my sickbay."

"I'll do what I can...but the admiral is not someone you can really keep back from his duty."

On these words, Pellaeon left the sickbay, making his way towards the main deck, thinking hard. Apart from chaining up the admiral to his bed, he didn't see exactly what he could do. But he expected Thrawn to have more common sense than that. The admiral would be cautious with his health. Hopefully.

The main deck's atmosphere was burdensome. No noise was perceptible when Pellaeon entered, and almost every crewman shot him a questioning glance. The captain couldn't ignore them, nor could he pretend not to notice Rukh's eyes on him. He went to his first officer, who had been in charge while he was visiting Thrawn, and he said, purposefully loud enough for everyone to hear: "So far so well, Captain Breant. The admiral is just a bit tired. He'll be back in no time."

The relief was immediately perceptible; a few men shared beaming smiles, while others relaxed in their seats. It was the intended effect. Everyone on board the Chimaera deeply respected the admiral, and Pellaeon knew it. It was why this crew was almost as good as the Executor's; they wanted to do their job well, not from fear of what would happen to them if they didn't, but because they firmly believed, as the captain did, that Thrawn was the last chance to rebuild an Empire standing for the ideals they defended-- order and honor throughout the galaxy.

***

The following days were uneventful. Pellaeon tried, as much as possible, to help his superior by dealing with every minor problems, with the backing of his second-in-command, Captain Breant, and Thrawn was careful not to work too much. Overstraining himself wouldn't serve his purpose.

The Harad system surrendered as the admiral had planned, when they didn't see any other way to survive, and Thrawn was lenient with them. Eventually, the Haradrim would find that collaboration with the Empire wasn't too restricting; but, Pellaeon remembered, Thrawn's aim wasn't to oppress.

The day following the battle, in his quarters, Thrawn stood looking thoughtfully at a set of goblets. Sith art.

The goblets were made in a strange, glass-like black stone. No tool had been used to create them but the power of the mind. The Dark Lord Marka Ragnos had made them, releasing them from the unpolished stone of an inhospitable planet by the name of Korriban. There was something fascinating in these things. They seemed so perfect, even after millennia spent in a grave. Wonderful achievement, truly.

Thrawn fondled the fur of his ysalamir, which was lying on its life support, before turning his attention to another set of goblets. These were made of Manaan's coral, in a dark shade of red, and were simply and artfully made. Yes, Manaan would be a good target for the Empire's next strike. The design of these goblets-- basic, yet elegant-- told everything Thrawn needed to know about Selkath's psychology. Very straightforward people, of course. They would set a frontal attack as soon as they noticed the Destroyer's arrival. The only thing to do was to have two other Destroyers-- the Judicator and Avenger, perhaps-- on both sides, and when the Selkath fleet was in the snare, it would close up on them.

The admiral rose from his chair, feeling a bit dizzy. Strange. Maybe he had stood too fast. He came out of his quarters and headed to the bridge; he had to give Captain Pellaeon his orders, and set a timing for the Judicator and Avenger's arrival. And have one other Destroyer sent to the Ukio system; the Rebellion seemed to be planning an attack, judging from their fleet's last moves. But, as always, the Empire would be ready for them.

When Thrawn entered the bridge, Pellaeon immediately turned toward him. He didn't say anything, but the admiral saw the misgiving in his eyes, and heard the question as well as if the captain had actually asked him "How are you feeling, sir?" He hated to see that-- the hesitation, the wariness of his flagship's captain.

"Hello, Captain," he said smoothly. "How is the Chimaera doing?"

His usual query seemed to reassure Pellaeon, who straightened up.

"Perfectly well, as usual, sir."

"Excellent. You will set a course to Manaan."

"Yes, sir."

"But first, send a message to both the Judicator and the Avenger; they are to meet us one parsec before Manaan."

"At once," acknowledged the captain, smiling.

"If you need me, I'll be in my quarters," concluded Thrawn.

On these words, he left the bridge. But he had only made a few steps, once the door was passed, before he had to stop. Everything seemed to be spinning around him, and his heart resounded in his ears. He tried to breathe deeply and found it quite difficult. The admiral had to lean on the wall in order not to fall.

"My lord? Is everything alright?" Rukh yowled, emerging from the shadows.

His voice seemed to come from far, far away. Thrawn tried to answer, but found himself unable to speak clearly. Only a weak moan crossed his lips. Rukh disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, and a few moments later, Pellaeon was there.

***

No, no and no. It couldn't be true. And yet... Deeply worried, the captain had followed Rukh, striding over the bridge to the coursive, and he had felt his heart stop when he had seen the admiral leaning against the wall, barely conscious. He reached for his comlink.

"Medical team to coursive 17-- A!"

Biting his lips, he took the admiral's arm to support him, then tried to make him lie down. It would certainly be better for his health than trying to go on standing up. Nervous, not knowing what else he could do, Pellaeon waited with impatience for the medical team.

When they arrived at last, Pellaeon was nearly panic-stricken. But this time, Commander Green was with them, and he quickly took command of the events.

"Put him on the stretcher, now. Carefully. To the sickbay, now. Captain, are you coming with us?"

"Yes," Pellaeon nodded.

"Then follow me."

They walked silently, and five minutes later they were there. Thrawn was put in the same bed as the first time, and Green was beside him instantly. Pellaeon stood silently, waiting for the med officer to take care of the admiral. The commander had a look at a file, then gave a hypospray and got a blood test. After he had done a few other things which Pellaeon didn't understand one bit, he drove the captain out.

"So?" Pellaeon inquired impatiently.

Green shrugged, looking distraught.

"I don't know. I cannot find anything wrong with him, apart from exhaustion. He did rest, these last few days, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. The admiral is no fool, and he was careful; I personally checked that he wasn't bothered by any minor problem," Pellaeon answered darkly. "So, what's the matter with him?"

"It is unlikely to be merely exhaustion. Or rather, it is, but it has to have been provoked by something. The question is; what? Until we find the answer to this question, I don't think I'll be able to do much to treat him. Do you have any idea of what could--?"

Pellaeon thought about it for a few minutes, then shook his head.

"I don't see anything, frankly. Everything was perfectly normal, until the admiral collapsed for the first time."

"Then I'll run a few extensive tests," the med officer sighed. "Maybe I'll find something, even though I doubt it. There's no sign of any illness."

"Of any illness we understand," Pellaeon corrected.

"But in this case, why would the admiral be the only one affected?" Green pointed out.

"The admiral isn't human."

"Most of his genes are human, if you want to know. But you might be right. If I find anything, you'll be the first to be informed."

"Thank you. I shall be going back to the bridge for now, then," Pellaeon concluded. "Let me know when the admiral awakes."

***

Thrawn slowly regained awareness. He was-- where was he? This unmistakable odor... Yes, he must be in the sick bay. Again. But how--

Opening his eyes, he saw the white ceiling, then the man at his bedside. Commander Green, of course.

"Glad to see you're awake, Admiral," the med officer said. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Thrawn answered.

Or tried to answer. Only a slight moan escaped from his throat.

"You may need to rest a bit longer," Green commented. "Stay still for now."

"What happened?" Thrawn inquired, his calm, cultured voice, sounding as usual only weaker.

"You fainted, in a coursive near the bridge. Rukh saw you and called Captain Pellaeon, who called us."

"Any idea what might have happened?"

"Not a clue."

"That's-- annoying," Thrawn stated calmly.

"To put it mildly," confirmed Commander Green. "I'm running a few more tests, but I'm afraid that won't help much. Did anything out of the ordinary occur in the last two weeks? Even if it seems insignificant, it can be important."

The Chiss frowned, thinking for a moment.

"No," he finally stated. "Nothing new. We've been to Myrkr, in order to get a few more Ysalamiri, and otherwise have harassed the Rebellion with a few attacks. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"I see," Green sighed. "Well, I'm sure we'll find eventually."

"So do I. Meanwhile, can I leave sickbay?" Thrawn answered, raising an eyebrow.

"You shouldn't strain yourself, sir. I don't know what's going on, but--"

"I don't intend to do anything unwise. But I can at least come back to my quarters and read a few reports while you're running your tests," Thrawn suggested.

"Well, I suppose that won't do any harm," Green admitted reluctantly. "But if you feel the slightest uneasiness, let me know at once, will you?"

"Of course," said the admiral.

Five minutes later he had left sickbay. Green remembered Captain Pellaeon wanted to be informed of the admiral's condition. He picked up his comlink. "Captain? Commander Green here."

"How's the admiral doing?" Pellaeon's voice showed his concern over his superior's health.

"He's fine. He just left sickbay heading to his quarters."

"That's good to hear," Pellaeon said, sounding relieved.

"But I'm worried it might not be the last time something like this happens. Until I learn more about whatever the problem is, the admiral needs to rest as much as possible. No noise, no stress, as far as you can manage that."

"I'll do what I can," Pellaeon said dubiously.

The captain put down his comlink and turned to his second in command.

"The bridge is yours, Captain Breant."

"Aye, sir."

The Chimaera's CO left the main deck, making his way towards Thrawn's quarter. Nothing to bother the admiral. That should not be too difficult to arrange, if--

Pellaeon stared, eyes widened, at the tech he saw in front of him. The man took a hammer and began to hit a durasteel panel, rattling.

"Stop at once!" Pellaeon hissed furiously at the man, who stared at him, bewildered.

"Captain? What--"

"You're near the admiral quarters. I don't want the least noise here."

"But, I need to repair the--"

"I don't care!" Pellaeon snapped. "You'll do that later. For now, leave. I'm sure you have other duties you can take care of."

"As you wish, sir," the technician shrugged.

Pellaeon sighed in relief-- although not for long. It didn't took long for him to spot another intruder, a young man clad in a storm armor, carrying something that looked unbelievably like a trumpet. Pellaeon's eyes bugged.

"And just what do you think you're doing, sergeant?" he asked acrimoniously.

The storm petty officer stiffened when he saw the Chimaera's captain, and he straightened up.

"Sir? Er, hum, I'm a member of the ship's fanfare, and I was looking for somewhere to rehearse. I tried to do it in my dormitory, but the others threatened to throw me out by the ass--" The voice of the petty officer died away as he saw his superior's dark glance.

"You-- will-- practice-- in another place!" Pellaeon spat out.

"Er-- Yes sir!"

The captain watched the sergeant run away, and sighed wearily. It was a miracle there wasn't yet some grey in his hair. This crew would kill him, sooner or later. No wonder the admiral was exhausted! How was he expected to deal with what Commander Green had said if everyone had passed the word around to disturb Admiral Thrawn!

But suddenly, a sadistic gleam appeared in the captain's eyes.

"Rukh?" he called.

"Captain?" a voice yowled just behind him that made the Imperial officer jump, startled.

"Rukh, never do that again!!"

"But I have to train my skills, Captain."

"Well, train on someone else!" Pellaeon said wearily.

"You have a mission for me, Captain?" the Noghri asked evenly.

"Yes. The admiral needs some rest. I don't want anyone to make any noise around this place."

"Shall I kill anyone who disturbs the admiral?"

Pellaeon hesitated, if only for a second.

"No. The admiral values life. But--," a sly grin went across his face, "you can scare them to death-- only if it's necessary, of course."

"Of course," agreed the Noghri with something that looked like a happy smile. Pellaeon couldn't be sure with these ugly creatures.

***

When Thrawn awoke, he needed a few seconds to remember what had happened recently. He watched his chronometer tiredly; he had slept way longer than usual. Oh, well, Commander Green had told him to rest, now, hadn't he? And Pellaeon was perfectly able to cope with the Chimaera for the moment. Until they arrived at Manaan, there wouldn't be much to do anyway.

Yawning, he got up-- and raised an eyebrow. Now that was something. Someone obviously had muddled up his quarters with a swimming pool, from what his bedroom now looked like. A big puddle was visible, coming from the fresher. How could that be?

Not very pleased with that, he headed to the bathroom. He quickly found out what was going on; the water was dripping from an interstice in the wall. He blurted out an angry growl. He'd find the one responsible for this-- mess-- and let him now he wasn't pleased at all with that.

He swiftly got dressed and went out-- only to bump into Rukh, who was still guarding his door. Puzzled, but trying not to show it, the admiral glanced at the Noghri.

"And what are you doing here, Rukh?"

"I'm guarding you, my lord, following Captain Pellaeon's orders," the Noghri said, bowing.

Thrawn's eyes narrowed to a thin red line.

"Captain Pellaeon ordered you to guard me?" He inquired in a disbelieving tone.

But the Noghri merely nodded.

"He said no one was to disturb you."

"I see," Thrawn retorted dryly, though strangely touched. "You're now relieved of this task."

"As you wish, my lord," Rukh complied.

"Oh, yes. And find out why my quarters have been confused with a swimming pool. I want that mess cleaned up."

The Noghri stiffened, if only a bit, but Thrawn didn't notice it. He was already on his way to the Bridge.

When he arrived there, Pellaeon turned toward him, seemingly relieved.

"Admiral! I was just going to send you a message. I have news--"

"Yes, what is it?" Thrawn inquired.

"We received a communication from our agent, on Jomark. C'baoth is on his way to the Chimaera and should be here within minutes."

"C'baoth?" Thrawn's eyes narrowed. "He shouldn't have moved without a direct order. I will have to remind him who is in charge, here. For now, I guess there's nothing to do. Apart from protecting ourselves, of course."

He glanced at an ensign in the crew pit.

"Ensign Tschel, would you please go to my quarters and get me the Ysalamir which is in it?"

"Yes sir! of course."

Tschel left the Bridge, almost running. Thrawn observed Pellaeon closely. A bit embarrassed, the captain looked out at the stars through the wide bay.

"You don't like it, Captain."

It was barely a question.

"That's right," Pellaeon admitted reluctantly. "I don't think we can trust C'baoth."

"Of course we cannot trust him," Thrawn answered smoothly. "But we can use him. As I told you previously, he's unable to focus for a long time. He's insane, to say it frankly, and that's his weak point."

"With all due respect, I think you're playing with fire, Admiral," Pellaeon retorted as calmly as he could.

He stiffened a bit, waiting for the punishment-- which never came.

"You don't have to fear me, Captain," Thrawn stated softly. "I will not punish you when it is your duty to express your doubts. Even I can make mistakes."

Pellaeon eased off a bit, and his tension slacked off.

"However," Thrawn pursued, "I can handle C'baoth. There's no need for you to worry about that. I want you to focus on the major issues."

"Yes, sir," the captain nodded reluctantly.

A moment later, Tschel was back on the bridge. He seemed paler than usual, Pellaeon noticed mechanically. He reeled rather than walked to the two superior officers and almost faltered.

"Your-- ysalamiri, sir," he said with a faint voice.

In two strides, Thrawn was near the Ensign. He took the Ysalamiri and put it aside, watching closely the young man. He took his comlink.

"Sick bay? Admiral Thrawn here. Have a team sent to the Bridge."

"I'm-- fine, Admiral," the young man tried to protest-- without a lot of success.

"Admiral?" came the worried voice of Commander Green. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Commander," Thrawn said, seeming a bit annoyed.

"Oh," Green said, the relief easy to hear in his voice. "My team is on its way."

"Very well," Thrawn said, turning the comlink off.

A few minutes later, the medical team was there, and they left with Ensign Tschel. Meanwhile, the officer responsible for the sensors reported to Thrawn :

"Admiral, incoming shuttle on 5-- 7-- 2. Our sensors indicate it's the Asylum."

"I guess it's our dear friend C'baoth," muttered the Chiss. "Did they send the right codes?"

"Yes, sir," said the officer.

"Set a com line to this shuttle."

A second later, Joruus C'baoth's arrogant face appeared on the com screen. He considered Thrawn, superciliously, making Pellaeon grinding his teeth. But the admiral remained remarkably calm.

"Would you mind telling me what you think you're doing, Master C'baoth?"

"Certainly, Admiral. I've come to know how you're doing with Organa Solo and the Jedi twins.."

"How we're doing?" Thrawn repeated slowly. "You've come all the way to the Chimaera to ask that? And what if you miss Skywalker? I used considerable Imperial resources to spread these rumors of your presence on Jomark, and I would not be pleased if you waste it."

"Skywalker won't come right now. I will not miss him. But you didn't answer my question, Admiral."

Thrawn's nostrils widened as he answered.

"A Noghri team is on its way as we're speaking."

"The Noghri?" C'baoth burst out laughing. "They've failed already twice."

"And this time they will succeed. Is that all you wanted to know, Master C'baoth?" Thrawn asked icily.

The insane Jedi watched the admiral strangely.

"You shouldn't take them too lightly. Neither the Jedi nor me."

"Oh, trust me, Master C'baoth. I don't," Thrawn answered caustically. "Now, you should head back to Jomark. We don't know what Skywalker might be up to, after all."

"Yes," C'baoth conceded, gazing into space. "I will get back to Jomark. For now."

The veiled threat was clearly audible, but the Chiss chose not to push it and waved his hand dismissively. The screen went black.

"Now, now-- seems like C'baoth is up to something," he muttered. "Most interesting, isn't it?"

The admiral stared thoughtfully at the stars floating in space, and Pellaeon shuddered inwardly. Whatever C'baoth planned, he had no doubts Thrawn would find out, sooner or later. And when the time came-- the admiral would be ruthless.

Pellaeon gave Thrawn a sidelong glance. He was still staring at the stars, eyes widened, motionless. Frowning, the captain asked softly :

"Admiral? Any orders?"

"Hmmm?" Thrawn shook his head, as if he had been straying in his thoughts. "No, I don't think so, Captain."

The Chimaera's CO refrained himself from advising his superior to get some rest, certain he wouldn't take it very well. And furthermore, Thrawn didn't need to be mothered. At least, Pellaeon hoped so.

"ETA to Manaan?" the admiral finally asked.

"About eight hours, sir."

"Nothing to report, Captain?"

"No, sir. Everything's all right."

"Excellent. Then the bridge is yours. If you need me, I'll be in my quarters."

Thrawn left the bridge in long strides, smiling inwardly, thinking of the Manaan art he had begun to study. He took the Ysalamir with him. Now that C'baoth had left, there was no further use for it, and it would only encumber the bridge.

In the way to his quarters, he encountered Rukh, who was obviously going to the bridge. The bodyguard was closely followed by a technician who stared at Thrawn, eyes filled with terror and confusion.

"Rukh," the admiral acknowledged. "So? Did you find out the responsible of this mess in my quarters?"

"Yes, my Lord," the Noghri yowled. "This technician might be able to answer your questions."

"Ah," Thrawn said calmly, turning toward the terrified man. "My quarters are flooded. Do you have an explanation?"

A flicker of understanding gleamed in the crewman's eyes who answered hastily.

"It's not my fault, sir! It's because Captain Pellaeon--"

"I see. It's the captain's fault then."

"Uh, no sir! It's not what I meant," the man whined lamentably, then began a technical explanation filled with incomprehensible words and speaking so quickly that Thrawn only caught one word out of three.

The admiral raised a hand to stop the flow.

"I'd like a short, clear, and most of all calm explanation, thank you."

"Yes, sir!" the technician exclaimed. "I was repairing a main, which is pierced, but Captain Pellaeon arrived, and told me I wasn't allowed to make a single sound, and that I should find something else to repair. That was a direct order, y'see, and I tried to explain him it was important, but he wouldn't listen to me, so--"

"I see. Then repair this main at once. Have my quarters been cleaned up?"

"Yes, my Lord," Rukh assured.

"Excellent. You're both dismissed."

Leaving behind Noghri, the technician and all thoughts about his overprotective captain, Thrawn entered his quarters and activated his art holos. He wanted to examine a few Manaan items more closely, because it could have some incidence in his battle plans, and he wanted to have everything ready when the Chimaera met with the two other destroyers.

Putting down the Ysalamiri on its life support, the admiral sat down in his chair and watched the bowl floating in mid-air. What a pity it was only a hologram-- This art, as simple as it was, remained extremely refined and very delicate. It seemed as if the coral had naturally grown in this bowl, and its irised colors were very subtle. Yet--

The picture seemed to become cloudy in front of Thrawn's eyes, then vanished. No-- not exactly. It was rather his eyes that were closed, but he had no memory of--

He barely felt himself falling on the ground, unable to move. Everything got confused in his mind, and though he tried to call for help, he could hardly issue a weak groan. And then, everything blacked out.

***

Pellaeon consulted his chrono. There were scarcely two hours left before the Chimaera's arrival just out of the Manaan system. He should go and tell the admiral about it, in case he needed some time to get ready. And, even if the captain didn't want to admit it, he wanted to check that everything was all right.

Leaving the bridge to his second in command, he headed to Thrawn's quarters and knocked at the door. Something the admiral utterly loved was his privacy, and Pellaeon didn't intend to upset him by going in without permission granted.

However, no response came. Knocking a second time, Pellaeon waited one or two minutes. Now he had to choose between entering without authorization to do so, or going back and maybe leaving the admiral sick. He didn't think about it twice and entered with determination.

"Oh, shit!" he blurted out, when he saw Thrawn lying unconscious on the floor. "Captain Pellaeon to sick bay!" he cried in his comlink. "Have a medical team sent to Admiral Thrawn's quarter at once!"

Fortunately, no one asked any stupid questions like, "Is someone injured?" and Commander Green's calm voice resonated in the little device.

"We are on our way. Is he still breathing normally?"

"I don't know!" Pellaeon said frantically. "I'll check."

He bent over his superior and saw his chest rising and falling. He could even hear his painful breathing, quick and rasping. The admiral was definitely paler than usual, Pellaeon decided, checking his heartbeat.

"He is breathing, but not normally," he reported to Green. "And I think his heartbeat his faster than it should be."

"All right. Same symptoms, then. We're almost there."

"Hurry," the captain said, turning his comlink off. "Hang on," he added for his unconscious admiral's benefit.

A few seconds later, Commander Green was there, and he took over. Kneeling near the Chiss, he examined him closely, obviously worried.

"He's weak," the med officer muttered. "His condition shouldn't have gotten so much worse in so short a period of time. There has to be something-- put him on the stretcher, quick," he finally ordered to his men while drawing a hypospray from his medkit.

He injected the drug into Thrawn's neck and beckoned his men to take him to sick bay. Ignoring Pellaeon's panic not being an option, he turned toward him, gravely.

"There's no point in hiding it, it's serious. I didn't think it would be that bad, otherwise I'd never have allowed him out of sick bay. It's not normal. That's not merely strain, but I performed each and every possible test, and I didn't find any sign of illness. To say it frankly, I don't understand what's going on."

"I see--" the captain said blankly. "His life is in danger?"

"I'm afraid it is, yes," Green nodded. "But it's curious-- the symptoms are almost the same than this young man, Ensign Tschel, you sent us about six hours ago."

"They are?" Pellaeon asked, astounded.

"Yes, though the admiral's state is far worse. However, I don't see what link there might be. If we found out, that would probably explain a lot of things, but, truthfully, I don't understand why Tschel would be sick and not, for example, the maintenance team which cleaned up the admiral's quarters."

"I see. Well, do what you can, I've no doubt you'll do for best," Pellaeon said dismissingly. "As soon as you've some news, let me know."

"Of course, sir," Green assured before following his men to sick bay.

Left alone, Pellaeon sighed. And now, what? Thrawn would probably not be able to direct the attack to Manaan, but he wasn't sure that canceling this operation would be a good idea. The admiral had had it planned for weeks-- And, furthermore, he probably wouldn't want anyone to know how desperately ill he was.

Suppressing his dark thoughts, the captain went back to the bridge, noticing along the way the odd glances several men shot at him. Surely enough, rumors had spread throughout the ship, and everyone now was wondering about the admiral's health. Of course, this was exactly what Pellaeon had hoped to avoid. This crew was hell for gossip.

His chrono informed him he had one and a half hours before the rendezvous with the Judicator and the Avenger. One and a half hours to make a decision, while Thrawn was maybe dying-- No! he thought with determination. Of course Thrawn wouldn't die. He couldn't dare die on him.

Pellaeon sat down in the CO's chair on the bridge and tried to think about what to do. But he couldn't help thinking about the admiral. Unable to focus on the incoming assault, he let out an angry growl, drawing a curious glance from his second in command.

Tschel had had the same illness as Thrawn. But why the hell? He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary-- He was at his computer, and then the admiral had ordered him to bring an Ysalamir, and then--

Pellaeon turned pale when the thought struck him. An Ysalamir. The Ensign had brought an Ysalamir. Thrawn's personal Ysalamir. The same that had remained in the admiral's quarter for weeks.

"Oh, sith!" Pellaeon muttered weakly, before rushing out of the Bridge to sick bay.

***

"You really think this think might be dangerous?" Commander Green asked doubtfully, following Pellaeon's strides to Thrawn's quarter.

"Well, if you have a better explanation, Commander?" the captain said sarcastically.

"I can't say I have, since I've no explanation at all," Green admitted ruefully. "But it seems quite weird to me. Not to say unlikely."

"Anyway, it won't do any harm to check, will it?" Pellaeon retorted dryly.

"Of course," the medical officer conceded. "Here we are."

Pellaeon opened the door, and the two men went inside Thrawn's quarters. No one had thought to switch off the Manaan art holo, and a coral bowl was still floating in mid-air, slowly turning around. Green made his way toward the Ysalamiri and bent over it, starting his analysis.

When the first results came on the screen, he read them incredulously at first, then with fascination.

"Unbelievable!" he exclaimed. "Absolutely surprising. I never thought--"

"Don't let your analytical mind make you forget the admiral's condition " Pellaeon growled angrily. "So, what did you discover?"

"This," Green said, pointing a finger toward the creature, "is not an Ysalamir."

"What?" the captain blurted out. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm not. It looks like a Ysalamir-- and some of its effects are probably the same, like altering the Force, but it mutated. It adapted to its new environment, if you prefer."

"And more plainly?" Pellaeon said curtly.

"Well-- my guess is that it feeds on the Force. You probably know that the Force is said to come from every living being. The Force is rather like our life-force. I think this thing fed on the admiral's life force, which would explain his weakness."

"But," the captain protested, "the admiral is not Force-sensitive."

"He doesn't need to be. Actually, everyone is Force-sensitive, though only a few are strong enough to become Jedi or Sith. Everyone has a presence in the Force. The Ysalamir merely drew on the admiral's life to feed itself."

Pellaeon didn't seem at all convinced, but the medical officer insisted.

"Just think about it. When did Tschel weaken? Only when he touched this Ysalamir."

"Well, that's right," Pellaeon conceded, "but there are hundreds of Ysalamiri on this ship, and no one else was affected."

"I didn't say each and every Ysalamir on this ship is like that," Green objected. "This one is a peculiar case. As I said, it mutated. I don't know why, and I doubt anyone will ever know it. But all that is left to do is to destroy it, so that it cannot do any harm."

Pellaeon snorted, then shrugged.

"Oh well, whether you're right or no, I guess we can afford to destroy one Ysalamir-- Go ahead."

Green moved on the creature, and advanced his hand toward it, with the obvious intention to seize it. But he retracted his arm almost at once, crying out of pain and surprise.

"Has this thing just bitten me?" he said disbelievingly.

The Ysalamir didn't wait for him to make another try, and it jumped from its life support into a dark corner. The two officers exchanged a dark glance.

"Seems like you were right," Pellaeon had to admit. "And I'm afraid this thing won't be easy to cope with."

"I don't think we should even try," Green growled. "Just let the stormtroopers do it. Facing danger is what they are paid for."

"Yes, I agree," the captain nodded. "Delegating this kind of job is what we are paid for."

They got out, closed carefully the door, and went together back to sick bay.

"Captain Pellaeon here," he said in his comlink. "Have a security team sent to Admiral Thrawn's quarters, and capture the creature which is in there. Be careful," Pellaeon added with a snide smile, "it bites."

"Yes, I can testify that," Green muttered.

Once in sick bay, Green immediately enquired about Thrawn. He was still unconscious, but his life didn't seem to be at risk.

"Now that we know what is to blame," Pellaeon commented, "the admiral should be doing fine. How much time 'til he wakes, do you think?"

"A few hours, at most," the Commander answered in a reassuring tone.

"Excellent," the captain nodded, thinking that finally he'd just have to delay the Manaan operation. Everything was ending well.

As if someone had heard this thought, his comlink chose this moment to ring.

"Captain Pellaeon. What is it?"

"Sir, this is Lieutenant Jen."

The voice was young, vibrating with anxiety. Pellaeon held back a sigh.

"And what's the matter, Lieutenant?"

"Uh, sir, about this creature--" Jen said nervously, "I'm afraid it escaped."

"It WHAT?!" Pellaeon exploded. "You're INCOMPETENT or what THE HELL?!"

"Uh, I'm terribly sorry sir," the Lieutenant squealed. "But as soon as we opened the door it jumped out, and--"

"So you're telling me this thing is STROLLING in MY SHIP!"

"We'll search and find it at once," Jen said in a pleading tone.

"I want this thing DESTROYED within the next hour! Report when it's done," Pellaeon retorted caustically. "Never, during all the time I served in the Imperial Navy, I saw such an incompetence," he added icily.

"Yes, sir," Jen said.

Pellaeon turned off his comlink furiously.

"And what was that about, if I may ask?" said an amused voice.

"Admiral Thrawn, sir!" jumped Pellaeon, standing immediately to attention.

"At ease, Captain," the Chiss said smoothly. "Now, explain."

He was still clad in his white uniform, and if he was still a bit pale, that was the only proof that he ever had been ill. Relieved beyond all expectation, Pellaeon couldn't help but smile, and Thrawn pretended not to see it.

"We figured out the cause of your condition, sir. It seems that a mutated Ysalamiri--"

The Chimaera's captain began to tell Thrawn what had happened while he was unconscious, and the admiral listened with attention how Pellaeon had guessed about the Ysalamir, and Green's conclusions about it, as well as Lieutenant Jen's blunder and the Ysalamiri's escape from his quarters. Thrawn raised an eyebrow, his red eyes gleaming.

"I see," he finally said. "How interesting, this mutation. We'll have to have every and each Ysalamiri onboard this ship checked, of course, as well as on the other ships of the Fleet."

"I don't think we'll find any other case," Green pointed out. "This type of mutation is exceedingly rare, and it's even a wonder it happened once."

"Right," Thrawn acknowledged, "however I will not take the slightest risk with my men's life, when a mere verification might ensure their security."

Green nodded, obviously approving Thrawn's caution.

"We'll soon be out of hyperspace," Pellaeon pointed out. "If you feel strong enough, Admiral, we shall head to the Bridge."

"Of course," Thrawn agreed.

"B-but!" Green started to protest. "Admiral, I would strongly recommend that you rest at least for--"

"I will have plenty time to rest after the battle," came the expected answer.

The medical officer shot a reproachful glance to Pellaeon, obviously blaming him for convincing Thrawn to get back on duty. The captain shrugged, moving his hand aside with a powerless glance as eloquent as if he had said "I can't help it!".

Three hours later, the Manaan system was under Imperial jurisdiction, and the mutated Ysalamir was still at liberty, somewhere on the Chimaera--