“Good,” the Emperor said. His smile again holds satisfaction. The malice fades, but never entirely disappears.
At the side of the throne room a door slid open and a tall, black-clad figure appeared, a long black cloak swirling behind him. “Ah—Lord Vader,” the Emperor called a greeting. He beckons to the figure. His body stance holds a sense of mastery and domination. “Come; join us. I don’t believe you have met Darth Vader, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
Vader approaches, his pace measured but confident. His face is hidden, his muscle movements muted and unreadable beneath his armored clothing. But his stance holds power and authority.
It also holds confidence. More than anything else, it holds confidence.
“You are correct, Your Excellency,” Thrawn said. “I greet you, Lord Vader.”
“Grand Admiral,” Vader said, inclining his helmeted head. His voice is deep and partially mechanical. It, too, holds power and confidence.
“I have heard a great deal about you,” Thrawn said. “I am pleased we have finally met.”
“Yes,” Vader said. “As am I.”
It is said that one should keep one’s allies within view, and one’s enemies within reach.
A valid statement. One must be able to read an ally’s strengths, so as to determine how best to use him. One must similarly be able to read an enemy’s weaknesses, so as to determine how best to defeat him.
But what of friends?
There is no accepted answer, perhaps because true friendship is so exceedingly rare. But I have formulated my own.
A friend need not be kept either within sight or within reach. A friend must be allowed the freedom to find and follow his own path.
If one is fortunate, those paths will for a time join. But if the paths separate, it is comforting to know that a friend still graces the universe with his skills, and his viewpoint, and his presence.
For if one is remembered by a friend, one is never truly gone.
—
Eli read the entry a second time. Then, with a sigh, he shut down his datapad.
He still didn’t know why Thrawn had left him his journal. Perhaps he’d seen it simply as history. Perhaps he’d seen it as one final opportunity for training and instruction.
Or perhaps the reason was encompassed somehow in that final entry.
Distantly, Eli wondered if there had been any more to the journal. And, if so, if he would ever find the other entries.
He doubted it. But it didn’t really matter. The galaxy had Thrawn’s legacy and his accomplishments. Those who could learn from that legacy had presumably already done so. Those who couldn’t never would.
Eli hoped he was part of the first group.
Setting aside the datapad, he gazed again at the pattern of numbers flowing across his display. For most people, he knew, numbers were next to meaningless. For Eli, by life and by training a supply specialist, they were like music. Whether they formed themselves into inventory lists, targeting calculations, or hyperspace course and position data, numbers were at the heart of everything that made the universe function. They spoke to a grand symphony of people, humans and nonhumans alike; of worlds and trade routes; of the lifeblood of good and evil alike.
Perhaps that was why he and Thrawn had worked so well together. Eli had his numbers, Thrawn had his art, and neither skill could be fully understood by anyone else.
He smiled at the thought, and at his own conceit. No, he had never fully understood Thrawn. He doubted anyone ever had.
But that was Eli’s past. This was Eli’s present. His present, and hopefully his future.
The flowing course numbers reached their end, and Eli threw the hyperdrive levers. The view through the cockpit canopy changed from mottled sky to starlines to the cold beauty of unfamiliar stars.
And in the center of the grandeur, a single ship. A large ship, shimmering with muted running lights, bristling with weaponry, crewed by men and women whom Eli had never met.
He had arrived.
The comm screen lit up with a face: regal and blue-skinned, with glowing red eyes. Her blue-black hair was tied in a tight knot at the back of her head; her collar insignia those of an admiral. “I am Admiral Ar’alani of the Chiss Defense Fleet,” she said in a clear voice, her Sy Bisti heavily accented. “Are you he?”
“I am he.” Eli took a deep breath. “I am Eli Vanto. I bring greetings to you from Mitth’raw’nuruodo. He believes I can be of some use to the Chiss Ascendancy.”
“Welcome, Eli Vanto,” Ar’alani said, inclining her head in greeting. “Let us learn together if he was correct.”