Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

1100 hours

Royal Imperial Academy, Port Side Common Room

The big, comfy, leather couch

Rosita Turuy flinched in horror and said, "What in the Star's Light is that supposed to be?"

Her boyfriend, Spenc Orbar, peeled his lips off her neck and asked, "Do you mean that alien over there?"

"Yes, obviously," Rosita replied in a huff.

"He's a cleaner." Spenc returned his mouth to her neck and made his way up to her jawline. Rosita ignored the pleasure this caused and continued speaking. 

"Since when did we get cleaners? We, cadets, are responsible for keeping the barracks clean, remember?" She couldn't believe he might have forgotten, given how often the instructors demanded it. "And you know what else?" she went on, "I think I saw someone bring new mattresses through here. You don't think it's for him?"

It was the weekend, and only those on duty wore uniforms, making it difficult to tell whether the alien was a cadet, an instructor, or a foreign contaminant. Spenc stopped kissing her, but only so he could groan pitifully into the hollow of her throat. "Come to my room," he practically whined. "I'll make sure Gimm clears out until lunch." He reached over and cupped one of her breasts.

"Can you stop that for a moment, please?" Rosita pushed him away. "We shouldn't even be doing this out in the open. Would you like to get it in again with Commandant Deenlark?"

"Fuck Deenlark."

"Spenc!" Rosita looked around, as if the sofa and wall sconces were tapped, and they likely were.

"Calm down." He put two fingers beneath her chin and tipped her head up. "We didn't get charged. No one here would dare charge my woman or me. My parents practically pay the water bill."

"We have two strikes now," she reminded him.

"And for our third, we'll get assigned essays. Another on the importance of respecting our stations, and the dangers of frat." He kissed her cheek. "Or they'll make us scrub the floors." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Or incinerate fraudulent scandocs." He kissed her lips— only this one was slow and lingering. "Whatever it is, I swear I'll make sure we get to do it together." She rolled her eyes and allowed access to her throat again. It did feel rather nice, and his treatment did nothing to impede her view of the newcomers. The alien could not look more out of place; she couldn't look away. He was blue with red eyes—red eyes that seemed to be scanning his surroundings critically. He somehow looked evil and sly, yet had no expression on his face. She was reminded of a viper—all angular face and poised to strike. Following rather doggedly behind him was a runt of a boy, with olive skin and unkempt hair. He could've been anywhere between twelve and twenty-five; it was hard to say. While the alien showed no visible emotion, the young man looked terribly pained.

'You think you're too good for this place, kid?' she wondered.

"Come on," Spenc said. "Let's go back to my room and finish this. I'm about to poke a hole through my trousers, and if you don't want to get caught..."

Rosita tore her gaze from the newcomers. "I don't know," she said. "Have you finished polishing your boots for the parade rehearsal tomorrow? I know they failed inspection yesterday."

"Who told you that?"

"Gimm."

"Gilroy's a sniffing liar," he snapped. "And why are you two discussing me behind my back?" Rosita smirked and gave him a little shrug.

"Come on, let me prove it to you," Spenc drawled. "They're sitting on my trunk, and they're gleaming."

"Gleaming, you say?"

"Yes." Spenc pulled her up and against him. She tittered gently; the poor guy really was fit to burst.

"Alright," she said, becoming prim. "If it will get you off my back. But only with your mouth?"

He snorted. "We'll see."

…

As soon as Rosita entered the mess, she noticed the blue alien and his accomplice. They sat alone at one of the round tables off to the side— one of the reject tables used to punish those who went out of line. Lucky for them, it was the weekend, or one of the instructors would have punished every last one of them for allowing the pair to break protocol. They were all to use the long tables and benches and eat together as one. For now, everyone seemed to be giving the two a wide berth, but their necks craned back to get a good look at them as they passed by.

She would have hated that herself— all that negative attention. She found a seat at one of the tables where her course-mates sat in a group.

"You were right," Spenc said, sliding onto the bench next to her, and slapping his tray down so hard his soup sloshed out of its bowl.

"About?" she asked.

"The alien," he sneered, "is going to be a cadet here and it's to graduate with our term."

"I told you so," she smirked.

"Yes, well, I don't exactly listen to all of your theories while I'm on top and doing my thing." People within earshot began to snicker, and Rosita's face burned. She was about to chide Spenc for the insult, but he wasn't quite through yet. "Oh, and that little minion of his, the one following him around like a mutt, he's from Wild Space, and he'll be graduating with us as well."

Gimm then decided to make a spectacle of himself and showed off his best, loudest impression of a Wild Space yokel. "SCHOOL'S GONE TO THA DOGS Y'ALL!" Rosita pushed him away with a disgusted scowl when he went, "YEEHAW!" in her face.

"You are so obnoxious, Gimm, like seriously, so obnoxious!" she snarled.

"And you're so hot, Turuy," Gimm replied. "Seriously, so hot. The things I would do to you—"

"Shove off, Gilroy!" Spenc punched Gimm on the shoulder, but he wore a shit-eating grin while doing it. Apparently, Gimm's half-assed attempt at sexual harassment was to be seen as a sort of compliment towards Spenc's manhood. Rosita rolled her eyes and tossed down the crust of her sandwich.

"You know what? I'm going to go over there and introduce myself."

"No, you're not," Spenc said, ripping his roll apart and dropping half into his soup. When she raised an eyebrow coolly at him, he added, "Trust me, you don't want to be seen associating with them. It would be career suicide."

"I would like to see what he's about, that's all." True to her word, Rosita got up and sauntered over to the intruders' table, turning once to look over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. It appeared as though everyone was watching her.

The alien sat with perfect posture, looking down at his tray of food. His head was cocked a bit to the side, as if considering whether it was edible. She cleared her throat and waited for him to look up. He eventually did, blinking his strange purplish eyelids over his strange red eyes. She found herself wondering how they would look in a dark room; did they glow? Whatever the case, they were very creepy.

"Apparently, you two are supposed to be new cadets here." For the moment, Rosita tried to keep her tone flat and without accusation. "Is this true?"

"It is," the alien said quietly.

There was a bit of an accent there that she couldn't place. Her gaze moved to his little companion, who watched on in wary silence as she sat down.

"Until graduation?" she asked.

"Yes," said the alien.

"Lucky you. Now your scandocs will show that you attended classes here at the RIA, but in reality, you'll only have to put up with a semester of the bullshit we had to endure for four years."

Neither of them said a thing. The Alien's mouth was twisted ever so slightly to the right. So, his silence was not as impassive as he wanted it to seem; he was obviously considering her every word before he formulated his rebuttal. As for the Wild Spacer, Rosita deduced that his silence was stony, and he was doing his best not to say what was really on his mind. She latched onto that. "Something on your mind, friend?" she asked, catching the boy's gaze and holding it.

It was the alien who answered on his behalf. "The emperor believed it necessary we attend classes here."

Rosita narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "The emperor sent you here? Emperor Palpatine?"

"Yes."

She drew herself up. "Even so, this is highly irregular, you do know that?"

"I have been told."

The alien's voice was soft and yet so deep she could feel it in her chest, like the purr of a Togorian.

"So, were you transferred from another Academy? One far in the Outer Rim?" Her lip curled up, and she spared the young man a glance. "Wild Space perhaps?"

"Further," The alien said.

"Well, wherever you're from, I think it's rubbish that you should be allowed here. It's completely unfair. As you can see, I'm not the only one." Rosita half-turned and splayed her fingers toward the other tables; many of their occupants were watching the exchange with various degrees of disapproval.

"I just thought the two of you should know that." She shrugged with her lips pursed and sauntered back to her spot— away from… them.

Chapter Text

0900 hours

The Officer's Hall

It was a punishment, and Rosita had done nothing to deserve it.

'Are you fucking kidding me, sir!' she imagined herself yelling in Lieutenant Dengar's face. 'Why must I play tour guide to a pair of idiots?' Instead of all that, she stood silently at attention, rubbed her fingertips together at her sides and waited for Lieutenant Dengar to finish giving her instructions.

"After the rehearsal, you'll make arrangements with Cadet Thrawn and Cadet Vanto on when and where they'll meet up with you."

"And I'm the most suitable candidate for this task?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"You were the only cadet we saw make an effort to speak to the pair when we had them sit at one of the dunce tables. We leave it up to you to bring them up to speed on the way we do things here."

So that was why she was being punished: they witnessed her speaking to them and not inviting them to sit with the rest of the group. She had forgotten the most important rule of any military school: Everything is a test. The Academy's motto: We are one. We are the Empire, which was to be taken with the utmost seriousness.

"Yes, sir," Rosita said in a resigned mutter.

"Let me remind you, Cadet, you're here to learn how to follow orders, not how to question them. You would do well to remember that."

"Yes, sir." Apparently, she had to work on better masking her indignation.

…

1000 hours

The Parade Grounds

It was an unseasonably hot morning—much too hot for a parade rehearsal.

"QUICK MARCH!"

The lines of cadets marched forward in formation, their arms swinging high in perfect time, rifles pressed against their shoulders. Once in position, they halted at attention and awaited their first command.

"PRESENT ARMS!"

She lifted the blaster rifle, slapped the side and brought it down. They had them repeat this one move for what felt like an hour, until finally Croon yelled, "SHOULDER ARMS!"

This time, Rosita lifted the rifle to her shoulder and came back to attention—again, then again, and again.

"OPEN ORDER!"

Rosita moved up three steps.

"RIGHT DRESS!"

They turned their faces to the right and then shuffled out to straighten the lines; the pounding of their boots sounded like so many raindrops.

"EYES FRONT!"

She looked forward.

"ORDER ARMS!"

Rosita put the butt of the rifle down. She watched from the corner of her eyes as the company of instructors filed through the lines to inspect. She thought she could feel something crawling on her neck beneath the stiff garborwool of her dress uniform, but she dared not scratch at it.

Discipline and nothing else: This mantra she would not soon forget.

"STAND AT EASE!"

She stood at ease.

"Cadet Vanto!" she heard Croon bark from nearby behind her. "Your hair. Did they not have you groom yourself in that ship-dent of a school you came from?"

"No answer? Well, la dee da, who would have guessed it? You have brains under that mop. Get a trim. The rest of the cadets will wait patiently for your return."

Rosita's brain felt like it would implode with dark thoughts. 'Vanto, you useless shit-pump! I hope the guys have the good sense to hold you down and shave you bald in the showers!'

They waited…

And waited…

And waited for his return.

It had to have been over an hour, judging by the sun's short journey over the parade grounds. Its rays beat down on her neck, leaving her feeling like a rasher of fried bacon: thin, greasy and done. What the fuck was taking him so long?

Once Vanto returned, they executed the remaining drill without further delay. Luckily, those in attendance were given the rest of the day off classes, or else she would have killed him herself. Rosita found Thrawn as the cadets filed towards the showers. She yanked on his arm and turned him around to face her. He finally showed some semblance of actual emotion, not surprise or suspicion, as would have been normal given the fact that she had just grabbed and twisted him around. But a mild hint of… she wasn't quite sure what it was.

"You and Vanto will meet me in the mess hall at seventeen hundred hours. I'm to give you a tour." She went to brush past him, tried to use her shoulder to shove him aside, only this time, his feet were planted too firmly against the ground, so she kind of just ricocheted awkwardly off him and back a step.

"Would you like to pass?" he asked politely, stepping aside and gesturing for her to go ahead of him with his hand. She nodded stiffly, and her face burned with heat. She hoped no one behind them witnessed that.

…

Rosita closed her eyes and hoped that when she opened them, both Thrawn and Vanto would disappear. The instructors couldn't punish her for not giving them a tour if they happened to vanish into thin air. She opened her eyes. It hadn't worked. They continued to stare expectantly at her.

"This is the Victory Cantina," she began dully, with a small sweep of her arm. "There are another ten cantinas spread throughout the campus, each serving food and drink round-the-clock." Some of the patrons were looking at them with interest that ranged from mild to downright obnoxious. "Can we help you?" Rosita asked of a cadet who was staring up at Thrawn with his mouth agape.

The cadet looked away sharply, then went back to blowing on his caf.

'Idiot,' she thought.

"The three meals we get in the mess are free," she went on, "But you pay for anything you order from the cantinas. To pay for things on campus, we use what we call our: Chow Cards." She pulled hers out and showed them. "Please tell me you were given your documentation already?"

They each pulled out two scandocs and a datacylindor. "Good," Rosita said. "I'd hate to have to take you into the administration building—the clerks can be pissants this late in the day." She saw Vanto mouth the word, "Unpleasant," to Thrawn.

"What did you call me?" 

Vanto raised both his hands in the air. "I'm Thrawn's translator," he explained. "He wasn't sure what you meant by pissant."

"Really?" she turned to Thrawn. "So, Emperor Palpatine sent you here, and he gave you Vanto as a translator?"

"Yes," he said softly.

Besides having a subtle accent, his Basic seemed more than satisfactory. She stared hard at him, and then at Vanto, who was much more expressive both in facial expressions and in body language. Neither showed any signs of lying; no snickering, wide eyes, or nervousness. A thought came to her: what if they were informants? Sent from the palace to sniff out those undeserving of their chosen path? No, that didn't make sense. The emperor wouldn't choose an alien and Wild Spacer for such a task. Or would he? Who was she to say how Emperor Palpatine's mind worked? There were aliens of importance in the core, but so few. Rosita shook her head to clear it. "Let's keep moving. "

They came to a row of lifts and waited for their turn. "Can I see your schedules?" she asked them.

"Here," said Vanto, handing her his datapad. She looked it over, her eyes narrowing further and further as she read on. "We share many of the same classes. Do you both mean to pursue careers in interrogative intelligence or weapon manufacturing?"

"Well, before becoming Thrawn's aide, I was on my way to becoming a supply officer."

"A supply officer?" she gasped and slapped her cheek with mock enthusiasm, then added, deadpanned, "You really reached for the stars, Vanto."

Vanto's face blossomed with colour and his lips curled up at one side. "Someone has to do it," he retorted.

"And who better than a Wild Spacer?" she quipped.

Finally, a lift became available. "After you," Rosita said, motioning for them to go inside. She went in after them and turned to face the doors. She thought she could feel both their gazes on her back— glaring, most likely. She smiled brightly before asking, "What academy did you attend before coming here?"

"Myomar," Vanto answered. There was a note of defensiveness to his tone that made Rosita's smile widen even further.

"Haven't heard of it," she said dismissively. "And what about you, Thrawn?"

"One that is not of this Empire."

"That's right, you said you come from somewhere further than Wild Space. You don't mean the Unknown Regions, do you?"

"Indeed, I do," he said.

They reached their destined floor, and Rosita began leading them down a long, wide corridor. She was calm on the outside, but thinking all the time—Thrawn had come from the Unknown Regions, somehow garnered favour with the emperor, and was now positioned to graduate from the empire's top military academy? How? She could have asked, but why ruin the fun of finding out on her own? She looked over her shoulder at him; he didn't seem to notice her scrutiny, busy as he was taking in his surroundings. What was he looking for? What did he see? More importantly, how did he see it? "Can you see through walls?" she asked suddenly.

If he was taken aback, he didn't show it. "No," he replied.

"Your eyes, they're—" Rosita wanted to say, 'The stuff of nightmares,' but instead she peered closely at them and asked, "How do you see me?"

With little change to his overall bearing, Thrawn began describing her in a measured voice. "I see that you are pale of skin. Your eyes are brown, as is your hair."

'Okay, nothing weird about that,' she thought.

"I see this colour scheme often in humans—dark hair and dark eyes—" He added. "Your features are symmetrical. You are conventionally attractive for your species. I can see your facial heat, here," he used a finger to draw a circle in the area of her chin and lips. "Here," he pointed to each of her cheeks. "And here." He drew a line over the vicinity of her forehead.

"The colour is rising and spreading." He dragged his fingers up his own throat and along his cheeks. "It is now becoming difficult to discern your pale colouring from the red and orange glow," he finished.

Rosita swallowed hard. "You can see within the infrared spectrum." It sounded an awful lot like his creepy eyes were superior to her normal ones. "What are you exactly?"

"I am Chiss."

…

"This is the Stimulation Room," Rosita declared loudly over the noise. "Here, during our free time, we can come and play hologames that simulate battle schemes."

An Umbaran walked by them, all pale and sinewy, with a wisp of white hair on her otherwise bald head. Thrawn turned to stare after her. "You aren't the only alien here if that's what you're wondering," Rosita said.

"I see," said Thrawn.

"Did you have a Stimulation Room at Myomar Academy, Vanto?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, while looking around in awe, "Only ours didn't amount to a hill of nuts next to this one."

"A hill of nuts?" Rosita rolled her eyes for what felt like the umpteenth time. "Can you at least try not to sound like a stereotype?"

"Stereotype?" Thrawn said quizzically.

"I can't," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I just can't with either of you right now." She walked up ahead of them so she wouldn't have to hear Vanto patiently explain to Thrawn what a stereotype was, using some backwater dialect only Wild Spacers used.

Next, Rosita took them down past the dojo, through the weight rooms and to the Simulation pool. "This pool is used for training purposes only," she said. "We aren't allowed to use it unless there's an instructor present. If you do wish to swim recreationally, each of the four dormitories has its own pool for that purpose." She led them carefully over the wet tiles to the pool's edge, so that they could look down.

"The pool's depths reach 164 feet, that's as deep as it is long. Below are three simulated caves at varying depths. I noticed we're all scheduled to take physical training together, so you'll be taking part in the race we have here in a month. There's a prize of 15000 credits to go to the winning team of three." Rosita saw Vanto perk up, as if he thought he had a chance to win the money. "Can you swim, Thrawn?" she asked.

"I can," he replied.

"Well," she grinned widely. "We'll certainly see if that's the case."

"Indeed."

They finished the tour and ended in the main Atrium.

"Do either of you have questions for me?" Rosita asked.

Vanto shook his head no.

"And you?"

"You were thorough," Thrawn said.

"Good. I think that's everything, then," Rosita clapped her hands together. "All in all, life here is a constant challenge. Consider everything a test." She drew herself up in a long inhale and exhaled loudly. "Now, I know you're going to attempt to change how things are done here to suit your limitations, but my advice is you don't bother."

Vanto, the ingrate, muttered something under his breath and looked away from her in evident disgust. Thrawn, on the other hand, remained as composed as ever and asked, "What makes you infer that we would do such a thing?" To which Rosita shrugged and replied, "I've noticed aliens and Wild Spacers tend to…how do I put this lightly… complain more."

"Do you base many of your conclusions on anecdotal evidence, Cadet Turuy?" Thrawn asked.

"I don't consider my observations anecdotes," Rosita said matter-of-factly. "And you, Thrawn, are you often passive-aggressive? Or was your question not meant as an attack?" Thrawn remained silent, but there was a slight raise to one of his eyebrows to mirror her own disdain.

"That's what I thought—oh, and one more thing. Don't get lost; it'll reflect poorly on me. You may only have a semester here, but I can make sure it's absolutely agonizing for you both." And with that last pronouncement, Rosita left them to find Spenc; he had said he had something important to ask her.

Chapter Text

Spenc ambushed Rosita the moment she entered his room. "How was it?" he asked with a scowl.

"Exhausting," she said, then she began recounting the tour, leaving out the part where Thrawn called her attractive. It was said in such a detached way—like he was giving her a clinical diagnosis rather than a compliment. Only Spenc wouldn't understand this and would feel compelled to… react.

"So, he's a Chiss. Hm." Spenc's grimace deepened with confusion. "I can't say I've heard of them before. I assumed he was some mongrel with Duros blood."

"His kind live in the Unknown Regions," she said.

"The Unknown Regions? How did he get all the way here?"

"It doesn't matter how—what matters is why. Look, from now on, you need to be more selective of the types of games you choose to play with him and Vanto."

Spenc wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed his fingers down hard on her hips. "Why?" he challenged.

"Because your family might not be able to bribe their way out of a sexual misconduct charge."

"Sexual misconduct? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about making wagers out of what Thrawn's genitals might look like, and planning to check them out in the shower. That is a definite breach of protocol—one that would see you expelled."

"Oh, that." He snorted with laughter. "We would be discreet. They didn't say anything about it, did they?"

"No."

"See?" his grin widened. "They know nothing."

"Yes, but you said this in the mess where anyone could hear you. I'm pretty sure Pedra aims to impress him, so you should be especially careful of what you say around her."

"Impress who? Not Thrawn?"

"You know how she is."

He shrugged. "Where's this all coming from? You didn't care earlier."

"Remember how I told you Thrawn said it was Emperor Palpatine who sent them here? Today, he told me Vanto was sent to be his translator. Wouldn't Palpatine only do that if Thrawn was really important in some way?"

"He's lying."

"Maybe," she said. "But how else would you explain them being transferred here with only five months left to go?"

"You're a shrewd woman. You know…" he tilted his head and smoothed a bit of her hair behind her ear, "That's what I like most about you."

"Really?" she rolled her eyes in disbelief. "My shrewdness?"

"That and…" he trailed off and raised his eyes to consider the bed behind her.

"Aren't you exhausted?"

"Not at all. Drill doesn't do me in, like you."

"It wasn't the parade that did me in," she muttered. "Where's Gimm?"

"Who can say with that one. He's likely out with the others and trying to hunt down some civilian slit."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Why would I do that?" he released her, then moved to unbutton his shirt.

"Gimm told me how the two of you reminisce about the days you were both single."

"You really need to stop listening to everything Gilroy says." Spenc—now in his undershirt—sat on his trunk, dipped a rag in a bit of water, then began polishing away the scuff marks from the parade. "He intends to sabotage our relationship."

Rosita laughed.  "He's your best mate, why would he try to sabotage us?"

Spenc lifted his boot and peered closely at it, turning it this way and that until he eventually said, "Because he wanted you first."

"What?"

"Remember our tour during orientation?"

"Of course."

"Sometime earlier that day, Gilroy noticed you, and he apparently liked what he saw. I was supposed to put in a good word for him, only… well, you know how that went."

It went perfectly. Rosita and Spenc had hit it off right away. He seemed to know everything there was to know about the Academy. His brimming with confidence was reassuring—she had been so nervous that day. She raised her eyebrows at him. "You know, thinking back, I don't recall you even mentioning Gimm."

"No, I didn't," he said.

"Ouch. That's a bit cold, don't you think?"

Spenc made a knife-hand, the rag pinched between his index and middle fingers, and used it to gesticulate sharply. "Gilroy wanted to try you on for size—I ended up wanting to have you forever, so he can go sniff himself." He began to polish his boots again, this time angrily. The subject obviously irked him. Gimm probably threw it in his face every chance he got. Rosita walked up to him, took his boot from his hand, and placed it back on the trunk.

"Do they know how sweet you are?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Spenc smirked, ducking his head, and she felt like the only girl in the world who could make him feel shy.

"Do you want them to?" he answered.

"It would ruin the appeal," Rosita confessed, allowing him to grab a handful of her shirt and tug her down to his lips. As soon as his tongue found hers, she felt an unadulterated surge of arousal. Next thing she knew, she was climbing up onto the trunk—knocking his boots and polish onto the floor in the process— and ripping her shirt from the waistband of her pants. Below her, Spenc unbuckled his belt as she unbuttoned her shirt.

"Are you really up for this?" he asked.

"Yes, " Rosita gasped, and Spenc helped slide her shirt down and rubbed his hand down the expanse of her stomach. She looked down; his fingers stretched from her navel to her mound. His hands were her favourite part of him, strong and dexterous for a pampered rich boy, because he was always willing to get them dirty, plus when they were on her, it made her look especially creamy. She went for his lips again, groaning, until he scooped her up and placed her to sit on the trunk in his place. He knelt before her and began unbuckling her belt. "Just my mouth this time," he promised, before sliding her pants down her legs and descending onto her folds through the fabric of her briefs.

She let her head fall back against the wall and moaned. "We'll see."

Of course, it couldn't end there. Spenc eventually pulled her underwear off and put his entire face into the job, so that his nose, lips, and chin were shining in her glaze. And he didn't let up, not until her hips bucked up hard against him and she clawed and begged for him to take her. Only then did he run the back of his hand over his wet mouth and pick her up to lay her out on his bed.

If there was ever a time she needed to be on top, it was now. Before Spenc could even think to protest, she pulled him down, wrapped her legs around him, then flipped him over to mount him. It was a joint effort to get his pants off, and before they even fell to the ground, she had him pillowed between her puffy lips and was dragging herself along the length of his cock. Spenc curled his lips over his teeth and sucked in air through them. Once he grew impatient with her incessant teasing, he began to move his hips, prodding hopefully at her entrance. She moaned but raised herself away. When she was sure he had gotten the message, she continued with her game.

"Do they know you move like this?" he uttered throatily.

Smirking, Rosita took in the head, and only the head, then squeezed down hard. She watched in utter fascination as his eyes rolled back even further, showing the whites.

"Do you want them to?" she asked.

His answer was to grasp her hips and lower her down to take more of him.

They matched each other, shot for shot, in a slow rhythmic pattern—letting it build and fade, build and fade. She never drank him in past the halfway mark—she didn't have to, because of the sheer size of him. And just when the caged bird was about to sing, a sudden rip of irritation invaded her guts, more piercing than Spenc, and words tumbled out of her mouth before she could even consider the time and place.

"A translator and only one semester here? I don't get why the emperor would allow such a thing!"

Spenc growled and dropped his head back onto the pillow. "Really? Now?"

"Sorry, it's just—

"We came to an agreement about this," he cut across her. "I don't have to hear your theories during, and I won't talk about our sex life publicly."

"I know, but—

"You know how it puts me out of the mood."

"And what if it puts me into the mood?" she countered.

"Talking about an alien makes you ripe, does it?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" She went to climb up off him, put both hands on his chest and tried to unsheathe the half of him that was still throbbing inside her.

"No, I'm not quite through yet." Spenc held her steady, then with one smooth jerk of his wrists, he slid her down the rest of him, as deep as he could go. His expression was one of expectation. Rosita gasped, loudly, her mouth wide in shock.

"Felt that, did you?" he searched her face.

It was a game they had played often before, and one Rosita was not about to lose. She shut her mouth and bit down on her lips to keep silent. Spenc gyrated his hip a few times, as if trying to take great big scoops out of her cervix. "Does that hurt?" he pressed.

Rosita gritted her teeth. It only hurt because she let him make it hurt. He sat up, pushed her knees up into her shoulders to shorten her canal, then, with a roguish grin, began rolling his hips, until she let out a high-pitched whine.

"What about that?"

This time she exclaimed, "Yes!"

"Where?"

"Here!" she touched her stomach.

Grinning, he flipped them around so that she was lying under him with her head on his pillow, and then began taking her fast and shallow.

"Harder, Spenc!" she demanded in a breathy wail. "All the way!"

He obliged her.

…

"So, what did you want to speak to me about?" Rosita said, putting her shirt back on. She ignored the throbbing pain between her legs, as it would only serve to fuel a hunger in her to think about it. She turned to see that Spenc was already dressed and back on his trunk, considering her with his lips compressed into a thin line. "What’s wrong?” she asked.

"We graduate in four months," he said. "I figure we need to begin discussing our future."

'Our future?' she thought. Her heart began to pound. "What about it?"

"I think we ought to get married once we graduate."

"You're proposing?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "Do you really think I'd propose to you here, in Gimm's and my room?"

Rosita shrugged.

"I only want you to know I intend to one day soon. Becoming an Orbar is nothing to take lightly—your life would change drastically. I want when you say yes that you would've had time to understand what you're saying yes to."

"When would you propose?"

"I'm not going to tell you when exactly," he said. "But before I stick my neck out, I want to know, is this something you want?"

"Are you being serious right now?"

"Would I joke about something this important?" he asked, looking perplexed.

"You do know most people who get married at our age end up miserable by middle age?"

"We're not most people."

"Would your family approve?"

"You will be graduating from one of the most prestigious academies in the empire. You're beautiful, strong and exceptionally intelligent. My family would invest in you in a second if asked."

"I wish to design weapons," she said.

"All the better. What’s your point?"

"My point," Rosita began. "Is that I won’t have the time to be your wife. We'll be worlds apart. Literally."

“We could make it work," he said, and Rosita could detect a bite of impatience in his voice. “You must know becoming an Orbar will make you rise through the ranks faster; I haven't even graduated yet, and Moff Ghadi's people have already made contact to discuss my prospects. Do you have any idea how competitive it is out there for a weapon designer? You'll be stuck, degraded, and disregarded if you don’t constantly prove your worth."

"I don't intend to build my career on your back, only for you to take it away should something go wrong."

"Are you saying to not propose to you?" Spenc let out a sound between a scoff and a sigh.

"For now."

"Can you really afford to say no?" he asked, folding his arms with a sort of patronizing demeanor.

"Excuse me?"

"I know, Rosita."

"You know what, precisely?"

"About your family drama."

What Rosita expected was for Spenc's expression to become smug and victorious, as it did whenever he was about to humiliate and dominate someone; however, the look he gave her now was one of pity. She would have preferred smug and victorious. She could handle smug and victorious.

"I know your dad left your mom for another man around your age," he confessed. "And I know that you haven't accepted so much as a single credit from him since."

It was hard to discern the sensations she was feeling. She could literally hear the blood rushing in her ears—it went whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

"Tuition here isn't cheap," he went on mercilessly, "Your mother had to take out a sizable loan from the Muuns."

"How do you know all this?" she asked in a meek tone, usually one reserved for the instructors when needed.

"You had to know my parents would have looked into your family history once they found out about us, didn’t you?"

"How long have you known?"

"For a while now. I didn't bring it up because I didn't want to upset you."

"But you're alright with upsetting me now because I turned down your hypothetical marriage proposal."

"It wasn't hypothetical." Spenc rubbed at his face with a jagged sigh and said, "Look, I want you to really think long and hard about what you're turning down. I love you, and I can help you and your mom."

…

If Rosita’s mother found out she had just turned down an imminent marriage proposal from an heir to the Orbar fortune—well, her head might explode. Rosita made her way back to her room with faltering steps.

Could she afford to say no? At the moment, no. The RIA was one of the few military schools without a single paid program. There was no saying how long it would take for her career to germinate or for her to save up enough credits to pay her mother back. The Muuns were ruthless. They collected their debts no matter what a person's circumstances. Now her mother worked two jobs with no prospects of retirement. And all because her silly father couldn't stand up to his jealous gold-digging husband!

So, no, Rosita wouldn't take her father's credits. If he wanted to help her so badly, he would give the money to her mother, in retribution for the sixteen years she'd given to him as a dutiful wife—no matter how it made Barthum feel. And yes, marrying an Orbar really would solve all of her current problems. But at the end of the day, all she had was her pride.

It was fortunate that the common room was empty—Rosita didn’t wish to make polite small talk on the way to her room—only it wasn’t. She stopped in her tracks. Thrawn stood alone in the now dimly lit common room, looking out one of the viewports. He had his arms wound behind his back, and there was a slight tilt to his head that said he was considering something. Of all academies, Emperor Palpatine had to choose the RIA, and of all barracks, Deenlark had to choose the Port Side. She glared at him until his back stiffened. Had he caught a scent in the air? Thrawn turned to look over his shoulder and pierced her with his heavy-lidded eyes, against the night drop behind him; his eyes did, in fact, glow red. She had wondered. In her weakened state, it felt as if they beckoned to her, like air-traffic control lights—a guide through the darkness. Unable to stomach the sight of them or the thoughts they now stirred, she broke eye contact and rushed to her room.

Chapter Text

A loud clang, followed by, "VANTO, YOU SLIME OF A HUTT!" made Eli turn around sharply in his seat. He looked down to see Gimm on his knees, with his metal food tray and its contents scattered on the floor.

"What happened?" Eli asked in puzzlement.

"Your blasting bag," Gimm yelled, "Blasting tripped me!"

"But it's under my—" Eli leaned down to look under the bench and, to his surprise, saw that his bag was not underneath it, but in the middle of the aisle between tables. "Oh?"

"Oh?" Gimm stood up with a snort. "You're a useless shit-pump, Vanto, and no one here likes you! Did you know that?"

"Perhaps if you watched where you were going," Thrawn began lightly, "you would not have tripped."

"Watch where I'm going?" Gimm took a deep breath through his nostrils, his face twisting in indignation. "No one with more than two brain cells would ever leave their bag in the middle of the aisle. Watch where I'm going? Why don't you mind your own blasting affairs, Thrawn?" Gimm said Thrawn’s name as if it were the insult itself.

"I'm sorry," Eli said. "It was a mistake." He didn't understand it; he recalled placing his bag under the bench. Did Gimm do this on purpose? Did he hook his leg through the strap and pretend to trip, so that he could embarrass him? It absolutely wasn't beneath him.

"You're sorry?" Gimm sneered and raised his hands. "It's alright, everyone," he said, looking around. "Vanto's sorry." His head snapped back to Eli. "Sorry, won't pick my food up off the floor. Sorry, won't make it, so I don't have to head back in line and fetch another breakfast!" Eli jerked back from Gimm's finger, which he held pointed right in his face.

"I have yet to touch my meal," Thrawn said softly. "You may take it in exchange for the one you dropped."

Gimm slowly turned his sneering face over to Thrawn and said in a cold murmur, "I wouldn't take food from you. Even if I lay starving to death in a ditch." He stooped down and grasped for his now mashed shishkaberries and eggs, then slopped them back onto his plate with a disgusted scowl.

"I'm sorry," Eli repeated, only this time through barred teeth.

Once Gimm stormed off, Eli picked up his cup with shaking hands and began drinking his juice from it—that was until Thrawn grabbed him by the wrist. Eli, labouring through his confusion, followed Thrawn's gaze down the table to where Spenc, Gimm and their ilk sat suppressing snickers behind their hands.

Thrawn picked up his glass of water from the table and sniffed it. "We go to the infirmary," he said, standing suddenly.

"What's going on?"

Thrawn didn't answer him until they were out of the mess and down the hallway.

"I believe Gimm's accident was a diversion for someone to tamper with our drinks." He held up his glass. "The smell is faint, but noticeable in water."

"No, they wouldn't dare do—" Eli held up his index finger, as his stomach gave a sudden and very violent lurch. "I feel like I'm—" he clamped his hand over his mouth and ran to a restroom. He barely made it into a stall before he started vomiting an acidic river.

Chapter Text

1800 hours

The Port Side Pool

The pool should've been empty, what with it being supper time, and yet Thrawn and Pedra tread water together in the deep end. Pedra, unlike Rosita and Thrawn, wore no swim cap. She left her blonde curls to pour over her back in a glittering, slick wave. Rosita pulled down the hems of her black one-piece jammers and made sure every hair was tucked into her black swim cap before fully exiting the change room.

'How annoying.' Rosita thought with a scowl. 'I want to practice my slingshot start in privacy."

As annoying as it was, she wasn't all that surprised to see them off by themselves. The cadets had been especially cruel to Thrawn and Vanto while in the mess, where they were safe from instructor interference. Just earlier that day, during breakfast, Gimm ripped Vanto a new one. And deservedly so, Vanto—being the slob from Wild Space—had left his bag in the aisle and tripped him. Vanto, clearly embarrassed by the situation, had skipped the day's lessons. As for Pedra, the woman liked to bed exotics, so with Thrawn being one of the few aliens at the Academy, she tended to loiter wherever he went. Funny thing was, as progressive as Pedra claimed to be, she would never actually bring an alien back home to her family and risk losing her inheritance. Rosita returned Pedra's greeting with a nod, then continued past Vanto, who sat fully clothed at one of the tables, watching a holovid that diagrammed the Simulation Pool's caves.

Once on a starting block, she secured her goggles over her eyes, got into a cocking position, then drove herself forward to dart through the water using a melodie kick. After repeating this several more times, she felt ready to time her butterfly stroke and put her slingshot to the test. She got back into position, palmed the timer on the starting block, then dove in. Everything after immersion was a concoction of instinct and control.

Pull, up, breathe, down, pull, up, breathe, down, pull, up, breathe—WIN! Pull, up, breathe—WIN! Faster! Faster! FASTER! She finished her laps and checked her time. Six whole seconds quicker than her last test, and yet still thirty-one seconds behind Spenc's record. She slapped the water with a frustrated growl and ripped off her goggles. Her shoulders and neck ached something fierce.

"Cadet Turuy."

Rosita looked over to see that Thrawn was now sitting alone on the pool's edge with a lane between them. "What?" she snapped at him.

"Cadet Vanto and I did not get the chance to thank you for the tour."

"There's no need to thank me; it wasn't voluntary." Thrawn took a scoop of water and tipped it casually onto his shoulder. Rosita's eyes moved to track the water's progress down the plains of his muscular chest and taut stomach—until she realized what she was doing and stopped immediately.

"You are raising your chin too far out of the water when you go to breathe," Thrawn said, apparently unfazed by her sizing him up. "This is costing you momentum."

"Is it?" she replied snidely.

"Yes. And you have too much of a bend at your elbow when your arms leave the water. You are relying on them too heavily for propulsion. They grow tired, and your form suffers." Rosita rolled her shoulders and massaged her sore neck with a thoughtful frown. Thrawn apparently took this as cause to continue because he said, "You should focus your power in your chest, core and your hips. It is your kick that will generate the most speed—not your arms."

"Why are you helping me?" she asked.

"A victory between athletes is only truly—" he broke off with a small pout, clearly considering which word was best suited for his point, "Earned when every competitor is equally prepared for the match." Rosita wanted to argue with him, she really did, but he was right—blue and all.

"You make a good point," she admitted. "To be the best, you must defeat the best."

"In this case, most definitely."

She nodded carefully. "I take it Vanto will be doing the diving portion of the relay?"

"He will."

She looked over at Pedra, who sat speaking with Vanto and pointing to the hologram. "Did Pedra leave her team to be your third?"

"No. We have no third."

Rosita laughed. "You don't stand a chance then. Especially not with Vanto only studying the caves—many of us know them like the backs of our hands by now. And we only get one more chance to scale them before the race."

"We will be at a disadvantage," he agreed.

"A pretty big one if you ask me. Will you do all eight laps?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's like I said, you don't stand a chance."

"Perhaps you should be our third," Thrawn suggested lightly. Rosita's nose scrunched up in contempt. She was about to ask him if he was touched in the head when she noticed the wry smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

He was being facetious…

"You know," she said, pulling herself together. "Studying won't be enough. Vanto has to go into the water and go through the motions. Before you can even start the lane race, he will have to collect 5 medallions from each cave, and they're pretty heavy."

"Vanto is still feeling unwell from breakfast."

"Really?" she rolled her eyes. "That's pathetic. Gimm was obnoxious, sure, he always is—but Vanto was wrong to leave his bag in the middle of the aisle."

"Sometime during the meal, I believe, when Gimm was making a scene, a fellow cadet contaminated our drinks with a medication used to induce vomiting. Vanto had ingested some."

Rosita frowned in disbelief. "Do you have proof?"

"I brought my water to the infirmary; it was confirmed to be tainted."

"Will there be an investigation?"

"I believe one has begun," he said, tilting his head as he regarded her. "Was this scheme truly unknown to you?" Thrawn had to have known that she would deny it; it was a serious offence. He was somehow trying to trap her, or at least suss her out for information. Rosita drew herself up.

"I would never take part in drugging someone's food, and I would stop anyone who tried," she said coldly. Thrawn continued to stare hard at her.

"I have noticed you sitting away from Orbar as of late. There is animosity on your part," he said.

"Are you implying that Spenc had anything to do with it?"

"I cannot prove it."

"So, you are."

"Who do you think is responsible?"

Rosita pursed her lips tightly. If it was Spenc who coordinated it—and it probably was—she would never say anything to help confirm it. "You've been watching me," she threw out accusingly.

"From time to time," he answered, basting himself with yet another handful of water.

This time, she was ready and kept her gaze trained on his. "Why?"

"You fascinate me, Cadet Turuy."

His declaration gave her pause—she must have looked like a glowing red entity in his eyes at that moment. "I fascinate you how?"

"I find your hostility towards me… amusing."

'It wasn't meant to be amusing,' she thought while climbing out of the water. She looked down at him and peeled off her swim cap. "You gave me some good advice today, Thrawn, so allow me to return the favour with a warning. We don't tolerate rats here." She turned on her heel and marched back to the change room. She needed to take a very, very hot shower.

Chapter Text

Rosita made her way back to the Port Side barracks when she passed a cantina. The delectable smells of cooked food wafted into her nose, reminding her how famished she was from the swim. She almost went in to order a plate, but there was something she desired more than stuffing her face with fried food: finding Spenc and confronting him about his reckless, criminal behaviour. Honestly, it seemed like there were no lengths that man wouldn't go to persuade her to speak with him again whenever she ignored him. She found Cormac Piles lounging on a sofa in the common room, with his datapad in hand.

"Where's Orbar?" she asked him.

"In the Damask Study Hall, with Gimm and the others."

"If you're covering for him, let me know now. I don't want to walk all the way over there for nothing."

"I'm not," he said. "Go see for yourself."

It turned out that Piles wasn't lying; they really were in the Damask Study Hall. Not chortling and kneading each other's shoulders, but with their heads bowed and faces imbued with the light of their datapads. Seeing Spenc sitting there quietly with a frown of concentration on his face almost made Rosita turn back around. Almost. She walked up to him and rapped him smartly on the shoulder.

"Rosita," he said, perking up. "I didn't see you at dinner."

"I'd like a word," she said shortly.

"I'm a little busy at the moment," he replied, and to prove his point, he turned back to his datapad. Rosita scoffed with impatience.

"It's urgent."

His grin widened. "If it's urgent, you can meet me in my room in an hour. I'll hear your grievances then." He tapped his chin, looking thoughtful. "Better make that thirty minutes." Spenc was only posturing because his friends were present. She had made him so very upset by ignoring him over the last couple of days, and she had the messages to prove it. But now wasn't the time to humiliate him in front of his friends.

"I want to talk to you here, right now, in private."

Spenc sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. "If I fail my test tomorrow, it's your ass on the line," he said.

"Her ass? Do you two actually do anal?" Gimm asked with his eyes glued to his datapad. "It's just that I've seen it and—" he looked up and mouthed, "Gape much?"

"You're disgusting," said Rosita blandly.

"It's a good question," Fleek added, turning around in his seat. "I'd like to know as well."

"If we did, you would know." She glared pointedly at Spenc.

"I don't tell them everything," he retorted.

Another cadet shushed them from a nearby table. Rosita leered at her, right as Spenc grabbed her hand and pulled her away towards the shelves of datachips.

"What in all of the galaxy were you thinking?" she rounded on him, once they were alone among the shelves.

"Come again?"

She lowered her voice to the quietest of hisses. "You tamper with people's drinks now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Rosita looked around to make sure they were still alone. "Good, deny it. You need to deny it. There's a line between hazing and attempted murder—a glaring one. What if they drank too much?" Spenc shrugged, a minuscule smile moving his lips. Rosita shook her head in exasperation while Spenc looked around to make sure they were still quite alone before sneering,

"What? Are you worried about poor ickle Vanto and his ickle blue cretin?"

"I'm worried about you."

His sneer softened away. "You aren't angry with me anymore?"

"I was never angry, only annoyed. You shouldn't have dangled your money in my face the way you did."

"Is that what I was doing?" he asked, folding his arms. "And here I was thinking I was setting a date for our proposal."

"You should have told me you knew about my parents."

"I was waiting for you to step up and volunteer the information yourself. For all the time I've known you, you've dodged every conversation about your family. I had no choice but to bring it up when I did."

"Your family had no right to snoop into mine."

Spenc rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, am I exhausting you?" she asked.

He chortled and moved his hand around to rub the back of his neck. "A bit."

She glowered for a moment before sighing in resignation. "I suppose I do owe you an apology for turning you down, but you should have just accepted my answer without becoming defensive."

"That couldn't be helped. You did sort of dash a man's hopes against a wall."

"Fair enough, but—"

"And then on top of that, you ignored me for days afterward. You wouldn't even look at me."

"You told me to think about it, and so I was. I just needed some space to do so, that's why I've been avoiding you. You can be so—"  Rosita broke off with a frown.

"I can be what?"

She looked around and pulled him further back to a deserted annex. It was actually more like a small alcove in the wall where shelves once stood, but it was private, and that's all that mattered. Spenc turned them so that she was leaning against the back wall, then came in close so he wasn't visible to anyone passing by.

"Aggressive," she said.

"You have to understand," he began quietly, "In families like mine, we tend to marry young. I only want to lock you down before someone else does, or before my parents set me up with one of their options." He appeared to look off into the distance and shuddered.

"So, you really do want to marry me? This isn't some pity party?"

"Pity?" he made a face of disgust. "What's there to pity? You handle your shit, and you handle it well. Rosita, you're my feminine equivalent—I've never felt so understood."

Rosita cocked her head to the side and considered him. "We get on well, you and I, but I still don't know if I ever—"

"You don't have to answer anything now. We still have a little more time." He reached over and rubbed one of his hands down her hair. She knew the look on his face only too well.

"Here again? Aren't we testing our luck at this point?"

"Probably," he drawled carelessly.

"You know I can't let you inside me. Not after what you just did."

"Come on, Rosita, you know they deserve—" She placed her fingers over his mouth.

"I won't let you in, but I'll let you see it, and as long as you remember yourself, you can leave me a present." Spenc swallowed visibly and ran his bottom lip through his teeth.

"You mean," he looked down towards her crotch. "On that?"

 She nodded. "Remember? Like we used to. Before you…"

"Gave it up to you?" he supplied. Rosita nodded, then began unbuckling her belt and unzipping her pants. She hooked her thumb in the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down and outwards, showing herself off to him.

"Kriff," he said, in a low and appreciative voice. He shook his head in disbelief and moved even closer. "Look at you."

"Take it out," she said. Spenc unzipped his pants and stuck one of his hands in, then, after making a few quick adjustments, he was able to pull his length out. She watched as he grasped and caressed himself, growing harder, thicker and longer. She gasped softly when he began nudging at her folds with the head, using her secretions to lube up his shaft. She licked her lips and basked in his enjoyment of her. The power in it, of holding him completely enthralled just by the sight of her.

As for Spenc, he was lost. He fisted himself and pumped, all the while he told her how pink it was, how very pretty, that all he wanted to do right then was pick her up, throw it in and impale her against the wall. The closer he got to his completion, the louder he groaned. She found herself having to hold her fingers against his mouth.

"You need to hurry up and cum before someone comes this way," she warned. "Please, Spenc, cum on me."

Her pleas brought him over the brink. His knees seemed to give out, forcing him to grab one of her shoulders to stay upright as he oozed his completion all over her labia and underwear. The sound he made lacked any semblance of dignity, and the expression on his face was little more than an absurd distortion. The heat of his ejaculate made her peak. Instincts several millennia old demanded she contract and draw in his seed, in the hope of creating new life. It was a vain hope, but it felt right. Rosita watched in captivation as he squeezed out every last drop he had on offer and shook it off onto her folds. Without breaking eye contact with him, she pulled her underwear back up, buckled her belt and said, "Any more tricks you want to play on Thranto needs to be run by me first."

Spenc made a face. "Thranto?"

…

The next day, during supper, something unusual but not entirely unexpected happened. Some officers walked into the mess, one with a datapad in hand and the others with various cleaning supplies. The officer with the clipboard began listing the service numbers of the cadets who would remain behind after mealtime ended. Rosita was one of them. In fact, everyone who sat at their table and the table in front and behind them remained, except for Thrawn and Vanto.

'Serves us all right for sitting at the same table every day.' She thought with spite.

"This is it," she hissed to Spenc.

"Everyone knows what to do," he murmured back.

"We'll see."

The officers instructed them to fill the buckets with soap and water and to roll the tables off to the side.

"Make sure every inch of the place is clean enough to feed your mothers off of," The officer holding the datapad said. "You are not leaving until it is." Rosita snorted scornfully at that. Nothing was ever clean enough for her mother.

They were given gloves, sweepers, and buckets of hot, soapy water, but no mops. Instead, they were expected to get on their knees and scrub the floors by hand.

And so, they did.

Odd thing was, there were no instructors present to oversee them. Rosita believed they were being led into a false sense of security, one designed to help loosen their tongues for the mole. But they were seniors now, not some snot-nosed new recruits, unbroken and not loyal. At the moment, Command was the enemy, and they were their prisoners. They were trained for this— they were not going to talk. In silence, they scrubbed. On hands and knees, they scrubbed.

Unfortunately, every squad had its weak links. Barrgs was the first to complain.

"Why are we being punished exactly?" he asked, sitting back on his haunches and wiping his brow.

"How do you not know?" Pedra said loudly. "Yesterday, some idiot put Irithroxylace in Thrawn's and Vanto's drinks at breakfast. Whoever you are, you should come forward and take your punishment; we need not all suffer."

A look passed between the guilty. A silent understanding communicated in one instant. No matter what, they would stick to the plan. They would deny and deflect—nothing else. They lowered their eyes and kept scrubbing.

"Someone had to have seen something!" Pedra pressed. "To not say anything makes you just as guilty as the perpetrators."

Pedra was right, in a sense, withholding incriminating evidence of an assault was no small matter. And to make matters worse, Thrawn was promoted to Lieutenant. Rosita knew the identities of the perpetrators who assaulted an Imperial officer. If anyone found out, she was kriffed. No one knew why Thrawn was promoted. Pedra kept trying to convince them all that Thrawn had been given the rank from Commandant Deenlark when he first arrived, but that had to have been a lie. He wasn't allowed to hide his rank.

No, Rosita was certain his promotion was just another ploy to scare them into talking, and she was no rat. She wasn't going to fold under Command's psychological warfare. Everything was a test, and there wouldn't be a just enough reward for turning in Spenc and her mates on behalf of an alien and Wild Spacer.

"Dibbs and Parkitt, you were sitting right in front of them, didn't you see anything?" Pedra asked.

"I keep telling you I wasn't sitting in front of them!" Parkitt said.

"Yes, you were. I saw!" Pedra countered.

"Prove it," Dibbs said.

"Jomes was sitting around them for sure," Barrgs chimed in.

"Maybe at one point," Jomes retorted. "But I only had some milk then left to go study,"

"Did you really leave to go study?" Pedra asked accusingly. "Or did you poison them, then run away?"

"Fuck off, Pedra!" Jomes warned her.

"All I can remember from yesterday's breakfast is Gimm's meltdown," someone else said.

"Who do Thrawn and Vanto say was sitting in front of them?" another asked.

"They won't say," Pedra said. "Both claim not to recall."

So, Thrawn had heeded her warning. Rosita smiled low to the ground and felt the heat of her blood pooling into her face.

"What about the cooks? Why aren't they here? They could have been responsible."

"I imagine they are being investigated separately."

"It was them. It had to be."

"I don't know..."

"Just shut up and clean so we can leave!" someone blurted out loudly.

"They're not going to let us leave until whoever is responsible is caught!" Pedra retorted.

"They said once we clean the place, we can leave."

"You know that isn't true!" Pedra snarled.

The longer they cleaned, the more heated the debate became, until all that could be heard was the sound of griping and water being wrung out of rags into buckets.

"Is it true, Gilroy, dear?" Spenc called out across the room during a particularly long and icy silence between the cadets. "What I've been hearing about you and Fleek? You, dirty, dirty, dirty girl."

Many heads in the room looked up from their work to stare between Gimm, Fleek and Spenc.

"What you heard is a lie," said Gimm promptly.

Spenc smirked and threw his rag into a bucket. "Which part?"

"All of it. All of the rumours you've been hearing about me and Markon are lies."

"So, you've heard these rumours?" Spenc asked with a frown. "Who from?"

Gimm shrugged. "Just around," he muttered.

"I wasn't aware of anyone else knowing. I heard it from Fleek himself, and he said I'm the only other one who knows... besides you, of course." Markon Fleek stood with both hands held out to the side, staring aghast at Spenc while Gimm spluttered for a moment once he realized he had trapped himself.

 "I didn't... I thought you meant—"

"It's alright, Gilly," Spenc said kindly. "We all have our talents."

A quiet ripple of laughter made its way around the room. Hesitant yet eager for more information. Gimm looked down and began to wipe the floors furiously in silence.

"Come now, I'm the one who should be annoyed," Spenc went on in mock exasperation. "You never told me you bent that way. We've been roommates for four years now, and you haven't offered so much as a handy. All those lonely nights and wasted opportunities. Dirty ship, my friend. Dirty ship."

Everyone laughed. Gimm was an absolute pain to everyone he came across, so it was always nice to see him get taken down a peg. Even when it was done by the one many saw as the true source of their suffering. And just like that, the tension broke as the cadets now directed their questions to the newly dubbed couple. There were even some jokes thrown around about turning them in for frat charges. Rosita met Spenc's gaze, and the two shared a secret smile. Once the cadets finished cleaning the mess hall to the officers' satisfaction, they were free to go, with sore knees and bent backs. Spenc attempted to talk to Rosita on the way back to the dorms, but she cut him off with a look to convey her thoughts. 

'You take care of this, Spenc Orbar, I don't care how, but you make sure it goes away. Only then will we talk.'

Chapter Text

2000 hours

Stimulation Room

Spenc felt Rosita shift heavily on the cushion beside him. He glanced over in time to catch her tossing her head back and folding her arms across her chest. He paused the game and turned his body to face her, but she, however, kept her head thrown back.

"What the fuck! Unpause the game, Spenc," Boervox demanded from the other side of the hologame terminal. He would, but first he reached over and pried Rosita's fingers from around her elbow and laid her hand against his knee. He then continued to maneuver his holoships around Boervox's own.

"You said you wanted to spend time with me," he reminded her, with his eyes fused with the game. "So, what's the problem?"

"I didn't know this was your plan for the evening," she returned. "It smells weird in here."

"What would you have us do instead?"

 "We could work on our sketches for our engine prototypes," she suggested.

"Later, alright?" Spenc said. Rosita scoffed loudly at that, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the room, but she at least left her hand where he put it, even moved it around a bit.

"I promise," he added.

 "Will we work on them in one of the study halls?" she asked.

"My room," Spenc said, only to have her hand leave his lap. he sighed, closed his eyes long enough to hear Boervox whoop victoriously, and opened them to see his entire left flank in ruins. "Fuck! Alright, a study hall then," he growled, squeezing the controller so hard he thought it might break.

"We don't have to work on them; it was only a suggestion," she said tartly. "I’m surprised you want to remain on campus. Is this really how you want to kick off the weekend?”

No, it certainly wasn’t. Spenc and his mates had cancelled their original plans for the night to accommodate Rosita’s newfound desire to tag along. He knew she only ditched her friends for the weekend so she could keep tabs on him—the investigation into the little incident with the drinks was making her paranoid. He met Boervox’s glance over the hologame and the two of them bit back grins.

“Why don’t you call Gilroy and tell him to come here?” Spenc said.

“You’re trying to pass me off on Gimm?”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“Whatever.” She shoved her hand into his pocket and pulled out his commlink.

That would keep her occupied until he got his fleet back in order—Boervox was mashing him up.

Sometime into her conversation with Gilroy, Rosita nudged Spenc on the shoulder and said, “He’s with Laur.”

“Which Laur?” he asked, his fingers dancing with the joysticks and making minor adjustments to his offensive line.

“Cruxon.”

“Ah, yes.” His grin widened. “Tell him to bring her. You like her, don’t you?” She did, apparently, as she eagerly relayed this message to Gilroy. Spenc spared another glance up from the game when, sometime later, Rosita scoffed again. He turned and followed her gaze to find Gilroy and Fleek cutting through the rows of hologame terminals and their occupants.

“He’s brought Fleek, not Cruxon,” she said unhappily.

“And you’re surprised by this?” Boervox asked, sounding perplexed.

Spenc wasn't.

“What’s wrong with your face, Turuy?” Gilroy asked by way of greeting.

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you’re holding a load in your mouth.”

Spenc turned to look her in the face. “It’s true,” he laughed. She relaxed her face but jutted her chin out aggressively.

“What happened to you bringing Laur?” Rosita asked.

“She didn’t want to come,” Gilroy said, and Spenc could detect a trace of defensiveness in his tone.

“You don't have to lie,” replied Rosita coolly. “The secret’s out of the bag now.”

Both Spenc and Boervox snorted with laughter.

“Get it all out of your systems,” Gilroy growled. “I’m done hearing it.”

“Relax, Gilly.” Spenc grinned and swiped his hands over the holo, making more drastic changes to his formation. “No one cares that you’re an assdigger—It’s only the fact that you try and hide it that makes us laugh.” Well, this was true for him at least. He had suspected Fleek was one for years, and it seemed no coincidence that every time Gilroy hit a dry spell with the ladies, he would start sniffing around Fleek.  

“Let’s go have drinks at Stratum,” said Rosita suddenly.

“Stratum's always a good time,” Fleek said. “I’m down.”

Before Spenc even realized what Rosita was doing, she had flipped the power switch for the hologame and sprung to her feet.

“Damnit, Turuy!” Boervox bellowed. “What’s wrong with your head?”

“Nothing,” she answered promptly. “We should all go change first; we can't go in our uniforms.”

 “What do you mean?” Gilroy asked. “We can. You have any idea how effective these things are out there?” he tugged at his shirt. “Civilian bitches go crazy for this shit.”

Rosita ignored him, instead turning to Spenc and cooing, “Will you wait for me to change?” He stood and appraised her. Her hair was all pulled back, neatly in a tight bun, and she wore her shirt with the buttons done all the way snug to the top.

“I like you like this,” he began thoughtfully. “All done up.” He pinched the collar of her shirt and tugged at it a bit, thinking of how he would take her apart later, then, to his immense pleasure, she sidled up to him with a helpless grin. And just like that, the problem was solved. They called Spenc’s driver and sped down to Stratum in their uniforms.

…

Once they arrived at Stratum, they bypassed the line entirely by slipping in the back and going down the service corridor, past the service lifts, and through a door with a sign that read: Service Personnel Only. Stratum was shaped like a smokestack. Inside were floating platforms embedded in the walls at regular intervals, each with its own bar, a lively dance floor, and a VIP section to separate the scum from the cream. The higher one went up, the more exclusive the VIP sections were. But when everyone looked up, no matter what level they were on, or whether they were scum or cream, they would all see the same cap: a gleaming black ceiling that hid the real VIP section on the other side.

That was where they were—on the other side. Spenc found Rosita on her knees, palms down on the tinted durasteel, peering down at the dancers below their feet.

“I need to go back down there,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked.

“To meet with Piles and some others.” Rosita took his offered hand, and he helped her to her feet.

“Don’t be long.” She warned him with a kiss and let him go on his way.

Piles had told Spenc to meet him and his girlfriend, Flora, way down on level one. He found them conversing with the Nateel twins and a multitude of girls who appeared to be every possible colour combination. Spenc usually couldn’t tell the Nateels apart from a distance, but because they weren’t in uniform, he knew the one in the solid blue shirt was Glouson, and the one in the shirt with way too many colours and conflicting patterns could only be Azeus.

 “Why are we way down here?” Spenc asked them.

“Because,” Azeus began lightly, “There’s a certain level of desperation down here.”

“We want a taste of that tonight,” Glouson added.

“A taste, you say?” Spenc rubbed the back of his neck and chortled.

“You're Spenc Orbar, right?” one of the girls asked.

He nodded.

“We’re RIA too.”

“All of you?” he asked, looking doubtful.

“No, just me and Tash.” She gestured to the girl beside her. “I’m Leisha, by the way."

“Beigen and Pricilla here are visiting from off-planet,” Glouson said of the girls in his arms.

“Are you and Turuy still together?”

Spenc turned his attention back to Leisha. “Yeah.”

“Where is she?”

“Waiting upstairs.”

“Oh, nice,” she said. “You two have been together so long now.”

“Not very long,” he corrected her. “Four years—on and off.”

“That's long.”

He shrugged. Maybe. It didn't feel that way. Rosita knew exactly how to play at being hurt. As he finished that thought, a woman came out of nowhere, not like the others, with her plain beige tunic and pants. She slunk around them, far too close for comfort.

“Do you need anything?” she asked. “I have the cleanest stuff you’ll find.”

Spenc laughed at the randomness of it. “The cleanest what?” he asked.

She pulled out a small bag of white pills from her pocket and showed it as quickly as she shoved it back. “You’re from the Royal Imperial Academy, right? Or are the uniforms just for show?”

“We are,” Spenc said.

“So then you might be comforted to know that these,” she took the bag from out of her pocket again. This time she shook it in Spenc’s face, “Is in the breast pockets of Coruscant’s elite… when they're so inclined to partake.”

“Oh yeah, like who?” Azeus asked.

 “Politicians,” the dealer replied. “High Command officials. Moffs, even.”

“And what makes you think our parents know what’s good from what’s shit?” Glouson asked.

Spenc chortled at that. “An excellent question,” he said.

The dealer looked confused. “Why not try and see for yourselves?” she asked. “Only 30 credits a pop.”

“I’ll pass,” Spenc said, patting his stomach.

“I’m down,” Azeus said, handing her enough money to receive several little pills.

“You better not fail another drug test,” Glouson said.

Azeus waved his twin’s concerns away. “And now, ladies,” he said jovially. “It’s time for selection. Which ones of you are worthy enough to go all the way up to the summit?” he pointed a finger up to the ceiling.

Gilroy had left Fleek on the couch with Rosita the moment they had come through the sliding doors. Spenc passed him on his way over and returned his smirk with a roll of the eyes. Behind him, he heard Azeus greet Gilroy loudly. The two were basically the same person.

As soon as Spenc reached the back lounge area, Rosita moved aside to make room for him to slide up next to her on a couch. It wasn’t until he sat down that he noticed the two RIA girls had followed him over and took the other couch to his right. He clasped his fingers behind his head and leaned back into them.

“You two look familiar,” Rosita said, pointing between them.

“You led our tour group at the start of the term,” Leisha said.

 “First years?” Rosita glanced over at him, an amused and, dare he say, hungry little smile on her face. “What are you both taking?”

“Communications, with a minor in alien dialect,” Tash said.

“How useful,” Rosita drained her glass and set it on the table in front of them. “We need a way to understand these creatures when on the field.”

Spenc chuckled appreciatively.

“What about you?” Leisha asked.

“I’m in the weapon engineering program, and I'm minoring in interrogative intelligence,” Rosita replied.

“Oh, that’s really cool, but I meant Spenc.” Leisha turned back to him. “What are you taking, Spenc?”

Spenc felt Rosita tense slightly. “Weapon engineering, with a minor in communications.”

“Communications, like us!” Leisha cried.

“Just like.” He turned to Rosita. “Come dance.”

“Go get me another drink first, I want to talk to…” she trailed off, looking inquiringly at the two girls.

“I’m Leisha,” Leisha said dully. “And this is Tash.”

“Leisha and Tash,” she told him, lounging back on the cushion. 

“I’ll go get you your drink,” was his response.

After making his delivery, Spenc took Rosita down a few levels and around the dance floor—he preferred to dance off to the side, away from the lights and other people. When they found a good private spot against the railing, he slid behind her and began grinding into her at his leisure. She eventually leaned back into him so she could say in his ear, “I don’t think we’re going to be making sketches tonight.”

“I had a feeling,” he said back in hers.

Rosita’s body vibrated with laughter as she took a deep sip of her drink. She turned to lean her back against the rails, propping both elbows up at her sides and saying something he couldn’t quite catch over the music. Not that it mattered, he got in close so he could enjoy the feel of her pelvis rolling to the tune of the melody, and murmured the words of the song into her hair.

…

All in all, it had been a good night. The only thing left to do now was go back to the barracks, take Rosita back to his room and bid her a long and proper goodnight. By the time they stumbled into the common room, it was empty, or so he thought. Spenc was about to tug her toward the stairwell when he caught sight of Thrawn sitting alone at one of the desks, huddled over his datapad with a touchpen.

His lip curled at the sight, and he thought, ‘Nearly 3 am on a weekend, and he’s studying?’  Spenc felt a sharp prick to his chest and wrenched his gaze away to stare at Rosita. Her face was dewy with sweat, her hair was a disaster, and her lips were now swollen from their ride back.

“You want to go over there so badly,” she teased.

“I was only looking.” He clasped her hand and removed her finger from his chest.

“You better be,” she warned. Spenc questioned her authority on the matter, as she took a few unsteady steps back. He grabbed her elbow to help keep her right, only to have her fall forward and mash her face into his chest.

“Time for bed, I think,” he said.

“My bed,” she demanded huffily.

“Won’t that make your roommate angry? You're not exactly quiet.”

“Not for that. I need sleep. I feel sick.”

“I know, I meant—” He cut himself off. “Never mind. Let’s go wake Kalin.”

As Spenc expected, the lights flickered to life on Kalin’s side of the room the moment they walked in. “Rosita!” she called out hoarsely. “You promised!”

“Relax,” Spenc began tightly, “We’ll only be a minute.” He held Rosita up under the armpits. The alcohol had caught up with her quite suddenly now.

“It’s not fair,” Kalin went on, coming around the privacy wall in just her briefs and undershirt. “You know I’m a light sleeper. I get that you guys want to go out and blow off some steam, I really do, but I have to get up really—"

“Would you prefer it if I brought her back to my room like this?” Spenc cut across her. “Because that’s always an option.” Kalin took a good look at Rosita, and her mouth snapped shut. “That’s what I thought. Now, why don't you come help me get her to bed so I can leave?”

“Can you both keep it down?” Rosita groaned. “You’re making me want to puke. Kalin, sorry. Spenc, bring me to my powder room and leave.” Spenc didn’t need telling twice. He left her on the toilet and made a hasty escape.

Thrawn was still in the common room. Spenc could only assume that he was working on his sketch for the engine prototype assignment. He very much wanted to see what he was drawing, and the alcohol he ingested earlier helped fuel his feelings of entitlement to do so. He stopped on the other side of the table facing him.

“Look at you, busy at it.” Spenc couldn’t quite see the screen because of the way Thrawn was huddled over it, but he could see that the sketch was of something larger than an engine.

“Yes,” Thrawn said lowly.

“You’re not tired?” Spenc asked as he leaned over and slid the datapad across the table to pick up. Looking down, he saw that the sketch was a prototype of a ship. Its dimensions put it on a scale with Incom Corporation’s T-65 X-Wing Starfighter—according to the diagram’s legend—but its shape was triangular? He turned the datapad around to examine it from all angles and rubbed a hand over his face to smooth out his frown.

“What’s this?”

“My prototype.”

“You're only supposed to create an engine.” Thrawn was a dullard; all he could do was stare at Spenc with his ugly red eyes. Spenc snorted and placed the datapad back on the desk, screen down. “You might want to get some rest, Sir. You don’t want to overdo it.” He slid it back over, thinking that if he was lucky, he might have left some scratches.

Chapter Text

The cadets sat grouped on a shuttle heading towards the Hallowed Grounds Artillery Center on Chandrila, their blaster rifles all tucked away in the ship's undercarriage, waiting for them to prove their worth. Rosita sat between Payden Dibbs and Kalin Muanung, in front of them sat Spenc, Gimm and Piles.

"You three are going to have to face the facts on this one," Spenc was saying. "You can't win the swim race with an all-girls team."

"None of us are girls, though," Muanung stated matter-of-factly.

"Women, females, whatever—you simply don't have enough power," he returned.

Rosita crossed her arms. "Here we go again," she muttered.

"If you think you can beat me at the butterfly stroke, you are delusional," Spenc said, with what he must have thought was an apologetic shrug, but in reality, made him look ridiculously arrogant. "Look at my shoulders and back." He twisted in his seat and tried his best to show them off. "Look at my waist, better yet, look at my overall physique. I have the perfect swimmer's build.” He turned back around. “Now look at Piles here, if you think Dibbs can beat him at freestyle—" he broke off and looked between the two of them. "On second thought, she might actually have a chance. You're a beast, Dibbs," he finished with a touch of respect.

"Thanks?" Dibbs frowned. Spenc nodded in acknowledgment, as if he had just handed out a precious gift, before continuing, "Still, Maverly and Hatseen will be a challenge for you; they are for Piles as well. Ladies, you need to make the trade." Rosita turned to Dibbs and Muanung, and the three of them pretended to consider the offer with great thought.

"Sorry, I think it's still a no," said Muanung flatly.

Spenc ignored her. "Rosita, you're fast, I'll give you that, but your best time is still one minute under my own, and I've only been getting faster."

"Thirty seconds now. I've been getting faster as well."

He rolled his eyes. "Take Gilroy, I know he's only our diver, but he's dependable at the butterfly, you keep Dibbs on freestyle, Muanung, you come to be my diver and Rosita, you dive your team. You will have a chance to win this way."

"Tempting," Rosita said. "But no."

"You're being—

"We like our team the way it is," she cut across him.

"Just leave it be, mate," Gimm said, nudging Spenc with his elbow. "I don't want to be traded onto their shitty team anyway."

Spenc ignored him. "You do want to win, don't you?" he asked, looking them each in the face.

"Yes," they replied in unison.

"And you, Rosita, you want to win without me, right?"

"You can't have Muanung, Spenc," Rosita replied. "She's the best diver we have this term. She's one of the best divers, period."

"I've been doing freediving competitively since I was ten," Muanung said. "I'm a multi-gold medalist."

"He knows that," Rosita said, with a bite of impatience. "He's just trying to make me doubt myself, so I give you up and help stack his team. Gimm? Really? For Muanung? Do you take me for a complete idiot?"

Spenc looked offended. He parried back, "Are you afraid you can't beat her? Is that the problem?"

"Yes, that's the problem on the head," Rosita said incredulously. "I'm not worried about any of you big, strong men." She laced those last three words with a hearty dose of simpering. "I know I'm not as fast as many of you—but I'm not slow either—and Dibbs and I will have one hell of a head start because of Muanung."

"You're taking a huge risk."

"Why are you so concerned about my team? Worry about your own."

"If you lose, I lose," Spenc answered. "Because I'll never hear the end of it from you. You'll sulk for weeks."

Gimm and Piles snickered. They were annoying.

"I gave you my answer," Rosita returned calmly. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you right now. Have you handled that other thing yet?"

"I told you it's being taken care of," he said through clenched teeth. "You know, I was only trying to be nice. I only wanted to make sure you had a fair shot at winning, but if you're keen on carrying out this little social experiment of yours, I won't stop you."

"If you want us to win so badly, why don't you just swim a little slower?" Rosita suggested hotly.

"Yeah, Orbar, throw the race for us," Dibbs drawled.

Rosita, Muanung, and Dibbs all snickered, as did some other cadets within earshot.

"Being nice doesn't exactly come naturally to you, Orbar," Muanung said snidely, "So excuse us for being suspicious of your intentions."

"I wasn't trying to be nice to you," Spenc said, narrowing his eyes at her. "Only Rosita."

"My point exactly," Muanung said. "Is he ever actually nice to you, Turuy?"

"Mostly in private," she replied with a hapless smile. "Still, though, my answer is no. I like my chances, and I like my team." She looked away from Spenc and down the aisleway. Thrawn's head was turned slightly towards them. He was listening in on their conversation, she could tell.

"Cadets," a woman's voice said over the shuttle's PA system, "We will be arriving at the Hallowed Grounds Artillery Center within the next thirty minutes. Once we disembark, you will be given your rifles and will continue to the testing site on foot. Your blaster's safety is to be on at all times. If anyone is caught with a live weapon at any time other than for their shoot, they will fail and face further disciplinary action. Thank you and good luck."

…

The cadets ran in ranks of three, down a path that twisted around green hills. They carried their rifles in hand, while Squadron Leader Rane led them in a military cadence.

The one part of me I'll never forget," he sang.

THE ONE PART OF ME I'LL NEVER FORGET!" they parroted back in one large voice.

"Has a black stock and barrel, scope's lined and set."

"HAS A BLACK STOCK AND BARREL, SCOPE'S LINED AND SET!"

"I keep its metal clean and shined."

"I KEEP ITS METAL CLEAN AND SHINNED!"

"So the enemy knows, better go hide."

"SO THE ENEMY KNOWS, BETTER GO HIDE!"

"I point my blaster the right way."

"I POINT MY BLASTER THE RIGHT WAY!"

"And wait for Command to give the say."

"AND WAIT FOR COMMAND TO GIVE THE SAY!"

"Run, run, running keeps the body strong."

"RUN, RUN, RUNNING KEEPS THE BODY STRONG!"

"They can't run from us, and we're never wrong."

"THEY CAN'T RUN FROM US, AND WE'RE NEVER WRONG,"

"Get some."

"GOT SOME!"

"Feel good?"

"TOOK ONE."

"Wait a minute."

"WON'T STOP!"

"Let them run?

"MAKE THEM DROP!"

They sang until coming upon the Hallowed Grounds Artillery Center's testing site. Rosita was surprised and delighted to see that Commandant Deenlark was in attendance. He was waiting with some officers donned in the uniforms of the Imperial Army. Marksmanship was one of her specialties; it would be a chance to prove herself.

Introductions were made, and then Deenlark took his place in the course in front of them. "On this day one of testing," he began in a long, carrying voice, "You will begin by firing at several still targets from a fixed position. You get thirty pulls, Cadets. Fifteen in position one and fifteen in position two."

After a brief demonstration of what was required, one of the officers handed Deenlark a datapad. He looked down at it before yelling, "Alpha Bravo 0789213, you're up!"

Abewalker stepped forward and took position.

The pressure to do well was mounting, especially since Thrawn and Vanto arrived. The instructors found it motivating to compare their performances with theirs. And there was no greater humiliation than being bested by Thrawn—worse yet, in her opinion, when Vanto did it. But she wouldn't be bested. Marksmanship was hers. Thirty pulls at fixed targets? This was going to be a breeze.

It was a beautiful thing, the E-11. They came just the way Rosita liked to handle them: big, black, rigid, and a bit of menace. This rifle—serial number V86712AA43R—was issued to her in her third month at the Academy, and ever since then she had cared for it and loved it like a child; so far, it had done mother proud —what was one more test? Rosita took a deep breath right as Deenlark called for Gulf Indigo 276342.

Gidrome went forward, stiff-jawed and purposeful.

She took in another deep breath.

"Gulf Indigo 141387, you're up!"

Gimm ended up doing remarkably well; his final score lit up to reveal a 91% hit rate, with 65% of those being direct kill shots. Spenc's hit rate clocked in at 88%, with 73%  of them being kill shots. He pulled his visor up and winked at Rosita in passing. She took in another deep breath.

The O's became P's, then Q's. By the time Deenlark called for Rambo Delta 4632109, Rosita's sweaty fingers drummed anxiously against her rifle's stock. Was the air getting thicker, or was it just her?

"Lieutenant Thrawn, you're up."

Her hand slid down the barrel some, her top lip curling. 'Lieutenant Thrawn,' she thought with hate. Deenlark had used everyone's service number to call them, except for Thrawn; then it was as if he were driving the point home. If Deenlark liked the Chiss, he wasn't doing him any favours. She watched Thrawn take position one, squaring off to the target, then firing. By the looks of it, he absorbed the recoil with little push-back, and when he finished, he made a beautifully fluent change to the fighting stance before firing again.

The result lit up, showing that 100 percent of his rounds hit the mark. Of those hits, exactly 75 percent of them were kill shots, exactly 75 percent. How? This left twenty-five percent of his targets alive for questioning. A lovely even quarter. In her opinion, he had a perfect round. Too perfect not be intentional. She bet that he could have made them all kill shots if he wanted to.

"Well done, Lieutenant," Squadron Leader Rane said.

It wasn’t long now before Commandant Deenlark barked, "Tango Umbrella 4576310, you're up." Rosita stepped forward; her heart was pounding, and her hands were shaking. Not good. Why was everyone standing so close?

The only thing she could think about was Thrawn's perfect score. She was supposed to get perfect, not him. Rosita got into position and tried to steady her hands. Still, everything felt awkward, like she had never held a blaster before in her life. Deenlark was watching, as were several other high-ranking officers. She saw him look down at his datapad and lean over to say something to the officer beside him. Almost as if in slow motion. What were they saying? Was her stance alright? She thought she could see Thrawn's blueness in her peripheral vision.

"Whenever you're ready, Cadet Turuy," Squadron Leader Rane said none too kindly.

How long had it been since she first stepped up there? A minute? Five minutes? She shook her head to clear it and looked down her trembling sight. When she pulled the trigger, it was blind; she must have checked out and bought herself a front-row seat to the failure show. Rosita couldn't quite recall taking position two, but in the end, like the others, her score lit up. Nineteen percent hit rate—zero percent kill shots.

There was silence all around her. Worse than the smattering of laughter for those who put on bad performances by getting between 50 to 60% hit rates. She stood there stunned.

Nineteen percent! She might as well have gotten zero. She let out a weak moan between her compressed lips. A pitiable sound—quiet and unavoidable. It was the sound she made whenever Spenc surprised her from behind by sticking the tip of his thumb up her asshole.

Deenlark looked down at his datapad. "It says here, Cadet, that you are majoring in the weapons engineering program, with a minor in interrogative intelligence."

"Yes, Sir."

"How do you expect to design and manufacture useful weapons without having first mastered the use of a blaster rifle?"

Rosita knew better than to answer.

"Am I to believe that you've simply forgotten your training, Cadet?" he came in close, and she stood up even taller, at attention. "Or are you simply defective?" he asked.

She swallowed. "Yes, Sir!"

"Yes?"

"No! Sorry, I meant, No, Sir!" 'What the fuck is happening?' she thought, mortified.

"Recite the creed." Deenlark stepped back and stared hard at her.

There was a second, just one second, when Rosita considered turning her blaster and stuffing the nozzle into her mouth; instead, she took a deep breath and began to recite the oath she had sworn the day of her blaster rifle's issuance.

*"This is my blaster," she began in a low, monotonous voice. "There are many like it, but this one is mine. My blaster is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my blaster is useless. Without my blaster, I am useless. I must fire my blaster true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy, who is trying to kill me. I must shoot them before they shoot me. I will."

Feeling heartened, her voice began to rise and carry. "My blaster and I know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our blast, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit. I will keep my blaster clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will."

She took a deep breath and finished, "Before the Stars, I swear this creed. My blaster and I are the defenders of his empire. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviours of my life. So be it, until victory is the empire's and there is no enemy but peace!"* ( taken from the Rifleman’s Creed by Brigadier General William H. Rupertus)

By the end of her declaration, Rosita's back was fully erect, and her chin held high. She imagined every other cadet behind her was the same. It got her every single time. Deenlark's expression softened slightly. She saw in his eyes the same pride she felt, and hoped he would go easy on her. But this was Deenlark. What did he know about taking it easy?

"Cadet Turuy, you will go down to the practice range with Lieutenant Thrawn, whose performance has proven that he might have the ability to teach you how to aim and fire your weapon." He looked up and over her. "And anyone else who manages to perform as dismally will come and join you."

The ultimate humiliation.

She avoided everyone's gaze as she and Thrawn broke off from the group.

…

Rosita watched Thrawn place his blaster rifle on one of the stands for safekeeping before he turned around to face her. "You should know," she said, looking away from him and down her sight, "I don't usually have trouble with this. I was just in my head back there. After I missed the first few shots, I panicked."

"You placed unnecessary pressure on yourself," he said.

"I have a lot on my mind at the moment."

"Such as?"

She turned to stare at him and scrunched up her nose.

"I was tasked with correcting your technique," he said. "If you believe your errors stem from intrusive thoughts, then perhaps it would help us both for you to get them off your chest and ease your troubled mind."

"Fine," she said, lowering her weapon. "How about we start with why you were recently promoted?"

"I was given Lieutenancy upon my arrival."

She snorted in disbelief. "So, you got here, and Deenlark thought to himself, you know what, I like Thrawn's face, let me make him a lieutenant for doing absolutely nothing." She paused, hit with a sudden wave of realization. "It was a gift from Emperor Palpatine, wasn't it?"

"It was given to me by Commandant Deenlark—as a test."

'Everything is a test.' Rosita thought automatically, then she softened in understanding. "What sort of test?" she asked.

"One to help inspire creativity and ingenuity in the other cadets."

She laughed. "So, you were hiding your insignia plague, because you were afraid we would resent you for it?"

"I was waiting for an opportune moment to use it."

"Of course you were," she jeered sardonically.

He blinked languidly and said, "Is there anything else you would like to get off your chest?"

Rosita wanted to ask him how the investigation was going, but knew it would only look suspicious to show any interest; he had to have known she didn't care about his well-being or that of Vanto. "Ever since you got here," she began, "The instructors have all had eyes for you, and now Deenlark, who I've been trying to get to notice me for the last four years, saw me choke. I bet he wouldn't even have been here if it wasn't for you."

"You remain green and have not yet experienced battle."

"Not a real battle, no, but I've had my fair share of physical altercations."

"Physical altercations," Thrawn smirked as if to say, how cute. "There is no guarantee of what complications will arise in battle. If you require peace of mind for a steady aim, you will not fare well in a fight to the death."

"You sound like my grandfather."

"Was he the one who taught you how to shoot?"

"Going off what you've seen of my skills, you must mean that as an insult."

"It would appear that way," he said, "but I meant no offence. I am merely curious."

"He was," she said. "And what about you? Have you experienced battle before? Real battle?"

"Yes."

"And have you killed sentients?"

"I have," Thrawn confirmed with a small bow of his head. "Does this appeal to you?"

"I don't know what you mean to ask, exactly, but if you're asking if I would kill, then the answer is yes."

His head tilted at that.

"I mean, if I were forced to. For the good of the Empire," she added hastily.

It was hard to say just what he was smirking about this time.

"Did I say something amusing?" she asked.

"You misunderstood my question and its intent."

She frowned deeply in thought. "So then, you wish to know what I find appealing, is that it?"

"Did I not say you fascinate me?"

He was bold, she would give him that. Rosita drew herself up, feeling a bizarre mix of disgust and intrigue.

"Perhaps it would be best if we focused on the task at hand," he suggested. "Get into position one and show me what you can do in a more relaxed setting." Rosita obeyed Thrawn; this time, her hands were not trembling, and she was fully present, so her blasts hit the humanoid-shaped target. The alloy absorbed the plasma beams, triggering a chemical reaction that turned the target red wherever it was hit.  

"See?" she said, as the target was now lit up with red spots.

"I see room for improvement when it comes to your form."

Her head snapped in his direction. "Oh, really?"

"Your stance is too wide. Do you find your rifle too heavy?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "It's just… more comfortable this way."

"It might have been too heavy for you once," Thrawn theorized. "And now you have made a habit of overcompensating with your lower body. This is natural for those who lack upper-body strength. It is better than leaning backwards as I have seen done, or worse, the locking of the knees."

"I am not lacking in upper body strength."

"There is no shame in it, Cadet Turuy. Your legs more than make up for it."

"How do you know that?"

"I have seen them in action," he replied, circling her to make tiny corrections, first by testing her grip. "Tight," he said approvingly when he was unable to pry her fingers from the stock. Then by tapping her heels with the toe of his boot, until she closed her stance to his liking.

"Do you Chiss eat humans?"

"No," he said, and if the question offended him, he didn’t show it.

"You've been sizing me up a lot. I was just wondering if you had plans to eat me or something."

"I can assure you, the thought has not yet crossed my mind."

'Yet?' she thought, biting the inside of her lip.

Thrawn moved to stand behind her and lifted her right elbow up with the tips of his fingers. "Push your hips back a little further; this will allow the bend of your knees to come more naturally."

"I'm curious," she said. "Do you make a habit of checking us all out, or only me?"

"Your mind is teeming with assumptions," he said, coming back around to face her.

"Teeming with questions," she corrected him. "It always is. And you don't have to answer if you don't want to. In fact, I would rather not know now that I think about it." He touched her chest with his index finger and drew a straight parallel line under the barrel of her rifle, then followed her line of sight.

"I would never overstep my bounds," he assured her with a critical frown on his face.

"That would be a little more reassuring if I knew what your boundaries were."

"As of now," Thrawn began while lifting her chin a smidgen. "I am bound by a code of conduct that is becoming of a future Imperial soldier." His gloves felt stiff and warm against her chin. For a moment, there was nothing for them to do but stare at each other through their visors. "There." He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Perfection."

"Perfection," she repeated, drawing out the syllables. "I do love that word."

"It suits you at the moment."

She cleared her throat. "Yes, well…" She pulled the trigger for a cluster of plasma to fly out of the nozzle and light up the target's head red. She ate the kick a bit more with his new stance, but maybe he was right; it would only make her stronger.

"Didn't I tell you?" she said, unable to restrain a smug grin.

"You can shoot," he agreed, as indulgently as a parent when asked to watch their child dive off into the deep end of the pool. "With fieldwork will come experience, and with experience, you will learn not to collapse under pressure."

She nodded and said, "Now you. I'd like to see that form of yours up close."

"First, assume position two. Once I correct all the errors in your stance, then I will oblige you."

Chapter Text

Rosita stood beside Thrawn, and the two of them peppered a target together with so much plasma it glowed a uniform red. Dusk loomed heavily above them and rusted the smoke from their blaster rifles.

It felt good to hold the trigger and spray out all her frustrations. Unfortunately, nothing that felt so good could last forever. A loud, blaring horn echoed out. She released the trigger and looked up and around, following the sound. "That marks the end of testing," she said. "We should make our way back."

"We were given orders to come here, but none for when to return." Thrawn lowered his weapon.

"True." She frowned. "I'd rather stay here, to be perfectly honest with you; I'm not looking forward to—" she cut herself off. He activated his rifle's safety, looking expectantly at her, to what, finish sharing? "Can you not stare at me like that?"

Thrawn smirked in amusement, or was it understanding? "My apologies," he replied softly.

"Whatever," she muttered, feeling the heat in her face.

"Today's test only accounts for fifteen percent of the final score. It is the judgment of our fellow cadets that you fear."

"Yes, obviously. They will be horrible."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"Perhaps not?" she snorted in disbelief. "You of all people should know we aren't the most… understanding group of individuals."

Tactful as ever, Thrawn chose to remain silent.

"Everyone was expecting me to do perfectly." She dug the toe of her boot into the ground and pursed her lips.

"And you are certain of this?" he asked.

"I have always excelled at marksmanship."

"It matters to you what they think."

"Of course," she said in exasperation. "Don't you care?"

"It is very limiting," was his reply. Rosita considered his words, tilting her head from one shoulder to the other.

"I suppose, in a way," she said, then lifted her blaster, aimed and began shooting at their target again, to keep it red. "If only there was a way to go back in time," she sighed raggedly.

"There are still 48 hours left of testing. Perhaps you will redeem yourself." Her head snapped back in his direction.

"Perhaps," she agreed, drawing herself up with a small smile. 'Too bad you're an alien,' she found herself thinking.

The sound of speeder thrusters rent the air, saving her from whatever demented fantasies her mind was attempting to invoke. Rosita and Thrawn both turned to face a pair of speeder bikes heading down the path towards them. Judging by their uniforms, the drivers were cadets; their helmets' lightly tinted visors covered their upper faces, but she knew that dark chin with the cleft belonged to Spenc, which meant that the pointed one on the speeder next to him belonged to Gimm. They pulled in and stopped in front of them.

"We volunteered to come and rescue you!" Spenc yelled over the noise of the thrusters.

"Look at her hide," Gimm leered, standing and leaning over the handlebars.

"I'm not hiding." Rosita stepped around Thrawn. "They gave you speeders?" Spenc and Gimm turned them off and swung their legs over to come down.

"Of course," Spenc said, grabbing her free hand and pulling her forward towards him.

"Easy," she warned, activating her rifle's safety.

"So," Gimm began with a smirk, "19%—that's not very good. I do hope you're not on my team tomorrow."

"It was but one hiccough in an otherwise excellent track record—so fuck off!"

"What happened?" Spenc asked, frowning. "It was brutal, having to watch you shoot around the targets like that. Were your eyes closed?"

"No, I wasn't shooting with my eyes closed," she retorted matter-of-factly. "Don't worry, I'll do better tomorrow."

"You had better. It's the War Game; this isn't one you want to fail." He finished and looked up over the top of her helmet and sneered, "Why are you still here? Get gone, sir."

"Spenc," she said quietly, under her breath. "Can't you just—"

"What?" he demanded.

"Never mind," Rosita turned to watch Thrawn make his way up the path and shook her head at him and his seemingly limitless supply of patience. If she were a lieutenant and a cadet dismissed her that way, she would have made damn sure they were put firmly back into place, whether he was an Orbar or not.

"Climb on after me," Spenc said, gesturing to his speeder bike with a thrust of his head. "We'll take a quick ride before heading up to the mess." Rosita retracted her rifle's stalk and stowed it in the back compartment before climbing on behind him. When they swerved around Thrawn, she made sure to turn around and salute him—he was an officer, after all.

Chapter Text

Chandrila

Hallowed Ground Artillery Center

Game Yard

For Thrawn, the rules were simple: it was a scenario as old as civilization itself. Team Native was to defend their territory against the opposing team—Team Apex—whose main objective was to collect three cases that represented the "planet's" precious metals, freshwater, and its population's fealty. Team Apex had a single base where they were to guard Native prisoners. Team Native's main objective was to free these prisoners and neutralize all opposition in their path.

If, by the end of the 48-hour exercise, both teams had failed their main objective—be it not freeing the prisoners or collecting all three cases—then the winner would be determined by whichever team had the most kills. Thrawn dug his gloved fingers into the bark of a tree and pulled himself up further into its canopy, having heard footsteps approaching. Quiet—in stealth mode, each step carefully calculated and each exhale carefully measured. He closed his eyes and listened. A single target, about sixty yards away. A scout, in search of a case's location.

When the wind blew through the trees' leaves, Thrawn used the sound to disguise the noise of his swinging around the trunk to get a better position. His target wore the red armband of Team Apex. She half-crouched in some shrubbery, took a holoprojector from out her pocket and brought up a holomap of the game yard. He turned to lean his back against the trunk, raising his simulation blaster rifle—she was definitely not aware of his presence, yet. He found her in his scope, lined her helmet up for the shot, hesitated, then lowered the nozzle to aim at her vest before pulling the trigger.

Harmless blue beams pelted her vest; it would only take six hits, she had taken four. Her loud curse came out distorted from the mask. Thrawn slid down the tree and gave chase. He shot every so often, herding her in the right direction. The helmets they wore could only take one hit. Once hit, the helmet and the vest would turn red, rendering the player dead. They came to the edge of a gully; he had effectively trapped her. She ducked behind the base of one of the trees and returned fire from behind it. His vest vibrated once. He smirked in good humour; she had licked him with a stray beam. He threw the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and scaled a tree—quick as a whip—keeping her in sight the entire time. Once high and in position, he aimed for her head. Her vest and helmet lit up red. She was dead. The first kill of the day. Thrawn felt a vibration on his wristcomm; he looked down and read: TH6719385>TU4576310.

The helmets they wore covered their faces entirely. She took hers off and knelt on the spot as the rules stated she must. Thrawn jumped down from the tree's lowest branch and stood to face her from a distance. "It is you," he said, frowning deeply behind his visor.

Cadet Turuy's face snapped up from her wristcomm. "Thrawn?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes."

"You have got to be kidding me!" she snarled.

He took a few steps closer, shoulder arming his rifle. "You would take this personally?"

She barred her teeth at him, warning him to not come any closer.

"You would," he said, feeling a stab of disappointment.

"I'm forbidden to speak," she reminded him through her clenched teeth.

This was true; the rules did state that once a player was killed, they were to remain where they were, in perfect silence, until the test was over. Thrawn nodded solemnly, then slunk into the trees to continue guarding the case that represented the planets' precious metals. Cadet Turuy had come close to finding it.

Chapter Text

0900 hours

Simulation Pool

"Is it happening?"

Spenc stretched an arm across his bare chest and pressed down hard on his shoulder. "Yes," he said, rolling his deltoid. "They agree it's fair."

"Who said anything about it having to be fair?" Gilroy sneered. "It's what's right."

"Appearances and all that," he shrugged the shoulder he was rolling and stretched his neck back and forth. "We're accommodating, remember?"

Gilroy grunted as the line of wet bodies continued to shuffle forward out of the change room. The pool room was warm, and the lights beneath the water bathed everything in a soothing blue hue. Spenc scratched at his jaw as he watched the instructors strut around with their whistles pinched between their lips and forefingers, before turning his attention to the ladies as they filed out of their own respective change rooms. His gaze lingered on them until Lieutenant Govosa yelled for them all to form a line.

They converged to stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the pool. At the same time, Govosa blew a continuous, chittering birdsong into his whistle. Spenc pressed one of his ears against his shoulder with a grimace.

"Lieutenant Thrawn," Govosa called out. "Step forward."

This was it, the moment of truth.

"The cadets have all had a chance to see each other prepare—"

Spenc rolled his eyes. An explanation wasn't needed; a simple order would have sufficed. Did they expect Thrawn to refuse? The snivelling creature wouldn't dare. He knew his type.

"—On my whistle," Govosa went on, "four laps of butterfly and four laps of freestyle." Thrawn stepped up onto the starter block, and on the whistle, he dove into the water. His core strength was in full display as he was able to rotate 360 as he shot forward, just like a metal bullet from out of one of those ballistic weapons used by savage alien colonies. Spenc took a step closer to the pool, his top lip curling. Thrawn's butterfly was textbook. His chin was perfectly tucked when he took his breath, his arms were ramrod straight as they left the water, but it was his propulsion, his particularly impressive propulsion.

The same could be said of his freestyle—it was textbook. Smooth, cutting and quick.

"Time!" Govosa yelled, looking down at the screen on the starter block. "Four minutes twenty-one seconds. A new record."

A violent surge of competitiveness burned its way through him. Thrawn had clocked in a full forty-five seconds faster than he and Piles at their very best, and judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he wasn't winded. On the contrary, he had very clearly held back. Rosita seemed to be doing her best to mask her displeasure, but there was that telltale scrunch to her nose, visible for all to see. For her, it must have been like watching 5000 credits get blown out of an airlock and into space. He chuckled to himself, getting it all out before arranging his face into one of solemnity, before shouldering his way out of line and squeezing himself between her and Dibbs.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Of course, I'm not," Rosita hissed under her breath. It was more than a bit annoying that his past performances hadn't elicited this level of panic in her. Still, she would pay for that later when she came in not second or even third place. "It isn't fair," she added. "For all we know, his kind are aquatic. Have they considered that?"

"They don't care," Gilroy said. "Accommodations are made to benefit them, not us."

"It all comes down to whether or not Vanto can dive well," Dibbs said. "He's alright at the classwork, but his marksmanship is acceptable at best. What was it that he got again?"

"Sixty percent hit rate, forty percent kill shots," said Piles promptly.

"What did you get again, Turuy?" Gilroy asked. Spenc turned to glare pointedly at him and shook his head in warning.

"I made one mistake. One," Rosita shot back reflexively. "And what does my marksmanship have to do with this?"

"One mistake?" Gilroy snorted. "You were the first on our team to die in the War Game exercise."

'Sniffing kriff,' Spenc thought with a scowl. Rosita was beginning to go very red in the face.

"Yes, Thrawn killed me," she spat. "He killed a lot of us. And where were you during this slaughter? I heard you were hiding in some shit ditch, doing nothing!"

"Divers!" Govosa yelled before Gilroy was able to counter, "Why are you all standing around? Head to the equipment room and strap up!" The divers moved off together to get their breathing apparatuses, except for Muanung, who slipped into the oxygen chamber. "As for the rest of you, you'd better get cracking. Four minutes and twenty-one seconds is the time to beat. Share the lanes and see what you can do!"

They beelined it to the starter blocks as fast as possible on the slippery, wet tiles, formed lines behind each one, then stepped up, dove in, shot off to the opposite end of the pool, climbed out, and got back in line to do it all over again.

"I think Thrawn has a definite shot at winning," Piles said while they waited in line for their turns. "He didn't look tired after his eight laps, did any of you notice that?"

"I noticed." Spenc turned to look back over at Thrawn, who was speaking with Govosa and the other instructors. They were all fawning over him by the looks of it.

"He can't win," Rosita muttered, folding her arms. "No matter what it takes, he can't."

'Finally!'  Spenc thought, tossing his head back. It was beginning to grate on his nerves how paranoid she was about getting rebuked for showing Thrawn his place.

The divers began to surface: Muanung first, Gilroy second, Toll third, and, to his surprise, Vanto fourth. This might have meant nothing. They may have submerged at different times and weren't necessarily racing. The swimmers began making their way over to them to complete their teams.

"You know, Piles," Gilroy said, pulling himself out of the water and turning to sit on the edge of the pool. "When you get right down to it, you're our team's dead weight." He took off his flippers, then stood up and unstrapped his rebreather harness.

"Oh yeah?" Piles said.

"No one is getting in my way down there, and after Thrawn, Spenc has the best time for his round. You, on the other hand…"

"You just worry about getting those little coins, Gimm."

"I will," he said. "And while I'm at it, you can work on swimming faster."

"I think I'm doing just fine, thank you."

"Shut up!" Spenc snapped. "You're both equally terrible."

…

In the shower, Spenc adjusted the water's temperature to his liking and stepped under the falling stream. Up until recently, he had felt unstoppable. His father was able to pay off one of the cooks to take the fall for the poisoning incident; his girlfriend was happy… enough; and his swim team was expected to win the relay (at least to those with working faculties). Anything he wanted, he got.

Only things have changed now. Spenc turned his head to look over at Gilroy, whose mouth was wide open to catch water as it came out of the showerhead so he could gurgle it out over his chin and chest. A spasm stiffened Spenc's back, and his face twisted in disgust. Unwittingly, to him came a question. Was this the face Gilroy made whenever Fleek decided to finish in his mouth?

"What?" Gilroy asked when he noticed him looking his way.

"Nothing." Spenc turned and faced the shower wall so he could soap his dick up in privacy.

"You are thinking about not coming out tonight."

Spenc's answer was to bite down hard on his bottom lip while jutting his hips forward to rinse himself off.

"And they call me obnoxious."

"They say that of me as well," Spenc reminded him with a shrug. Feeling proper clean now, he turned the water off and began to make his way out of the showers when Thrawn's jarringly blue form parted the steam through the archway in front of him. Spenc stopped in his tracks to prevent him from passing. He felt great satisfaction in being taller than him. He liked that Thrawn had to tilt his head up to stare him in the eyes. 'Come on, you snivelling shit, you know you want to do something,' he thought darkly. Thrawn, as usual, gave him nothing. Nothing, but a casual acceptance that set Spenc's teeth on edge for how it sucked the sport out of it.

It didn't matter; he wasn't going to do anything—yet. Not when Thrawn was so obviously keen on it. For all he knew, the little cretin got off on the idea of being knocked out by him. He stepped aside and went around him, careful to not touch his blue skin in the slightest.

Chapter Text

Rosita sat in her room, staring down at her datapad with unseeing eyes. She was supposed to be framing the conclusion of her thesis: on how body language could be an unreliable indicator of mental state during an interrogation, but she couldn't focus on subjects like the Right to Information Act any more than she could on the more manipulative personality types.

The only thing she could think about was her prize, and how it was being stolen by some alien who just happened to swim like a fucking fish! It wasn't fair! She wanted to win the race. She was the one who needed the money most. Her 80,000-credit debt would only continue to climb with interest once she graduated. Maybe it really would be best if she asked Kalin to join Spenc's team. Their team had no chance of winning against Thrawn's, but with Kalin on Spenc's team, they could definitely pull it off—Spenc did say he would give her his share of the winnings.

No.

Rosita conjured up a memory of her mother, one from not long after they had first found out about her father's infidelity, back when their home still felt disturbingly empty without him. Rosita had overheard a call between them in which her mother had begged him to return. After everything he had done, all the lies, she still wanted him—needed him. "I need you, Morris," her mother cried. "I don't know how to do this on my own!"

Pathetic.

There was no way she was going to risk becoming like that, all dependent and vulnerable. No. There was only one way to deal with a problem like Thrawn, and it didn't involve good sportsmanship. She couldn't afford to play fair.

…

Spenc's door slid open to reveal Gimm's reddened face. Alcohol always made him look like an oversized blood sac. Rosita looked around his bare torso to see Spenc, Piles, the Nateel twins, and Boervox each occupying large portions of the room. "Why are you all shirtless?" she asked, stepping cautiously into the room. It smelt of beer and cologne, with an underlying, yet distinct, man smell that she wouldn't call good or bad.

They looked around at each other as if now noticing this detail.

"Why are you here?" Gimm asked flatly.

"I need to speak with Spenc."

"No way," Gimm clasped both of Spenc's shoulders and shook him. "He's coming out with us tonight."

Spenc took it with a grin.

"That's entirely up to him, isn't it?" she said, tossing her hair back. Spenc moved towards her, leaning slightly to the side and bending a bit at the knees—all the better to see her face, evidently. He must have noticed the makeup she had carefully applied before heading there because he straightened back up and said, "Just a moment."

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?" Gimm asked him while doing up the buttons of his shirt.

"I'll meet you down there," Spenc said as they left the room.

After the door slid shut after them, Rosita and Spenc fell into what for them was an awkward silence. He was the first to break it. "What's with all this?" he asked, flicking her loose hair with the tips of his fingers.

"I've been distant these last few days," she admitted with a shrug.

"Distant?" he snorted. "Unbearable is more like it. I think I've proven myself to be understanding. Sensitive even, one might say."

"For you, yes."

"Is that why you're here?" he lifted his hand and smudged her pink lip gloss with his thumb. She both hated and loved it. "To apologize?"

"We both deserve some relief. And I have an idea I want to run by you."

"Go on then," Spenc said, spreading both arms at his sides. Rosita knelt before him and, without ceremony, began tugging at his belt.

It had been a while since she last used her mouth on him, and he had been so generous lately with his, so this time she would do it exactly the way that he liked. First, without using her hands to help, she picked him up between her lips and swallowed as much of his hardening cock as she could. There she would stay until she gagged, before releasing him and repeating the process. Whenever she grew tired, she would drag her lips along the underside. She even made sure to look up at him from underneath her lashes—just the way that he liked, in that way that made him feel it was her who was submitting to him and not the other way around. Spenc groaned, entwined his fingers in her hair, and pressed his palms against the sides of her head, thrusting harder and harder.

When it became too much, Rosita pulled him out with a wet smack and murmured against his flesh, "We need to make sure Thrawn doesn't win the race."

"And how do you suggest we do that, exactly?"

"We hurt him," she said.

"Hurt him?" Spenc swelled in her hands, and his eyes now glittered in renewed anticipation.

"Just enough to level the playing field," she added hastily when Spenc pushed his hips forward and nudged at her lips.

"And Vanto?" he asked. Rosita took him in, bobbed her head a few times, then released him again. "Vanto's nothing. Besides," she rubbed his head into her lips. "Only those who know him would know he's from Wild Space, so it might look suspicious if we single him out too. It has to look like it's another random attack on another random alien."

"Thrawn and Vanto are inseparable," Spenc reminded her. "Vanto may try to stop us. Or he'll run and get help."

"If he tries anything, we act to defend ourselves. Kalin did say he's a decent diver. Apparently, he's trained in space diving, so it might not hurt to slow him down too." Spenc moved his fingers to rest against the back of her head and helped guide her mouth back to work.

"No hands," he reminded her when she reached up to handle him. Unfortunately, he couldn't cum from oral alone, and her jaw eventually began to ache. She slid him out of her mouth with an apologetic shrug. Fortunately, he didn't object to this, as he was now keen on the prospect of jumping Thrawn.

"Where would we do it?" he asked eagerly while helping her to her feet and doing up his pants.

"Right here, on campus. All sorts wander the grounds; the list of suspects would be wide enough to cover our tracks."

"Alright, on campus then." He smirked. "How will we get him to go where we need him? It will have to be out of the way." Rosita frowned in thought, and then it came to her in a rush.

"A victory between athletes," she began, her smile growing. "Is only truly earned when each competitor is equally prepared for the match."

"What?"

"I know how we can flush him out," Rosita said.

"How?"

"We'll talk about it later. You go have your fun."

Spenc looked to his door then back over at her, visibly conflicted. "You can stay in here," he said. "Use my datapad and work on your thesis. I won't be long; I'm only having a few drinks."

"Don't be silly," she tittered, moving to press herself against him. "I think I'll go get some sleep and work on that tomorrow. Kalin and I have plans in the morning."

Spenc nodded gratefully.

"Please be good tonight."

He promised her he would, and they sealed the deal with a lingering kiss and assurances of love.

…

Rosita sat with her head against Spenc's shoulder, murmuring to him as he scrolled through pictures of flats and penthouses on his datapad, promising he would get them whichever one she liked. The doctor's waiting room was quiet, so quiet in fact, that when she stopped speaking, and no calls were coming in for the secretary, the faint buzzing sound of the bright white lights could be heard. They sat this way until the secretary's voice cut through the silence.

"She'll see you now."

"You know this is ridiculous, right?" Spenc asked as they made their way to the back rooms.

"I just want to be sure," Rosita replied.

A door slid open for them, and they walked into a very large and bright room that was outfitted with a bed, diagnostics table and Bacta tank.

Spenc's sister, Kyria, sat behind a synthwood desk and eyed them critically as they took their seats in front of her. "You're not pregnant, are you?" she asked, adjusting her white jacket.

"Stars no!" Rosita turned sharply to look at Spenc.

"We need your expertise on a matter," he said, returning Rosita's incredulous look with a small shrug.

Kyria leaned back and crossed her arms. "Spiking another drink, are you?"

"Something like that." He grinned and grabbed Rosita's hand, staring longingly into her eyes for a moment. She gazed back devotedly.

"We have a swim race in three days," she began lightly, "and I really need to win. Let's say we had to slow down one of our competitors, where would be the best place to strike them beforehand? I was thinking a proper blow to the kneecap will shave a few…" she trailed off at the look on Kyria's face.

"You need to win it that badly?"

Rosita nodded eagerly.

Kyria typed something on her computer's keyboard and said, "How's about I write you a prescription for Plytax instead? It's virtually new to the market, but it has shown remarkable—

"—Excuse me?" Rosita cut across her. Spenc choked and stifled a laugh behind his hand.

"It's an antidepressant with mild sedative effects. It will calm your anxieties."

"I don't need any of that."

"You plan to shatter someone's kneecap to win a race," Kyria said, blunt with an edge to her sardonic tone. "In my professional opinion: you're under duress."

"I'm ambitious."

"You're relentless, like my dear little brother. Maybe I should write him a prescription as well."

Spenc let out a loud, "Ha!" at that.

"You said she would understand," Rosita spat accusingly at him.

"I said she might," he retorted. "I also told you this was a waste of time."

"Is it the prize that you seek?" Kyria laughed lightly. "If you need the money that badly, why don't you ask your dad for it? I hear he's made partner at his firm. Pay your debts, then go back to pretending he doesn't exist afterward. Only your pride needs to suffer."

"I want to win the race."

"Fuck the race," Spenc growled, reaching over and squeezing the inside of Rosita's thigh. "This isn't about winning some stupid game, it's about sending Thrawn a message." He looked back over at Kyria. "Our target's an alien—a blight if there ever was one. He needs to learn his place."

"Dad told you to play nicely. Your mishaps are becoming costly."

"We'll be careful," he said flippantly.

"We don't plan on killing him; we only need to slow him down," Rosita added.

Kyria looked between the two of them. "You little monsters were made for each other," she remarked in awe, then, sighing in resignation, she added, "If you want to slow him down, you'll do exactly as I say."

They each leaned forward in their seats.

…

"We have since covered how to upgrade fuel ventilation systems, but as weapons engineers, it's your responsibility to use your ingenuity to create—"

Rosita's fingers drummed the desk next to her datapad as she half-listened to the lecture and half-reviewed their plans for Thrawn.

Thrawn.

Her gaze moved to linger on the back of his head, at the neatly kept blue-black hair, then down the nape of his neck when he turned sharply and met her gaze.

She snapped her head in another direction and thought, 'How does he always know?'

When class ended, Rosita packed up her things and walked quickly down the hallway after him and Vanto. She ran ahead and around them, turning sharply to cut them off. "Can I have a quick word with you both?" she asked. Thrawn blinked in that languid way of his and consented with a slight nod of his head. They moved to the side to not impede traffic, and she spared a glance between the two of them and spotted Spenc, who was waiting for her down the hall with his arms folded.

It was all about acting naturally and not being too sweet; they would see right through that.

"The race is in two days," she began conversationally, "And you've only seen the caves once, Vanto. That's hardly fair, is it?"

Vanto raised both eyebrows and stared at her in silence. Rosita wondered if he knew how stupid he looked with that expression on his face. She was going to tell him, but instead said, "I've taken the liberty of finding an instructor who will oversee you, that way you get one more chance to explore them."

"And you arranged this out of the kindness of your heart?" Vanto asked drily.

She smiled tightly at him before turning to Thrawn. "Do you remember when we agreed that to be the best athlete, you must defeat the best athletes?"

"Yes."

"Vanto may not have had as many chances to see the caves as we have, but now he will get to see them in a way none of us have: alone."

Thrawn gave no hint of what he was thinking or feeling. Still, she was aware she had never given him any concrete reason to believe she lived by a code of honour, so, to remove all traces of doubt, she laid down another card.

"I also have a favour to ask," she said. "You know, since I'm helping you out and all."

Aliens understood greed above all else; Thrawn's head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

"In exchange for getting Vanto more time in the caves, would you help me with my butterfly stroke?"

She bit back a smirk as Thrawn bowed his head and said, "I am happy to share my experience."

"Good." Rosita tossed her hair back. "We'll meet at the Simulation Pool at twenty hundred hours."

'Almost too easy,' she thought, walking away from them with a smile on her face.

Chapter Text

Rosita wondered what Spenc would say if he saw her now—nothing nice, she imagined. Thrawn tread water while supporting her floating form with one hand, his fingertips dug into her midriff. At the same time, she demonstrated her melodie kick for him.

"Focus," he said sharply; her worries were slowing her down.

"I'm trying!" she panted and spluttered hard—this was all so wrong.

"Stop." Thrawn removed his hand, leaving her to sort herself out and tread the water.

"Is your core fully engaged during?" he asked.

"Yes," she assured him.

He looked doubtful and reached for her stomach again, pressing his fingertips into her abdomen. "Engage."

She rolled her abs into each other and compressed.

"More," he demanded.

Somehow, she dug for more.

"Better," he said. "Always think first of your core, it comes mostly from there and breathe as if every breath is your first." He held out his hand again. "Begin."

She resumed her position, allowing him to support her while she tucked in her waist, squeezed her thighs together and kicked.

"Better," he confirmed, releasing her.

She smiled proudly.

"You know the motions; you need only to find your true strength potential."

"I strive to," she said, sliding her goggles down to drape around her neck. They fell into silence. Thrawn kept the water at his sternum, never allowing it to reach any higher, so she made sure to do the same.

Something seemed to catch his attention over her shoulder. Rosita turned and saw that Master Corporal Ludan was watching them closely.

"He does not like this arrangement," Thrawn said.

"Master Corporal Ludan?"

"Orbar."

Her body sank down so the water was at her throat. "That's neither here nor there." She looked back over at Ludan. Had Spenc asked that he spy on her? Likely.

"I understand your frustration," Thrawn said, bringing her attention back to him.

"No, you don't," she muttered.

"You will have to retake your marksmanship test."

She sank a bit further, up to her chin.

"I, too, have felt the sting of failure," he said. "It has been integral for my many successes."

"You killed me. After everything you—" Rosita stopped short of spilling her guts out. She wanted to make it known that for one instant she had thought he was decent—an exception to the alien rule, and that it felt like a betrayal to have him, of all people, be the one to take her out. However, she didn't have to say this; the slight twist to his lips said he understood.

"I did not know it was you," he murmured.

"Had you known, would you have spared me?"

"Had I let you go, would you have kept the location of our case secret? You were close to discovering it."

Rosita opened her mouth, then closed it. Her hand jerked up to scratch the nape of her neck, while Thrawn gave her what could only be described as a knowing smirk. She drew herself up haughtily. "I've heard you've had prior military experience—you yourself said you've killed in battle."

"Indeed," he said.

"It hardly seems fair that we must compete against you."

"Perhaps."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-five, in your standard galactic years."

"Oh?" she frowned thoughtfully.

"And you?" he asked.

"I'll be twenty-three soon enough."

"I see," he said.

She tried hard not to flush, but his eyes were like fucking laser beams cutting into her.

"How about another demonstration?" she suggested. "Do your eight laps, only this time don't hold back."

"Very well." Without another word, Thrawn began swimming to the side, leaving her to follow suit.

It was rather titillating to see such proficiency in another sentient being. Rosita's hand moved to her throat. She had forgotten to ask if his people were aquatic. The way he moved said that they were, but swimming could have been yet another thing he happened to dominate.

"Bastard," she muttered, feeling a fierce resentment towards him. He looked quite fascinating in the water, though, she could admit—all that silver dripping off blue. Was the contrast between their skin colour appealing to the eyes, like hers and Spenc's? Would it be so wrong if she splayed her hands against his chest to find out?

A shiver made its way up her spine.

"Turuy."

She jumped, turning to face Master Corporal Ludan. She hadn't noticed him coming up behind her.

"I hear he's fast," he said, looking past her at Thrawn.

"Very. You'll see exactly how fast shortly." She looked down at the timer on the starter block. Thrawn was starting his freestyle with one minute fifty-eight seconds on the clock and finished all eight laps in four minutes three seconds. Ludan let out a long whistle between his teeth. "It's for the best," he muttered close to her ear. "None of you would stand a chance otherwise."

This was true, so why did it suddenly feel so wrong? Vanto surfaced, and Ludan left her to help him put the equipment away, while Rosita watched Thrawn climb out of the water. He stood in front of her all bare-chested and dripping.

"This was pointless," she said, making sure to keep her gaze firmly on his face. "I'll never be as fast as you."

"Were this strictly a lane race, you would not offer much in the way of challenge, no." He admitted. "However, dismissing your chances as hopeless in the face of a stronger adversary will achieve nothing. In your practice trials, you clocked in at three minutes. If Cadet Dibbs is as fast at freestyle as you are at the butterfly, and if Cadet Muanung is as good as information suggests, then your chances of victory are as good as any other competitor."

The thing about Spenc that Rosita liked most was that he gave it to her straight. He had no qualms making sure she knew her limitations, but Thrawn did it in a way that was so much better. Thrawn's criticism was delivered tactfully, and he paired it with solutions that dignified her rather than brought her down. She hated to compare Spenc with an alien, but if there was one thing she could take from Thrawn and give to Spenc, it would be his tact.

And because the universe just had to solidify the point, Thrawn said, "Remember, Cadet Turuy, the pursuit of perfection is only rational when you understand that perfection is unattainable."

'Must you make everything difficult?' she thought bitterly.

Thrawn was walking away when Rosita reached out and grabbed his elbow in a gentle yet solid grip. He stopped and looked down questioningly over his shoulder—first at her hand, then her face.

"Be careful out there tonight, Sir."

Chapter Text

Rosita had made a huge mistake and had to put it right at once. She burst through the changing room door and ran straight for her locker. She ripped the door open, hardly wincing when it clattered against another locker with a loud BANG!

"Come on," she muttered, digging desperately through her bag for her commlink. "Come on, come on!"

The surge of adrenaline made her want to urinate something fierce. Still, there was no time for that, so she made do with squeezing her thighs together and bending over at the waist until finally, her hand closed over her commlink. She pulled it out and pounded in Gimm's number.

"Come on! Come on!"

No answer.

"Kriffing fuck!" she bellowed, nearly flinging the device across the room. She took a deep, steadying breath before trying for Piles.

Again, no answer. She scoffed loudly and dialled Spenc.

"Finally," he said, by way of greeting. "Hurry up and shower."

"You need to run over there and tell them it's off." Rosita held the phone up with her shoulders and began pulling one of her swimsuit's straps down her arm. "I repeat: the hit is off!"

Her words were met with silence; she could picture the furrow between his brows and the curl to his lips.

"Spenc? Do you copy?"

"Yes," he said flatly. "I was only wondering why you would have me go and do a thing like that?"

"Please, just go and do it. I'll explain why later."

Later, after she thought up a good enough lie to explain herself.

"I'm coming in."

"NO!" she bellowed into the device, but the line disconnected. She cursed down at it before dropping it back into her bag and running for the toilet.

It wasn't long before she heard him call out from somewhere in the changing room, "WHERE ARE YOU?"

"WAIT OUT THERE FOR ME!" she hollered back, struggling to pull her wet swimsuit back up. Spenc didn't, of course. Rosita could hear his footsteps echoing off the bathroom's tiles until he stopped outside her stall. He wedged the shining toes of his boots beneath the space at the bottom and shook the door from the top.

Rosita flushed the toilet, then shoved the stall's door open with her shoulder, driving him back.

"I told you to go call it off!" she snarled.

"Did Ludan change his mind or something?" he asked.

"No." She began washing her hands, glaring furiously at him over the shoulder of her reflection.

"So then why do you want me to call it off?"

"You know what, forget it, I'll go do it myself." She stormed back to the change room, wet hands clenched and Spenc hot on her heels.

"What's your problem?" he asked.

Rosita pulled her arm out of his hand so that she could shimmy her jammers down over her hips and kick them off onto the bench.

"I said forget it, I'll do it myself."

Spenc stepped over the bench, the one barrier she had against him. "I'll do it," he assured her, "But first I want to know why I should?"

It was futile. Rosita wrapped her towel tightly around herself and gave him a small shrug, somehow keeping her gaze trained unflinchingly on his.

"Your silence won't do this time. Answer the question."

"There isn't time. I said I'll tell you later." She grabbed her bag and took out her shirt, only to have Spenc yank both from her grasp.

"Can you not?" she snarled impatiently, holding her hand out and snapping her fingertips into her palm.

"You'll get it back when I get my answer."

"I'll go out there stark naked if I have to!"

"Go ahead," he said, splaying his hands towards the door. "They're not going to listen to you, though, so if you want to end this, you'll kindly explain why first, then we can go from there."

"We're going in circles here!" Rosita groaned and rubbed a hand down her face. "You're just going to have to trust me on this; it's for the best." She looked over pointedly at the door and added, "Please hurry. I'm going to go shower. I'll meet you out there." She finished and turned to head for the showers when his hand closed over the top of her shoulder in a solid grip that stopped her in her tracks. He didn't jerk her around to face him—he knew what would happen if he dared—but when she tried to shrug him off, his grip tightened.

"Spenc," she said warningly.

He released her. "We're not calling it off," he said through his teeth. "And you're going to tell me what changed your mind. Did Thrawn say something?"

"No," Rosita replied.

Spenc remained silent, his dark eyes bore into her own, and his face was impassive—save for the slight curl to his lips.

"This has nothing to do with him," she said with shocking conviction. "I just came to realize that what we plan to do is cheat. If I win, I want to win fair and square."

"What?" she asked when he snorted loudly.

"If I win, I want to win fair and square." He mimicked her in a high falsetto that sounded nothing like her. "I didn't know you saw me that way, too," he added, shaking his head with a look of immense disapproval.

Now it was her turn to frown. "See you how?" she asked.

"Like I'm kriffing dense," he sneered. "Are you really trying to feed me the same line you used to make the alien come here tonight? I know for a fact that you don't care about playing fair, and yet now, you suddenly do?"

"I do care!" she blurted out clumsily.

"Only when it's to make some point," he threw back at her. "So what point are you trying to make here?"

"You're overthinking it."

He cocked an unimpressed eyebrow.

"You are!"

"Rosita, this is what you wanted, remember?"

"And now I don't want it anymore! So, can you please, please go do this for me?" Rosita fluttered her lashes and gazed, wide-eyed, at him. For a moment, she thought all would be well, for his rictus of anger suddenly gave way to understanding. He nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his lips.

"You're afraid," Spenc said, as if it had finally dawned on him. "Remember, you can back out if you're not feeling ready to try it yet. You know how badly I want to break him—just about as much as I want in that pretty ass of yours. Look, I even brought my mask  in case you changed your mind." He pulled it out and showed her.

"This has nothing to do with our deal," she said, eyeing it. "I mean to honour it, whether the fight happens or not."

"No need to lie," he cuffed her lightly under the chin with her shirt and his mask clasped tightly in his hand. "I actually find it cute."

"Cute?" she shook her head, frowning. "Thrawn's suspicious, that's all. I think he's expecting us to try something tonight. He'll name us, I know he will."

"Let him be suspicious," Spenc said with a shrug. "He'll have no proof to back his claim."

She swallowed hard. "Still, if there's even one chance—"

"—We keep our promises, Rosita," he returned calmly, "Tonight you give it up to me, or I'm going out there to help them. Those are your two choices. Say now what you choose."

Rosita raked her hand through her wet hair with a loud sigh; she was in over her head here. She couldn't tell Spenc the truth: that she gave Thrawn a warning that could be used as evidence to tie them to the assault. To do so would be to admit—she didn't want Spenc to think—Anyways, it was a mistake, a stupid slip of the tongue; Thrawn had somehow coaxed out all logic from her brain and made her a traitor.

The question was whether it mattered. Rosita could always deny it; it would be her word against his. Thrawn was now an officer, true, but he was still an alien at the end of the day.

"We'll just leave things how they are," she said, turning her face away to stare down at the floor.

"Look at me, Rosita."

She did, tentatively. She hated fear and what it did to a person, but shame was even worse. Her eyes darted over Spenc's face to avoid looking him in the eyes. "Go shower," he said kindly, placing his free hand on her shoulder. "Ludan will be waiting for us. And don't you worry about tonight, I know how to be gentle, you know that."

She shrugged him off, grabbed up her shower bag and stepped over the bench.

"Rosita?"

She turned to look back at him.

"This is about sending Thrawn a message," he said. "If it doesn't happen tonight, it will happen another time. Tonight happens to be the most beneficial option—for all of us."

Her eyes widened slightly. Spenc had given her a little sideways smile—a knowing smirk—had he an inkling why she was really hesitant? She could only hope he did not.

Chapter Text

If you truly wish to understand a person, you must first place yourself beneath them. In order to see their true colours, they must see themselves looking down on you. Even silence is deafening.

"We have since covered how to upgrade fuel ventilation systems, but as weapons engineers, it's your responsibility to use your ingenuity to create more efficient ways to cool our arms," the instructor said, swiping through various holograms of the many different weapons in the Imperial arsenal.

Thrawn looked down at his datapad and made alterations to his engine design, freezing when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He turned and spared a glance over his shoulder, meeting Cadet Turuy's steady gaze. He came to expect her intense scrutiny by now. It was common for those with such disdain to become fixated on the objects of their ire. Those who hated the alien thought most of the alien.

He turned away and went back to his sketch.

When class came to an end, he gathered his things and made his way out with Vanto. Over the idle chatter of the cadets, Thrawn could detect the approach of purposeful footsteps. It was little surprise when Cadet Turuy cut around them and stopped them in their tracks. Their last shared verbal communication was the night of the War Game when she had vowed to one day get him back—she had hissed her oath in the dark, despite the rules. Lately, she had been clinging more openly to Orbar. Orbar, who for the last couple of days had been watching him closely, a smile fixed to his face—his patience had been wearing thin, but now the Cadet seemed relaxed with a sense of purpose.

"The race is in two days," Turuy said. "And you've only seen the caves once, Vanto. That's hardly fair, is it?" Her tone was stilted and jarred unnaturally. She had practiced these lines, evidently, and waited for the right moment to deploy them.

"I've taken the liberty of finding an instructor who will oversee you," she went on, "That way you get one more chance to explore them."

"And you arranged this out of the kindness of your heart?" Vanto asked, a sardonic lilt to his inflection.

Turuy bore the expression of one burdened by an unpleasant odour—her smile was strained, and her nose was wrinkled. She recovered quickly, however, and then turned to Thrawn and said, "Do you remember when we agreed that to be the best athlete, you must defeat the best athletes?"

"Yes," Thrawn confirmed.

"Vanto may not have had as many chances to see the caves as we have, but now he will get to see them in a way none of us have: alone." Her eyes darted over his face, searching for answers he rarely showed. "I also have a favour to ask, you know, since I'm helping you out and all."

'Do you?' he wondered, his head tilting to the side.

"In exchange for getting Vanto more time in the caves, would you help me with my butterfly stroke?"

Turuy was effective bait; Thrawn enjoyed her company. "I am happy to share my experience," he said softly.

"Good." She tossed her head self-importantly. "We'll meet at the Simulation Pool at twenty hundred hours." She shouldered her way around him.

"Well, this is highly suspect," Vanto said, his wary gaze trained on Turuy's retreating back.

"Indeed," Thrawn said, meeting Orbar's gaze down the hallway.

...

Cadet Turuy had managed to convince Master Corporal Ludan, their war ethics instructor, to oversee Vanto's survey of the caves. Thrawn's head tilted thoughtfully as Vanto read aloud the master corporal's message, postponing their meeting to 2100 hours. There was something arousing about walking into a trap. Thrawn allowed the feeling of anticipation to overtake him, feeling his body pound with adrenaline as he and Vanto made their way down to the Simulation Pool.

After their pre-wash, he and Vanto entered the pool room. The Master Corporal, spotting them, raised an arm and hailed Vanto over. Vanto hesitated for the slightest moment, exchanging a quick glance with Thrawn before accompanying the Master Corporal into the equipment storage room. Cadet Turuy stood alone at the opposite end of the pool, dragging her foot lazily through the water and staring expectantly at him.

It was a mockery of the natural order: she, the predator, fully vulnerable, and he, the prey, eager to close the distance. As Thrawn drew closer, her shoulders, neck, and face began to bloom with deep red and orange splotches. The uneven colour showed how she fought the urge to flush.

"Thanks for coming," she said, then, after a brief pause, added a quick, "Sir."

Thrawn bowed his head. "How may I be of service?"

That strained smile again. "It's like I told you," Rosita began. "I need your help with my butterfly. I want to be faster."

"For this, you must train."

"There isn't the time for that now," she said, reaching up and tugging at her swim cap, making sure every hair was tucked in. Thrawn noted that when her hair was covered, her face appeared more angular, and her neck even longer. "Do you have any tricks you can teach me?" she asked.

"I will do what I can," he said. "Have you warmed up?"

Her eyes narrowed, perhaps desperate to find some hidden insult in his question?

"I'm ready to go," she replied stiffly.

He gestured for her to take her place. "Demonstrate your technique, I will stop you once I have found what I am looking for."

"And what would that be, exactly?"

"Your flaws," he said, then gestured again for the starting block, this time with a jerk of the head.

There was no denying the effect his words had on her; the deep red that washed over her upper body said it all. It was a curious thing, for one so cold to be so sensitive. Cadet Turuy stepped up onto the block, her mouth a strained, tight line.

"Do not focus on speed," he said when she knelt in position. "I must see the degree of precision in your movements before I feel the true potential of your strength." Her head snapped in his direction, and Thrawn gestured again for her to begin. She scoffed but followed through.

Dive: incomplete, possibly unnerved by his words. Recovery: success. Kick: powerful, but had she more? Arms: engaged, but not overly relied upon. Conclusion: lovely. Thrawn lowered himself into the water—keeping his gaze on her all the time—before swimming out to meet her.

Turuy stopped mid-drive, taking in a big gulp of air and lifting her goggles to her forehead.

"You have improved," he said. "Your form is excellent."

"There was that belly flop of a dive," she muttered, wiping at her face and nostrils.

"You recovered. I have seen your start before and found no issues."

"So, my form is excellent and yet I've plateaued."

"Plateaued?" He considered the word in this context and came up short.

Turuy stuck out her index finger and drew a line upward at a slight incline as she answered, "I have trained, and I have gotten faster over time, but now," she drew a straight line off the axis. "I've plateaued."

"I see," he said.

"Oh, I'm sure you see a lot of things, Thrawn."

He smirked, drinking it in. "I wish to try an exercise with you."

"What sort of exercise?"

When he explained what was required of her, she accused him of only wanting an excuse to touch her. Once he had convinced her that his intentions were within bounds of proper conduct, she relented, and he proceeded to hold her body aloft, balanced on the palm of his hand. Her abdomen rippled pleasantly over his fingertips as she kicked.

"This is extremely awkward!" she complained.

He disagreed. Dragging his gaze over the curvature of Rosita's body, he said, "I am testing your strength and proving a point I once made to you."

"Oh? And what point is that, exactly?" She stopped kicking and floundered out of his grasp to tread the water.

"Your core and hips are in command, your arms are its subordinates, and your legs, your weapons.

Doubt creased her face. "Spenc said the opposite," she remarked. "He said the upper body is everything for the butterfly."

"It is an inefficient stroke," Thrawn agreed.

"So you agree, I need more upper body strength?"

"I believe in using the best of what you have, Cadet Turuy. Let us try again." He held his hand out beckoningly, a small smirk spreading his lips when she took position again.

...

Thrawn was about to go when he felt Turuy's hand on his arm.

"Be careful out there tonight, Sir." Her eyes very clearly conveyed what could not be said. Thrawn bowed his head in acknowledgment, and instead of continuing on his way to the equipment storage room, he turned and headed straight for the change room; there was no reason to involve Vanto in this, he knew it was him they wanted. Once Thrawn was outside, he scanned the area and saw faint heat signatures emitting from a small group north of the parade grounds. He knew that if he moved quickly enough, he would reach the path on the other side, where it was brightly lit and where there might be witnesses who could put a stop to the attack. But to get exactly what he wanted, another approach would be needed.

A more personal touch.  Thrawn walked forward towards the dark, his ears picking up the sound of them moving quietly behind him, their movements careful enough to pass as stealthy, but with enough haste to quickly cut him off from safety. He stopped in his tracks, and the footsteps came to a halt a short distance behind him. He pivoted: right turn, then began making his way further into the parade ground, leading them towards the bleachers. It was especially dark over there; he would see them better…

There was no jeering or name-calling as they worked to surround him. Perhaps they worried he could identify them by the sound of their voices. All five of them were methodical in their execution, but they could not see him as he saw them, and so their shots went wide, and it was Thrawn who manipulated them. He danced around them, drew them this way and that, testing their defences.

They broke formation, dive-bombing him in a burst of attacks. He felt a sharp blow to his kidney, then doubled over as another hit caught his abdomen.

An error landed him on his back. Thrawn grabbed the boot of one of his attackers, holding it at bay, only to feel another land a solid blow to his rib cage that pulled the air from his lungs and sharpened his senses.

Over and over, they kicked him. Thrawn rolled onto his stomach and swiped for one of their legs, yanking the assailant off their feet and using their momentum to get back to his. He pivoted, narrowly avoiding a jab meant for his face.

They were a capable unit, but those who wore masks wore their weakness for all to see.

Thrawn went on the offensive; he only needed one of them. As he dodged another jab to the face, he latched onto the outstretched wrist, twisting the arm back and up while grappling with its owner until he pinned them in a successful headlock. He could barely feel the other blows pounding his body. Once he got hold of his prey's mask and pulled it off, it was all over.

"Cadet Gimm," Thrawn said, panting and holding him steady when he struggled. "You should not have followed me here."

Chapter Text

Spenc didn't like that Rosita was keeping her face buried in Kalin's pillow; it muffled her moans. He shifted his weight only to settle back down to lie over the backs of her thighs, prodding her asshole in little semi-circles with his finger. The poor thing really hadn't a clue what she was in for, not really. He sat up and settled himself between her legs. "And you're sure Kalin won't come back tonight?" he asked.

"Yes," Rosita said, lifting her face to groan deliciously when he slipped another lubed-up digit in her.

"You better be right about that. Kalin would go straight to Deenlark if she saw us using her bed this way. You know that, right?" Rosita grunted, whether in understanding or discomfort, it was hard to say at the moment. He pulled out his fingers and moved to press his cock down over her crack. It reached up to her lumbar region like a thick tail. "Just look at that," he said. "It's crazy, because you'd think it wouldn't fit, but you know it will." He rubbed his head against her back, smearing her with his precum.

When Spenc and Rosita conspired with his sister on how best to handle Thrawn, it was decided that using a lone attacker to deliver one punishing blow would look suspicious, what with the race only days away. Kyria, much to Spenc's delight, suggested they swarm him with numbers instead. Bouts of gang violence happened even on the high levels of Coruscant, she had remarked, it wouldn't look out of the ordinary. Because Thrawn was a near-human, Kyria was able to estimate where best to focus their efforts and where to avoid to reduce the risk of accidental death. Spenc squirmed in his seat as she listed out possible injuries. He would deliver them all if he could, and he said so, only Kyria and Rosita wouldn't hear it. They suggested—no, demanded he not partake.

"Thrawn would recognize you," Rosita had said.

"Dad won't bail you out this time," Kyria had reminded him.

On and on they went; he only relented when Rosita promised she would do him a favour in return. Anything he wanted, she said. An-y-thing. So, on the way back to campus, he made his demands known: The only way he was missing the fight was if Rosita let him in her ass until he was finished. And when he did finish, it would be on her harpy of a roommate's bed. Spenc was particularly adamant about that last part. He loathed Kalin about as much as she loathed him.

And so here they were, Rosita's fingers curled in Kalin's sheets, and the springs of her mattress giving way to his knees. "You know," he began conversationally, smacking himself against her bottom. "For this to work, you'll have to relax. Are you capable?" he leaned over and added in a low voice, "You don't want me slowing you down for the race as well." He grinned slyly when Rosita turned to glower at him over her shoulder. "Lie on your back," he added lightly, "I want to see your face when I do it." She was oddly complacent— considering her mood earlier, but he wasn't going to dwell on that now. He sat back and watched her turn around, first straightening out the towel below her back, then making a show of lubing himself up to help ease her mind. He had enough experience to know she required more preparation for someone his size, but the pain was half the fun, and he was so very tired of waiting.

"They say it helps to breathe deeply," he said, before beginning his descent.

How she whimpered. The sound was deep and guttural, and Spenc swore he could feel it in his dick. He held himself propped up on his elbow and focused on where they were connected; a thick black serpent was trying to disappear behind a smooth pink-and-white flower. She held the very, very tip of him in an unyielding grip, and he fought against that instinct which screamed, "MORE!" This required him to breathe deeply through his nostrils, clench the sheets, and focus on the feeling of his sweat beading on his forehead.

Crisis diverted. Spenc smothered her chest with his and stayed there, unmoving, allowing her the chance to slowly accept him.

Between her body's natural instinct to push objects out of her colon and her hands pushing against his thighs, he knew they were in for the long game. He rewarded himself for his patience by melding his tongue with hers and swallowing her moans. Kissing seemed to help the process, as he was able to very gradually inch his way deeper to cradle more of himself inside her.

"How's that?" he murmured throatily.

"No more."

"Not yet," he agreed, leaning down to kiss her again. He broke off to ask, "Does it hurt very much?" When Rosita buried her face in his neck and grunted an affirmative, he cooed sympathetically, but when he pulled away to look her in the face, he wore a smile that said he'd have it no other way. They made it all the way when she dug her nails into his thighs.

"Wait!" she cried, and her face was twisted most satisfyingly. Spenc pulled out a bit to get her used to the feeling, then pushed back in. It was the getting back in part that really made her squeal. He claimed her lips again and swallowed more of her moans.

"I said wait!" she hissed, pulling her mouth away.

'Alright!' he thought, eyes rolling back into his skull with pleasure.

And then—

—One of their commlinks buzzed angrily against the floor.

Rosita immediately tensed up.

"No, no, don't do that," he said, holding his position against her muscles as they tried to shut him out.

"Better get that," she replied, twisting herself free.

Cursing, Spenc reached for his pants and grabbed his comm from the pocket, then he looked down at the name of the wretch he was going to kill.

Cormac Piles.

He turned the volume down before answering. "Are you dim?"

"It's Gimm! Thrawn saw his face! He has him now!"

Thrawn saw his face? He has him now? Spenc pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm hanging up now," he said monotonously.

"I mean it," Piles snapped. "Thrawn got a hold of him and ripped it off!"

"Where are you?"

"In the speeder—we ran!"

"So, you're saying you left Gilroy there?"

"We had to!"

"Why didn't you take care of Thrawn first?"

"What do you mean? We were taking care of him, that's when he ripped Gimm's mask off!"

Piles was clearly beside himself with panic—this was no joke. Spenc stood up and spat into the device, "You should have bashed his head in and made him an unreliable witness!"

"Keep your voice down," Rosita hissed. He slapped her hand away when she attempted to snatch his comm from his hand.

"I swear," Piles griped. "It was like he knew we were coming. He knew! He led us where we couldn't see!"

Spenc filed that bit of information away for later. "Just stick to the plan," he growled. "Boervox and the Nateels need to get to the Simulation Room, tell them to play some games. Remember, it's just an ordinary night. Gilroy won't name any of us; he has his grandmother to get him out of this."

"And if he does?"

The very notion could not be conceived. Spenc told Piles to meet him in his room, then hung up.

"What happened?" Rosita asked, her hands moving up to her mouth.

…

Spenc made his way down to the physical training department only to see Thrawn and Vanto were already there, sitting on the low bench outside the doors leading to the offices. He leaned on the wall opposite them and waited, avoiding their gazes by scrolling through his datapad.

It had been a tumultuous and trying day, and he knew it was only about to get worse. Major Garber, the head of the physical training department, stuck his head out of the door and called not just for him but Thrawn and Vanto as well. Inside Garber's office were a desk and three chairs. Thrawn and Vanto took the two spares, leaving Spenc to stand by the door. He crossed his arms and tried to keep his expression neutral.

"Five students in your program are no longer with us," Garber began, "Two of whom were on your team for the upcoming relay, Orbar."

"Gimm and Piles," Spenc cocked his head, really trying to sell that confounded look. "Where are they?"

"That I don't know," he replied. "Fortunately for you, Lieutenant Thrawn and Cadet Vanto here have a team of two—you will be their third."

"With all due respect—" Spenc began, but Garber cut him off by raising his hand.

"Those are Commandant Deenlark's orders," he said as if that were all he needed to know. "Now, to ensure this goes smoothly, I'll mediate the assignment of your roles. Orbar, you first, what will it be? The dive, the butterfly or freestyle?"

"I'll do the dive," he said at once.

Vanto's head snapped in his direction. "I was doing the dive for our team," he whinged.

"That was when it was you and Thrawn," Spenc sneered. "Now I'm on your team."

"Cadet Gimm was your diver," Thrawn said mildly.

The sniffing cretin hadn't the nerve to turn and face him when he said it, but Spenc could picture that little smirk of his. If only he hadn't let his womenfolk talk him out of joining the fight, things would have ended differently. He noticed earlier that not one of them managed to cause any damage to Thrawn's face, and why? Because Thrawn had known what was coming. He had led them into the dark, where, because of those freakish eyes of his, he had an advantage.

"Yes, he was," Spenc replied. "But Gimm's not here, and I so wanted to be our team's diver at first."

"Very good," Garber said. "You should be prepared for any role thrown at you, so, Vanto, would you like to do the butterfly or freestyle portion?"

"Freestyle," Vanto replied in a dull, monotonous voice.

Spenc smirked— he would have some balm for his bruises.

"That leaves Lieutenant Thrawn for the butterfly," Garber said briskly. "Alright, you're dismissed. I'm sure you have much to discuss."

Spenc wrenched the door open and headed out of there as quickly as his feet would allow. He would find Rosita, and they would discuss the real reason she wanted to end the fight.

Chapter Text

"What are you doing with your leg?" Dibbs asked Rosita through a mouthful of food.

Rosita ground the heel of her boot into the floor to stop her leg from shaking and muttered a quick apology.

Dibbs had barely finished swallowing when she asked, "Can I have your tart? It's kind of just… sitting there."

"Go for it," she replied. "I'm not feeling very hungry."

"You didn't eat breakfast or lunch either," Kalin noted. "Sometimes I get like that before a competition. But I eat through it. Go on, eat." She leaned forward and tapped Rosita's tray with her fork and said, "Dibbs, put her tart down. You shouldn't be overeating this close to the swim."

"I'm eating the damn tart; carbs make me swim faster."

Rosita's eyes flicked towards the doors; she was in no mood for another fitness debate between her two friends. Still, no sign of Spenc, or any of the others. She was hit with another wave of nausea.

"I don't know why you're so worried," Dibbs said, nibbling away. "We've got this." Rosita was about to answer when Tagge appeared, very much hyped up and ready to spill something.

"You guys are not going to believe this!" she slid onto the bench beside Kalin with her datapad clasped between her palm and chest. "Guess who got discharged? Guess." Tagge worked in the administration department, so it was no surprise that she was up to speed on things, but for them to get discharged so quickly? Tagge had been wrong before. Her information might have been wrong now. Rosita certainly hoped it was.

"Who?" Pedra asked.

"Uhm, let me see," She held up her hand and started ticking off fingers. "Antony Boervox, Gilroy Gimm, both the Nateels, and Cormac Piles. Yeah! All discharged!" She threw her head back and giggled maniacally. "Can you believe it?"

"I mean, it's a bit overdue," Pedra remarked. "You didn't say Orbar, though."

"No, he wasn't, only those five."

"That's too bad," Kalin muttered. She shrugged, looking unapologetic when Rosita turned to stare imploringly at her.

"That's two teams down," Tagge said. "Sounds good to me. If my team wins, I'm donating my share of the prize to Higher Skies. They help those who are less fortunate on the lower levels."

"I really doubt your team's going to win," Rosita said, spearing a piece of fruit with her fork and sticking it between her teeth. "But what a noble dream." 

"Everyone of us has a chance to win," Pedra retorted. "If my team wins, we're donating all 15,000 to Furbies. They're a charity that helps orphaned Wookiees on Kashyyyk."

'Furbies?' Rosita thought with a snort. 'How clever. They must love that.'

"I think I'm donating my share to Higher Skies as well," Dibbs said. "It's getting pretty bad down there."

"Who are you donating to, Turuy?" Pedra asked.

"A pack of Muuns," Rosita drawled. "Have any of you seen Spenc?"

"I saw him on my way here, actually," Tagge said.

"Where?" Rosita slung one leg over the bench and dragged her tray forward.

"Leaving out the main atrium."

"Thanks." Rosita got up and made her way out. Spenc wouldn't answer any of her calls, but when he returned, he'd have to go through the main atrium to get to their dorm rooms, so she found herself a seat with a good view of the entrances and waited. As time crawled on, she wondered if he was coming back at all. He wasn't allowed to go off campus for the night, not without first getting a leave pass. Unless… he did get one… Without telling her. Rosita shoved her hand into her pocket and yanked out her comm. She was about to call him again when finally, he came through the front doors.

"Where'd you go?" she asked, marching up and stopping him in his tracks.

"For a walk," he said, his face and voice void of expression. "I knew I had to clear my head before I could see you."

"Okay…" she trailed off, dragging her bottom lip through her teeth. "So… Tagge told us at supper that—" she lowered her voice. "Were they really discharged?"

"I don't know. Possibly." He stared down past her at the ground. "I was ordered to be Thrawn and Vanto's third for the relay."

"No!"

He nodded and folded his hands up into his armpits.

"Will you do it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Can we go somewhere to talk?"

"Yes."

Rosita placed her hand on the small of his back and began steering him towards the barracks. "You were right," he said quietly. "We should've called it off. Had I known Gimm was a squealer, I would have listened to you."

"He might not be."

"How did they know who else to go for? Why didn't they have to interrogate us as well? Thrawn must've told them there were four others, and they made Gimm say who they were."

"You don't know that. They could have just put two and two together. Master Corporal Ludan would have vouched for us, so they must have assumed—"

"—People like us don't get expelled from places based on assumptions," Spenc shot across her. "Gilroy squealed." He wound his arm around her back and took over steering them in the right direction. "It's like I said, I should have listened to you."

When Spenc's room door slid shut after them, Rosita couldn't help but stare longingly at it, wishing she were on the other side.

"You know what," he continued from behind her. "I think I'm being hard on myself. I shouldn't have to shoulder all the blame." Rosita turned and stared at him, lifting her eyebrows in question. "It was your idea to go after Thrawn," Spenc went on, "so in a way, this is your fault." Rosita's mouth opened, but no words came out. Spenc chortled softly and rubbed his hands down her arms. "Just a joke."

"Right," Rosita said, unsurprised to hear her voice pitch unnaturally.

Spenc shrugged. "I should've gone to help them. I don't know why I let you make that promise to me."

"You should be grateful," she said, crossing her arms.  

His bout of laughter ended as suddenly as it began. "Maybe I am grateful," he said. "Do you remember what you said you'd do for me for having to miss the fight?"

"Stars…" she groaned with a roll of the eyes.

"I believe you said I could go until I finished."

Rosita backed up a step. "And you'll get to… one day."

"I want to now."

"We can't. I need to be in top shape for the race."

"After everything that's happened today, that's where your head is at? On the race?"

"It's still happening, isn't it? So, I have to think about it." He stared at her in silence, waiting for her to give him his way.  "Can't it wait, Spenc? It's not as easy as just asking for it," she said. "I'm unprepared."

"I don't mind."

Rosita frowned deeply and felt—not for the first time in her life—a bizarre mix of disgust and intrigue.

"Are you going to keep your word and finish this?" He placed a hand to rest heavily on her shoulder. "Or are you like Gilroy: a filthy, stinking womprat?"

"I want to finish it." Rosita said, but when he leaned down to kiss her, she dodged his mouth to say, "You said you'd be gentle." Spenc shrugged, his fingers moving to the buttons of her shirt. "I need this win, Spenc. I really need it."

"I'm diving for my team," Spenc said. "I'm going to make sure Thrawn and Vanto don't touch the water. The prize is yours if you manage to beat everyone else."

Rosita was bombarded with an influx of emotions: excitement, guilt, fear, but now, most of all, arousal. She was going to win! It was a shame about Gimm and the others, but what happened to them wasn't her fault. She tried to call off the fight. Even Spenc saw that and took responsibility. She slithered up against him and brushed his lips with hers, nipping at them until he pulled back.

"Until I finish, right?" he asked. "Like we agreed?"

"As long as you're careful—like we agreed."

His mouth found her neck, and she let him push her back towards the bed, relieving herself of her clothing along the way. She sat down and lifted her legs, spreading her knees and reaching down to stroke herself until her fingers were soaked.

"Our lube is in my room," she said, meeting his gaze and moving her hand so he could see her better.

"I'm sure Gilroy has some. A lot of his things are still here." Spenc disappeared behind the privacy wall that separated his side of the room from Gimm's. He returned with a little squeeze bottle pinched between two fingers. "Here," he said, tossing it at her. "Put some on."

"Okay…" She, like Spenc, held the sticky bottle with as little of her hands as possible. He was only too eager to help lubricate her the other night, but given everything that had transpired that day, it made sense that he wasn't completely up to his usual standard. She slathered herself with the lube before squirting more on her fingers and saying, "Now you."

"Now me," he agreed while unzipping his pants.

It was a definite surprise to see him soft, considering how she was on full display and totally game. But eventually she got him to stand at attention by using her lubed-up fingers, and she delighted at how he threw his head back with a heavy sigh.  "Leave it," he said when she went to undo his belt. "Get on your knees." When Rosita complied, Spenc grabbed her by the waist to draw her in close, trapping his cock between his stomach and her buttocks. "I wanted this so badly," he said, hooking his thumb in her asshole. "Remember all the times I've asked you for it?"

"Yes," she replied, groaning when he moved the digit around. The discomfort brought pleasure, as did the sound of his voice. She grasped for his pillow like it was jetsam and slid it under her chest as if she were thrown overboard.

"You always promised me we would one day." Spenc took his thumb out, and she immediately felt self-conscious about it, but he went on to press against her back entrance with the tip of his cock and stayed there without making any complaints, enticing her with his patience. Rosita reminded herself that she'd be 5000 credits richer tomorrow and relaxed enough to take a bit of him, all by herself.

"I always had hope, and all I wanted was you," he continued. "Why do you think that is?" he slid a hand over her back, up and down, but he didn't move his hips. Not one bit... Rosita turned to look over her shoulder and saw that he wasn't staring at her at all, instead looking straight ahead at the wall above his headboard. That's when she knew this was all wrong. Spenc didn't like to talk much during, and when he did, it was never to ask questions that required long-winded answers, so why now, when she was trying to swallow him whole from the one place she always denied him?

"Spenc?"

He looked down at her and asked, "Why did you really want to end the fight?"

It was instantaneous—her muscles strangled him in guilt, and she winced from the pain it caused.

"Tell me, Rosita, or I swear I'll make it so there isn't a doctor in this galaxy who can put you together again."

"Tell you what?"

Spenc's fingers tightened around her waist. "Why did you want to end the fight against Thrawn?"

"I already told you."

"Rosita, might I remind you what's at stake here? I can rip you apart, and I can get away with it, and if I don't get away with it, I'll take you down with me. I've kept a lot of your secrets over the years."

To remain calm was the only way she would get out of this. She opted to remain as still as possible, taking in a deep breath and willed herself to relax. "I had a bad feeling it would backfire, and it did," she said, trying to sound flippant.

"Hm. See, the thing is, Cormac told me Thrawn knew they were coming for him. How would Thrawn know that?"

"I don't know. Piles is smart, I guess. And how did he even know? Did Thrawn say something to him?"

"Rosita!" Spenc made her name sound like a curse, and all at once she knew that lying wasn't going to work this time.

"All I told him was to be careful. That's it."

"Who? Who did you tell to be careful?"

"Thrawn," she replied. "That's what I said. Be careful."

"Tell me exactly what you said."

"I said…" she trailed off and sighed.

Spenc pulled what little of him was inside of her asshole, only to shove more of himself back in, forcing a loud glottal moan past Rosita's lips.

"Isaidbecarefulouttheretonight!" Rosita said in a rush. "Okay? That's all!"

"And what did Thrawn say?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"No!"

It felt like Spenc cut her on the way out, then he released her so suddenly and with such force that she fell forward onto the mattress. Never before had she felt so empty—it was a relief that came with a terrible price.

"So, it's true," he began sneeringly, "You came on your knees with your mouth open, buttered me up with your little plan, then turned on me at the last second. Why?"

"I don't know," she muttered into the sheets.

 "You may not know this," Spenc began in a scoff, "but not all of my friends are well off. Cormac and his parents worked hard to save up to get him here. And despite appearances, this fucking dung hole means everything to Gilroy!"

"It was a mistake!" she cried. "Thrawn was being so helpful. It felt wrong to go through with it!"

"You could have told me that in the change room!" he growled. "If you had, I would have run out there and put a stop to it. But you didn't, and now they're all gone because of you, and I have to go embarrass myself out there tomorrow!"

"I couldn't tell you, you would've been furious! For all I knew, you would have gone out and done something stupid to get back at me!"

When he didn't budge, Rosita continued pleading her case. "And I couldn't believe what I did, I couldn't even say what I did. It was an honest mistake—it just happened. Things happen sometimes!"

"You're ruined now," Spenc said flatly.

'Ruined?' she thought, getting up on her knees and facing him. "Excuse me?"

"You let Thrawn in your head, and he ruined you," he returned coldly. "After everything these aliens have done to humans over the centuries, you decided to side with one over us? I can't choose you over us." His top lip curled up at one side, and he shook his head. "We're done."

Rosita scrambled off the mattress and stood up. "What do you want me to say?" she cried. "It happened. I tried to fix it, but you wouldn't listen! Why should I have to explain myself? Why couldn't you listen for once?"

"Get out." He thrust his head towards the door and tucked his dick back in his pants. It was his calm demeanour that undid her.

"Spenc, what-the-fuck?" she yelled. "You're dumping me now? The night before the race?"

In hindsight, she shouldn't have mentioned the race. Spenc snorted, looking completely disgusted, then turned and headed for the door himself.

…

Rosita understood her mother a bit better now. Here she was, on the day of the race, wrapped up in her blankets with no desire to move. As someone who had studied Imperial interrogation methods for the last 4 years, Rosita felt she had to give Spenc some serious credit for his ingenuity. Who needed a fully equipped interrogation droid when you slung a pole between your legs and your perp had the mind to offer their asshole on a platter?

"Tell me, Rosita, or I swear I'll make it so there isn't a doctor in this galaxy who can put you together again."

What other choice did she have but to confess what she had done? The last thing she needed was having to take a trip to the infirmary to have her rectum pumped with Romayde Numbing Bacta Serum. The buzz on her door's intercom went off. She buried herself deeper into her blankets.

"You in there?" Dibbs voice sounded through the speaker. Rosita rolled onto the floor into a tangled heap of broken woman and blanket. It took more than everything to get up and make her way to the door. It opened to reveal Dibbs's frowning face. "Why aren't you dressed?" she asked. "Did Kalin already head down?"

"Yeah."

"You look like you've been crying."

Rosita hated how red and swollen her eyes got whenever she cried, even just a little.

"Long story. Let me get my bag."

"Are your nerves acting up again?"

"No," she said briskly. "Spenc and I split up last night."

 "You've never cried about that before."

"This time it's different. This time it's for real."

"Really?"

Dibbs could be trusted. Rosita went on to explain everything that happened, save for a few details here and there.

"You arranged to have Thrawn attacked?"

"We only wanted to level the playing field a bit."

"So then why did you warn him first? Did you want Gimm and them out of the way too?"

"No!" Rosita spluttered. "I thought Thrawn would run for it, not lure them into a trap."

"Hm. I guess he really screwed you over then."

"Yes, he really did. Why I thought I could trust an alien is beyond me. One momentary lapse in judgment and now all this."

Dibbs crossed her arms with a chuckle. "A momentary lapse in judgment? You mean like when I put Irithroxylace in his and Vanto's drinks?"

"That was not the same."

"Maybe not, but you of all people should know how persuasive Spenc can be."

"I do. Anyways, you've already gotten away with that one. I, however, am kriffed."

"It doesn't matter," Dibbs said. "We'll talk about this after the race." She reached out, grabbed Rosita by the shoulders, put her face right up to hers, and said, "Let's go do this!"

Rosita rubbed a hand down her face and smoothed back her hair. "How do I look?"

"Like a fucking winner," Dibbs said with conviction.

…

The energy in the shower was positive. Shouts of, "Good luck," and "Aww, you too!" echoed off the walls.

"Where's Muanung?" Tagge called out through the steam.

"Oxygen chamber," Dibbs called back.

"You guys are lucky to have her."

"We know," Dibbs said.

They really were. It went exactly the way Rosita expected. Kalin was the first diver out, with all 15 medallions accounted for. Dibbs dove in and made it to the other side of the pool before Hatseen even touched the water.

Rosita leaned forward on the starter block and watched as she cut through the water, getting ever closer. She chanced a glance up at Kalin, who stood on the opposite end of their lane, holding her knees and screaming intensely.

Dibbs maintained her lead for all four laps, but Hatseen was getting too close for comfort.

"FASTER!" Rosita hollered, slapping her thighs. "COME ON!"

When Dibbs slapped the board, Rosita made the switch and drove herself through the water; the roar of the crowd sounded otherworldly on the other side, and the pain of her loss was just nonsense now.

Pull, up, breathe, down, pull, up, breathe, down, pull, up, breathe, down.

Her fingers touched the wall, and she twisted around and kicked off the side, putting it all back into her melodie kick. She flicked her legs like a whip again and again and again and chopped the water with her arms.

Pull, up, breathe, down, pull, up, breathe, down, FASTER! FASTER! FASTER! WIN! WIN! WIN!

Rosita finished, her hand slapped the board, and she could finally feel again. First, the pain in her palm, then the searing one in her mind. She turned her head and saw Lighton, Lebsius, and Baseline were also at the wall. Had she made it there first?

When Dibbs helped pull her out, she stood panting heavily on shaking legs. One of the first-year volunteers held out a towel. She snatched it from his hand and wrapped it around her shoulders before turning to the scoreboard.

 "We're nine seconds in the lead," Kalin said.

"Good," Rosita replied.

"It sucks to be in round two," Dibbs said. "We'll have to sit through seven more and watch them all claw at our bar."

"Let them try," Rosita looked up into the stands and found Spenc glowering to himself between Thrawn and Vanto.

Did he really think she was going to let him spoil this for her?

Chapter Text

Thrawn closed his eyes and allowed the cold water from the showerhead to warm him. It felt like home. He swirled liquid soap under his arms, the suds enlacing his fingers in white froth. It invoked vivid images in his mind's eye. He saw a red dwarf star, faint and everlasting. Orbiting it was a single planet. A white jewel. His Csilla, with its steaming furnaces, which warmed towering caves with heat directly from the planet's mantle. He saw stone walls that glittered with minerals and Chiss technology, and Chiss faces amongst it all.

What he wouldn't give to be under there—what he wouldn't do to protect it all.

"Hurry up."

The order cut through pleasant memories. Thrawn's hand paused on his abdomen, and his eyes darted to the side to regard Orbar's impatient figure. "Eager for victory?" Thrawn asked, rinsing soap from his armpit.

Orbar wore a scowl to match the arms held tight at his sides. He jerked his head down to ask, "What was that?" Thrawn reached forward and turned his water off, then plucked his small white towel from a hook and draped it around his neck. Orbar rewarded Thrawn’s silence by turning and making his way out to the line. Thrawn watched his progress through hooded eyes and worked his swim cap over his wet hair.  

The pool room was hot and cloyingly humid, but Thrawn didn't mind. He liked the scent of the water's cleaning chemicals. What he could do without, however, was the roar of the crowd. He retreated into his mind and drowned out the sound as they made their way to the section reserved for them, the competitors. On each row of benches, placed evenly apart, sat little holobits with their names floating in glowing green letters. He passed Turuy's name in the fourth row and followed Orbar up to the stairs behind the line of triads who had not yet found their seats. Thrawn saw his name glowing in the eighth row, with Orbar between him and Vanto. When they sat, Orbar bunched his towel into a ball and placed it between himself and Thrawn while keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

Around them, cadets searched the crowd for their families and well-wishers. Cadet Vanto was one of them, though he had confessed that none of his family would be able to make the journey to the Core to support him. Thrawn turned and scanned the mass between the ads, which glowed from holobits embedded in the railings.

"My parents are here," Vanto said in astonishment.

"So, they came," Thrawn replied.

"Yeah, it looks like," he said, lifting one of his hands to wave, before snapping back around, both torso and face stained red, and a small smile twitching on his lips. 

"I am eager to meet them," Thrawn said, as his lips also twitched into a smile.

"I'll introduce you, but..." Vanto fell silent and tugged on the edge of his swim cap. "I'm sure it will go alright."

There was no need to question Vanto's uncertainties about the matter; Thrawn had experience with humans from the far outskirts. He knew some of their tales and superstitions. He tore his gaze from the pool. Turuy's body was half-turned in her seat, her gaze pinned on Orbar, who looked determinedly ahead, ignoring her futile attempts to communicate with him. She must have felt Thrawn's eyes on her, for her head snapped his way, eyes narrowing in… accusation? Thrawn ran his thumb over the stitching of the Academy's emblem on his jammer shorts but held her gaze. It wasn't until the music faded out and the announcers began to speak that Turuy turned back around, freeing him of her continued scrutiny. Thrawn allowed his lips the freedom to quirk up at both sides. Commandant Deenlark made lofty introductions, and Major Garber made his expectations clear, then the first divers stepped up and got ready.

A sharp PEEP signalled the divers to be ready, and a second PEEP sent them into the water. The first round revealed no threats, with the best time clocking in at thirty-eight minutes and eight seconds. The scoreboard lit up with the names of the upcoming competitors and their lanes. Dibbs, Muanung and Turuy were to race in lane six.

"A stiff line-up," Orbar muttered, shifting in his seat. "Hatseen, Lebsius and Baseline. Let's see how you do now."

Peep! The divers readied themselves.

Peep! The divers propelled themselves off their starting positions and into the water.

Muanung had surfaced first at an impressive thirteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds. She placed all fifteen of her medallions in her lane's counter, pulled herself out of the water in one fluid movement, and her teammate Dibbs dove in. Dibbs's freestyle was more than satisfactory. She moved her bulk quite well through the water.

Next in was Hatseen. He was long-limbed and held a height advantage over Dibbs, and though he lacked her muscular definition, he cut through the water expertly and closed the distance between them for the final stretch. Dibbs must have held back, knowing she had a head start. She used that surplus of energy and was the first at the wall.

Turuy was in the moment when Dibbs's hand slapped the board. She launched herself through the water. Her form perfect. Thrawn spared a glance over at Orbar, who reached up to rake his fingers over his shoulder. His nails left angry red lines against his dark brown skin, before cooling to reveal pale white scratches. Scratch marks appeared white like that against Thrawn's skin as well.

When Thrawn returned his gaze to the race, Baseline had taken the lead. 

'Have you more to show, Turuy?' he wondered. 

She had. They were neck-and-neck now, both appearing to be swimming at their fastest. Then Baseline fell behind. The distance between Baseline and Turuy grew farther and farther before Lighton and Lebsius closed in on him. The lanes were full, and all appeared to be digging deep for the butterfly stroke. But Turuy left them all behind.

The cadets in the crowd were up in their seats, egging them on, screaming her name. Turuy slapped the board, her body arced out of the water as she took in a final breath. She had done it. Her team led the board at twenty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds, and they held their spot until the final round. Thrawn was relatively confident she would take the win, though he was not one to underestimate the unpredictability of a spurned lover. He considered Orbar's muscular back as they made their way down the stairs to the pool.

From what he had gathered from their shared classes, Orbar was not an utter fool. Turuy was visibly upset, and Orbar was ignoring her. It was safe to conclude that the tension between them had everything to do with their comrades' supposed disappearance. Had she confessed her part willingly? Would Orbar punish her further by helping him and Vanto take the win? Or had they come to an agreement, despite her betrayal?

So many questions. Thrawn would soon get the answers.

They gathered around the starter block of lane four while Orbar suited up in his rebreather harness and took his position. PEEP! He stooped low. PEEP! He rolled into the water. Thrawn was able to follow his progress through the pool. Spenc stopped in the middle, sprawling to an upright position so he could watch five other divers rush past him on their way to the bottom-most cave. Cave BX-379, a dark hole in the pool floor, was riddled with sharp and jagged obstacle walls. Pedra had told him and Vanto that only four divers should descend into it at once; any more would increase the risk of entangling their equipment with the obstacles, slowing everyone. Thrawn expected Orbar knew this, as he followed the other divers to the cave at a leisurely pace. Orbar could fix the race how he pleased—Thrawn had gotten what he wanted. His gaze found Turuy up in the stands. When Orbar surfaced, it was to the sound of jeers and boos. Thrawn scanned the crowd and saw it was coming from the other cadets. Vanto stood dry on the starter block, his eyes fixed on the water, his torso, neck, and ears blazing red.

The scoreboard lit up with the final score.

1 Dibbs Muanung Turuy 27:43

2 Baseline Hatseen Tagge 27:53

3 Barrgs Maverly Pedra 29:02

And down at the very bottom, in 96^th place, was: Thrawn Orbar Vanto. Commandant Deenlark stopped in front of their lane. His spotless white trainers stood in the pool of water that dripped from Orbar and his gear.  "How very like you," he began in a low timbre, "to ruin the day for everyone else."

Orbar's head tilted to the side so that his ear threatened to touch his shoulder. "What do you mean, Sir?"

Deenlark's nose wrinkled ever so slightly. "Yes, it's always a mask of confusion with you. Find your seats. Your families will be free to join you after the medal ceremony." He finished and nodded Thrawn's way as he passed. "Lieutenant."

The cadets sat in their seats, discussing the race in loud conversations that mingled with the crowd's cacophony, while preparations were underway on the deck. "Orbar, why did you dive when you're a much better swimmer?" Cadet Kravus asked.

"I wanted to," Orbar replied.

"Your team would have won had you not," Pedra said. "Are you that much of a bigot that you would sabotage yourself?" She rolled her eyes and looked directly at Thrawn with a look to say, " You and I understand, right?

Thrawn blinked languidly.

"Think what you want," Orbar said with a shrug. "Truth is, we'll never know."

Before the matter could be discussed further, Commandant Deenlark took his place at the podium, and the three teams that placed were called. Turuy pulsated with colour as she stepped up on the podium with her team, more vibrant red than the others. Thrawn frowned. The win meant more for her?

They all bent at the waist, one by one, so that Deenlark could slip their medals over their heads to rest against their chests.

He wondered at that—her pride in these circumstances. In a competition between athletes, no cheater could win—unless she was only after the credits, and not the glory. What was Turuy's financial situation? A majority of the students at the Royal Imperial Academy on Coruscant were wealthy and privileged. Still, Vanto said many students earned their seats through academic or physical prowess. Was she not one of these chosen few? 

…

After showering and dressing, the Cadets migrated to the parade grounds to find their families and enjoy refreshments.

"Look, here come my parents," Vanto said. His parents were short of stature and dressed more formally than the others. 'They aim to assimilate,' Thrawn thought, watching them cross the field. They were tentative in their steps, their strides halting so that they could regroup and offer encouragement into each other's ears.

"Mom! Dad!" Vanto exclaimed as soon as they came within earshot. "You made it."

They remained several steps away. The woman— Mrs. Vanto—played with a ring on her finger.

"We managed to find the time and wanted it to be a surprise," Mr. Vanto answered.

"Such a shame not to see you swim after coming all this way," his mother added.

"I was surprised you didn't dive. You're an excellent diver, and your teammate… he wasn't very good, was he?"

Mr. and Mrs. Vanto's body language revealed how aware they were of Thrawn's proximity. How anxious they were about it. They kept their arms folded tightly and kept their glances fleeting—he even detected the first traces of sweat on Mr. Vanto's upper lip. Vanto remedied the situation.  "This is Thrawn. Lieutenant Thrawn. My teammate."

"Yeah, and he—" Mrs. Vanto broke off, her eyes widening, as if not believing what it was that she saw. "You're a Chiss, like Eli said?"

"I am," Thrawn confirmed with a grave nod of the head. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"We've heard some things about… your kind—your people—the Chiss," Mr. Vanto took off his cap and clenched it in two tight fists. It was hard to discern whose face was reddest at the moment. Cadet Vanto, his mother, or his father.

"Flatteries," Thrawn said, feeling a genuine smile moving his cheek. "The stories we choose to tell reveal not only the characters of the plot, but the character of the storytellers as well. Your son proves himself to be rational."

"Ice demons!" Mr. Vanto blurted out suddenly.

"No," Thrawn began patiently, over the sound of Cadet Vanto's groan. "We are not spirits of ice possessing the bodies of  humans." He had smirked to himself when Vanto had told him this myth one night. "I promise you," he added reassuringly.

Mr. Vanto exhaled with relief. Thrawn closed his eyes and sniffed softly through his nostrils, bowing his head slightly in Mr. Vanto's direction.

"Is this your little team, Spenc?" A new voice came from behind them. Thrawn turned to see a woman standing close to Orbar. They shared similar features: both were dark-skinned with penetrating eyes and chiselled jawlines. His sister, perhaps? She grinned at him.

"You know that already," Orbar began in a bored tone. "Let's go, I'd like to speak with the Tagges."

"Oh, but you must introduce me first."

"No."

"You'll have to excuse, Spenc," the woman began. "He doesn't understand. The tensions between humans and aliens are but a small detail in an intricate plot to keep the poor and ignorant from sniffing at our fortunes." She held out a small hand to Thrawn. "I'm Kyria," she drawled, her grin shrinking to a pout.

"Disinformation, to divide and conquer," Thrawn said, taking it and kissing it.

She withdrew and tapped her nose. "Lieutenant Thrawn and Eli Vanto, is that right?"

"It is," Thrawn confirmed. "And you are Orbar's—" he paused consideringly, "Sister?"

"Yes." She turned to the Vantos, her pout curling up at the side in such a perfect replica of Orbar's own sneer that Thrawn wondered if it was hereditary.  "You're from Wild Space, then?" she asked.

Vanto nodded stiffly.

"I hear it's cold there."

"Where?" Vanto asked, frowning.

"Everywhere. Who cares? It's Wild Space." Kyria wrapped an arm around Orbar's shoulder and began pulling him away. "Come, let's go congratulate Rosita on her win." Orbar protested as she took him away.

"Where will you go once you've graduated, Lieutenant Thrawn?" Mrs. Vanto stopped playing with her ring, and though she spoke to him, her attention was firmly on the Orbars' retreating backs.

"Wherever the Empire needs me to go."

"That could be anywhere," she replied. "It's a good thing you have a position waiting for you near home, Eli. We'll be glad to have you back in our sector. Or close to it, at the very least."

"After a few years posted as a supply technician, why, I reckon you'll turn our company right around. Will you become a supply technician as well, Thrawn?"

"Lieutenant Thrawn." Mrs. Vanto corrected her husband with a tentative smile.

'Progress,' Thrawn began to think.

"Yes, yes." Mr. Vanto waved a hand, his eyes meeting Thrawn's for the first time. "You know, no one back home's going to believe that I met a real live Chiss. Can I… I mean, would you pose for a picture with Eli?"

'Is slow.' His thoughts concluded.

Chapter Text

Spenc wiped his eyes with his shirt's sleeve; the onions were making them water. He had never cut an onion before now, but he was well aware this was to be expected. Onions made you cry—the same way treacherous bitches did—with their lingering odour.

"Almost done?"

When Spenc arranged to meet with Moff Ghadi, he hadn't the faintest suspicion that they would be using their time together to cook. Still, here he was, at Ghadi's sizeable penthouse, playing prep cook. He grunted in the affirmative and continued to chop the onion carefully as Ghadi had shown him. Food tasted better when you cooked it with your own two hands, apparently.

"I love my sauce swimming with onions," Ghadi continued, picking up the ones Spenc had already diced and letting them fall through his fingertips to sprinkle back down on the wooden block. "I do say, you managed to get them quite even. If you don't manage to find a career in weapon engineering, perhaps becoming a chef will suit you."

"I don't plan on tinkering with explosives for a living." He turned around to lean against the counter. "Or sweating in a scullery."

"What are your plans?"

"My plans?" Spenc dragged his gaze from Ghadi's loafers up to his face. "I plan to make a difference, like you. I've read about your achievements, Your Greatness. I like the work you're doing. Bill HTC-41 was long overdue, and now you front the Human First Initiative." Ghadi scooped his glass of red wine from the counter and smiled. His teeth looked like they were bruised purple, from having drunk half the bottle to himself. "Is it really possible?" Spenc went on, "For us to rule the entire galaxy?"

"That would depend on you, young people." Ghadi stared searchingly at him. "You spoke of having a favour to ask. What is it?"

Where to start, he wondered. With Thrawn? Rosita? Or his mates who were fucked over by the two of them? "Four students were recently discharged from the Royal Imperial Academy. I can't seem to find out where they went, nor can I contact them. You're a powerful man. I want you to find them for me."

Ghadi moved back to the stove while he made his reply. "Bring me those onions. The oil should be warm by now." It wasn't often that Spenc rushed to do what he was told, that is, without his dick's involvement. He scraped the onions from the cutting board and into the pan using a knife and watched them sizzle until they were translucent.

"A good sauce takes time," Ghadi said sometime later. He lowered his face towards the pot and gave it a sniff.  "Fortunately, I stewed these Lycopene fruits yesterday. Come sit, and I'll serve you."

They sat down, and the Moff made good on his promise, serving them both a healthy portion of pasta and lycopene sauce. Spenc watched Ghadi slurp his noodles up, staining his lips with red grease. "The students I spoke of earlier, the cadets missing from the Academy, their names are—"

"I know their names," Ghadi said, putting a hand up in the air to stop him. "A Gimm and two Nateels don't just vanish from their birthright without people speculating. Fortunately for you, I am a powerful man, and I know exactly where they are." Spenc leaned forward, splaying both his hands on the table. "What I don't understand," Ghadi went on, "Is why? To be transferred to another Academy with less than a semester left before they were to graduate, well, it does make one wonder."

"They were transferred?"

Ghadi gave this little shake of his head, as if pleased with himself for holding such secrets, and said, "How about you assuage my curiosity first, and I will reward you with information on their whereabouts?"

"Alright then," Spenc said, taking a sip from his glass of wine. "There's this girl."

"Naturally." Ghadi snorted with laughter over a fork wrapped in pasta. "This girl, you wouldn't happen to mean your girlfriend, Rosita Turuy?"

Rosita. His sweet. "How do you know about her?"

"I make it my business to know these things. Rosita is another cadet in your term. How did you manage that one? Deenlark runs a tight ship, and he detests fraternization most of all."

"We managed."

 "Won't you eat, or do you plan to just sit there and act stern?"

Spenc allowed the muscles in his face to relax before twirling pasta around his fork and stuffing it into his mouth. 'Too many onions,' he gripped in thought.

"Good, now tell me, what does Rosita have to do with their transfer?"

"There's this alien at the Academy, another cadet who goes by Thrawn." He looked up and saw that all traces of amusement were gone from the Moff's face, and in their place, disdain. Spenc felt encouraged by this, and so he told him everything, sparing him no detail. 

Ghadi leaned back in his chair and listened quietly until the end. "It's good you came to me. These near-humans, their numbers grow in our ranks. Have you noticed?"

Spenc nodded sharply, then he all but sneered, "Thrawn was promoted to Lieutenant recently. And he'll be graduating from the RIA after attending for only one semester!"

"This alien must be of importance."

"He isn't important."

"He must be, to someone."

Spenc's frown deepened. "Yeah," he said quietly, raising his thumb to his mouth and tapping his thumbnail against his teeth. "Thrawn claims the Emperor enrolled him."

"Did he now? Very, very interesting."

"If it weren't for Thrawn, my friends would still be at the RIA. Whatever influence it took to get him in, I don't care for it. He doesn't belong."

It felt good to get that off his chest. It was all so problematic! For an Empire to encourage feelings of human superiority, only to punish those for having the courage to show their pride? And now, even Rosita had fallen for Thrawn. The model immigrant. The worst kind of alien, in Spenc's opinion.

"And this woman of yours, Rosi—"

"—is no woman of mine," Spenc ground out so forcefully, Moff Ghadi's glass of wine paused on its journey to his mouth.

Ghadi nodded slowly, hopefully in understanding. "Your friends were transferred to Skystrike Academy."

"Skystrike's for fighter pilots and elite combat trades," Spenc murmured.

"Indeed. And you can't contact them because—"

"They can't be contacted there."

"Does this offer you some relief?"

"A bit," Spenc said, his mouth twisting to the side. "Thank you, Your Greatness. "

"Please," Ghadi began with a wave of his hand, "that was hardly a favour. Is there anything else you wish to ask of me? A request worth returning?"

…

Spenc sat back and ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. The file had nothing—nothing of value to him. Who were these Chiss—to be so damn elusive? He pulled up files with data on Wild Space. They were close enough to the mysterious places outside of the Empire's bosom. Maybe they knew something about these creatures with blue skin, red eyes, and sticky, sticky fingers.

Eventually, his search brought him to Wild Space legends, and of sightings recorded as the ramblings of superstitious backwater dwellers. His eyes glazed over as he was forced to read tales of demonic possessions, which turned the skin blue and eyes red.

"Fucking yokels." Spenc scrolled through an article with a diary snippet from an early explorer named Mordechai Rigby.

I have been traversing these dark regions like the fools before me. We jump and record, then we jump some more, and if we're lucky, we don't find our ends in the fiery gases of a misplaced star. We miss our families.

There were lists of coordinates, Spenc skipped over those for now and continued reading another of Mordechai's entries.

Our ship is to be our tomb. My crew came upon a group of what appeared to be natives. Though, what manner of creature would evolve to have blue skin in a jungle? They stick out like roots in the sand. Proof of their potent venom, I think. Their red eyes see us even in the dark. Those of us who made it back to the ship are the unlucky ones. They have taken our thrusters, and now we're surrounded. I think they mean to torment us by making us wait for the inevitable. We should have never entered their territory—

"Hi, Spenc. Are you studying?"

Spenc looked up to see another cadet staring down at him. She was small and fidgeting but wore an expression of determination. "Trying to," he replied, letting his hands relax off the keyboard.

"Communications or weapon engineering?"

"Neither. Do you need anything?"

"I just wanted to say hi. Do you remember me from Stratum? I was with my friend, Leisha."

"Leisha?" he thought back. "Right. The talkative one."

She shrugged, a broad smile overtaking her reddened face. "I guess."

 "You're Tash, right? You're majoring in communications?"

"You remembered!" she pressed her lips together and wriggled on the spot, and Spenc felt himself loosen up a bit.

"I never forget a name or face."

Tash laughed the way girls did when trying too hard to flirt. A loud and short burst of noise. "If you're studying anything communications-related, I could help you."

'Not a very good listener, are you, Tash?' Spenc managed to suppress the direction of his thoughts by giving what he hoped appeared like a warm smile. "Sure, why not?" he said. "I could use a hand on my network mapping assignment." He pulled his bag from off the chair beside him and kicked it outwards so she could sit.

"I'm really good at networking." she glanced at the chair. "You want to study here?"

"Where else?"

"Gimm's gone, isn't he?"

Spenc went very still, except to nod his head slowly.

"You must have a desk in your room," she said.

"Of course," he said, feeling a little twitch below the belt.

"We can study in your room then."

There came a time in every young woman's life when she had to learn to not be so eager. He could be the one to teach her this. Spenc returned Tash's smile with bared teeth. He hoped she liked it up the ass. It would make things a lot easier for both of them if she did. If not? Well, it was like he repeated from time to time: The pain is half the fun. And they were a special kind of tight when they were reluctant.

Chapter Text

The race was over, and now classes resumed as normal. Rosita Kalin and Dibbs headed to the metallurgy lab after lunch. Of course, Spenc was nowhere to be found. He had skipped their other classes so far that day as well.

Fuck him then. Rosita tossed her head back and dropped her bag onto a workbench. If he were wise, he'd come to his senses and take her back. As for Thrawn, that slithering, scheming—she bit back a smile and pressed her knees together. 'What's your angle anyway?' she wondered, turning to find him leaning down and slipping his datapad out from his bag. She would have words with him, too.

"If you haven't finished your plating," Major Needa began, drawing their attention to the front of the classroom, "It's up to you to complete it on your own time. Come see me and arrange a timeslot to use the lab after hours."

The Ma'am moved across her desk and sat against the very corner of it. "For now, we'll begin another plastoid melt-and-pour sculpture. You'll have one week to design and create moulds for another prototype, only this time, you'll be turning your sculptures into fully functional weapons for your final assignment."

Rosita straightened up and looked around; her heart had jolted with excitement. She wasn't the only one fidgeting in her seat; they had all been anticipating this assignment since year one.

"Further instructions will be uploaded on the Data Vortex. See or message me for further inquiries. Now, begin sketching your designs. You have all the information you need, but this is a time for creativity. Innovation is the word, Cadets."

'Absolutely!' Rosita thought. She pulled out her datapad, an idea already taking form in her mind. It would be sleek and grey, thin but powerful, deceivingly basic in its design. Her own magic wand, like in the stories. She thought of Vanto, and those spud cannons they used in Wild Space—for fun, apparently.

To impress the instructors with a basic pipe structure, she would have to synthesize a superior propellant. One so powerful as to make the minimalism of her blaster's design seem whimsical, rather than primitive. She thought of the CS Tatent coils in her Blaster Rifle's components. Were they allowed to use existing ones to improve upon, or was she expected to design her own? She would have to log onto the Vortex to find out, but something told her to make her own. Grand Moff Tarkin only took the best into his initiative program, after all.

There was time to worry about the logistics later. For now, Rosita began to sketch her heart's desire until they were dismissed.

"We're heading to the DSH to continue our blueprints," Dibbs said, pointing between herself and Kalin. "Are you coming or going out?"

"I'm coming," Rosita replied promptly. Only a fool would waste a second of free time not working on this. She quickly gathered her belongings, slid them into her haversack, and the three of them headed straight for the Damask Study Hall. 

They found a table by the large windows and settled in. The fading sun warmed the back of Rosita's neck as she scrolled through many blaster schematics and component blueprints. They were all so sleek and beautiful. Speaking of beauty, her eyes flashed to Dibbs’s screen—something red and lacy had caught Rosita's eye. "That dress!" she gushed, eyeing it in hunger. "Is it yours? I've never seen you in something like that."

Dibbs chuckled. "Nope. It's not for me, Carly just sent the pic. She's wearing it to the Unity Gala."

Rosita groaned with appreciation, envy, and anticipation at the thought of seeing it in person. "She's going to stun us all."

"As always," Dibbs replied with a nod of the head. "She picked it during Galactic City Fashion Week. Got it straight off the runway, so it's one of a kind. I can't wait to see her in it."

They pursed their lips, their eyes glittering wetly in shared understanding. "So, Carly's your plus one?" Rosita asked.

"We're going together, but I don't know what we are."

"Still?"

"I know, women these days," Dibbs said lowly. "Speaking of which, are you still going to the Unity Gala, now that you and Spenc… you know…" She trailed off, looking awkward.

"Since you and Spenc What?" Kalin asked.

Dibbs caught Rosita's eye and shrugged, as if to say, 'you might as well tell her.'

"We broke up," Rosita said.

The smile on Kalin Muanung's face said it all. "Like, for good this time?" she asked.

"Stars, Kalin," Rosita groaned and ran a hand over her frustrated face. "This is why I didn't tell you."

"Please say it's for good this time," Kalin said, holding her hands up in a gesture of prayer. "Orbar is literally the worst human in the galaxy."

"No, he's not," said Rosita angrily.

Kalin waved her denial away. "Dibbs back me up on this one."

When Dibbs raised both hands and looked away in silence, Rosita swore quietly under her breath.

"I'm only saying you can do better," Kalin added, patting Rosita on the back.

"It's not my job to make you understand why I like Spenc. It's not your place to ask either. As for me, deserving better…" Rosita trailed off, her eyes had moved past Kalin to stare across the room. Thrawn had entered. And without his pet Vanto trotting along. A rare occurrence. How unfortunate for him. "I'll be right back," she said, standing up. Thrawn crossed the room to the towering shelves of datachips and disappeared between the many rows. She would follow him. He owed her an explanation.

It was apparent he knew she was standing right next to him. His posture was a little too stiff and alert, his wandering eyes and hands not truly focusing on the datachip cases he was so intent on searching. "Ever the strong and silent type, aren't you?" she mused. "You know, I can tell the difference between a person who's quiet because they're a coward or as dull as an old credit chip, and a person who's quiet because…" she trailed off.

Thrawn's hand hovered over a case that read: Weaponry: A Look Inside. "And a person who is quiet because...?"

"Because they've got it all figured out."

He smirked, then finally turned to face her. "Cadet Turuy, I do believe congratulations are in order."

She stared hard at him for a moment before thanking him. "I'm sure you've heard the many theories and vicious rumours floating around about the validity of my victory. I'm sure you have your questions as well," she added bitterly. His silence was answer enough. "Even if the teams were left as they were," she began hotly, "My team still would have won." Thrawn needed to know this. "I had a lot to prove," she went on, "and I had more to lose. I guess you can say I was in the zone. Now..." She trailed off and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Thrawn had already turned back to the shelves to continue his search.

"And now, you have come to grasp the price of gold." Thrawn sniffed slightly, his version of a laugh.

"The price of—" Rosita broke off with a scowl. Around them, other cadets milled about. She didn't want to be caught dead speaking with him, so she shouldered her way around him and muttered, "Follow me," from the corner of her mouth. He did. Rosita led him to the deserted annex she and Spenc used on occasion.

"Well?" she said, turning around to face him. "What happened the other night?"

"You will have to be more specific."

She crossed her arms tightly, as if she would ever say it. "I thought we came to an understanding."

"And what understanding would that be?"

Was he really going to play it this way? She opened her mouth, then closed it. Why did she ever think she could trust him? Her nipples prodded at her arms, the sensation a reminder of precisely what caused her moment of weakness. She looked down and hoped the poor lighting amongst the shelves was enough to hide the embarrassed flush of her cheeks, only to remember there was no hiding these things from Thrawn's red eyes. "You should have run," she muttered.

"I saw no reason to run," he replied.

"You knew how it would look, at least in the eyes of those who attacked you."

"I aimed to defend myself. Those who came for me seemed eager to have me. I gave them what they wanted, and, in doing so, I safeguarded myself from further harassment."

"You aimed to fuck me," she retorted, a bit more loudly than necessary.

Thrawn cocked an eyebrow. "Fuck," he began, head tilting and eyes boring into her own. "In what way do you mean this word? I know of both its meanings."

Rosita rubbed a hand down her face with a loud and tired sigh, but couldn't help the bout of laughter from slithering past her lips. She leaned back against the wall and tried hard to think of Spenc and that one last look of disgust he had given her when he dumped her.

"Are you here to work on your weapon design?" Thrawn managed to ask this before she had the chance to picture it accurately.

"Yes. And you?"

"Yes. I wish to learn more about the chemistry used for Imperial weaponry."

"Me too. I'm—" Rosita broke off. Again, she had to remind herself not to trust him.

"Would you like to see what I have sketched so far?"

"Really?" Rosita balked in surprise. Thrawn trusted her with his first drafts? He did, evidently. He took his datapad from his haversack, opened the necessary document, and then handed it to her.

"A pistol," she said. It didn't look very innovative in its design, but maybe, just like with hers, that was the point.

"Very nice," she admitted. "A good pistol has its uses. It's practical on a ship. The instructors will like that," she added. "For me, I've always wanted a rifle that can not only be used with one hand, but one designed for precisely that." She held her hands out and mimed shooting. Thrawn seemed to find this amusing; his usually blank façade broke with emotion—not a smirk, but a small smile that betrayed everything she needed to know about him.

"Interesting," he said. "Your challenge will be to fit all the necessary parts at a much lighter weight. To present a weapon that you could not use would be foolish."

"I know," she said, envisioning not one but two long, thin barrels, two hollow stocks made with a light alloy weaving, and, inside them, a smaller, optimized capacitor bank with her own synthesized coils that would withstand far higher temperatures than the CS Tatent. "I'm working on it."

"If you need a second pair of eyes, I would be pleased to help you."

"I know you would." She looked around their small space before pushing herself off the wall. "I'll see you around, Thrawn." Whatever fascination they had shared had come to its inevitable and necessary end.

Chapter Text

There had to be a word for what Spenc was feeling lately, whatever it was, he couldn't articulate it. All he knew was that whenever he felt this emptiness, it came with an intense hunger to fill the void. His best mates were gone, leaving him to sulk alone in his room completing assignments most nights, and his bed was cold because females only served to complicate his life. It was a good thing he had a sparring class that morning; he needed a way to feel in control again.

His grappling partner, Markon Fleek, was so sweaty that Spenc could barely keep him in place. This may have turned some people off, but for Spenc, the added layer of challenge amused him. It was the struggle he liked. He grit his teeth and used all his strength to keep Fleek pinned to the mat in an excellent Carrick Bend maneuver. He grunted his satisfaction, knowing that if Fleek did not tap out soon, the pressure would break his arm. "Give it up," Spenc urged him, feeling a deep sense of calm overtake him. "Or don't."

"Alright, alright." Fleek huffed and began tapping Spenc's forearm fervently. "Take it easy."

 "You know you love it." Spenc released him, and the two fully disentangled.

"Here." Fleek held out a towel. Spenc grabbed it, slung it over his neck and scanned the dojo, watching the other grapplers with a critical eye. It was like a sickness, how his gaze could not help but find and linger on Rosita. She was slick with sweat, very pink from exertion, and had her head thrown back as she drank deeply from her water bottle; a small dribble ran down her chin. Spenc watched its progress with rapt fascination. Unbeknownst to him, his tongue flicked out to wet his now dry lips. For the briefest moment, he had nearly forgotten his hatred.

"If you would only speak to Rosita, I'm sure you could work it out," Fleek said, coming to stand next to him.

"Oh yes, talking will solve everything." Spenc rolled his eyes. "You have no idea what she's done."

"Because you won't tell me what happened. Not with her or Gilroy, which, honestly, is pretty fucking annoying."

"I have told you," Spenc said in a low voice. "He's been transferred. There's nothing for you to worry about. I'm sure you'll hear from him again." Provided he doesn't get blown up first. Spenc added in thought. 

"Transferred where?" Fleek whinged. "I don't understand. Why was he transferred at all?"

"You don't have to understand it. It is what it is."

"Fine, whatever. You know, you've been more of a dick lately, which, believe me, is quite the feat. So, you say Gimm was transferred, but—

"—Keep your voice down," Spenc said, giving Fleek a hard nudge. A few rats turned their heads and sniffed inquisitively.

 "So Gilroy was transferred," Fleek repeated in a lower tone. "But you won't tell me why or where. Can you at least tell me if it has anything to do with why you and Rosita broke up?"

The sickness took him again, and he found Rosita's form once more. She was back on the mat with Muanung. Giving it her all. "It has everything to do with it."

"Come on, tell me."

"Later, alright." Spenc turned his back on Rosita and went to stand on the opposite side of the mat he and Fleek were sharing. "Again." He crouched down slightly at the knees and raised his hands.

"Later, as in?"

Spenc straightened back up, feeling foolish standing half-crouched with his hands up, while Fleek stood erect, staring down at him with his arms folded across his chest. "We end the day with Gallactal Relations, yes?"

Fleek nodded.

"After our lecture, we'll go somewhere to talk." Spenc got back into a fighting stance. "Now let's go," he said.

"Fiiiiiine." Fleek mirrored the movement, and the two men descended upon each other, each intent on subduing and dominating the other.

The rest of the day seemed to drag, but Galactic Relations was one of Spenc's favourite subjects. It was one of those classes where he could find a seat at the back and scroll absentmindedly through his datapad as their instructor prattled on about different treaties and policies. The coursework came naturally to him; Spenc was raised to understand complex galactic issues, especially those involving trade and negotiating terms, despite the law, which had yet to catch up with the times. He was expected to one day run a portion of the Orbar's galactic media conglomerate. After their lecture, their civilian instructor reminded them to complete their assignments on the Vortex and to log all questions in the inquiry portal.

"Where should we go now?" Fleek asked once their bags were packed. "We can go to the mess for dinner, or we can go somewhere they serve actual good food."

"I'm craving a cold cream," Spenc confessed. "We can go to Horstones."

"Aww, does heartbreak give you a sweet tooth?"

Spenc shrugged. "Something like that."

"Horstones has the best soft serve. I'm down."

As they walked, Fleek began laughing for seemingly no reason. "Spenc Orbar, I never took you for a cold cream and chill kind of guy."

"The things you don't know," Spenc said with a wry grin. "I like all things sweet, Fleek. Girls mostly."

"You must feel very lonely these days."

"Oh yes, my dicks been weeping these big fat tears." Spenc gestured to the general vicinity of his crotch. Fleek laughed yet again. Spenc liked how easy it was to make Fleek laugh. He was reminded of Gilroy and Azeus.

"You should probably get that checked," Fleek suggested.

"I should," Spenc agreed, deadpanned, and added, "What are you doing later tonight?" Fleek laughed yet again as they reached the doors leading to the main gate. Hortstone Creamery was just a little off campus, and it was a lovely evening. The stars were invisible as they always were on Coruscant, but the city's lights were all lit for the evening. Little groups of people strolled about the designer shops lining the streets, wearing smiles for the upcoming weekend. 

They arrived to join a sizable line, and by the time they placed their orders, Spenc's stomach was rumbling loudly enough to be heard over the shop's gentle music and the chatter of the other patrons.

"What's on your mind?" Fleek asked once they were seated with treats in hand.

"I don't know?" Spenc shook his head incredulously and looked down at his cold cream, fishing for something to say. "This tastes good. I always get granilla; it's Rosita's favourite flavour. She can never finish a whole serving to herself." The look Fleek gave him made Spenc's face feel hot. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Fleek said through a snigger. "Where is Rosita?"

"How should I know?"

"Why did you break up?"

Spenc paused, considering his next words. "She's insufficient."

"Insufficient? What a cold and dry way of putting it. It's no wonder you look miserable."

"I'm doing alright." Spenc flicked his tongue over a spoonful of cold cream, carefully avoiding eye contact with Fleek when doing so.

"Me too. I don't miss Gilroy at all." Fleek laughed and began poking at his choco-mint cold cream with his spoon. "Speaking of Gilroy, why was he transferred, and where to? Were the others transferred with him? Today, you said Rosita has something to do with it. How so? And why weren't you transferred? Gilroy rarely gets in trouble without your involvement."

"That's a lot of questions," Spenc said. "I'll answer two. They were all transferred to Skystrike."

"Skystrike Academy? On Montross?"

"No more questions."

Fleek glowered at him, then proceeded to take a huge scoop of his cold cream, put it all in his mouth, then grabbed his forehead and mouthed, 'Kriff.'

"Don't deep throat it," Spenc said with a snort. "The stars is wrong with you?"

"I know, I forgot that happens. I'm hungry, and this is so good."

"I must've gone too hard on you today. The lack of oxygen made you forget about brain freeze. I'll find a more suitable sparring partner next time."

"Thanks," Fleek said. "But I'm pretty sure I'm the only one left at the RIA who wants to spar with you." Fleek laughed at the look Spenc gave him until he sobered up enough to ask, "Are you going to the Unity Gala?"

"Of course."

"Without Rosita?" Fleek whistled. "I wonder who the Colonel will make you go with instead."

"Do you mean my mother?"

"She's a colonel, isn't she?"

"She's retired, and you know, I hadn't considered that." Spenc now envisioned his mother, fussing over him at one of her luncheons and showing him off to the ladies and their mothers. "It matters not, she won't have the opportunity to interfere in time for the gala, and I have no intention of boring her or my father with details of my current situation. Not until long after graduation."

"You say that, but if you show up to the Gala without Rosita, they'll have questions, will they not? And graduation is a couple of months away. That gives them ample time to make… arrangements."

A spoonful of cold cream paused on its way to Spenc's mouth. He slowly put it back down in the clear cup. His eyes darted down over the table, back and forth. "I should go," he said, slowly rising to his feet.

Fleek grinned and lifted his spoon in a mock salute. "See you, Spenc."

It wouldn't be the first time Spenc had acted in haste. He was so very angry, and Rosita was so far out of line that he had to banish her from his mind. He could never forgive her betrayal, which was made worse by the fact that it hurt more when one fucked oneself. Rosita was a part of him. They were the same—she was his feminine equivalent. He would not forgive her… still, he needed her around until he found a suitable replacement. This would take time, and being in a relationship was the most effective way to ward off his mother's meddling. His father was no better, mind you; he was just as determined to make a man out of him and see him married off; so much the better if she was a Meyerling or Barthew, heiresses to corporations that would merge well with theirs. Spenc reached the Port Side barracks before he pulled out his comm. Would Rosita come when called? He made his way across the common room to the stairs leading to his room, but froze as he drew close. Off to a cozy little corner sat Thrawn speaking with Rosita, who leaned against the chair opposite him. She wore a very pretty smile—his smile. Spenc turned on his heel, heading back the way he came. Whatever stuck-up priss his parents set him up with would be better than some alien sniffing slut.

Chapter Text

It was now apparent to Rosita that Thrawn was a gift; sent from the stars to the Core to help her succeed in her goals. An enormous smile split her face as she strode back to the common room from the lab, clutching her haversack to her chest. With Thrawn’s help, Rosita had not only completed her final blueprint but, that evening, he also aided her in melting and pouring the rifle's components. He was so knowledgeable, so capable, an alien still, but that couldn’t matter at a time like this, not when he was so helpful and dare she say…sweet. She sighed. Feeling sick.

How could she have been so wrong? After everything that transpired between them, he had still helped her, even before getting to his own design. Why would he do that? She wouldn’t, or was it, she couldn’t do that for him, or for anyone else. Rosita nearly reached the corridor of the stairwell that would take her to the Port Side barracks. She knew she was about to be delayed when she saw a girl walking towards her with purposeful steps and eye contact that said, ‘You’re the one I’m looking for.’

“Hi Rosita, can we talk for a moment?” It was Tash. What could she possibly want now? “Make it quick.” Rosita snapped, looking around Tash to her intended destination. The two girls walked off a ways to stand by some garbage droids. Rosita folded her arms and peered at the girl, waiting. Tash tucked some of her short, wavy hair behind her ear before speaking.

“It’s about Spenc.”

Of course it was. “What about him?” Rosita asked, checking her nails.

“He’s cheating on you.”

“Cheating?” Rosita cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

Tash had the good graces to look pathetic. She began fidgeting with the buttons on her tunic as she said, “Because it was with me.” When Rosita could only stare in silence, Tash continued. “He and I were together recently.”

“Congratulations, you look in one piece,” said Rosita blandly. “ I expect you’re here for your reward?” When Tash’s face crumpled with confusion, and her mouth gaped, like a drowning fish, Rosita added, “I mean, why else would you be telling me?”

“I thought you should know, woman to woman, the kind of man he is,” Tash said, her eyes were quickly becoming brighter and wet.

“All you told me was what kind of woman you are. I know all about Spenc.” Rosita stepped forward, matching Tash in height she let her eyes bore into hers. “Let me guess, he used and discarded you, and now you want revenge?” Rosita smirked when Tash failed to deny this. “Spenc and I are no longer together. He didn’t tell you this because he didn’t want you to think it could be serious between the two of you.”

Tash, whose eyes were now brimming with tears, shook her head furiously. “You don’t even know what he did!” She cried before shouldering her way around Rosita and disappearing down the hall at a run. Rosita watched Tash go, her eyes narrowing. She was going to kill Spenc.

The original plan was to return to her room, get out of her sweaty lab clothes and shower, then reward herself with an evening of pure relaxation, but now she had to find Spenc and find out exactly what was going on. First, she pressed her ear to his door. She didn’t want to interrupt him during, as that would only cause an unnecessary scene. When she heard silence and no moaning or grunting, she buzzed his door's comm.

“Yes?” came his voice.

“It’s me. We need to talk.”

A short pause, then, “Me who?”

Rosita growled under her breath. She would not dignify that with a response. Instead, she buzzed and buzzed and buzzed until he opened the door.

“Oh,” he said in greeting, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Rosita pushed past him and looked around. His room was empty, spotless, and it smelled of cleaning chemicals. She would’ve been proud on any other day, but not on this one.

“Come right in then,” he said sardonically.

“Shut up,” Rosita seethed quietly between her teeth, with her hands up and fingertips pressed together. “Just shut up and close the door.”

The expression on her face must have shown she meant business because Spenc did what she asked immediately.

“You’re sick, you know that, Spenc? How long has it been?”

“How long since what?” he folded his arms and leaned casually against the now closed door.

“Since you ended things with me.”

“Thirty-two days,” he answered promptly. “And you’re calling me gross? I saw you with Thrawn the other day. ”

“You saw me with Thrawn?”

“Yes, in the common room. Putting it all out there for him. Consorting. It's embarrassing. I feel embarrassed for you.”

“If you saw me in the common room with Thrawn, it was because I was asking him for help. You know, with my weapon design.”

“Exactly. It's like I said. I’m embarrassed for you.”

“Are you implying that my asking for help with an assignment is the same as defiling some innocent first year?”

Now Spenc looked confused instead of offended. He stepped towards her, his arms spreading at his sides. “Defiling who now?”

“That girl Tash just stopped me in the hallway and alluded to you—"

“—Trust me, Tash Soothslayer  is anything but innocent.”

“How many times did you fuck her, Spenc? She seemed pretty messed up from whatever you did.”

“Only once, actually.” Spenc shrugged. “She started to cry and said I made it hurt too much, so I grew bored and tossed her out. Then, a few days later, she came back and asked for another go. I said no. I didn’t want to waste my time. So she started messaging me. There are a lot of messages. I can show you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his comm. “See for yourself, she’s fucking crazy.”

“I don’t want to see the messages.” Rosita slapped his hand away. “You’re disgusting and a kriffing idiot. How could you compare me asking Thrawn for help with defiling the women on campus? How?”

“Defiling? You keep saying that word. Tash came onto me, not the other way around. And how is Thrawn supposed to help you with your weapon?”

“Has it ever occurred in that demented little brain of yours that maybe just maybe some aliens are intelligent? I mean, surely you know they’re not all obtuse.”

“Obviously,” Spenc said with a roll of his eyes. “I know there are aliens with high levels of cunning, and I know Thrawn is one of them. But you’re far more intelligent than he is.”

Rosita was able to contain the involuntary smile his words sought to elicit. If Spenc thought she was more intelligent than Thrawn, that was high praise indeed, because Thrawn was proving to be a genius. “He has some really good ideas.”

“So the cretin has ideas, that doesn’t mean you should lower yourself by using them.”

“I’d be a fool to refuse his help just because he’s an alien.”

“So you’ll let Thrawn help you in need, but when it comes to my help with your student debts, you’re too proud?”

“That’s different. Completely different.” Rosita’s arms tightened over her chest while Spenc snorted derisively.

“I'm not your father. I'm not a closeted ass digger, and if we married, I would never leave you. Ever. I’m an Orbar. Marriage is forever.”

“But you did leave me. And at a critical time. You knew I needed that money and that I wanted to win. You are everything like my father. A degenerate, and a liar, and you broke my heart.”

Spenc managed to sigh and growl at the same time. “We aren’t married yet, and I left you because you fucked over our mates.”

“Your mates, actually. You don’t care about Kalin, and I don’t care about your stupid boys. I’m not too proud to ask a fucking—” she paused, searching for the right word to describe Thrawn “—some fucking savant in all things combat and military intelligence. If I’m going to get into the Tarkin Initiative without having to suck my way through a bunch of wrinkly old dicks, I need to perform. I need perfection. Don’t you get it?”

“No, not really,” Spenc said in a condescending tone. “As my wife, you wouldn’t be sucking anyone's dick but mine. Your name alone would—"

“—Not in the Tarkin Initiative,” Rosita cut him off. “Director Krennic is psychotic. This is not politics. This is the arsenal.”

“If you believe politics is not one with the arms sector, you need help, and I might’ve overestimated your intelligence earlier.”

Spenc dared to insult her intelligence? “Tell your little playmates we aren’t together anymore.” Rosita snarled. “I don’t want them feeling bad for me when you fuck them.”

“I won’t do that again, Rosita.” Spenc ran a hand over his head, with what sounded like a tired sigh and had the nerve to ask, “Will you go with me to the Unity Gala? If you don’t, my parents will know we’re not together. I’ll be back on the breeding market. They’ll set me up with one of their pigs.”

“I hope your parents set you up with the ugliest, most inbred socialite in the Core,” said Rosita, her voice dripping with rhododendron nectar.

“And I hope Krennic cums in your eye,” Spenc retorted.

“So, it’s done then, forever,” Rosita said. She turned for the door, and the last thing she heard from Spenc before it shut was, “Don’t you ever come back,” Which was all well and good because she had no intention of doing so.

…

It was a week before the Unity Gala, and Rosita still didn’t have a dress. Fortunately, her latest loan payment came through, and it was sizable. She stepped out of the hover cab and stared up at the Embassy mall; its dark glass panels absorbed the sun’s light rather than reflected it, making it appear like the ocean at night. Her mother was already at the entrance, tapping her wrist‑com impatiently.

“You’re late,” her mother said, smoothing the sleeves of a black coat that Rosita had a feeling was new and purchased with her loan payment. Mother was horrid with money. “We don’t have much time before the Gala, and I would like to get something for myself as well.”

“You’re coming to the Gala?”

“I go every year for the races. Why would this one be any different? It’s the only time I get to see Spenc.  If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re embarrassed of me.”

How Rosita was going to tell her mother she and Spenc were completely through was still up in the air. “I’m not embarrassed by you, Mom. If I look half as good as you at your age, I’ll be lucky.”

“You’re not wrong,” her mother said, smoothing her dark hair back.

“The truth is, I didn’t want Spenc to know about our situation. That’s all.”

Her mother nodded. “Perhaps that’s the right thing to do. Your father left us looking like…”

“Let’s not talk about him.” Rosita rubbed her mom’s back. “You know all the good spots to shop, where should we find dresses?”

Her compliment worked wonders; her mother beamed at her. “I’ve done my research, the best dresses will be at Lavera this season. Come this way. It’s on the top floor.”

Inside Lavera, dresses floated on hoovering mannequins, rotating slowly in place. Rosita checked a price tag and did a double-take. She was about to say something when her mother seemed to guess the direction of her thoughts, because she gave a dismissive wave and said, “If you want that ring, you have to look the part. A man like Spenc Orbar will give you security and a future; what we pay now will be returned a thousandfold. Let’s inspire him and make sure you look your very best next week. ”

It was funny how mother truly thought she was at the RIA to secure a husband when, in fact, she was there to secure her future so she would not need one. There was no point in telling her mother this; it would only lead to an argument and questions Rosita was not yet ready to answer.

A stylist seemed to materialize from out of thin air, heavily perfumed, caked in gorgeous makeup, and smiling from ear to ear. “Welcome to Lavera. Can I help you find something?”

Before Rosita could answer, her mother stepped forward. “We need three outfits.” The stylist's smile grew. They definitely worked on commission here. “Two cocktail dresses for the day, one for my daughter and me, and an evening gown just for my daughter. For the gown, it needs to be something elegant but dramatic. Something that says she’s ready to settle down.”

Rosita rolled her eyes. “Actually, I need a gown that proves a man's an idiot, and I’m done.”

The stylist paused, her smile faltered, but only for a second. She was ever so professional. “I believe I can satisfy both requests.” Before her mother could ask what Rosita meant by her declaration, the stylist pressed a remote, and a mannequin glided towards them. The dress displayed looked like a cross between a hauberk and an evening gown.

“That’s not what I had in mind for you,” Her mother said. “You’re going to a gala, not a battle.”

“I love it,” Rosita said. “Let me try it on, Mom, you can pick out the cocktail dresses.”

The stylist helped her remove the dress from the mannequin, and she took it to the dressing rooms.

It was heavy, and Rosita ended up needing assistance with getting it on, but it was perfect. The dress clung to her like a second skin, every curve traced in a filigree of shimmering chain‑mail links that moved with the fluidity of fabric. Under the store lights, the tight-fitted armour dress caught and scattered every glint. It was elegant and dramatic, as mother requested, and unmistakably formidable, as Rosita felt. This dress would certainly do.

…

The corridor leading to the Metalurgy labs was thick with the scent of melted alloy. Despite the RIA’s state-of-the-art filtration system, there was a scent in the air that got right into the brain. One sniff was enough to warn you this couldn’t be good for your health, but Rosita couldn’t get enough of it. It fired neutrons in her brain, and reminded her that she was meant for this work. First, she signed out her weapon components from the artillery crib before entering Lab Four, where Thrawn and Vanto were waiting. Only to find it wasn’t just Thrawn and Vanto there. Suzena Pedra, Aurora Tagge, Mildrode Everlasting, and Haresha Gormtubler were all there to get help from Thrawn as well. That was pretty much all the women majoring in weapon engineering for her term, save for Muanung and Dibbs. Lovely. Thrawn was peering closely at the flash bomb Pedra had sworn would completely and permanently blind anyone not wearing a protective mask when it went off. How she would test this claim was a mystery. She could hear Thrawn asking her this very question himself.

“Cadet Turuy, you are here,” he said once noticing her. “Find a spot and get started.”

‘You’ll help anyone, won’t you?’ Rosita wanted to say, but refrained. She had no intention of stroking Thrawn’s ego by sounding like a jealous girlfriend. Instead, she took a spot at the table Mildrode Everlasting was using and began emptying her haversack, until, before her, lay all the components of the weapon she had slaved over the last few weeks.

“So that’s it, then. The pieces of your rifle?” Everlasting asked. “How interesting. Everything's so small and… it doesn’t look like it will become a rifle at all. Are you certain you’re finished?”

“I’m nearly there. All I need is to get the pieces together.” Rosita picked up and inspected each fragment. She hadn’t truly believed she could pull it off. Her one-armed rifle turned death wand. She snapped the chamber core into place. It hummed faintly. Next, she fitted the barrel onto the frame; the edges fused seamlessly. She put on her safety glasses and re-soldered here and there, before retrieving the final part: a grip made of memory steel that responded to her biometrics. The moment her fingers closed around it, the weapon powered up with a soft pulse of blue light.

“All that is left now is to test it out.” Rosita turned up at the deep voice. Thrawn was staring at her rifle.

“Yes, Major Needa scheduled us in the department's weapons testing range, but I think it's prudent to test this out before then.”

“Yes,” Thrawn agreed. “I intend—"

“—Lieutenant Thrawn, I was wondering,” Pedra had interrupted their conversation, only to pause when she saw Rosita’s rifle. “It’s done then?”

“It’s in one piece, but it's far from complete,” Rosita replied. “It needs to be tested and perfected.”

“I like it. It’s great for women’s purses for protection. Light and compact. It doesn’t look like it will cause too much damage, but it would definitely stop an attacker in his tracks.” Pedra spoke of her creation as if it were little more than a cattle prod. Rosita would shut her up soon enough. “As I was saying, Thrawn,” Pedra continued, “Will you be attending the Unity Gala? Most seniors here at the RIA are encouraged to go. It’s really quite an amazing event. It spans an entire day and night, which on Atrisia is 29 hours. I’ve heard the emperor will be in attendance this year and Druscillia Tarkin is performing in the ballet.”

“If cadets here are encouraged to go, I will be in attendance,” Thrawn said.

Intent on ignoring them, Rosita began polishing her barrel until her eyes found Thrawn’s gaze on her when he announced his plans. She narrowed her eyes at him. Deeply annoyed. “I’ll leave you two to talk about your outfits,” Rosita said. “I need to go book some time in the weapons testing range before next week.” She continued to avoid looking at either of them as she packed her things. Coming here this evening had been a total waste; she had wanted to pick Thrawn’s brain, get more suggestions on what more her weapon might have needed. He never told her their session was to be shared with an airhead like Pedra, who insisted on using her time there to flirt with him. Rosita would work on her rifle a bit more tomorrow during class and get the ma’am’s approval for pre-testing.

It couldn’t be helped. Rosita turned and glared pointedly at Thrawn before leaving. She wanted him to know that the next time, she expected a private audience with him...and maybe Vanto, who was great at cleaning up after them.

Chapter Text

Unity Gala

Gloriatum Maze

The grounds of the Royal Academy of Art

 Atrisia

Rosita’s mother had taken the news of Rosita’s split from Spenc about as well as Rosita had predicted she would.

The two women walked arm in arm amongst the tall hedges of the Gloriatum maze. The heels of the ridiculous shoes her mother picked out kept sinking into the grass, making it nearly impossible to walk. More awkward than the heels was Rosita's current situation. She couldn’t tell her mother about the worst aspects of her relationship with Spenc because they were utterly dark. Rosita would feel nothing but shame at having to explain why, despite the many negatives in her relationship with him, she had not only been compelled to stay but was also enticed to do so.

Together, Rosita and Spenc had inspired each other to indulge in a diverse catalogue of depravity. Yet, her mother believed Spenc was a perfect gentleman. Tall, dark, handsome, and exceptionally privileged with wealth and good standing. She was right about the latter, but Spenc was far from being a gentleman.

“Foolish girl!” Her mother grieved. “Is there no way to fix this?”

“Absolutely not. Spenc isn’t good for me,” Rosita said. And it was true, Spenc wasn’t good for anyone, it seemed.

“That’s preposterous. He is perfect for you. Whatever will you do now, Rosita? You’re about to graduate.”

“Exactly. I’ll be graduating. I’ll soon have an income from my designated field. I’ll be able to pay back my debts.”

“Did he cheat on you? Is that it? Because a man can be forgiven for these things. You know, they all eventually stray, and if Spenc still wants to be with you, why refuse him?”

Rosita rolled her eyes and scoffed loudly. Her mother was in serious need of a mental upgrade. Spenc had never cheated on her, as far as Rosita knew, and she would never tolerate it had it been confirmed for certain. Whenever they were on one of their breaks, she assumed he must’ve fooled around, but he was discreet, and these trysts had never been thrown in her face… that was, until Tash.

“You don’t even know what he did!” Tash had yelled. Rosita had an idea. A shiver made its way up her spine.

“What’s wrong?” Her mother asked. She must have felt Rosita shudder because she stopped walking.

“He hurt me, Mom,” Rosita said very seriously. “And I hurt him. I’m not sorry I did, and neither is he about hurting me.” Rosita took up her mother's arm again, and the two of them continued to totter awkwardly together in the grass. “Let’s just take these things off,” Rosita suggested hotly a few minutes later. “I’m sure we won’t be the only ones walking barefoot in here.”

“You’re right, let's go sit at that fountain.”

The two of them made for a fountain at the end of their path and sat on the stone lip.

“I’m sure you and Spenc need time, that’s all.”

“Maybe.” Rosita only said this to shut her mother up. She was never going back.

“The fountains here are different every year,” her mother mused, taking it in.

“The students make new ones each term.”

“Yes, that must be it,” her mother said, slipping off one of her shoes. “Is that your friend Kalin Mung?”

“It’s Muanung, not Mung,” Rosita answered, looking over her shoulder to where her mother gestured. Sure enough, dressed sensibly in her dress uniform and a sturdy pair of gleaming black boots, Kalin Muanung was strolling at a leisurely pace. And she wasn’t with her family, as she had claimed earlier when Rosita had sent her a message on her comm. “Wait here, Mom.” Rosita adjusted the mesh veil on her fascinator hat.

“I’d like to come say hello. Who is that alien she’s with? The company you keep these days. I’d never.”

“Wait here,” Rosita repeated, sharper this time. And with a sigh, her mother continued to sit on the fountain, letting Rosita go with her shoes in hand.

“What a lovely —” Rosita looked from Kalin to Thrawn and Vanto, then back to Kalin. “—surprise. I thought you were supposed to be with your family?” Rosita sounded every bit as accusatory as she felt.

“I was with them,” Kalin said, appearing to overcome her shock at Rosita’s sudden appearance.

 “Are you attending the Fall of Atele with them?”

 “Yes, of course. We had two extra tickets for the performance, so I invited Vanto and Thrawn.” Kalin tucked some of her long black hair behind her ear.

“So, I take it you’re not coming to the spa with Dibbs and me? Carly invited all three of us.”

“I can’t. I’m showing the maze to Vanto and Thrawn, then we’re going to the observatory and academy gallery before the performance.”

“How wonderful,” Rosita was able to make it sound like she really meant it; she even managed to resist rolling her eyes. “That’s a much better use of the day.” Her eyes fell on Vanto, and her nose wrinkled of its own volition; from the looks of it, Thrawn might’ve helped with his hair; it was parted and kept similar to his. Ignoring Thrawn completely, Rosita turned back to Kalin and said, “I’ll see you later this evening then.”  

Rosita returned to her mother with as much dignity as one could muster while walking barefoot in the grass, wearing a pastel-blue sundress with large yellow flowers. Her hands tightened over the thin straps of her shoes as she recalled when Kalin had said she found a date for the ball. Kalin refused to say who, but judging by the way she said "Vanto AND Thrawn," not "Thrawn AND Vanto," and judging by how she stood closer to Vanto than Thrawn, Rosita could only surmise that it was with Vanto she was going. This had better be the case. The idea of Kalin and Thrawn going to the ball together vexed Rosita beyond words.

So now, even Vanto had a date for the ball. As did everyone in her friend group, all except her.

…

Tucked cozily in a small town on Parmount Mountain was the spa, Feldonne. The large bay doors to the spa’s reception slid open, and the sound of soft music played from within. Rosita and Dibbs gave their names and identification cylinders to the attendant at the front desk, and they were assigned a pink spa droid with glowing blue eyes. The droid introduced itself as Beau 2 before whisking them through the waiting room and past a network of bright white rooms with glass doors. Inside these rooms were private pods, where clients floated in various coloured fluids.

They soon came upon a room with a lot of vegetation growing in holes in the marble floor and saw Carly was there, lounging cross-legged on a sofa with a green juice in hand.

“About time,” Carly said when they were brought to her. “How were the races?”

“Amazing,” Rosita replied. “They're really the best way to open the U G.” She took one of the seats beside Carly, while Dibbs took the other. Almost immediately, Beau 2 placed a tray on the table and set out plates of artfully arranged food. Tiny holobits floated above the plates, which read: hormonal optimization, dermal radiance and fertility enhancement.

Rosita frowned slightly. “Fertility enhancement? I'll pass.”

“Desirability is the first step toward equilibrium,” The spa droid said. “Please, taste. The meal will activate your consultation data for calibration.”

Rosita made peace with the fact that she would never be wealthy enough to afford food that calibrated to her “data”. She wasn’t entirely sure what that even meant, but she tried a bite. It tasted like normal food, albeit some of the best food she had ever tasted. “Carly, thank you so much for the invitation. This is almost too much.”

Carly waved her hand dismissively. “You two deserve some pampering. You’re about to graduate from the Royal Imperial Academy. I can’t even imagine what the last four years have been like.”

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” Dibbs said, picking up a morsel from the plate labelled “dermal radiance” and tossing it in her mouth. “Am I glowing now?” She asked with her mouth full. Carly assured her she was with a kiss.

Once they finished eating, a human attendant came with a datapad. He was tall, clear-skinned and had a pert demeanour. He wore the same linen suit Rosita had seen on the other guests, but his was as blue and pink as the spa droid's casing and eyes.

“Welcome, Carliel Bealsub, Payden Dibbs and Rosita Turuy, to Feldonne. We’ve selected our premier regenerative program for you. Beau 2 will take you to your private room. Change into your linens before your bacta treatment.”

After changing into their green and cream linens, they were brought to a room with a pool of bacta, which their droid, Beau 2, had said was lightly diluted with water from the natural springs beneath the spa. Rosita stripped down to nothing and dipped a toe in. It was somewhat slimy, warm and numbing. She knew that once she was fully submerged, any small abrasions or imperfections on her skin would be healed.

“A girl can certainly get used to this,” Dibbs said, rolling onto her back and floating.

“Why couldn’t Kalin make it?” Carly asked. “She would’ve loved this. She’s obsessed with self-care.”

Rosita smacked herself on the forehead. As if she had forgotten to say. “You’re not going to believe this, but Kalin has a date. She's with him now.”

Dibbs laughed at that. “Kalin has a date? With whom, her datapad?”

“Vanto,” Rosita said, her lips curling in displeasure.

Dibbs’s laugh went up a notch and echoed off the large tiled walls. “Like, Vanto Vanto? Wild Space Vanto?”

“Yes, Wild Space Vanto.”

“They must’ve bonded over diving,” Dibbs said with a shrug. “I’ve seen them speaking.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Rosita huffed. “I can’t imagine what she sees in him.”

“To be fair, she feels the same about you and Orbar. You two have very different tastes in men.”

“Spenc Orbar’s a menace,” Carly said while doing a slow, lazy breaststroke through the bacta water. “Truly.”

“Yes,” agreed Rosita. “But he was my menace.” She pouted exaggeratedly and made a heart with her fingers over her chest.

Dibbs returned the gesture with a snort of laughter.

“Will it be hard going to the ball without him this year?” Carly asked.

“Not at all,” Rosita replied, pursing her lips.

“What if he shows up with someone?” Carly pressed.

“Good for him.” Rosita wrung Bacta water from her hair. “He’ll be her problem now.”

Apparently, Carly wasn’t convinced because she said, “Here’s a story that might cheer you up. Remember how I went to prep school with him growing up?”

“Yes,” Rosita nodded.  

“Well, he was a gawky thing back then. He had all of his height but no girth, and we called him a fish stick for it.”

“And you’re only telling me this now?” Rosita said aghast. “I would’ve called him that every time he pissed me off had I known.”

Dibbs laughed and shook her head in disbelief.

“Wait for it, wait for it,” Carly said, raising a finger. “Anyway, one day, a friend of mine thought it would be funny to steal one of Spenc’s speeders. His favourite one, apparently, and crashed it into the river. And when I tell you Spenc was crying, I mean he was bawling his eyes out—furious Fish Stick, all burnt up!”

The three of them cackled like witches. “I would have given anything to see that,” Rosita said with a wide, wicked grin. “Spenc’s tears, that is.”

Once Beau 2 was satisfied that they were finished soaking, they were rinsed, massaged and spritzed until they glowed and smelled expensive. Now dressed in their loose-fitting linens, they were brought to a large veranda overlooking the mountain reflected in the lake. Beau 2 slid a translucent table between them. There were three glasses with a steaming blue drink that smelled of ozone and shiskaberry.

“This is to end your treatment,” Beau 2 said. “It will keep you hydrated for longer, so if you do plan to imbibe, the diuretics won’t dry out your skin.

“Thank you, Beau 2!” Carly said graciously. “Girls, we should start getting ready for the evening. We have the ballet and the ball to go to, and our dresses are in my hotel room.”

…

There really was nothing Thrawn couldn’t do. Rosita sat at one of the large round tables and watched the dancers on the floor. Thrawn led Pedra in a graceful waltz, box-stepping like he was born doing it, his blue hands against Pedra’s bare skin. Rosita sniffed disapprovingly.  She never did find out why he was even in the Core in the first place. Why would someone as smart as Thrawn leave his people to serve a human-dominant empire? Time at the academy was drawing to a close; she had to find out tonight.

“Vanto,” Rosita began. “Why is Thrawn here instead of with his people?”

Vanto looked away from Kalin, with whom he was deep in conversation. “What was that, Turuy?” he asked.

“Why did Thrawn leave the unknown regions?”

“He was exiled,” Vanto said.

“Exiled?” Rosita replied, then repeated it again and again quietly to herself. What would possess his hierarchy of command to allow a soldier of Thrawn’s aptitude the chance to defect? Why not execute him instead? Was he a leader of great importance?

“What was his crime?” Rosita asked.

“Rosita, do you mind? We’re trying to have a conversation,” Kalin said, not too kindly.

Five minutes with a pseudo boyfriend and Kalin was already proving to be one of those bitches who ghosted their friends for dick. “Why don’t you go dance then?” Rosita asked them, “Instead of just sitting here on your hands and ignoring me?”

“To be honest,” Vanto began with a sheepish grin. “I’m not that great at it.”

“Do they not teach supply techs at Myomar how to waltz?” Rosita asked.

“Believe it or not, they don’t,” Vanto said sarcastically.

It was so annoying, how damn sardonic he always was.

“I don’t like dancing either,” Kalin said, smiling at him. “Why aren’t you dancing, Rosita? Boxton seemed pretty upset by your rejection earlier.”

“Boxton's a fucking idiot, I’m not dancing with him.” Rosita sat back and crossed her arms. “Just answer this one question, Vanto, then I’ll leave you two alone. Why was Thrawn exiled?”

“Thrawn’s heading this way now,” Vanto said. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Rosita turned to see Thrawn heading their way. She looked past him and saw Pedra had gone to the bar, probably to get both her and Thrawn drinks. Rosita was able to maintain composure when Thrawn took a seat beside her, even though every other chair at their table (except the ones Kalin and Vanto occupied) was free.

“Is your plan to sit here for the night's entirety, Cadet Turuy?” he asked.

“Not for its entirety,” Rosita drawled, failing miserably to keep from smiling. “Is yours to dance with every single woman in the ballroom?”

 “This is a ball, Cadet Turuy, one dances at a ball. Will you not dance?”

“There’s no one here I wish to dance with.”

Thrawn smirked, unoffended. “I wonder if you would indulge me. I have a theory I would like to put to the test.”

“Oh? What’s your theory?”

There wasn’t a chance for him to say, Pedra had joined them with two glasses of white wine in hand. She handed one to Thrawn and put hers on the table before adjusting her gown’s skirt and sitting beside him. It was subtle, but the Chiss stiffened slightly. Rosita was certain of it.

“It’s warm, and dancing makes me thirsty,” Pedra said.

“I believe Thrawn’s too polite to tell you he’s had enough of your company, Pedra.”

“If you want a turn with him, you don’t have to get snarky about it,” Pedra suggested sweetly.

“You’re right,” Rosita retorted in an even sweeter voice. “May I have a moment alone with Thrawn? We’re in the middle of something.” Pedra picked up the skirt of her dress and stalked off back to her own table, where she belonged. “You were saying, Thrawn?” Rosita said, as she leaned over him and picked up the extra drink Pedra had left behind and sipped it. Pedra at least had good taste in wine.

“My theory,” he went on as if none of that had happened, “is that you are a very capable dancer, and that dress, though it looks restrictive, will not hinder you in the slightest.”

“I am a great dancer.”

“Cadet Orbar is not here,” Thrawn said this as casually as ever and Rosita’s mouth opened wide at his audacity.

“And I suppose that makes it safe for me to dance with you?” she asked. When Thrawn said nothing, only sipped at his drink, and waited. Rosita stood up and began walking towards the dance floor. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Thrawn had gotten up and was following her.

The chainmail dress was a bit cumbersome, but the high slit in the side made it less restrictive. They took up position as a new song began. Rosita noted the heat of his palms as he began to lead. She had enough skill to speak while they traversed the dancefloor. Around them, things and people became blurs of motion. “You’re very good at this. You’re very good at a lot of things, Thrawn.”

“As are you,” Thrawn noted. “My theory proves correct. You are an exceptional dancer.”

“I mean it,” she tipped her head back so he could see her narrow her eyes in suspicion at him.

“It is similar to a dance in my region of space, though it is usually the female who leads.” Thrawn continued to maneuver her around, his voice for her alone. “I believe you would like it.”

Rosita wasn’t going to be distracted by Thrawn’s flatteries or deductions, however correct they were, nor would she be sidetracked by the feeling of his hand on her waist. “Vanto said you were exiled. Is this true?”

Thrawn did not falter. “Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“Now is the time for our dance. There will be time for questions later.”

“The gardens are beautiful here on campus this time of year. After we tire of dancing, let’s go for a walk. I, too, have a theory I’d like to run by you.”

Now Thrawn did falter, but only for a step.

It was difficult to stop dancing once they started, at least for Rosita. They moved well together, she could admit, but eventually they broke apart, panting slightly and staring each other in the face, until Thrawn bowed over her hand, breaking the spell.

“Let’s go for our walk before someone steals you for another dance,” Rosita said.

Outside, Rosita found them a spot on one of the balconies overlooking the garden. She shivered. The night air was cool, blowing in from the north, and the light sheen of sweat from dancing, coupled with the metal fabric of her gown, helped her cool down faster. She did not expect Thrawn to offer his tunic—that would be most unseemly, and very out of character for him. What he did, however, was move closer to her, not going completely behind her, so his crotch meshed with her ass, but moving so his left arm's shoulder, and a bit of his chest covered the back of her right arm. He wasn’t a gentleman; he was a damn good fireteam partner. Rosita accepted his heat and shifted so more of him pressed against her.

“Do you miss your people?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Thrawn quietly.

His voice was deep, and his body was warm and hard. Rosita breathed in to steady herself. The thoughts she now had would emit energy that even humans could feel. Thrawn was no human. He had far superior senses, and it would only serve to feed his ego to discover just how far he had turned her.

Not only had he made her tolerate him, an alien, but she now desired him. She would never give him the victory of knowing this for certain. She would master her desire and turn it to something more useful: resentment. Resentment for the fact that he was superior at everything they were challenged with, and that, for him, she was little more than a form of amusement. He had admitted as much once. What was it he said?

“I find your hostility towards me amusing.’

Now look at her, panting from proximity, having nearly forgotten she was out there to interrogate him.

 “You still shiver,” he said, wrongly assuming it was from the cold. “We should walk. It will warm you.”

And so, they did. They found the stairs to the garden. The peat stone crunched beneath the soles of their footwear as they walked amongst the sweet-smelling flowers.

“Why were you exiled?”

Thrawn didn’t answer right away. He seemed keen to take in their surroundings, or perhaps to lead her farther from the balconies so they would not be overheard.

“There are powers in the regions you call unknown, powers that threaten the sovereignty of my people. I believe a pre-emptive strike to eliminate those who would destroy us is prudent. The laws of my people forbid it.”

“Is there only one collective that governs the Chiss?”

“The collective I served considered my strategy reckless; when I refused to change my stance, I was deemed a liability.”

“So, your people are pacifists, is that it?”

“The majority believes a strong defence is the best deterrent. The Forest is dark; they wish to remain unseen.”

“And you escaped your fate?”

“Imperials found me on my planet of exile.”

“You are from the Unknown Regions. We do not venture out there. Why would your leaders not exile you on a planet close to your home?” Rosita did not wait for an answer. “It’s expensive to train a soldier. An elite one like you would require years of training and countless resources. Why leave you on the cusp of a well-inhabited empire, where you could be found and exploited?”

Thrawn stared at her. His head tilted in some form of reverence. It was as if he was seeing something in her for the first time.

 “So?” she pressed. “Which is it? Are your leaders reckless hypocrites or defensive fools?”

“These are questions better suited for my superiors. I accepted my fate with dignity and did not question it.”

“No, you’re not one to question orders, are you? It makes one wonder why they bothered to exile you.” Rosita stopped walking and looked him up and down. “An elite soldier from an empire far away, exiled, captured and brought here to the Core, only to be tormented by a group of cadets. How tragic for you.”

“I have enjoyed my time at the academy,” Thrawn said. “I look forward to a new chapter moving forward.”

“Do you think we will ever cross paths again, after we graduate?” She cleared her throat. She was beginning to sound pathetic and wistful. “Do you mean to pursue a career in weapons engineering?”

“I will go where the empire needs me, but it is a career in the Navy that I am best suited for. My proficiency is in … deploying armadas.”

“Admiral Thrawn.” She frowned. He already felt so far away.

“Mitth’raw’nuroudo.”

“Is that your real name?”

He nodded.

After a brief pause in which Rosita found she couldn’t pronounce it as he did, she said, “I think I’ll just call you Thrawn.”

As usual, Thrawn hid his feelings behind a blank mask, but the signs of his disappointment were there. “Cheer up, Sir,” Rosita said. “I’ll practice how to say it tonight. Right before I go to sleep.” She grinned at him and left him standing in the middle of the path to work out the implications of what she had just said.

Chapter Text

It would be poor etiquette for Thrawn to remain with Vanto and Muanung for the entire afternoon. When they reached the Kirov Gallery at the Royal Academy of Art, Thrawn wandered off to appraise the exhibits by himself, leaving the two of them to their own devices. Thrawn moved with the same silent diligence he used for the war room, so much so that when he walked down a hall filled with the harsh lines and impressions of the abstract paintings fixed to the wall, he felt as if surrounded by battle schematics and memories of carnage. He soon came upon a chamber displaying a collection of Imperial propaganda in various art mediums. There were holos depicting Imperials in states of conquest, on and off the battlefield; statues, both living and hewn from stone, portraying important historical figures; and impressive art installations; some featured students reenacting small scenes central to the Imperial mindset, while others used Imperial weaponry and armour to create masterpieces of illusion. There was even a giant sculpture of a blaster rifle that projected an image of splattered cake on the wall. This particular work, the artist entitled “Let Them Eat Cake.”  Thrawn failed to find a piece that truly stuck him in place until he happened upon a simple print hidden amongst the grandeur of the larger pieces.

The print depicted a crude caricature of a Pua’an carrying a sack over his shoulder, his usual hairless cranium now overtly oversized in proportion to his other features, and his mouth gaped to show filthy, extra- long pointed teeth. Sprawled across the heading was the caption: They Take and Take and Take. Thrawn’s gaze traced the alien figure, his body merged with a storm cloud that raged over the images of human females and children. The humans in question were attractive and clean, whereas the alien was cloaked in grime. The humans held out their hands, as if pleading with the alien for aid he would never give. Upon further inspection, he noticed the women and children stood on a pile of corpses belonging to both aliens and humans of various kinds. Thrawn’s eyes returned to the alien, and he noted the sack slung over his back was frayed and empty. The women and children were not holding out their hands, pleading with the alien as Thrawn had originally thought; they were shrugging at him, their faces showing neither misery nor desperation but cold indifference.

Why would an exhibit celebrating Imperial propaganda hang a piece that was, in Thrawn’s opinion, clearly critical of one of its core values? The alien in the print wore a necklace with a pendant, the pendant was very small, and somewhat blurred. Thrawn had to step closer to the image and squint to see it. The pendant was of the hilt of a blade plunged into the Imperial cog. Thrawn stared at it for a long time, then considered the name of the artist. Michael Hugger.

Eventually, Vanto and Muanung found Thrawn enjoying a walk through the Observatory. Muanung wanted to return to her hotel, change into her gown for the rendition of the Fall of Atele and the ball. She gave instructions on where to meet her and her family at the Hego Opera House and asked them to call once they arrived. Vanto expressed his wish to eat, shower, and change into a fresh dress uniform. Thrawn shared the same desire. When Muanung left to complete her tasks, Thrawn and Vanto moved on to theirs. It wasn’t until the first signs of evening began to pull the sun toward the horizon that they headed to the theatre. Inside, Thrawn took his seat on a chair upholstered in deep green velvet. The Opera House smelled strongly of perfume, wine, and, oddly enough, lacquer. There was a final sense of anticipation until conversations hushed, and then darkness.

The Fall of Atele tells of a young man who sold his soul to a creature of evil for the power to make his unrequited love regard him with affection, and how it ruined everyone and everything around him, even causing her death. The orchestra began softly, with strings trembling.

Onstage, dancers emerged from the shadows, performing with weightless, precise movements, their muscles rendering the music into physics. Thrawn had researched the principal dancers, including Drusillia Tarkin, the prima ballerina. She was a vision to behold, tall and lean yet roped with strength from her fingers down to the very tip of her toes. Together, she and the dancers conveyed the plot without words; their bodies told him all. Thrawn was plucked. His head moved in harmony with the orchestra’s symphony, and he now knew definitively that love was a real, tangible thing. Not out of his grasp, far from it, it could be his. It should be his! He suddenly felt inspiration to create his own art, art with his body, art that would feel exactly like this music.

Clearly, ballet was a testament to the human spirit, will, and discipline. Categorical evidence of their worthiness to serve alongside the Chiss Ascendency. Together, they would both produce and conserve life, which the universe necessitated despite the chaos. 

When the performance ended, Thrawn stood and clapped rapturously, his eyes burning with tears. He did not care to see how many others were on their feet with him. His eyes were all for the dancers on stage.

“Lieutenant Thrawn,” Cadet Muanung’s mother, Lady Muanung, said once the lights undimmed, and the audience began making their way to the foyer. “To see you moved to tears by the performance puts a smile on my face. Was it not wonderful?”

“Beyond words,” Thrawn said, his conviction absolute.  

…

After briefly considering Cadet Turuys’s pledge, Thrawn chose to steal a few more moments of solitude in the garden. Cheunh was a difficult language to master. It was beneficial for her to practice whenever the opportunity arose, even if it was only his name at first. And all the better, to practice in the quiet of the night, when all she had for company was his tongue—apologies, his mother tongue. It mattered not that she would never become fluent in Cheunh; what mattered was her newfound desire to understand and assimilate. Thrawn had made significant progress with the once frustrating cadet, and he wondered how much further to go before it became a hindrance to his mission. 

Upon his return to the ballroom, Turuy was back in her seat, this time joined by Cadet Dibbs and her guest, Carleil Beasub. Thrawn observed as Cadet Kravis approached the table and exchanged words with Turuy before departing shortly thereafter. Cadet Dibbs and Carleil Beasub were clearly amused, while Turuy smirked smugly at them to celebrate her… dominance? Thrawn shook his head slightly to express his disappointment and moved towards them, only for his path to be blocked by Cadet Everlasting. Everlasting had yet to dance with him, and she indicated so now. Thrawn nodded and allowed her to lead him onto the dance floor. By the time he was released, free to continue on his chosen course, only Turuy, Vanto, and Muanung remained at the table.

“It takes a lot of courage to ask a female to dance,” Thrawn said, sitting down beside her. “Especially a woman such as yourself.”

“Are you advising me to say yes to every single person who asks me to dance?” Turuy rolled her eyes. “I’m not as charitable as you.”

“As I said earlier, we are at a ball and—.”

“—One dances at a ball,” Turuy cut him off loftily, as a way to mock him. “Thank you for the unsolicited advice, Thrawn. I’ll consider it moving forward.”

It was the look on Cadet Kravis’s face when Turuy had dismissed him that she ought to consider. “Why make enemies for so humble a task as dancing?” he asked.

“This may be one of your blind spots, Sir,” Rosita began, turning in her seat to square off with him, “but it doesn’t work out the same for women as it does for men to say yes all the time. A simple smile can give a man the wrong impression about your feelings. If my refusing a dance with Kravis makes me his enemy, I’m wise to avoid him.”

There was reason behind this. Thrawn could easily break Everlasting’s neck if needed. Between Kravis and Turuy, he was confident she could defeat him. Still, it would require significantly more effort for her to overpower him than it would for Thrawn to overpower Everlasting. Understanding this, he made no further arguments.

 “If you’re so determined to see my moves,” Turuy continued in a sing-song voice, “I work the pole most nights at the Super Nova. That’s down on the Zorek Strip, on level twelve hundred and three. I don’t make much, but it’s a living. Come show your support, okay?”

Turuy said all of this too quickly, which was unfortunate because Thrawn was caught on the word he knew defined the death of a star. He wondered what the end of a star's cycle could have to do with a pole for Turuy to work on. Since Vanto was busy with Muanung, Thrawn couldn't get clarification; nonetheless, he found himself muttering, “Very well.”

Apparently, this was an inappropriate response because Turuy laughed brazenly in his face and rolled her eyes. Thrawn had long lost count of the number of frowns to crease his face in Turuy’s company. He decided then he would say little more, if anything, on the subject of dancing for the rest of the night.

Thankfully, the music soon faded, and Imperials started filling the tables again for the closing speeches from their host, Lieutenant Colonel Alsabeth Baxter. They were instructed to clap for the band, the kitchen staff was brought out from the galley, and they accepted the applause for their efforts with expressions that said they’d rather not be out there mingling with the guests.

 “As per tradition, we end the night with a game,” Lieutenant Colonel Baxter said. “Last year’s trivia was a smashing success, but we do like to keep things fresh. For unity, we must embrace change, so at this Unity Gala Ball, we will play a game called "Night of 1000 Hares." Commandant Deenlark, will you do us the honour of explaining the rules?” Commandant Deenlark stepped up to the podium.

In short, it was a variation of capture the flag called flag tag. The females were to strap belts with tails around their waists, and the male who snatched the most tails would be declared the winner. Any females left with their tails at the end of the game when the gong sounded over the PA system would also be honoured as victors.

“Thank the stars I’m wearing my ballroom dance flats.” Turuy was saying to her companions. “I wasn’t wearing heels after the torment I endured earlier today. You’re all going down.”

“You sure you can run in that dress?” Dibbs said, her face creasing with doubt. “Good luck.”

“If I can dance in it, I can run in it,” Came Turuy’s retort.

Black Belts with bushy white tails were passed around the tables. And the female cadets stood and tied them around their waists. Turuy took hers and turned to Thrawn, staring up at his face with unwavering intensity. “There are a lot of hares here tonight. Hares from all over the Core for you to catch. Leave this one alone.”

 “Cadet Turuy, I would not dream of grabbing your tail,” Thrawn said, bowing his head.

She snorted her disbelief. “Like you would ever pass up the chance to win and look impressive.”

“Take comfort: I know from experience that not every battle won will grant ultimate victory.”

Colour began to bloom on Turuy’s face as she considered what ultimate victory entailed for him regarding her. By the time she had formed her own conclusion, there was little variation in colour on her face. Now was not the time to tell her that she was most beautiful when fully red this way.

Through the garden and across a field was the oppressively large hedge of the maze. They made their way out to the terrace below the balconies, and the females formed a long line at the edge where peatstone met grass.  As they waited for the gong to signal the commencement of the game, the males around him began to warm up their bodies and stretch their faces into grins.

Vanto, Harlemange, Kravis and Killfree were on team Native with Thrawn when they won the War Game on Chandrila; they stood beside him now. “I will get Turuy,” Thrawn told them.

“Like in the war game,” Harlemange said. “Easy work. Easy work.”

At first, when the sound of the gong rang out, chaos broke loose as a swarm of bodies rushed toward the garden. The men hooted and hollered while the women screamed in delight. Thrawn spotted Turuy amidst it all, her skirt jacked up in fists at the slit as she sprinted past the large flower pots to reach the safety of the maze. When Turuy realized he was chasing her, she screeched, “Are you serious right now? Get someone else!”

“If I chase you, no one else will!” Thrawn called out after her. “They believe me to be more skilled at capturing you than you are at retreating.” 

Rosita spluttered her offence at the notion, slowing down in the process.

“Do not prove them right, Cadet. Run!” To emphasize it wasn’t a joke, he darted forward with a burst of speed, swiping at her tail. She avoided him with a loud, angry shriek and sprinted around a bend in the hedge.

There were times he eased up on her, falling back for a few seconds as she made her way. It was only fair; he was much better dressed for the game than she was. That dress of hers did nothing for stealth. The way the rings clinked made it easy for him to pinpoint her position amid the other players' laughter and yells, but even without her distinctive gown, she wouldn’t slip away. She shone in his eyes, like a red beacon marking the prize.

“I’m warning you, Thrawn!” Turuy yelled over her shoulder. “Leave me alone, or I swear to the stars I will kill you!”

When her unabashed laughter betrayed her own threat, something stirred in him — something so primal and raw it nearly ripped a howl from his gut to send to the stars in submission to the feeling. He pushed Turuy deeper into the maze. He was faster than any other competitor that night. He would take her farther in than the others dared go, to where the lights barely reached.

“Your eyes are terrifying!” Rosita soon called out. “Do you know they glow in the dark?”

There was a statue at the far side of the dead-end, from which her voice came. She was pinned behind it. “Like nocturnal predators, we Chiss prefer to hunt in the dark,” Thrawn said with a smirk that only grew as he prowled closer, step by step, to the statue. He found the heat signature from her face staring around its base. “Stay there. Hide. You may win this yet.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“Just this once,” he said, backing away, maintaining eye contact in the gloom. “I must go. I can not return with no trophy, only to have you return with your tail.”

“You’re right. People will talk. Hurry, go get some!”

Thrawn flashed her one of his rare grins before dashing off into the night.

Chapter Text

When Markon Fleek took the time to record and create a holo of Rosita dancing at the Unity Gala Ball, Spenc found comfort in the plan he had made with Moff Ghadi at the Spartican Arena on Atrisia. Ghadi had invited Spenc to watch the races with him in the Council of Moffs’ private box, and the two of them conspired together like old friends.

Once returning to the RIA, he began gathering the items Rosita made a habit of leaving in his room and piled them on Gimm’s empty bed. The Sharkein bag, which he now carefully filled with her belongings, was originally intended as Rosita’s graduation gift.

 The Sharkein cost Spenc more than what she had paid for four years of tuition at the academy. As long as she kept it in near mint condition, she would be able to sell it on the used market and pay off a significant portion of her debt to the Muuns. He was about to put her black mask in with her things when he hesitated. Memories of late nights bashing in heads around Coruscant and fucking each other senseless in his speeder afterward gave him the worst case of mental whiplash he had ever experienced.

When Spenc called Rosita, she assured him she was alone in her room. He hung up the comm, quickly headed over there, and buzzed for entry. He held her new bag in one hand and the holobit in the other. Spenc planned to show her the recording; maybe when she saw how it looked, with filthy alien hands on her perfect little body, it would knock some sense into her, and things could go back to how they were.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that there wasn’t even a trace of the emotion he understood as remorse when Rosita watched the holo of her and Thrawn twirling on her desk. Even with the image being a bit grainy, you could see the tenderness with which they caressed. Spenc snatched the holobit back with a scowl and all but sneered, “You know, I should’ve packed you a pair of my dirty trunks. You could've gifted it to Thrawn; he clearly likes to sniff where my cock’s been.”

“Don’t be gross, Spenc. And nothing is going on between Thrawn and me.” Rosita moved toward her bed and placed the bag on top. “Thank you for bringing my things over. Let me unpack them so you can have your bag back.”

“Keep the bag. Consider it a farewell gift.”

“Thank you. It’s very beautiful.” She turned back around to face him and began chewing on her lower lip. “I still have to pack up your things. I’ve been busy, but I’ll get to it on the weekend. I promise.”

“See that you do,” Spenc said very seriously. He looked around her room; there were no signs of a woman having changed completely. Her room looked the same as ever, her bed as warm and welcoming as the first time she let him inside. “Are you ready for drill?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Are you?

“I’m always ready for it. You know how I like it.”

“Why didn’t I see you at any of the events at the Unity Gala? Did you even go?”

“I was there for the race to see Gimm and Boervox compete. I missed the ballet, but we met the dancers backstage after the performance. After that, we hit up some clubs.”

“I was proud of Boervox when he won the podrace and of Gimm for placing third. Clearly, Skystrike is where they should be.”

“Did you know it was Thrawn who suggested they get transferred there?”

Apparently, she did not because her mouth made an O of surprise. “At least Thrawn didn’t push to have them charged and thrown in military prison,” Rosita said, shrugging. “He could’ve insisted, but he didn't.”

Spenc snorted. She really couldn’t stop defending the cretin, could she? “Knowing Thrawn,” Spenc began angrily. “He is playing the long game. Are you not aware of the life expectancy of an active fighter pilot? It’s not great.”

“I’m sure, like you’re doing with Weapon engineering, they will only use their short time at Skystrike for their resumes.”

“Not Boervox, he will remain. He will begin from the very start next term.”

“Boervox has always really been into flying, hasn’t he?”

Spenc nodded his agreement. “He’s happy with the transfer.”

“Then be happy for him.” Rosita reached over and punched Spenc hard on the arm. It couldn’t be helped; he gave her a wry grin and rubbed where she struck.

“You’re right,” he began. “I can be happy for Boervox, but don’t ask me to celebrate you dancing with Thrawn.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you. All I ask is that you now accept that I can dance with whomever I please. We’re no longer together.”

“Certainly, but why does it have to be with Thrawn? Why not anyone else but that—" Spenc broke off with a scowl. “You know what. Never mind. Let’s not bicker anymore. Those days are done.”

Rosita sighed long and raggedly. “Yes, I suppose they are.” She looked as if she were thinking hard for something to say. “How's your weapon going? It's just that I haven’t seen you around much lately. How are you getting things done?”

“All I need is to pass this course, and I will pass it, with or without the final assignments. It’s like you said, I only need this to dress up my resume.”

This admission obviously irked her, but to hide the glare she clearly wanted to throw his way, she turned back to the bag on her bed and started rummaging through it. Eventually, she pulled out her mask and held it up gingerly with a frown. “I should burn this,” she muttered, mostly to herself, it seemed.

“It’s yours to do with what you please,” Spenc said, narrowing his eyes. "But never forget, you wore it, and you did what you did many times over. Burning it will change nothing.” He turned toward the door, leaving her to stand with her mask, conflicted by her own disgusting duality.

There wasn’t much time left before drill practice, and he had given his word to Moff Ghadi that he would be in contact with him that day. It was best to get that over with now; the man liked to drone on and on about himself, and Spenc needed the rest of the evening after drill to reflect on the irrevocability of what had now officially come to an end.

Rosita would never become the Weapon Engineer she aspired to be. It didn’t matter what happened to the rifle she was building and whether it was a triumph in innovation. Ghadi assured Spenc that he would pull the necessary strings. Rosita, who wanted nothing more than to leave Coruscant, would be sent to the worst of it. She would struggle in the slums with junkie scum for the rest of her miserable life. And all of this because she had developed a sick affection for some blue-skinned, red-eyed, sticky-fingered alien. She should have agreed to marry him when she had the chance. Now, instead, they would hate each other, and Spenc found this incredibly unfair.

All he ever did was desire her and hold her in the highest esteem, second only to himself, but in the end, she betrayed him. What other choice did he have but to retaliate? He couldn’t let her live out her life in peace.

No, that would be an injustice to his sensibilities.

Chapter Text

The stars could go fuck themselves.

“I’ve done everything right,” Rosita explained. “How could it melt like this?” she put down the now twisted and charred corpse of her death wand on the table in front of Thrawn. Maybe a bit harder than necessary.

“Have you?” Thrawn picked it up and turned it over in his hands. “Or have you not?”

Not, obviously. Rosita glowered at him and held out her hand for him to return her useless weapon. “You see here?” She angled the wand’s barrel towards him to show its singed innards. “This is where the overheating started, and it arced out here.” He considered it briefly before nodding in agreement.

“You will have to enlarge the weapon. It cannot contain its own output.”

“But it’s supposed to be a wand now,” Rosita said, growing increasingly irritated. “It has to be small and thin. I keep telling you, wands are small and thin!”

“It only needs to be a little bigger,” Thrawn assured her. “You can still have your wand.”

“Oh, great. I'll have to start all over… Again.”

“As I mentioned last time, not from the very start. You have your plans, you know what’s required, you possess the materials needed, and you have the skill to craft it. All you need to do is increase the size of your capacitors and the components around them. Trust me, Cadet, having a weapon that is too powerful is far from the worst problem when the solution is to increase the size. You say you reduced several target droids to pieces. We know the technology works. You have done well.”

A smile crept onto her face, and Rosita couldn’t help but clasp her hands in front of her and squirm with delight at the compliment. “Thank you, sir,” she said, meaning it. This was exactly why she had asked Thrawn to help her that evening. He always knew just what to say. 

“Shall we create another casting mould?” he gestured towards the other side of the room, where the sculpting materials were stored.

“This time, I’ll do it myself. You watch and make sure I don’t make any mistakes.”

And he watched her, with the same enthusiasm he seemed to bring to any task. His gaze followed her around the room as she gathered the necessary supplies. She nearly told him it was creepy how he stared at her, with an unnaturally focused gaze, as she stood across from him at the table, working. Only… she liked the attention.

“Turn on the replication modulator,” Rosita said. “It needs to warm up.”

“Your will, my hands,” Thrawn smirked, rose from his stool, and moved to the machine that would produce steel moulds from her plaster ones.

The way he pushed her buttons had to be deliberate; trying not to blush was futile. To have a male of his competence pledge to serve in such a manner? And with zero hesitation? The stars! “Your pistol,” Rosita began in a measured voice. One that kept her deluded thoughts secret and safe. “Have you completed it?”

“Yes.”

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised they expected you to create a weapon at all.”

“I have been instructed to write a dissertation on a weapon of my choice, detailing how a skilled engineer would craft it. I have done so, and I created a perfect replica of the DH-17 blaster pistol. I wished to demonstrate my ability to craft such a thing with the knowledge I currently possess.”

“I’d like to think I’d have done the same in your position,” Rosita said.

“You do?”

She nodded, taking a hammer and chisel to crack her mould open. She wrapped her entire upper body around the thing, trying to pry it open, but it was stuck. Of course, she didn’t have to ask. Thrawn got up and moved around to her side of the table.

“I can assist,” he said, waiting for her to give the word. When she nodded and stepped back, he leaned in to pull the casing close to himself and began to pry it open.

“Don’t crack it,” Rosita warned him.

“If I do, I will pay my debt and make you another.” It wasn’t long before Thrawn stepped back from the now open casing. “Perfectly intact. I am safe from your wrath.”

“For now,” she said with a wry smile. Thrawn nodded once, then returned to his seat on the other side of the table and awaited further instructions.

After placing her casting moulds in the dryer, all that was left to do was wait. The silence didn’t seem to bother Thrawn. He stared down at his lap, perhaps meditating.

“You say there are forces in the Unknown Regions that are a threat to your people,” Rosita said.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“You must feel guilty, then. A soldier in exile has, in a sense, abandoned his post. Let’s face it, for your Hierarchy of Command to go so far as to banish you, you must’ve been very vocal in your opposition to the majority rule.”

“I feel no regret,” he murmured in response.

“Maybe you should. For all you know, your people are being attacked right now. Had you kept your mouth shut, you could’ve been there, protecting them.”

“The Chiss are resilient. I am, as you say, a mere cog.”

“If you are but a cog in the machine that is the Chiss Empire, then I wonder what threat your people could be to us humans if they should so choose.”

“The Ascendency would not conduct an attack unprovoked. Hence the reason for my exile.”

“The Ascendency? Is that what your ruling body of government is called?”

He nodded.

“So, the Chiss Ascendency would never launch a preemptive strike against a potential enemy because they wish to remain in isolation… and yet, here you are.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “Promoted to your Aide.” Rosita laughed at that, a full, genuine laugh that came straight from her gut. “Where do you hope to be posted after graduating?” he asked once she straightened up.

 “Anywhere off Coruscant for now,” she replied. “I will eventually have to return here for further training once I complete my training package and am promoted. By then, I’ll be expected to design more advanced weaponry and take on additional secondary leadership roles. But I consider that a good thing. My mother will miss me once I’m gone, so it will be good to return home for a bit.”

“The woman sitting on the fountain.”

“Pardon me?”

“On Asteria, in the maze. Was that your mother with you?”

“Yes.”

“What is her name?”

“Venetia.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

“Um, thank you?” Rosita rubbed the back of her neck, unsure why a compliment about her mother’s beauty made her feel warm. Was it his indirect way of calling her beautiful? She looked very much like her mother.

“And your father?”

“Dead,” Rosita replied blandly.

“My… condolences.”

Rosita waved his sentiment away with a few casual flicks of her wrist. “What about your parents? What did they have to say about you being exiled?”

Thrawn waved her question away with a few casual flicks of his wrist, exactly as she had for his sympathies.

“Fine, be that way.” She rolled her eyes as he smirked.

“One day, I will explain my origins to you, but not today.”

“Spoken like someone with time. I doubt we will communicate after graduating in a few weeks, what with you joining the Navy and me having zero desire to contact you outside of here.”

This left him unmoved, as he said nothing.

“Come now, Thrawn. I want to know what made little you tick.” She tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully, trying to picture what he would have looked like as a child. “You clearly like being told what to do,” she began. “About as much as you like giving orders. You rush to help those around you, even those who aren’t quick to help you in return. You seek excellence—always. All of this hints at someone who has never received unconditional love.” She frowned as it clicked. “Your parents showed you love only when you were useful to them, and now being of use is all you know how to be.” She laughed gently; it couldn’t be helped. “That’s kind of sad.”

When Thrawn raised both eyebrows and tilted his head back slightly, Rosita folded her arms and nodded slowly. “So this is why you’re always winning. Failure has never been an option for you, not even as a child.”

“Failure is experience with necessary setbacks. It is inevitable. What was not tolerated in my upbringing was an abundance of leisure or idleness. It is my duty to surrender pleasure.” He stood. “I will check whether your moulds are dry.”

“Sit.”

He paused, carefully considering her order. “As you wish,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sat back down.

It was hard to say how much time had passed since giving Thrawn that order. Rosita wasn’t keeping track, but when she took her new metal moulds from the replication modulator, she remembered something urgent. Something both urgent and entirely irritating. “What time is it?” she asked, wiping her sweat with the back of her thick glove. When Thrawn answered, she cursed towards the ceiling. How could four hours have flown by like that?

“I’m supposed to meet Orbar at my room in like ten minutes,” she said. When Thrawn raised an eyebrow at her in response, she quickly added, “I’m returning his things. Now that we’ve parted ways and the term is coming to an end.”

“I see,” he said, sniffing slightly and drawing himself up even further in perfect posture. “Begin collecting your things. I will shut down the equipment and clean.”

“You know,” she began with a small smile. “You’re really starting not to disgust me these days.”

“The feeling is…” he pouted, apparently scanning the vast network of his Chiss brain for the right word.

“Mutual,” Rosita said with a laugh. “I believe you mean to say the feeling is mutual.” She gasped, as if it finally dawned on her that he was insulting her, pressed a hand to her chest in mock offence, then immediately regained her composure. "Don’t lie,” she derided him in a mocking simper. “I've never disgusted you. I did infuriate you; that much was obvious. You weren’t as good at hiding it as you'd like to think.”

“Perhaps not,” he murmured, then looked down at the hand he had spread flat on the table between them.

It didn’t register in Rosita’s mind that she was staring at him. Her eyes moved from his face along his throat and chest, then down his arm, ending on his hand, flat against the table. She noticed that his nails had a soft lavender hue. The urge to cover his hand with hers was overwhelming, and she found herself wondering if Thrawn had been breathtakingly beautiful all along. If not, then she was like one of the princesses in the stories she read as a girl, now under the spell of a horrid alien beast. One who would whisk her off to his lair and have his way with her.

Yet again, Rosita felt a bizarre mix of disgust and intrigue that had always landed her in trouble. She had always been fascinated by monsters, but Thrawn wasn't a monster. Or was he? Her gaze traced back up his arm, chest, and throat, only to find that his attention had, at some point during her inspection of him, shifted from his hand to her face. When they locked eyes, his head tilted slightly. She swallowed, feeling demure under the new heat of his scrutiny. Her nipples hardened, brushing dangerously against the fabric of her shirt, awakening urges that would have her betray humanity.

This was wrong! Whatever was brewing between them was all wrong! She quickly began packing her things.

Unfortunately, she had to pass him to get to the door. Not wanting to look weak or bothered, she nodded once in passing and muttered a quick, “Goodnight” from the side of her mouth.

“Indeed,” he replied.

Indeed, it was a good night?

…

Not long after returning to her room and dropping her haversack on her desk, she heard a loud buzz, signalling Spenc’s presence on the other side of the door. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled fully before pressing the button that slid the door open.

“You’ve brought reinforcements,” Rosita said flatly, in greeting. “Hello, Fleek,” she stepped aside so they could both enter hers and Kalin’s room. “I loved the holovid you made of me. Do you think I could get a copy?”

“Certainly,” Fleek said with a laugh. He looked entirely unapologetic.

“Where’s my shit?” Spenc asked curtly from between them.

“I haven’t packed it yet. I’ve literally been so busy.” Rosita folded her arms loosely over her chest with a lopsided smile.

“You don’t look busy now.”

Another hour in the lab would have been great, but she didn’t say so; instead, she walked past her display closet, the one used for inspections, and went to her personal closet, where she began rifling through the many articles of clothing that hung there.

“So, was I right?” Fleek asked behind her. “Was Thrawn the cause of your separation?”

“I didn’t know Thrawn was the reason,” Kalin called out from her side of the privacy wall.

A wave of resentment towards Fleek made Rosita’s hands pause in their task, and she scowled darkly. Kalin would become insufferable if she were made to believe Rosita had chosen Thrawn, an alien, over Spenc, her nemesis.

‘I’m still trying to figure out how it connects to Gilroy’s transfer,” Fleek went on. “Maybe you can help me out with that, Turuy. Orbar won't say.”

“Of course he won’t,” Rosita said, turning around and staring coldly at him. “You’re the type who makes tacky holovids of people to stir the pot. This is why you were never fully part of the group. You can’t keep your gaping mouth shut. Did you even mention to Spenc that Thrawn danced with practically every other woman at the ball?”

“I did,” Fleek said, brightly. “And I also mentioned how Thrawn danced with you the longest. Six consecutive songs, if I remember correctly. You two looked very sweet out there, on the dancefloor. Was that what you were talking about out on the terrace alone together? Dancing?”

It was frustrating how skilled Fleek was at the art of interrogation. He didn’t get angry or take anything she said personally. Instead, he spat straight facts. Plus, there was his wit. They shared classes for Interrogative Intelligence, and she came to appreciate his style. He was also on track to become a journalist. Go figure, the kriffing phony. Rosita avoided Spenc’s narrowed eyes by turning to Kalin.

“Thrawn isn’t the reason Spenc and I broke up. As I told you, we aren’t together because Spenc is too stubborn to reason with when his ego feels threatened. Isn’t that right, Spenc?”

“I tried to take you back,” he replied with his usual nonchalant shrug. “You basically told me to sniff myself.”

“You only tried to take me back because you’re afraid your parents are going to betroth you to a fat chick.”

“No, I'm scared she’ll be fat AND ugly,” Spenc clarified, as if that made it okay. “I can always make a fat woman lose weight.”

“Yeah, it's called stress, Orbar,” Kalin said, moving around the privacy wall to Rosita’s side of the room and standing shoulder to shoulder with her.

“Stress makes women fat. I would never stress out my fat wife.” Spenc told Kalin in a tone that implied she was slow for not knowing this. “My method would involve locking her in our bedroom and feeding her nothing but protein until she’s juuuuust right.” He held both hands apart and moved them closer together with a grin.

Fleek let out a loud burst of laughter. Rosita pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head in embarrassment, while Kalin gasped in horror and snarled, “You are disgusting, Orbar! Do you understand what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I’m fully aware,” he replied coolly. “No - fat - chicks.”

“The only person your parents need to set you up with is a therapist,” Kalin sneered.

“Why? Are therapists the best at sucking cock?”

Sensing a complete meltdown from Kalin's end, Rosita quickly intervened. “I'm sure whoever Spenc ends up with will be one lucky woman.” She began tartly. “I mean, who doesn’t want a tactless, crude, condescending, jealous—

The scoff Spenc let out was loud enough to cut her off. “When I drove Hoekstra back from the EDM festival last year, because she was having a bad trip off some pills, what did you do? I mean, if we’re really going to go down the road of judging people’s feelings of jealousy.”

Rosita snorted and hid a grin behind her hand. “I completely forgot about that.”

“You would,” he drawled. “You see, the issue at hand is that Rosita gets away with things simply because she’s a woman. She’s no innocent bystander, and she’s no nicer than I am. Yet people believe it’s her who needs saving from me?” Spenc spread his arms wide, apparently helpless before this absolute injustice.

“I don’t think anyone is naive enough to believe Rosita needs saving,” Fleek said. ‘And we’re all aware you two were tailor-made for each other.”

“No, they weren’t,” Kalin said with a scoff. “Orbar's disgusting.” She suddenly frowned, looking thoughtful. “Wasn’t Hoekstra transferred for having contraband?”

“Her parents pulled her out and had her sent to rehab.” Fleek corrected her.

“Hoekstra had an addiction and was out of control. I probably saved her life.” Rosita finished and ran her ponytail through her fist, carefully pulling loose hairs from the end.

The laugh Spenc let out was mirthless. “The way her mind can twist the facts so she’s always in the right is pathological. And I, for one, am sick of it. It's called taking accountability, Rosita, and it goes a long way.”

“Accountability?” Rosita tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “You are going to stand there and lecture me on accountability? You who wouldn’t know what accountability was if it got on its knees and sucked you off?”

“I have always accepted you for who you are,” Spenc said, towering over her and jabbing his index finger at her face. “Do you think that if Thrawn learned everything about you, he would do the same?” When Rosita said nothing, Spenc continued. “You didn’t think of that, did you? Of course not. You’re mental. That’s why.”

 “Must I keep repeating myself? Nothing is going on between Thrawn and me. Please stop bringing him up. It's literally making you look insane. Anyway, I thought we were done bickering. Didn’t you recently say that?”

“I did, and you promised to return my things on the weekend. That makes us both liars.”

“Fine. You’re right.” Rosita strode back to the closet, anger in every single step, and began to slide the hangers apart roughly. “Here,” she said, ripping one of his shirts down and throwing it at him. “Take it and go!”

“One measly shirt?” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Where are all the jumpers you’ve borrowed over the years and never returned?” Spenc crossed the room to her closet and began rifling through the clothing himself. “This is mine,” he said, slipping a red jumper off the hanger and slinging it over his shoulder. “As are these.” Spenc soon had several articles of clothing draped over his shoulder, but when he went to grab his cream cable-knit wool jumper by Lutman, Rosita cried out for him to stop.

“Please? Not that one. It’s so soft and cozy.”

“Of course it is,” Spenc said, his brow furrowing. “It’s made of Jaitan silk-goat fibre. Some of the best in the galaxy.” He studied her expression, and his softened ever so slightly. “Fine, you can keep that one. It looks good on you.” His expression immediately soured, as if the compliment left a bad taste in his mouth. “I want my Holostation and game chips. All of them, right now.”

“Good, I don’t care about your stupid gaming system. All it ever did was take up precious space.” Rosita found it and shoved it hard into his gut. Delighting at how he grunted when it made contact. “Now leave. I have work to do.”

“Is that it now?” Kalin said as the door slid shut behind Spenc and Fleek. “Will I ever have to suffer in Spenc Orbar’s presence again?”

“I don’t think so,” Rosita said, collapsing on her bed and sprawling out.

“Good. You were like two negatively charged particles that should’ve been repelled, but somehow collided, for four miserable years.”

“I don’t know,” Rosita muttered. “You implied that I’m not like Spenc, do you really mean it?” She rolled onto her side to better see if Kalin would speak the truth.

“We wouldn’t be friends if I thought you were anything like Orbar. I’m not blind. I saw how toxic you two were as a couple. He brought out a nastiness in you. All that anti-alien fanaticism was definitely overkill.” Kalin shook her head. “I almost lost faith that you would ever come around—the way you two always got back together, no matter what he did. But now I see Thrawn has coaxed you out of your dysfunction, which isn't all that surprising. He's hard not to like once you get to know him.”

Rosita sighed. Feeling unseen, which in turn made her feel… guilty? Afraid? Both equally.

“I can’t believe this is all coming to an end,” Kalin said with a loud yawn. “We will finally graduate.”

Rosita shrugged, turning again to sprawl on her back and stare at the ceiling. For her, it felt more like things were coming to a head than to an end, and she wondered whether she was prepared. One thing was certain. Spenc was right. If Thrawn really saw her, or at least knew what she had once gotten up to, it would likely disgust him, and she would be the one hated, not he.

That would not do. The stars could go fuck themselves. How did that saying go? A galaxy without aliens is better than being hated.

Chapter Text

At this point, Rosita couldn’t care less what the stars did. Every moment so far had led to this. Four long years of dedication that bordered on obsession. Countless hours spent studying and stressing. Now, the fruit of her labour clutched tightly in her right hand.

Up in the spectators’ gallery, Rosita saw Deenlark lift his datapad to cover his mouth and say something to the officer beside him, likely regaling her with the story of Rosita’s catastrophic failure on Chandrila. Deenlark could say what he wished. Rosita had designed an instrument of annihilation. If she wanted to, she could turn the death wand on him and blow his ass to smithereens. How many could say that?

The weapons engineers were given 30 minutes to set up for their demonstrations. Rosita had arranged a group of stationary targets and, for dramatic effect, placed picket signs bearing anti-Imperial slogans in the hands of several target droids. She donned full riot gear and bore a heavy plastoid shield like those used by ISB tactical units. The shield was extremely heavy and could withstand blaster bolts at 150 yards. All the wielder could do was lift it, march forward a few steps, then drop it as they slowly herded the advancing crowd back.

When Major Needa came through the doors with a crew of consultants there to help review the demonstration, Rosita inhaled deeply and exhaled fully. She would place no unnecessary pressure on herself this time.  

“Cadet Turuy,” Major Needa began, speaking from among the consultants, “it says here that you’ve designed this weapon specifically for riots and protests, and you’re calling it a riot rifle.”

Officially, it was a riot rifle, but to Rosita, it was her death wand. “Yes, Major,” she said. “What makes it truly unique is its ability to recognize its master. Each weapon will be calibrated to the biometrics of its intended wielder. That way, if it's dropped in battle, our enemy can't claim and use it against us.”

“Innovation was the word, and you answered. You may begin your demonstration once we are in the gallery.”

Once Major Needa and her team of consultants took their seats, the demonstration began. Droids came at her, holding picket signs. Rosita lifted her wand, stuck it around her shield, and started blasting droids and target dummies apart. The riot shield was exceptionally heavy. She lifted it, marched forward a few steps, then was forced to drop it before continuing to blow droids and target dummies apart with ease.

“As you can see,” Rosita said, after her demonstration ended, and she had shown them how to fire and make safe the weapon. “My riot rifle’s compact size not only makes it convenient for the agent wielding it, but also serves as a form of psychological warfare. Witnessing a small weapon deliver such a devastating payload would be very demoralizing to a crowd of unruly civilians.”

“I’m in agreement,” Major Needa said. “Well done, Cadet Turuy. I have a complete copy of your manuscript and sketches. You may go. Send in the next Cadet due for demonstration so they may set up. Stand by for your posting message in a week's time.”

It was over. When Rosita left the room, it was with the immense satisfaction of knowing she had done what she had set out to do: Succeed.

When she reached the common room, she did a quick scan, taking inventory of those loitering about. There was no sign of Spenc or his womp rat, Fleek. Rosita felt relief wash over her in a spectacular gale. In contrast, the feelings that stirred when she saw Thrawn and Vanto sitting together on a sofa, comparing notes on their datapads, were very different. She burned to cross the room and tell Thrawn the good news. But how would that look now, after ignoring him for the past few weeks? She reminded herself that Thrawn didn’t seem to notice or care that she had gone cold on him; he matched her distance with his own and continued as if they were, in fact, strangers. And they were.

 Anyway, all this hesitation was beneath her; she could tell Thrawn the news. It wouldn’t change the fact that he was an alien, and it was safer for her to hate him. He deserved to know the results after all the time he had spent guiding her. She could admit that. So, she smoothed her hair back and crossed the room.

“I just completed my weapon demonstration,” Rosita said, grabbing a seat on the sofa across from them. Vanto looked up from his datapad, only to roll his eyes at the sight of her before returning his attention to his screen. Thrawn did the opposite, putting his datapad down on the caf table between them, then staring expectantly at her to continue divulging her news.

“It went really well. Major Needa was really impressed.” She managed to keep her voice clipped and professional and contained her grin into a tight line.

“Congratulations,” Thrawn said, stretching out an arm over the back of the sofa and lifting one of his booted feet to rest against his knee. A small smirk tugged at his lips, and his eyes left her feeling devoured, as if the last few weeks of tension were now moot.

What came next was a bit of a surprise. Thrawn said something to Vanto in Sy Bisti, the language they sometimes used with each other, and then Vanto said, “Congratulations, Turuy,” in Basic with his usual Wild Space twang. Rosita actually found that when he congratulated her, his accent didn’t quite burrow into her ear canal as deeply.

“Thank you, Vanto,” Rosita said. They exchanged tight-lipped smiles that didn’t reach their eyes, then Vanto’s attention returned to his screen. For some reason, Thrawn nodded once in approval. Why he suddenly cared whether she and Vanto got along was a mystery she would ponder another day.

“Deenlark was there,” Rosita continued. “I was able to redeem myself in his eyes.” She didn’t know what madness seized her then, but she found herself leaning forward and saying, “I would like the opportunity to thank you, Thrawn. What can I do for you in return for your help along the way?” Rosita noticed Vanto looked up from his datapad again and gave that dumb look of surprise she was so not fond of.

“Refining one at your level is a gift in itself. Think nothing of it, Cadet. It was my pleasure to be of service.”

“If you say so.” Rosita felt heat spread throughout her body and face, then immediately looked around the room again for any sign of Spenc. When she turned back to Thrawn, the tilt of his head made her wonder if he knew exactly who she was looking for and what feelings inspired the sudden trepidation.

“Do you have any plans this evening?” Thrawn asked. “Plans to celebrate your latest triumph, perhaps?”

“I do. With Dibbs and Kalin. I’m about to go meet them in my room.” Rosita's eyes darted to Vanto when she mentioned Kalin's name, gauging his reaction. He didn’t disappoint. His ears went scarlet, and the colour spread from there. Rosita pursed her lips in disapproval. “I should get going.” She stood, tipped her head at them both, and headed for her friends, carrying joyous news.

Rosita heard Kalin and Dibbs laughing loudly on the other side of the door before it opened.

“Tell us everything,” Kalin demanded the moment Rosita walked into the room. And she did, sparing no detail. They both rushed her, messed her hair up good, and laughed.

“So, we’ve all done it then,” Dibbs said proudly. “We’ve all passed our final test. All that’s left now is to graduate and get the fuck out of here!”

“Are you scared for what comes next?” Kalin asked.

“Kriff no,” Rosita replied. “Any posting will be better than the RIA.”

“You don’t know that,” Kalin said, shaking her head.

“Enough doom and gloom,” Dibbs said jovially. “Let's get completely and categorically mashed up. Kalin, don’t you dare say no. This is one of our last nights together.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kalin replied. “In fact…” She trailed off, walked to her side of the room, and came back with a large bottle. “If I’m going to tie one on with you two and end up puking like I did the last time we got drunk, I’m puking up a 300-credit bottle of whisky.”  

She tossed the bottle to Rosita, who caught it with a whistle. The bottle itself was a work of art. “Well, I’ll be. Kalin knows how it's done.”

About ¼ of the way through the bottle, Kalin and Rosita began talking about boys, while Dibbs fist-pumped and shuffled in a march to the beat of the heavy techno music she had put on. Rosita hated being reminded of Spenc, who moved just like that to this kind of music. Her last day at the academy couldn’t come fast enough. She believed that once she was gone and on her chosen path, he would become a distant memory she could choose to engage with or not.

"You need to cut things off with Vanto, Kalin,” Rosita said in an attempt to make herself feel better. By focusing on Kalin’s problems, there was no need to ruminate on her own. “You know perfectly well you can’t be with someone of his status. What did your parents say about you taking him to the Unity Gala as a date?”

“They didn’t know he was my date. That’s why I invited Thrawn to come with us. Trust me, I know not to lead Vanto on. We’re both realistic about our situation, and we haven’t done anything… You know… to say we're anything more than friends. I really like talking to him. That’s all.”

“Why?” Rosita asked, feeling genuine confusion. “What could someone like you see in someone like Vanto?”

“He’s actually really smart and funny,” Kalin said with a shrug.

“Funny looking,” Rosita said.

“Better a funny-looking man than a complete jerk who brags about locking his future wife in a room, then starving and raping her.”

“He was only joking, Kalin, Stars! He likes to get a reaction out of you.”

“That wasn’t a joke. Wake up, Rosita.”

“I’d like to go a day without having to talk about Spenc. He and I are broken up, and yet I constantly have to think about him because people won't let our relationship go.” Rosita, who was sitting on her bed, got up and headed for the door.

“No way,” Dibbs said, barring Rosita’s way with two outstretched arms. “We are not fighting tonight. Ladies, we’re about to be separated in 2 weeks. We might never see each other again.”

“This is true,” Rosita admitted, albeit sullenly, while taking a seat on her bed again. “I suppose I’ll miss you both.”

“Here,” Dibbs said, pouring herself, Rosita and Kalin another shot. They toasted each other, downed the shot, and held their glasses out for another.

¾ of the way through the bottle, and they began feeling sentimental.

“Imagine if we all got posted together?” Kalin wondered in a drunken slur

“That would be amazing!” Rosita exclaimed. “The odds of that are shit though, so you better make an effort to keep in touch.”

“Of course, I will. I love you so much!” Kalin said. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she looked severely distraught. “Let's invite Thanto and Vrawn over!” She then struggled to pull her comm from her pocket.

“Do you mean Vanto and Thrawn?” Dibbs asked.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Kalin said dismissively.

“Thrawn won’t come to our room,” Rosita said with a shrug. “I’m unsure what his rank was when he fought for the Chiss, but it was high enough for him to know better than to go to the private quarters of drunk female cadets in the middle of the night.” Verbalizing this made Rosita shift in her seat. His discipline was so annoyingly tantalizing. “And I’m glad for that, because I don’t want to have to decontaminate our room in the morning.”

“What a front,” Dibbs said with a snort before sitting sloppily in Rosita’s chair by her desk. “I saw you two dancing at the Gala Ball, and I saw Thrawn chase you into the maze, only for you to come out with your tail as a winner. How was Thrawn unable to catch you? That’s suspich—suspicious!”

“No front here. I actually don’t want Thrawn or Vanto in my room.” Rosita scrunched her nose up to prove her point.

“I don’t believe you,” Dibbs sang. “You know what, Kalin, I support your brilliant idea. This may be your only chance to kiss a Commoner like Vanto. Let's invite them here.”

“I saw them in the common room on the way up,” Rosita said. “Let's go down and see them instead.” She was drunk, not stupid. It was one thing for Spenc to see the three of them speaking to Thrawn in the common room, and another for him to learn that Thrawn was in her room. She didn’t need the fallout for that at the moment when things were so great.

They downed the rest of the whisky and stumbled down the stairs, but only Thrawn was in the common room, sitting in an armchair, facing the nightscape through a viewport; Vanto was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Vanto?” Rosita asked loudly once they surrounded his chair.

If Thrawn found their sudden appearance or her question surprising, he managed to hide it; his expression remained as neutral as ever as he said, “Vanto has retired for the evening. Perhaps in the morning, when you are all clear-headed, you may consider whether it is best to reach out to him.”

“You can always go wake him yourself, Kalin,” Dibbs said with a roguish wink.

“I can’t do that,” Kalin replied incredulously.

“You’re right,” Rosita agreed. “That will make you look desperate. Get Thrawn to do it. Thrawn, aren’t you two roommates?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Go wake him,” Rosita said impatiently, “so Kalin can," and she leered at this part, bending forward at the hip, her eyes half closed, “bid him goodbye.” She lost control of her smile; it felt like it took up half her face at that moment, and she chortled stupidly.

“I think not,” Thrawn said this mildly, but there was a finality in the undercurrent of his tone. Even drunk as she was, Rosita had caught it.

“This is so boring,” Dibbs said in a huff. “Let’s go out.”

“It is raining,” Thrawn said, gesturing to the viewport.

“No way,” Rosita said, making an X with her arms, “I'm not getting wet tonight. My hair is literal perfection right now.”

“Your hair is a mess, actually,” Kalin said, covering her mouth and pointing at Rosita’s head.

“It is?” Rosita lifted her hands to her head. She had forgotten how Dibbs and Kalin messed it up earlier.

“It’s not that bad, Dibbs said. “We can still go out.”

“You were enjoying yourselves in the sanctuary of your quarters and are in need of food,” Thrawn remarked in a low murmur, forcing all three of them to lean towards him to hear better.

“Let’s get food. And eat it in our quarters!” Kalin said, as if uttering the most crucial plan ever to exist.

“Yes! Let’s get some sooshi!” Rosita groaned, then winced in mental anguish. At that moment, it was an affront to her senses that her mouth wasn’t already stuffed with a delicious roll.

“Sooooosh!” Dibs brayed, feeling the craze, “I’ll order some now.”

“From Frons,” Rosita demanded in a huff. “And you have to go meet the delivery driver for us, kay Dibbs?”

“I know,” Dibbs said, rolling her eyes. “I always do.”

“We’ll eat Sooshi and watch 'Waterworld',” Kalin added.

“Kalin,” Rosita began, shaking her head. “If you put that movie on one more time, I will rip out my eyes and eat them. I swear to the stars.”

“Good! Do it!” Kalin retorted with a sway of her body, her words barely coherent when she said, “It’s my favourite movie. SeaGirlismyfavouritecharacter of all time.”

“I don’t caaaaare,” Rosita drawled long and exaggeratedly. They began making their way back to the stairs to head to Rosita’s and Kalin’s room, leaving Thrawn in his quiet solitude. “Bye, Thrawn!” Rosita called out messily over her shoulder. He muttered something quietly in return that she couldn’t hear, before returning his attention to the viewport.

As Rosita began mounting the stairs, she looked back one last time and caught Thrawn watching her go. He was displeased. The slight scowl on his face was subtle, but for him, it was as loud as yelling that she was a fool. This should’ve irked her, because who was he to judge her for blowing off steam? Instead, it made her smile, not smugly, as was her custom, but with comfort, knowing he might’ve really cared about her, despite it all.

Chapter Text

Let it be noted that Spenc Orbar’s audacity was virtually unmatched. Rosita got up from Kalin’s bed, went to their powder room, and looked down at her vibrating comm. She shut the door behind her, leaned against it, and felt way too drunk for this shit. Still, she found herself lifting the comm to her ear and asking Spenc what the fuck he wanted, using that deepish voice she used with men she wasn’t attracted to.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Where are you?” she retorted. “With your boyfriend, Fleek? I hear he likes to bottom, and you’re the biggest ass digger I know.”

“I’m alone in the common room,” Spenc replied, keeping it all tucked in and neutral.

“Good for you. I hope you’re having a wonderful time.”

“You sound drunk. Are you drunk, Rosita?”

“Are you?” she sneered.

“No.”

“Then why are you calling me?” The better question was why she answered, but fuck Spenc, it was his fault for calling.

 “I called because I want to talk. I don’t like how we left things. If we’re to have a clean break, it should end on good terms.”

“I can’t talk. I’m with friends.”

“So then ditch them,” Spenc said in that demanding voice he used when denying him wasn’t an option. “There’s no better time. We leave in less than two weeks. This will be one of our last opportunities to speak.”

“What’s the point of talking? Our relationship was good for one thing and one thing only.”

The line went silent for a minute as he considered her words. “And what one thing was that?”

“You know what it is. I’m not going to spell it out for you.” She rolled her eyes and checked herself in the mirror, noticing for the first time that night, with horror, how crazy she looked. She tilted her head and trapped her comm between her shoulder and ear, then pulled her hair from its elastic, wet her hands at the sink, and began smoothing it back, running her hands through the thick brown hair until it lay in a glossy sheet.

“Now, who’s the gross one?” Spenc said with a chuff. “Please, Rosita. Can we not try? One last time? Just a talk, nothing more. I have zero expectations.”

“I’ve always loved your lies, Spenc, truly. Alright then. I’ll meet you down there in a second. Hearing what you have to say can’t be any worse than watching Waterworld.”

“That movie again?”

“Yes, Kalin always gets her way.” Rosita hung up before she had to listen to Spenc’s response.

The movie was at the part where Sea Girl gained the ability to breathe underwater, and Rosita shuddered. There were still like 90 minutes left to go. Before leaving the room, she considered changing. She was in black pyjama pants, a white tank top, and slippers. The pyjamas were fine, but the slippers had to go. She changed out of the slippers and into her runners. She always hated seeing people in slippers in the common room. It was a bit much of the slob.

“Where are you going?” Dibbs asked the second the door slid open.

“To a vending machine, I’ll be back in like 10 minutes. I have my comm.”

“Bring chips!” Dibbs called out after her.

The hallway was clear, but you could hear shenanigans behind closed doors. Rosita clutched the banister tightly as she descended the stairs and found Spenc sitting on the big, comfy loveseat they had often shared in the past.

“You came,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk. “Thank you, Rosita.” When she only stared blankly at him, he went on to ask, “Won’t you sit?” He moved to the armrest furthest away, giving her plenty of space to let her guard down, but she had none of it.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Rosita crossed her arms and stood with her hip cocked to one side.

“Sit with me, and I’ll tell you,” he answered. When she sat, his smirk widened to a grin. “I’d like to apologize for hurting you.”

“Which time?” Rosita asked, only for his grin to pucker into a pout.

“All of them.” He answered.

Rosita snorted with laughter, “Well, that’s vague.”

“Why are you… most angry with me?”

“That’s the problem. I’m not angry, Spenc. All I feel is the inconvenience your presence creates.” She lay her head back, eyes closing, her head swimming. Leaning back made her feel nauseated, so she opened her eyes and straightened up, scanning the room for anyone about. Far on the other side of the room, Thrawn still sat in the same chair he had been in earlier, staring out the same viewport. Had he even moved? He looked over then, as he often did whenever she happened to stare thoughtfully at him, but only for a flash of a second.

“People still mock me for ruining the race,” Spenc said, drawing her attention back to himself. “They say I did it for you.”

“Still? They need to get over it.”

“They're right. When it came down to it, between winning and taking revenge for your treachery, or hurting Thrawn, I chose you.”

“Wow, your apology has turned into a request for gratitude.”

“Are you ill?” Spenc asked, with a look of disgust. “I don’t want your gratitude. I want you to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Our history!” he exclaimed, tossing a hand in the air. “Humanity's history. Once you do, you won’t be so loose with your morals.”

“I’m way too drunk for this.” Rosita pinched the bridge of her nose. “All this reminiscing makes me sick. None of it matters anymore. I don’t see the point in waiting for your forgiveness or in demanding any from you. It’s time to break the pattern, or the loop will repeat tomorrow. This is what we do: we fight, we break up, we talk it out, we fight, and eventually we fuck. Then it’s back to square one. I want to graduate. I’m through with your lessons.”

“You've completely missed the point of what I said.” He shook his head, as if a gnat had flown in and landed directly on his eardrum, whining, “Humans First, remember? And what does that mean? You’re through with my lessons?”

“It means don’t call me anymore. How will we get over each other if we don’t fully separate?”

“Are we not friends? Strip away the sex, is there nothing beyond that for us?”

 “I can’t think of a way to answer that.” Rosita rubbed a hand down her face, and they sat in silence. She stared at his midsection, unwilling to meet his eyes. Her nausea was returning in full force from all the hard thinking. Thank the stars she had eaten, or it would’ve been worse. Why would they drink an entire bottle of whisky?

“I tried,” Spenc said, shrugging. “No one can say I didn’t give it my all first.”

“Thank you for trying.” She looked back over to Thrawn; his attention was fully on the viewport. Perhaps he had fallen asleep.

 “You’ve become such a frosty little bitch,” Spenc remarked with a snort. “No, that’s not right. You always were one. I suppose that’s what attracted me to you. It feels like a victory to have a snooty bitch wear you by her throat, but now I see you’re no accomplishment, just a mistake. I was trying to fix it. I don’t actually want to hurt you. I’m trying not to. That’s why I called you here. I need you to help me help you.”

And there it was. Rosita matched his energy and said, “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you only called me here tonight because you wanted Thrawn to see us together. You wanted him to know that I’d still come when you called.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t do all that to prove a point to Thrawn. That’s your department.”

“Oh, yes, you would. Don’t lie.”

“Alright then. You’re right," Spenc admitted. "I did want him to see. And you proved me right, didn’t you? You came. You’ll always come running when I call. We’re connected, whether you want it or not. I certainly don’t, but I don’t fight the truth. Deep down, you know we’re the same, and you love no one more than yourself, which means you love me more than anything.”

“Good luck ever finding me once I’m out of here.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

“Most weapon manufacturing sites are classified,” Rosita replied. “This was your last chance to impress me, and you failed.”

Spenc laughed lightly and rolled his eyes, as if he had just heard a lame but funny knock-knock joke. “I’ll always be able to find you, Rosita. The question is whether I’ll want to.” He stood, stretched, and yawned loudly. “Goodnight.” He finished by ruffling her hair and strolling towards the staircase, as if he wasn’t the galaxy's biggest creep.

The encounter sobered her up a bit, but now she was dying to sleep it off, the night's vibes effectively ruined. She refused to look over at Thrawn, embarrassed that he'd seen Spenc mess up her hair, like a coach calling her slugger, then leaving her alone and drunk on the couch. She waited a moment before making her way to the stairs that would lead her back to her bedroom. No treats in hand, but maybe that was the point.

…

While those from her term were enjoying themselves at the simulation pool, at a no-instructors-present pool party, Rosita had to make her way to Major Needa’s office as instructed. What the Ma’am could want now was a mystery, but it had better have something to do with a job offer too exclusive to wait. That’s all Rosita had to say.

The office of Major Needa overlooked the campus's river. Sunlight reflected off the water, and on a clear day like that one was, her office filled with the light of high noon bursting through the window. “Too beautiful a day for such unfortunate news,” Needa said when Rosita sat down, and Rosita nearly laughed at how cartoonishly ominous the remark sounded. “Turuy, first allow me to congratulate you on the completion of the course. This is a difficult one to get through, and you did it.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“I respect you, and ask all cadets passing here to demand their dignity at all times. Dignity for themselves and for ALL others. Oh, Canada.” Needa saluted ;)

“Oh, Canada, Ma’am,” Rosita answered, with her own salute. “What’s this all about? Why was I summoned?”

“As you know, in two days, your fellow graduates will learn their posts. I thought it better to reveal yours before then. I wish for you to maintain your dignity in their presence. The shock of learning your post may stir some strong emotions.”

“Ma’am?” Rosita’s heart lurched.

“You’ve been my student for four years, and I know little of you, but enough to know this post isn’t what you desire. Not many would want this, in fact. From what I know about your post, it’s more of a…” Major Needa trailed off, frowning. “Let’s just say I’m confused.”

“Ma’am?”

“You will be posted to Esther Hole. That is here on Coruscant, down on level 2100. You will be an agent for the DEA. Not a weapons engineer.”

“Ma'am?”

“I understand your confusion. Allow me to finish. You are on what we call an A5 posting. It’s rare, I don’t see the need for it, but it’s all there in your file. An A5 posting is to last a minimum of 6 years. You will be posted to Esther hole for at least six years. Heard?”

“Uhm. Ack. So, the DEA? As in the Drug—

“The Drug Enforcement Agency. Yes.”

“But why? Why should I go there? I’m a weapons engineer. I’m good. I excelled at the classwork. Even you said my weapon was sufficient. Or were those just pretty words?” Rosita nearly covered her mouth with her hands. She didn’t mean to sound so confrontational, but what Major Needa was saying was absurdly fucked.

“My only theory,” Needa began, “is that your demonstration showed a sound understanding of the type of soldier needed down there. This performance of yours outdid what’s in your Weapons Portfolio, and, combined with your diploma in Investigative Intelligence, the boot fits. Remember, Turuy, you’re to go where you’re needed. You are on contract. This is the duty of any soldier.”

“Ma’am.”

“You have a licence to carry.” Major Needa set a dark green metal lockbox on the table. “Do not lose hope. Take this. Inside are your manuscripts and your riot rifle. I will give you access to the code once you’re out of the academy. In six years, you can retake the weapon engineering program. Keep the weapon clean for your portfolio. Plus, I imagine it will be useful where you’re going.”

What else could Rosita do after locking the death wand in her room but go out to the smoke pit outside the Portside barracks? Not to smoke, but to pace back and forth while fuming. They rejected her. How could they reject her? She found a tree away from the smoke pit and sat beneath it, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the Astrofield in stunned silence. When she heard footsteps approaching, she turned her head, lip curling at the sight of the intruder. But of course. Rosita was unsure what about sitting alone under a tree, hugging her knees to her chest and scowling, made Thrawn think she wanted to share words with him, but there he was. She stared at his boots and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I noticed your absence from the pool party,” Thrawn said. “You were hard to track, but here I find you.”

“Sniff me out, did you?” Rosita muttered. “Like a nosy moonhound.” The insult bounced right off of him, and Rosita wondered if it wasn’t resilience like she had come to suspect, but actual stupidity as she had first assumed.

“I did not feel the urge to get wet,” Thrawn continued conversationally. He leaned against the tree and looked out into the distance. “I do not like cake, and despite the rule that there is to be no alcohol, it is being passed around. Vanto and I left to avoid ruining the cadet's good time by having to report the incident and entangling ourselves in scandal.”

“We don’t tolerate rats here. You did the right thing,” Rosita said in a flat tone, hoping he’d get the point and leave, but he didn’t. He kept right on speaking.

“I have reconsidered your offer, and I do have a favour to ask.”

“You have a favour to ask… Of me?” She nodded slowly, remembering. “For your help with my death wand.” She snorted. “What do you want?”

“I would have you abstain from any substance that lowers your defences and impairs your cognitive reasoning.”

“You’re asking me to say no to drugs?” she laughed mirthlessly. “Seriously?”

“If the request is too difficult to manage…”

“It isn’t. I could abstain if I wanted to.”

“Then we agree. Your word is your bond. Will you swear an oath?”

“Whoa, slow down there, Thrawn. If this is about the other night, I don’t drink just for the sake of getting drunk… that often.”

“But when you do,” he spread his arms to his sides, making him look so very human for once.

“You don’t like seeing me that way,” Rosita said, standing. “All loose and free?”

“Compromised,” he corrected her, intruding into her space and staring her down. “Instead of loose, I would see you tightly bound to purpose. What is your purpose, Cadet Turuy?”

What a question and what timing. “Well, it was once to create and engineer weapons for my empire and to take care of my mother, but now it's to keep it together while my life goes up in flames.”

Thrawns' head tilted to the side as he seemed to take inventory of her, eyes scanning her face and chest. It was so bizarre. If he were human, she’d punch him in the face for being such a creep and a weirdo. “You are under stress,” he concluded. “I can see it all over you. How I missed it at first now eludes me.”

“I’m stressed?” Rosita threw her hands up. “You think I’m stressed?” Thrawn stared at her in silence, and a lump formed in her throat as she tried to keep tears from welling in her eyes, but it was no use; tears poured down her face. She quickly moved out of his line of sight, wiping her face on her arm, angry, and staring blindly at the astrofield.

“I’ve been posted here on Coruscant, to the Department of Justice!” she said through clenched teeth. “The Department of Justice has no jurisdiction over the military. I won’t be part of the Advanced Weapons Cell. I’m to be an agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency. My unit is way down on level 2100. And that’s not even the worst of it. I’m on a Class A5 Posting, which means I must serve this unit for at least 6 years unless, by some miracle, I am moved. I’m ruined. Spenc was right. I’m ruined now.” She wiped away more tears and drew in a long, shuddering breath to get a hold of herself.

“What has Cadet Orbar to do with this?”

 “What do you mean?” Rosita shook her head, frustrated and confused. “Why are we talking about him? I’m talking about the end of my life. In six years I’ll be irrelevant in the arms industry. In six years, technology will have advanced to the point that I’ll have no choice but to retake the course.”

When Thrawn said nothing and only moved to stand beside her, he felt like an impenetrable force, at her side, keeping her tethered to reason. 

“Major Needa returned my death wand. She said I’ll need it where I’m going.”

“I imagine you will be very adept at using it in six years. I have heard stories of Coruscant’s underworld.” Thrawn turned his head and looked down at her, then blinked in his languid way.

“One of these days, I really will kill you.”

“I’ll relish your attempt,” he said, now turning fully towards her. “In all seriousness, six years is not as long as it seems. You are young, so this may be harder for you to grasp. Advance. Do not abandon your chosen path. Perhaps this undesirable post will prove an opportunity whose value you could not have foreseen.”

There was no point in telling him about the mental toll of redoing the weapon engineering course at 28; he wouldn’t understand. Here he was at 35, in the uniform of a cadet; he had no shame. Rosita turned her back to him and stared at the tree, suddenly finding the bark's lines fascinating. “You hear these stories of attacks against aliens,” she began. “There is one that was in the news that sticks out to me. It happened right here on Coruscant. A family of Tail-hea—Twileks was walking their pet in the late hours of the evening, why they would take children out once it grew dark, I will never understand. They were in a very rough area. Way down on level 2000 or something like that.” She pointed her index finger towards the ground. “Anyway, this family was attacked. The parents were badly beaten, their lekku mutilated while their children watched. The parents were lucky to have survived. Lekku are very sensitive and vital, you see.”

Thrawn nodded, looking solemn.

“Do you know what makes it terrible? A truly heinous crime?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “In the parents' statement, they said one of the assailants told their children that when they grew up, the assailants would find them and do the same to them. Those children will be haunted forever. Afraid. Angry. Seeking revenge.” It was good that Thrawn stayed silent; she needed to spill her guts. “I am telling you this because you need to be careful out there. Do you remember what I told you that night? When I tried to have you attacked? Be careful out there. I mean it. Watch your back.” She drew herself up and held his gaze. “It was good to meet you, Thrawn. You’ve changed me.” She walked quickly away, back towards the Portside barracks.

A small cry wouldn’t hurt; she’d hide under her blankets, and if Kalin came in and asked what was wrong, Rosita would say she was sick.  It wasn’t even a lie; she was a total sicko for what she’d said to those kids.

Chapter Text

For their term’s graduation party, the cadets were allowed access to the simulation pool, with no instructors present. There was food and cake, and, thanks to Spenc’s affinity for smuggling contraband, there was also booze.

“To Spenc Orbar, coming through in a clutch,” Kravis said, raising his cup in a salutation.

“I can’t stand you people when I’m sober,” Spenc began in a bored tone. “And I refuse to drink alone.”

“Always the charmer,” replied Kravis with a pompous little chortle. “Where’s Turuy? Is she not coming?”

“Where’s your pretty Nessa? I should like to see her instead,” Spenc retorted. Nessa was Kravis’s very, very hot twin sister. She was becoming a journalist like Fleek. Kravis reddened and scuttled away like vermin suddenly exposed to the light, leaving Spenc leaning against the wall, his shirt half-open, holding a bottle of bubbly dripping with condensation. He tracked the trickle of ladies pouring out of their change room. Muanung and Dibbs were together, but Rosita was nowhere to be found. He shrugged it off and made do by checking out the other ladies, not in modest issue swimsuits but in tight two-pieces that had him begging the stars not to get hard. Someone of his size couldn't hide a boner, especially in swim trunks. To help with this monumental task, he looked across the pool to the stands, where Thrawn and Vanto sat talking with the more… stout cadets. You know, those who refused to wear swimsuits without direct orders.

“You know what I just realized?” Spenc said, stepping up behind Muanung and Dibbs. “Now that Rosita and I aren’t together anymore, I'm allowed to make you both wet.” Muanung screwed up her face at him, while Dibbs laughed.

“Wow. Way too soon, brother,” Dibbs said.

That might’ve been the case, but it didn’t stop him from scooping Muanung up, throwing her over his shoulder like a thin sack of tatoes and walking towards the edge of the pool. “Put me down, Orbar,” Muanung demanded, twisting in his grip.

“Don’t squirm, it excites me,” he warned, as the other cadets called out in encouragement. Who was he to let down the crowd? A burst of water swallowed Muanung's shriek, while applause and laughter followed. Spenc bowed and watched her surface. If she had a meltdown now, she’d lose face right there in front of everyone. Fortunately for him, she didn’t. He smirked, removed his shirt and chucked it to the side before jumping into the pool after her. Catching up in two strokes. “There, nice and wet,” he said.

“I’m not going to give you the reaction you desperately want. You’re an abuser; that’s your food.”

“Abuser?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a stretch. I threw you into a pool, not a vat of acid.”

“I'm not talking about me; I'm talking about the injuries you inflicted on Rosita over the years. You’re lucky I didn’t report you. Had Rosita not lied to my face and denied it was you, I would have, for her sake.”

It was true. Rosita had sustained several injuries over the years, some from playing patriot, committing hate crimes against aliens in the slums of Coruscant, and others were love pats from him. Love pats that made her shudder with desire. “You’ve never fucked anyone, have you?” Spenc asked Muanung.

“Why should that matter?”

“Because a girl of your breeding thinks love-making is clean and functional. You lie on your back, a man climbs on top, and away he goes, until finished. This is why you haven’t done it yet; that’s nothing for you to grow excited about. A girl like Rosita understands the pleasure in pain; she doesn’t shy away from it, she leans into the strain.” Spenc swam closer to Muanung; he could tell she was absorbing his every word, as her eyes grew wider and wider. “Those injuries, as you so rudely put it, were evidence of her gushing on my cock.”

Muanung’s eyes could grow no larger as she mouthed, ‘Disgusting.’

“No, Kalin, not disgusting. It’s beautiful.”

“What's beautiful?”

Spenc turned at the sound of the voice; he hadn’t noticed Dibbs swimming up behind him.

“Nothing,” Muanung said, her very red face disappearing beneath the water. She resurfaced far from them both.

“What the fuck are you doing, Orbar?” Dibbs asked.

“Nothing.”

“Right. If you think Kalin Muanung would ever give you a chance, you are delusional.”

“Druscillia Tarkin recently did, and she’s even more stuck-up than Muanung.”

“You fucked Druscillia Tarkin? The ballerina?”

He nodded. “Have you ever been with a dancer, Dibbs?”

She shook her head, staring at him to continue.

“Let’s just say that if Wilhuff Tarkin found out all the ways I spread and folded his daughter, he would try to have me court-martialled.”

The two of them laughed and laughed some more until Dibbs stopped and issued a warning. “You and Rosita may hate each other, but there are lines even you shouldn’t cross. Sleeping with Kalin to boost your ego will destroy Rosita’s and her friendship. If you’re going down that road, make sure you hurt only one of them.” 

“What do you mean, hurt one of them?”

“I mean,” Dibbs began, speaking slowly and clearly. “Don’t do it unless you actually plan to commit to Kalin, or else it’s just cruelty for cruelty’s sake.”

“I like you more when you laugh, Dibbs. All this overthinking is so beneath you.”

“Be that as it may, listen this time.”

…

The voice inside of Spenc’s head yelled, ‘Abooooout turn!’ as he executed the drill, twisting on the balls of his feet in a 180 ° turn, then stomping to attention.  ‘Abooooooout turn!’ he twisted back, stomped. ‘Abooooooout turn!’

“Orbar, do you mind?”

Spenc's foot lingered in the air, and he lost balance for a second and took a step back. “What?” he asked Muanung.

 “Stay still, you’re being annoying. It’s about to start, and people are watching.”

He studied Muanung's disapproving face, noting just how disgusted she was by his proximity, and grinned. He came to attention, heels locked, chin high, mocking her with his seriousness. 

“FLAG DETAIL BY THE RIGHT QUICK MARCH!” The commandant’s shout cut through the drill yard. Spenc stepped out on cue, in sync with Muanung and the other four cadets chosen to escort the colours as the drums struck their cadence. He tightened his grip on the pole of the Imperial banner.

No emotions flared in his mind, as his boots struck the pavement in flawless rhythm, only the choreography, reminding him exactly why he loved drill. They crossed the square, halted, and presented arms for the anthem. When the music ended, the Flag Party wheeled and retired to the review line. Applause rolled across the courtyard. Spenc held the flag aloft until the order came to stand at ease. He scanned the crowd for his parents until Commandant Deenlark appeared on the stage. Deenlark’s voice carried, “Cadets, today you leave the Royal Imperial Academy as instruments of the emperor’s will. Some of you will design, some will command, and some will die. But you will all serve.”

The crowd erupted again, and the Imperial anthem rose into the sky, bright and merciless. Spenc stood in perfect formation, gloves white, black boots gleaming, the fluttering banners reflected in his polished visor.

This was what legacy looked like: six cadets in even rank, the Flag Party of the graduating term, bearing the colours before the Emperor’s sigil. Spenc stared past Deenlark toward the crowd until he found his parents. His nose curled when he saw none of his three older sisters in attendance, all three of whom led busy, productive lives as strong, independent women despite all being married. He snorted to himself.

They were ordered to stand easy, so Spenc pulled at his collar for some air flow, flag now relaxed in his hand. At the same time, speeches bled together, all polished words about loyalty, sacrifice, and service, until eventually the ceremony ended with the flag party placing the poles in the holes of the dias. Soon, families poured into the square to reclaim their prodigies, while music still drifted from the officers’ band. Cameras flashed, and Spenc began to feel again. He felt bored of this institutional garbage. He looked for Rosita and found her now with her mother and two others who must have been family.

The small group stood near the river’s edge. Rosita’s hair was impossibly sleek against her head, her dress uniform fit like a tailored glove, and she held a bouquet as if they were inconveniencing her. He straightened his cuffs and was about to stroll towards them when his parents barred the way. His father, Aemon, and mother, Sorena Orbar, looked perfect together, father in his navy-blue tailored suit, and his mother gleaming in a white satin pantsuit.

“Spenc,” his father said as he clasped his shoulder. “Splendid form today.”

“Anymore precise and you’d cut me,” his mother Sorena added, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in his uniform.

“Thank you, mother,” he said, looking around first back at Rosita with her family, then over to the Dias where Kalin was with hers. He weighed his options. “Do you see that trio near the dias? The Muanungs? That’s their daughter, Kalin. She was in the flag party with me. They’re Chandrilan Royalty with deep political ties. Introduce yourselves. I wouldn’t mind calling on her later.”

His mother’s expression softened, calculating. “We are familiar with their family, but haven’t had the pleasure of a formal introduction.”

 “Kalin Muanung, you say. She seems very respectable.” His father spoke in a dry, pragmatic tone.

“She is. Very much so,” Spenc agreed, keeping all signs of his amusement hidden. He would revisit this moment later and laugh then. “Mother, can you arrange a play date for us?”

“If it ends with you wed to someone with influence and no scandal attached, call it whatever you like.” They began walking toward the Muanungs through the milling crowd, Spenc with his mother on one arm, his father behind, the family’s polished smiles in place.

“Lord and Lady,” his father greeted warmly as they approached. “Aemon Orbar, and my wife, Sorena. We’ve long admired your ability to keep hold of your titles as Chandrilla moves towards a more anti-monarchist society.”

Lady Muanung smiled graciously. “We are always happy to meet another family that still values civility and the importance of careful breeding. A rare thing these days.”

“Indeed,” Sorena said, warmer still. “This is our son, Spenc, he too has graduated from the weapons engineering program.”

“Ah,” Lord Muanung said. “You and Kalin both executed your drill as expected.”

It wasn't a compliment, but Spenc still said, “Thank you, my Lord, before turning his attention to Kalin. She kept herself half‑turned toward her parents, ignoring him.

“Quite the morning, wasn’t it?” Spenc asked Kalin.

“Yes,” she agreed.

They stood in brief silence while their parents traded compliments and discussed potential travel collaborations. Spenc’s mouth twitched. “Lord and Lady Muanung, would it be all right if I take Kalin for a short walk? We won’t go far, just a small loop.”

Once they were permitted, they began their short walk. Kalin hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second; she must not have wanted to look rude in front of her or Spenc’s parents.

“What do you know about Rosita’s father?” Spenc asked, once they were some distance away.

“He’s dead,” Kalin answered matter-of-factly. “As I’m sure you know.”

“You truly know nothing about her,” Spenc laughed. “Rosita’s father isn’t dead. He left his family for his… toy boy, and Rosita pretends he doesn’t exist.”

“You’re lying,”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, then frowned to make himself look thoughtful. “I wonder why she wouldn’t tell you, though, you’re her best friend.”

“Does Dibbs know?”

“That’s anyone's guess." He shrugged. "Who knows why Rosita trusts only certain people with her secrets? Whatever it is, you certainly don’t have it.”

“Maybe she requires one to be a lunatic, like you. In fact, I’m beginning to see what she saw in you. A big, fat mirror.”

His grin thinned to a line. He might’ve come back with another cutting remark, but they were circling back towards their parents’ laughter, and when he looked to his mother, Sorena, she beckoned him to hurry forward.

“Spenc, dear, Lord Muanung was just saying there’s to be a Chandrilan gala next month. We’ve been invited.”

“Wonderful,” Spenc replied automatically, straightening. He glanced back at Kalin, who had turned to hide her expression behind the careful smile her family expected. He stepped closer to her as their parents shook hands. “Seems I’ll see you there,” he said, his tone pleasant. “Maybe we’ll call a truce.”

Her eyes flicked toward him, and she said in as low a voice as she could muster, “I would rather hold my breath underwater until I drown.”

Spenc’s grin returned, and it felt real. Spreading his arms, he bowed as low as a commoner would in the courts of Chandrila, then followed his parents toward the waiting officers’ pavilion.

The graduation schmoozing on the lawn became the diplomatic reception of the evening, and celebrations soon spread through the academy’s terraces, a blur of music and polished glass. High-ranking officers and their families mingled with donors and nobility; wait-droids glided between clusters of uniformed figures pouring wine. Spenc spotted the man he’d been waiting for. Moff Ghadi stood near the railing, surrounded by aides in powder‑grey uniforms, a glass of wine in hand and the emerald of the Tangenine crest fixed on his collar. He guided his parents through the crowd.

“Your excellency,” he said, schooling his tone to a respectful warmth. “Allow me to present my parents, Aemon and Sorena Orbar.”

“Ah, the illustrious Orbars!" Moff Ghadi smiled a politician’s smile. "The pride of the Tangenine Sector. I’m honoured.”

“The honour’s ours, Moff Ghadi." His father extended his hand. "We’ve heard you’ve taken quite an interest in our son’s career.”

“Oh, more than an interest,” Ghadi replied, clasping both of their hands in turn. “Spenc reminds me of myself at that age.”

 “That’s… interesting,” his mother said.

Spenc bit back a smirk; he wanted to say, “Ouch, Mother," but managed to refrain.

“We were delighted to hear he’ll be interning under a Moff’s direct supervision. And one from our sector, no less.”

“And I’m delighted to have him,” said Ghadi. “The Tangenine Sector needs sharp minds who understand both Imperial ideals and the realities of commerce. Your family’s enterprises have done remarkable work in that regard for centuries. Young Orbar will observe trade negotiations between our sector and Coruscant. If he performs as I expect, a permanent post is not out of the question.”

His father nodded thoughtfully. Spenc knew there was no way he would allow him to take a permanent position outside of his orbit.

“A toast, then.” Ghadi stopped a server carrying a tray of drinks and passed a flute around to each of them. “To our sector and the next generation of Imperial excellence!” he said, raising his glass. They followed suit. Ghadi soon excused himself and Spenc, and the two walked away from his parents, the Moff's hand on Spenc’s shoulder. “We understand each other, don’t we? I have your back, and you have mine.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Spenc said, “Tangenine always takes care of its own, especially those of the old families who know the history. Unlike my parents.”

“Do elaborate,” Ghadi released his shoulder.

“It’s about the alien Thrawn,” Spenc began sullenly. “My parents are of the mind that I owe him civility after trying to poison him. Remember how I told you I tried to make him puke all over himself? They didn’t get the joke. For them, the Empire’s bureaucracy is a living creature I’m supposed to feed and nourish, and I understand, I do. But to show anything but animosity to the cretin who seduced my ex-girlfriend is not going to happen.” 

“I completely understand. And some hazing is to be expected here at the RIA. It is tradition. Do they expect you to apologize?”

“No, that would give me away. They want me to be kind to him and extend a hand to signal a willingness to cooperate. They're deluded; they know nothing of our Sector’s history. We have no reason to trust nonhumans, but for them, species politics is simply crowd control and tensions are just a tool to keep the working class from uniting against families like ours.”

“Two things can be true at once,” Ghadi said, and they exchanged a conspiratorial look. Around them, people toasted and laughter was in the air. Ghadi raised his glass to his lips, ending with a wet smack. “Away from the sector capital where I work lies ‘Clouded Cay’, my private island estate. It’s my sanctuary, a place where I entertain incognito. There’s always room for someone eager to learn how real influence is wielded.”

“Is this an invitation?”

“Of course.” Ghadi’s eyes glittered. “I like to watch potential up close, away from formality. At the Cay, I can speak plainly without the bureaucracy’s ears listening. I can… enjoy life’s pleasures, too. You could learn about the parts of the Empire that never make it into decrees.”

“I would be honoured, Your Excellency.” 

Ghadi clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. You’ll come after the next cycle report. Pack light—there’s no need for uniforms. I’ll send transport coordinates once you’re back and settled in our sector.”

“There’s Thrawn,” Spenc said, tossing his head towards him and Vanto. “I should bid him farewell.”

Ghadi followed Spenc's gaze across the terrace to where Thrawn stood with Vanto beside the marble statues of Imperial heroes. The Chiss's blue skin seemed to absorb the evening light, making him appear smaller against the white stone. "It would please your parents," Ghadi murmured, his voice taking on a different quality. "I’ll come with you. I’d like to see this alien up close and know what it is about him that would make your female betray her ideals for it." He set his glass on a passing server's tray.

They made their way across the terrace together, Ghadi's measured steps drawing subtle attention from the other guests. Spenc felt a thrill of anticipation; whatever was about to unfold would be far more satisfying than any farewell he could have managed on his own. "Lieutenant Thrawn," Spenc said as they approached, his voice carrying just enough warmth to sound genuine. "I’d like you to meet Moff Ghadi."

Thrawn turned, those red eyes taking in both men in silence. He inclined his head respectfully. "Your Excellency."

"Good day," Ghadi replied, but his tone lacked the warmth he'd shown Spenc's parents. "I've heard remarkable things about your... accelerated progress through the academy."

"The instructors were very accommodating," Thrawn said evenly.

"I'm sure they were." Ghadi circled slightly, studying Thrawn like a specimen. "Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you make of these statues? These monuments to Imperial excellence?"

Thrawn glanced at the marble figures. "The craftsmanship is exceptional. Each piece captures not only the physical form but also the essence of leadership and the burden of command, as I am sure you know well."

"How poetic." Ghadi's smile never faltered. "Do you see yourself among such company one day?"

The question hung in the air like a trap. Vanto shifted with a grumble, but Thrawn remained still.

"I serve at the Emperor's pleasure," Thrawn replied. "Where that service leads is not for me to determine."

"Modest. I appreciate that in a foreign officer." Ghadi emphasized the word foreign just enough to make it sound distasteful. "Of course, modesty and ambition are often at odds, aren't they? Tell me, what do you truly want from your service to the Empire?"

Spenc watched this exchange with growing satisfaction. Ghadi was a master at this, threading needles of courtesy and contempt so skillfully that his target couldn't object without seeming paranoid. He would learn much from the man.

"To contribute meaningfully to Imperial stability," Thrawn answered.

"Stability." Ghadi savoured the word. "Yes, that's what we all want, isn't it? Though sometimes I wonder whether certain... additions to our ranks might destabilize the very foundations we seek to preserve."

The threat was subtle but unmistakable. Thrawn's expression didn't change. Once, Spenc thought him simple for this, too simple to feel. Now he knew his alien face probably lacked the muscles to move meaningfully—a Chiss flaw.

"Diversity of perspective can strengthen any organization," Thrawn said. "The Empire's expansion has always benefited from incorporating useful elements of conquered territories."

"Conquered," Ghadi repeated, apparently delighted. "What an interesting choice of words. Do you consider yourself conquered, Lieutenant?"

"I consider myself Imperial."

"Imperial? Hm." Ghadi's hand found Spenc's shoulder again. "Well, gentlemen, it's been illuminating. Lieutenant Thrawn, I suspect our paths will cross again. The galaxy is smaller than one might think, especially for those in the public eye."

"Indeed," Thrawn said, inclining his head.

"I've seen one piece of the puzzle now. Take me to the other. I want to meet your friend Rosita Turuy," Ghadi said once they were out of earshot.

Spenc's satisfaction dimmed slightly. He scanned the terrace until he spotted her on a bench, alone now, staring out over the city lights through the glass balcony. Her dress uniform was immaculate, as always, and he felt the same strong urge he always had when noticing this to undo her. "There," he said, nodding toward her. "Though she appears to be by herself now."

“How lucky for me,” Ghadi said as they approached across the terrace, their footsteps echoing softly. Rosita turned at the sound, and Spenc watched her expression shift from mild curiosity to barely concealed wariness. She was so pathetic these days. Her gaze fell on Ghadi, taking in the Moff's insignia with the automatic deference bred into academy graduates.

"Rosita," Spenc said, his voice carefully neutral. "I'd like you to meet Moff Ghadi of the Tangenine Sector."

She rose quickly to her feet. "Your Excellency."

"At ease." Ghadi's smile was warm, paternal, entirely different from the calculating predator who had circled Thrawn moments earlier. He gestured toward the bench. "Let’s sit. I find these formal receptions rather exhausting." They settled, Ghadi in the centre with Spenc and Rosita flanking him.

 "I've heard remarkable things about your academic performance. Weapon engineering, isn't it?"

"Yes, though I've been reassigned to domestic enforcement." She hid none of her bitterness, and Spenc felt blood rush to his cock so forcefully he nearly swooned.

“Oh?” Ghadi played the fool well; he tilted his head just as Spenc would’ve done. “Where is your posting?”

“I’m to work for the DEA,” Rosita said shortly.

"Ah, yes, the Drug Enforcement Agency. Important work, that. The Empire's strength depends as much on internal stability as external conquest. Which unit?"

There was a pause in which Spenc assumed she was about to lie to protect her ego, but she said, “Esther Hole,” with a small sniff.

“A pretty thing like you, way down there?” Ghadi whistled. “That’s criminal.”

"Where's your family?" Spenc asked, shifting in his seat. "I saw you with them earlier."

"They left early. My father decided to make an appearance with his... companion. It upset my mother."

Her admission surprised him. After four years of careful suppression, here she was giving it all away. He didn’t think she would break so easily, but her DEA post seemed to have messed up her code. "Your father's here?" Spenc asked.

"He was. He and Barthum thought graduation would be an appropriate time to extend an olive branch.” Her fingers curled into air quotes as she said, "extend an olive branch," contempt dripping from every syllable. "Mother couldn't bear the sight of them together, so my aunt and uncle took her home."

"Family complications can be so... alienating,” Ghadi remarked.

Rosita's eyes flicked to the Moff, clearly uncertain where this was leading. "I suppose so."

“Families,” he said, folding his hands neatly over his knee. “They have an extraordinary way of shaping us. A father’s absence, a mother’s devotion, it all compels us to prove ourselves, doesn’t it?”

Rosita nodded once. “I suppose it does.”

“Then take heart,” he continued smoothly. “The empire knows where to test those who must prove themselves. You are posted where rot is thickest. We send only the most durable there.”

 “You think there’s merit in this post, a chance to prove myself?” Rosita frowned.

 “Of course.” Ghadi smiled, toothily. Wouldn’t you agree, Spenc?”

 “I do, Your Excellency.”

“Your work is essential; we can’t have junkies running rampant in the streets,” Ghadi said, rising to his feet. He touched her shoulder just long enough to make her flinch. “I look forward to reading your reports from the Hole. There’s such… colour down there, and trouble is brewing.”

 “Your Excellency,” she said, a little stiffly, but at least she traded her wariness for a small smile and didn’t look so pathetic.

“Good girl,” he murmured to Rosita, then to Spenc, he said, “Walk with me. We have matters to discuss concerning your transport.” As they stepped away from the bench, Ghadi’s pleasant tone returned, low and private, meant only for Spenc’s ears. “She doesn’t suspect?”

“Not in the slightest,” Spenc replied, but he didn’t grin; he felt a bit hollow, then reminded himself he didn’t care.

“Perfect. Let her believe it.” Ghadi’s eyes glimmered as they reached the bar. “I should find others from the Moff’s Council. I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter Text

Graduation had stripped the corridors of life, leaving scuffed floors and the stench of abandonment. Dibbs had departed shortly after the parade, with her parents and brother, but not before hugging Rosita tightly and promising to reveal the true nature of her top-secret posting as soon as she had the chance. Kalin, on the other hand, had left sometime that evening without saying goodbye. Her side of the room was cleared out, save for a set of pearl earrings left on her desk. Rosita had a matching set; she had bought them for Kalin on her birthday in their second year. They had called them their power pearls. Rosita didn’t understand why Kalin was mad at her. She decided not to dwell on it for the time being. Just as Rosita made her decision, her comm rang; her father’s number was still the same. She ignored the call, as she did his texts, letting it go straight to voicemail and staring at the comm until she got the notification that he had left one. A shudder of disgust ran through her as she promptly deleted it without listening first.

After that, the quiet pressed in on her, and she found herself walking the familiar route to the Port Side common room, even though she had no reason to do anything but go to bed. She told herself it was for old time's sake, to see the place one last time. And if Thrawn happened to be sitting in an armchair, staring out a viewport, it wouldn’t hurt to say a final goodbye. It wasn’t like she was ever going to see him again. The next morning, she would begin her descent to Esther Hole to sign in to her temporary accommodations.

Instead of Thrawn, she found Vanto alone on one of the couches, a datapad balanced on his knee and an open kitbag at his feet.

"Where's Thrawn?" she asked, stepping to stand before him.

"Sleeping."

"He sleeps?" Rosita sat beside Vanto with a heavy sigh, then began unbuttoning the top buttons of her tunic.

"Not much, but when he does, it’s deep," he replied, with a quiet snort of laughter.

The common room was mostly bare now, with packing crates scattered about, belonging to cadets who would ship out at first light. "So, this is it then," she said, breaking the quiet. “All finished.”

“Yup,” Vanto said, tapping his datapad absentmindedly without looking at it. "Where are you headed?"

"Thrawn didn't tell you?"

"No."

"Oh." She found herself smiling despite her inner turmoil. “I’m posted with the Drug Enforcement Agency here on Coruscant.”

The significance meant nothing to Vanto, who said, "Our shuttle to the Blood Crow is scheduled to arrive tomorrow at oh-six-hundred."

"Our?” she repeated. "You're still assigned to Thrawn?"

"I'm his aide, officially. I thought that once I accompanied him to his graduation, I'd be let go and back on my way to becoming a supply technician, but no such luck."

"Are you angry?"

"I was," he said. "But life doesn't always go as we plan."

"You don't resent him for changing everything?" Rosita tilted her head.

"Not as much as I should." Vanto shook his head. "But he sees patterns I miss. If he thinks I'll be useful as an aide, that's enough reason to try for a bit longer. It’s not like I have a choice anyway, so I might as well go along with it."

His answer stung in a good way because it was straightforward and free of complaint. "You make it sound so easy," she said. "When they told me I wouldn't be a weapons engineer, I wanted to wring someone's neck."

"That's a big change from making weapons, but maybe it's a better fit for you, even if you don't realize it yet."

Rosita huffed a laugh through her nose. "Thrawn said as much."

They lapsed into another silence. It wasn’t a comfortable, companionable one, but it wasn’t awkward enough for either of them to get up and leave. "I wanted to ask you something, if you don't mind," Vanto said, breaking the silence.

“Go ahead."

"The attack on Thrawn. Why did you do it? Was it only because he was an alien?" His voice held no edge, only curiosity.

"That's bold. To assume I had anything to do with it." Rosita leaned back, crossed her legs, and half-turned to consider him, a finger against her bottom lip.

"Will you answer?"

"I wanted to win," she conceded, surprising herself with the confession. "Thrawn would've ruined that. So we planned to slow him down.” The look of shock and alarm on Vanto’s face had Rosita hurriedly add, “I warned him at the last minute, and since then, my life has been fucked. I’m not just with the DEA; I’m posted way down in the lower levels of Coruscant. It’s a bloody horror show down there."

"Yeah, he told me you warned him. At first, I didn't think that was enough; I still don’t, but the matter seems settled in his eyes. It makes no sense to be offended on his behalf if he isn’t."

"Thrawn forgave me because he can take what most can’t," Rosita said. “I suppose I should be grateful.”

"Yeah," Vanto said, nodding. “You should.”

They talked a while longer, first about the mutants said to live on Coruscant's surface, then about the news reports of drug-addled cannibals in the lower levels of the great city, until the topic somehow circled back to Thrawn, then drifted sideways.

"What home world are you from?" Rosita asked suddenly.

"Lysatra."

"That's a nice name. What's it like?"

"I'm from the country.” He leaned back, the corner of his mouth curling in memory. “Lots of lakes. Good fishing, clean air." He gave a sheepish grin. "Nothing special."

"It sounds lovely," Rosita said. "I used to fish when I was young. We have a cottage by the water that my grandparents left to my mother and her sister. I wish I could go more often, but duty calls."

"Duty calls," he echoed.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the hum of the ventilation and the distant, hollow voices of departing cadets. Rosita stood, straightened the hem of her uniform, and said, "Good luck out there, Vanto. I certainly would hate being stuck on a ship. I’m glad to know we have those willing to protect our space."

 "And you, Turuy,” he said, rising too. “Try not to go too hard on the perps. My uncle had an addiction. They’re people."

"I’ll certainly try." Something about her smile made him wince, and she wondered what it was, but instead of asking, she gave him one last nod before heading to her room for her final night at the RIA. How funny that Wild Space Vanto, of all people, would be the last one she had connected with within those walls.

…

The lift descended through Coruscant's bowels, carrying Rosita down like a coin through murky water. Each level brought dimmer light, thicker air, and the slow realization that she was falling farther from everything she'd ever known. She was issued an N69 purifying mask. Rosita decided to wear it nearly constantly to counteract the poor air quality and visit her mother above as often as possible, just to be extra cautious.

When the doors finally opened on Level 2100, she stepped into another galaxy. The DEA Field Office was the nicest section in the surrounding area, but inside, flickering holo-displays cast a sickly light over scratched and dented desks. The air tasted of recycled sweat and caf brewed hours earlier. Agents hunched over terminals. None of them looked like Royal Imperial Academy graduates.

"I'm looking for Senior Special Agent Vask," Rosita asked one of the agents, a lean woman with ritual Corellian tattoos spiraling up her neck.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Agent Trainee Turuy. This is my first day."

"Fresh meat's here!" the agent called out. A few heads turned—weathered faces, scars, the hollow eyes of people who'd grown up breathing the underworld's fumes for too long. Another agent's accent was pure Outer Rim drawl when she laughed at something on her screen. Rosita straightened her pristine uniform jacket and tried not to look lost.

"Turuy!" A voice barked from across the room. "Get over here!" Senior Special Agent Vask sat behind a desk with files that looked organized by chaos itself. He was thick-set, red-bearded, and as crooked-nosed as they came. "Sit," he grunted, not looking up from his datapad. "Welcome to the sewer, Royal Academy Girl."

The insult and irony weren't lost on her. Rosita sat, spine straight, hands folded. "Thank you, Senior Special Agent. I'm ready to serve."

"Serve? Vask let out a laugh that was bronchial and wet. “Kid, you're here to hunt." He tossed a file across the desk, and flimsiplast crime scene photos spilled out, showing bodies torn apart, faces frozen in screaming rictus, and blood splattered across habitual-unit walls like condiments. "New variant of cannis, as I’m sure you’ve heard in the news," he continued. "It’s a highly addictive synthetic stimulant, now tainted with something evil. Turns users into homicidal maniacs. Here at the unit, we call the infected tweakers. They'll rip your throat out with their bare hands and eat you like barbecue, I shit you not."

Rosita studied the photos, her academy training kicking in. "Chemical analysis?"

"Unknown compound. Doesn't matter; what matters is that it's spreading through the lower levels like wildfire. What started as a general pain in the ass has become a fucking epidemic. We’re putting down anywhere from 15 to 30 tweakers a day in our sector. Lucky for those up high, the contaminated drugs are only making rounds below level 2500, and command would have it stay that way, but by the numbers, it’s only a matter of time before it goes higher.”

“Why hasn’t it made its way higher?” she asked. “Is someone deliberately targeting the very poor?”

“This is the Operations Division. We don't investigate; we eliminate the threat. Your job is simple: find the tweakers, put them down."

"Put them down?" she looked up. "These are Imperial citizens suffering from addiction. They should be locked in cells and forced into sobriety."

"These are rabid animals," Vask said. "You see one coming at you with blood in their eyes and foam on their lips, you shoot. Your reports will be written for you later. Clear?"

"I'm not to investigate?” Rosita frowned. “Like, at all?” Her frown deepened. “Why are citizens taking a drug they know will turn them into cannibals"

"It's highly addictive, and junkies do what they do."

"If we know the drug is tainted, why don't we flood the streets with the same drug, but clean? Give the addicts what they want without the psychotic breaks. It would eliminate the violence while we track down the monsters responsible for this."

The unit fell quiet. Every agent within earshot had stopped to stare at her. Vask's expression could have melted durasteel. "Excuse me, Academy Girl?"

"It's basic harm reduction," Rosita continued, warming to her analysis. "If we control the supply, we control the problem. The Empire could manufacture a clean version, distribute it through existing networks, and collect its precious taxes."

"Stop." Vask's voice was deadly quiet. "We are the Drug Enforcement Agency, not the Drug Dealing Agency. If you want to start pushing dope, I can put you in touch with Karloto on the street corner. I hear he's hiring."

Laughter rippled through the unit, harsh, mocking sounds from agents who'd clearly heard worse ideas, though not by much. Rosita's cheeks burned. "I was simply suggesting a strategic approach to—"

"Here's your strategy," Vask interrupted. "You see a tweaker, you put two in their chest and one in their head. You find a dealer, you break their wrists, cuff them, and bring them in for processing. You keep climbing the chain until you can't because you're dead or retired. That's the job." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a growl. "This isn't the academy. Down here, we don't solve problems with theories and pretty plans. We solve them with boots and blasters. You got a problem with that, take it up with my ass. It's literally the only part of me that gives a shit."

"Understood, Senior Special Agent,” Rosita said between her teeth, understanding none of it at all.

"Tarmine," Vask barked. "Take her to the armoury, suit her up, then bring her to Kellick," he turned to stare at her. "Agent Kellick will be your partner. Try not to get him killed while you're learning how to do your job."

The armoury had been a shock, filled with crude Imperial surplus, nothing like the precision instruments she'd trained with at the Academy. Rosita hefted the standard-issue E-11 and gave it a loving slap to the stock, reading the numbers and reciting her service number to the weapons clerk. The plastoid armour was brown and grey, designed for urban warfare.

"First rule," Agent Kellick had said as they walked to the speeder, "forget everything you learned upstairs. Down here, you shoot first and let the bureaucrats sort it out later." Kellick drove like he'd been born in traffic, weaving through lower-level congestion with ease.

The call had come in twenty minutes earlier: domestic disturbance, possible tweaker involvement, multiple casualties. There was nothing for Rosita to do but listen to Kellick’s advice and take in her surroundings. The environment glowed in an artificial greenish-white light, and the crumbling bridges that connected what Rosita had always considered only the foundations of the upper levels now seemed a hubbub bursting with life in the light of day.

"Fair warning," Kellick said as they pulled up to the habit complex. "Your first tweaker scene is always rough. They don't just kill. They consume. It’s as if the drug makes them think human flesh is the ultimate high. It’s one thing to be given this intel and another to see it. Don’t feel bad about vomiting. In fact, if you don’t vomit or cry, I’ll think you’re a freak."

The building was standard lower-level housing in Habit Block 1700-Delta, on Level 2026: corrugated metal, durasteel viewports and recycled duracrete, reinforcing the foundations of the great city. Emergency lights flashed red and blue against grimy viewports. Other DEA units had already cordoned off the area. Tarmine met them at the entrance, her face grim. "First floor, apartment 2. A family of four. A tweaker broke into the building through the front viewport, probably had been at it for hours before neighbours called."

The apartment door hung off its hinges, splintered like kindling. Rosita followed down the narrow hallway, rifle ready. The smell hit her hard; it smelled of copper and decay, something sweet and rotten that made her stomach lurch. Inside was a madhouse. Blood painted the walls in arterial sprays. Furniture was overturned, torn apart, used as weapons or feeding platforms. In the main room, what remained of the parents lay in pieces—bones picked clean, flesh torn away in ragged chunks.

But it was the nursery that broke her.

The cradle sat by the viewport, its blue blanket looked purple and brown, soaked in blood. Inside, what had been a baby was now scattered across the mattress in pieces too small to comprehend. Tiny fingers, a fragment of skull, the remains of something that had never learned to walk or speak its first word. Rosita's vision tunnelled. Her hands shook. The rifle clattered to the floor as she spun and ran, ripping her N69 mask off. She made it to the hallway before her stomach emptied itself, retching until nothing came up but bile and horror. Behind her, she could hear Kellick's voice: "There! Movement in the back bedroom!"

Three blaster shots echoed through the apartment: precise, professional, final.

Rosita wiped her mouth with a shaking hand; her armour now stained with vomit and shame. Through the doorway, she could see the tweaker's body sprawled across the bedroom floor. Once human, now something else entirely. Its mouth and hands were still stained with blood, its eyes rolled back to show only whites.

Kellick appeared beside her, neither unkind nor gentle. "Gets easier," he said. "Or you transfer to a desk in the basement. Those are your options."

Rosita straightened slowly, her legs still unsteady. She retrieved her blaster rifle, checked it over with muscle memory that felt like it belonged to someone else. "Any survivors?" she asked quietly.

"Gone. All of them." Kellick lit a carcindart, the smoke harsh in the recycled air. "Tweaker cornered them one by one. Parents tried to fight, bought time for the kid, but they’re vicious..." He shrugged. The gesture said everything: This is the job. This is what happens down here. This is your new reality.

Rosita looked back at the apartment, at the blood drying on the walls, at the crime scene techs already starting their work with the detached efficiency of people who'd done this too many times. Somewhere in the distance, another call was coming in over an agent’s commlink. Another family. Another tweaker. Another scene just like this one. She closed her eyes and tried to remember why she'd wanted to serve the Empire. When she opened them again, all she could see was the empty cradle. Fuck.

"Come on, trainee," Kellick said, dropping his carcindart and crushing it under his boot. "Day's not over yet."

Chapter Text

The call came in while Kellick was telling Rosita about a man he had arrested three times for trying to sell counterfeit spice made from powdered laundry detergent and hope. She had only been half-listening, the other half of her attention was on the city beyond the speeder’s viewport. Her new respirator rested on her lap. Not an N69-issued joke of a mask that filtered out bad air while leaving all the meaningful horrors intact. This one was a proper Haz respirator, custom-made, with top-of-the-line dual-side cartridges, a sealed mouthpiece, tinted eye shielding, and a fitted collar seal that tucked beneath her armour.

It had cost more than she cared to think about. She had paid for it herself after realizing the DEA considered breathing death part of training. She was now broke until her next payment, but it was worth every credit. Kellick had laughed when she first wore it, then he had tried it on and gone quiet.

The speeder’s comm crackled. “All units near Ash Gaulz, Level 2096 Habitat Block 40 Tango, Tweaker attack in progress. Multiple callers report screaming, structural damage, and visible blood in the east corridor. Civilians trapped in adjacent units. Suspect count unknown. Over.”

Kellick stopped talking. Rosita reached for her respirator before he reached for the controls.

“Copy,” Kellick said, swinging the speeder hard enough to shove her shoulder into the door. “Unit two seven Bravo responding. ETA five minutes. Over”

“Five?” she snapped the respirator over her face and tightened the straps. Her voice came out lower through the filters. “At this speed?”

“At this speed, two.” He grinned without humour. “I lied so dispatch thinks I’m responsible.”

The speeder dropped. Rosita’s stomach followed a half-second later. Traffic scattered out of their way as they passed, their emergency lights on. Rosita checked her weapons. E-11 blaster rifle, safety on; sidearm holstered but unfastened for easy access; and death wand locked in her apartment.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You sure? Ash Gaulz gets ugly.”

“Everything gets ugly.”

“You’re learning.”

They set down on the landing pad outside the Habitat Block. Civilians were already spilling out of the lower exits. Some ran. Some limped. One woman stood, holding a child to her chest, both streaked with blood that did not appear to be theirs. Rosita stepped out into the wet heat. Her respirator sealed out everything.

No copper, no rot, no sour stink of terror, sweat, and opened bodies—just the faint sterile tang of filtered air and the soft pull of her own breathing.

“East corridor. Stay tight.” Kellick grabbed his rifle from the speeder's weapon rack, and they moved through the entrance, past a security droid folded in half at the waist. Its photoreceptors blinked weakly on the floor. A handprint slid down the wall beside it, broad and red, as if someone had tried to steady themselves while being dragged away. She saw it, registered it. Then she moved on.

Three months ago, she would have hesitated on the spot, gagging violently into her N69 mask, pride be damned. Two months ago, her mind would have forced her to reconstruct the person from the blood trail; the distraction usually led to significant tactical errors, including the time she nearly had her face bitten off. Now she stepped over the smear and kept her rifle raised. The lobby opened into a corridor lined with cheap unit doors. Half the lights were out, the other half flickering in quick, nauseating bursts. Ahead, something heavy slammed into metal.

Once.

Twice.

Then a wet, tearing sound.

Kellick raised two fingers. Rosita nodded and moved to the opposite wall.

They advanced.

Unit 114’s door had been torn almost completely off. Inside, furniture lay overturned. A man’s body sprawled across the kitchenette threshold, one leg bent backward at an impossible angle. His face was mostly gone. A woman crouched behind the counter, both hands clamped over her mouth, eyes so wide that Rosita could see white all around the irises. She pointed two fingers toward the exit. The woman shook her head violently and pointed toward the back room. Rosita mouthed, ‘Kid?’ The woman nodded.

A crash sounded farther down the hall, not inside the unit but beyond it. Kellick gestured for her to clear the bedroom as he moved forward. She entered Unit 114 alone.

The bedroom door was ajar; she nudged it open with the barrel of her rifle. A little boy sat on the lower shelf of an open storage cabinet, knees drawn to his chest, face soaked with tears. He couldn’t have been older than three, maybe four. He stared at Rosita’s respirator and began to shake even harder. She lowered her rifle, just slightly.

“DEA,” she said. The respirator made her sound like a machine pretending to be a woman, and she wondered if it frightened him. “I’m getting you out.” The boy did not move, so maybe it did. Rosita crouched. The floor beneath her was stained with bloody footprints.  “What’s your name?”

His lips trembled.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to answer.” She held out a gloved hand. “Come here.”

From the hall, Kellick shouted, “Contact!” Blasterfire echoed down the corridor, and the boy flinched and whimpered.

It was, as Kellick would say, time for decisive action. Rosita made safe the weapon, reached into the cabinet, grabbed him by the armpits and lifted him. He was light. Too light and clung to her armour with both hands as she lifted him out.

The woman behind the kitchenette sobbed at the sight of him. “Go,” Rosita ordered, shoving the boy into his mother’s arms, then immediately disengaging the blaster safety again. “Main exit. Do not stop.”

The woman ran. Rosita turned back toward the corridor as something screamed; it wasn’t a scream of pain or terror; it was the scream of raw appetite. She raised her rifle and stepped out. Kellick was backing toward her, firing controlled shots down the hall. One tweaker was already on the floor, twitching beneath a haze of blaster smoke. Another came over it on all fours, male, maybe forty, naked from the waist up, skin pallid beneath a sheen of sweat. His mouth was red to the chin. His teeth clicked together as he ran. Kellick shot him twice in the chest.

The tweaker stumbled, hit the wall, and kept coming. Rosita fired one shot to the head. The body dropped so abruptly that its momentum carried it forward across the wet floor.

“Nice,” Kellick said, glancing back.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get proud. There’s more, listen.”

There were. She didn’t have the time to be shocked.

The corridor bent left. Beyond it, an emergency door slammed open, and a young Rodian female burst through, blood dripping from the arm that hung uselessly at her side. Behind her came a third tweaker, smaller and faster. It grabbed her by the back of her jacket and yanked her off her feet. Rosita moved before Kellick. She switched to her sidearm because the angle was too tight for the rifle, then sprinted down the corridor.

“Turuy!”

The Rodian kicked wildly, shrieking as the tweaker lowered its face toward her throat.

Rosita fired once.

The shot hit the tweaker in the shoulder, spinning her off balance. Not enough. She lunged again. Rosita closed the distance, grabbed the Rodian by the collar, hauled her backward with her left hand, and raised the pistol with her right. The tweaker’s face filled her sight, its eyes bloodshot, jaw hinged to reveal a blackened tongue. Rosita fired into its open mouth, the back of its skull now one with the wall.

The Rodian screamed louder. Rosita shoved her toward Kellick. “Move!”

He caught the Rodian and pushed her behind him. “That all of them?”

The corridor was quiet, except for the distant panic of evacuees and the low hiss of damaged pipes. The Rodian female had crawled to the corner and was sobbing into her good arm. Somewhere in Unit 114, a child wailed for his father.

 “Let’s clear the rest.”

“Agreed.”

He looked her over. “You sure?”

“Lead.” Rosita raised her weapon towards the hall.

They moved through the remaining units one by one. Unit 116 was empty except for an older man hiding under a table, a kitchen knife clutched in both hands. Kellick had to talk him down while Rosita covered the doorway. Unit 118 contained two bodies and no survivors. Unit 119 had barricaded itself from the inside with a sofa and a cooling unit, and what sounded like five people praying. Kellick told them to stay put until uniformed support arrived.

Emergency responders, additional agents, and Nightcrawler holojournalists had finally arrived in force. Rosita stood and looked back down the corridor, watching med-droids roll stretchers over bloodstains. Uniformed officers pushed civilians back. A cleanup crew waited near the lift, their posture resigned, knowing they were about to mop up the pieces of a life.

The mother from Unit 114 sat against the wall, her son in her lap. The boy wasn’t crying; he stared at nothing. Rosita felt the old urge to look away, but she did not. Instead, she walked over and crouched in front of him. His mother stiffened. Rosita kept her rifle pointed down. “You did well,” she told him. He only blinked at her. “You stayed hidden. That was smart.”

His small hands clutched his mother’s shirt, and his eyes stayed glazed. Rosita wished she could think of something better to say, something warm, something human, but nothing came to mind. So she stood and left them to the medics.

…

The accommodations assigned to trainee agents were little more than a narrow metal box with one bed, one desk, one locker, and a bathroom that complained loudly whenever the hot water was turned on. The ceiling panels were stained with old condensation, but she had scrubbed away the black mould that tried to settle there. The viewport in her bedroom looked out onto a service shaft, where delivery droids and maintenance skiffs passed in flickers of yellow light.

Still, she had tried.

A silk scarf her mother had once given her hung over the wall vent, fluttering whenever the air system kicked on hard enough to provide proper airflow. Her bedding was cream-coloured, impractical, and already threatened by the grime she brought home that evening, simply by existing in the lower levels. On the desk sat a little lamp with a warm bulb, an antique vase of artificial white flowers, and a framed holo of herself, Kalin, and Dibbs from third year, all three wearing their power pearls and looking utterly unbearable.

Rosita sat on the edge of her bed in her undershirt and uniform trousers, her hair loose down her back, and boots abandoned by the door. She had finished her shift less than an hour ago, showered twice, scrubbed under her nails until the skin burned, and still imagined she smelled blood whenever she breathed too deeply. Her comm chirped, and for one hideous second, she thought it might be her father again. Since her graduation, he had been relentless in his quest to be reunited.

It was not. She answered immediately.

“You look like shit,” Dibbs said by way of greeting.

Rosita stared at the flickering holo of her friend’s face and felt something inside her unclench. “And you look like you're in a hostage holo, pleading for rescue.”

“That’s because I am.” Dibbs snorted. “The Arkanis Sector doesn’t play. I can’t tell you where I am, what I’m doing, who I’m doing it with, or whether I still have all my original limbs.”

“Do you?”

“Have all my limbs?”

“Yes.”

“For now.”

“How reassuring.”

Dibbs leaned closer to her comm’s camera, her expression sharpening despite the signal’s distortion. “You look tired.”

“I’m not tired,” Rosita replied, winding a strand of her long brown hair around her finger. “I’m seasoned.”

“You’ve only been posted to Esther’s shithole for three months.”

“Exactly. Perfectly seasoned.”

Dibbs laughed, but there was a guarded edge to it. It was the laugh of a messenger, fully aware that the recipient might just shoot them. Rosita saved her the trouble of mustering the courage and asked, “Have you spoken to Kalin?”

“Yes, of course,” Dibbs replied.

“And?” she pressed. “Did you find out why she’s angry with me?”

There was a long pause in which Dibbs stared awkwardly away from the direction of her comm. “Rosita, I’m going to ask you something personal, and I want the truth.”

“I’ll try,” Rosita said.

“Is your dad dead?”

The pause that followed was longer than Dibbs’s. “He is,” she said at last, “to me.”

“Dude, what the kriff?” Dibbs grabbed the sides of her head. “Why would you lie about that? We felt bad for you and comforted you. Kalin even—”

“As you should have,” Rosita cut in. “My dad is a lying, credit-pinching slut. I want nothing to do with him. He’s dead.”

“No, Rosita, he’s alive. That’s actually the opposite of dead.”

“Not in any meaningful sense.”

“Not in any meaningful—” Dibbs broke off with an incredulous laugh. “You are unreal sometimes. Do you know that?”

“I’ve been told I’m difficult.”

“You told us your father died.”

“I told you he was dead. There’s nuance.”

“The stars!”

“So, that’s why Kalin’s pissed at me?” Rosita stood up from the bed and began pacing the narrow strip of floor between the bed and desk. Three steps one way. Turn. Three steps back.

“Yes, that’s why she’s pissed at you. She thinks you made fools of us. She thinks you let her comfort you over something that wasn’t true.”

“It was emotionally true.”

“Rosita.”

“What? I didn’t ask her to build a shrine.”

“No, but you let her care; that matters.”

That made her stop pacing. Her reflection stared back at her from the dark viewport: pale face, dark eyes, hair falling loose and wild around her shoulders. She looked older than she had three months earlier. Or perhaps just meaner. “Wait a minute,” she said, head tilting in thought. “How did Kalin even find out? The only person...” Her voice died, and her hands curled around the comm until the casing creaked. “I knew it,” she whispered. “I fucking knew it.”

“Rosita—”

“This posting! Kalin! It all makes sense now.” Her voice sharpened, gaining heat with every word. “He’s punishing me.”

“Orbar?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Rosita.”

“He’s the reason I’m here, and he’s the reason Kalin is mad at me. I’m going to fucking cave in his face.”

“Well, this is awkward.” Dibbs’s laugh confirmed it. “There’s something else you should know.”

“What?”

“It’s not official yet,” Dibbs began carefully, “but Orbar is attempting to court Kalin for marriage. She told me herself.”

For a second, Rosita did not understand the sentence. Then she understood it all at once.

Her vision seemed to narrow, not into darkness but into a clean, bright point. Spenc and Kalin bound in matrimony? Their parents probably smiled over drinks and pedigree charts. Spenc, with his polished boots and forked tongue, leaning toward Kalin, as if she were a challenge set on a silver platter and served for sport. Rosita suddenly remembered when he ripped his cock from her clenched asshole and told her she was ruined. Now, she knew it wasn’t an observation; it was his promise.

“She’s doing everything she can to stop it, obviously,” Dibbs prattled on in the background as Rosita seethed. “She hates him. I mean, she really hates him. But you know how these families are. There are dinners, introductions, and invitations. Her parents think the Orbars are useful, and Spenc’s apparently acting like a respectable human being for once, which is frankly the most disturbing part of all this.”

Rosita walked back towards her bed.

“Rosita? What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“I see you moving.”

“So?”

“Toward what?”

“Peace.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” She knelt, slid the dark green metal lockbox out from under the bed, and punched in the 11-digit code. The box gave a low chirp, and the lock disengaged. Inside, nestled in black foam, lay the riot rifle. Her death wand. Small. Sleek. Beautiful. She set the comm on the bed so Dibbs could still see part of her face, then lifted the weapon from its case. It responded to her touch and lit up in blue light. The familiar hum moved through her hand and up her arm.

“Dude,” Dibbs said, voice low now. “Put that away.”

“I’m not going to shoot anyone.”

“You say things like that, and somehow I become less reassured.”

“I’m thinking.” Rosita caressed the weapon’s barrel with her thumb.

“With your riot rifle in your hand?”

“It helps me focus.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“It’s honest.”

Dibbs exhaled hard. “Do not contact Orbar tonight.”

“I won’t.”

“Do not threaten him.”

“I won’t.”

“Do not go anywhere near Kalin’s family, his family, or whatever courtship circus they’ve built around this.”

“I said I won’t.” Rosita took her comm and set it on the floor so Dibbs could see her better, then leaned back against the bed, the death wand resting across her thighs. Spenc wanted her to know. Of course he did. He had told Kalin the truth about her father because he knew exactly where to cut. He knew Kalin valued honesty, that she would take the lie personally, and, most importantly, that Rosita would be too far away to fix it cleanly.

But there was one comfort. Oh yes, Kalin was not her. Kalin would not indulge his cruelty for the sake of chemistry, and she would not turn pain into sport or sport into love. She would look at him with those cool, unimpressed eyes and deny him everything.

A marriage contract with Kalin Muanung would not be his prize; it would be his collar. Rosita smirked. “If Spenc wants Kalin,” she began softly, “he can have her.”

“I don’t like how you said that. Nor do I like that smile.”

“He thinks this will hurt me.”

“It doesn’t?” Dibbs asked.

“Not in the way he wants.”

“Rosita.”

“Kalin can’t sustain him as I could,” Rosita said. “She won’t fight with him properly. She won’t let him make a game out of hurting her. She’ll freeze him out until he chews through his own leg to escape.”

Dibbs’s holo stared at her.

“His revenge will backfire.” She smiled at the death wand’s blue glow.

“You sound way too pleased about your friend being courted and possibly tortured by your ex.”

“I’m not pleased. I’m comforted by probability.”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re good-looking and talented,” Dibbs said, shaking her head.

“Maybe,” Rosita shrugged, powering down the death wand. “Give Kalin and Spenc my best, will you?” She ended the transmission before Dibbs could say anything else and closed her eyes. It wasn’t often that Rosita’s revenge involved helping—no—saving lives. She would solve this case involving the tainted Cannis and Tweakers, clean up Esther Hole, and rise through the ranks to such heights that Spenc would choke on her status.

Chapter Text

The game was called Hover Hoops, and like most things in Esther Hole, it looked as if it had been invented by someone with too much adrenaline and too little medical coverage.

Twelve players on the court, six on each team, with two balls in play and three nets floating around the court. The objective was simple enough: sink the ball into any one of the nets. Each time a shot went in, that net rose higher. By the end of a good match, the players had to launch themselves off springboards, walls, and each other to reach the rim. Rosita watched one of them do just that.

A skinny human boy in red shorts kicked off a Tholothian teammate’s shoulder, flew through the air with the ball cocked behind his head, and slammed it through the nearest net with both hands, nearly dislocating the Tholothian’s shoulders in the process. The net chimed, flashed green, and hissed up a couple of inches. The spectators hooted.

Beside the court, Kellick sat in the speeder with one boot propped against the dash, chewing through a burger wrapped in silver foil. Grease glistened on his fingers. He had made it clear this was not a tactical meal but a spiritual one, and that if she interrupted him before he finished, he would file a complaint with the Emperor himself.

“Don’t get stabbed without me,” he called through a mouthful of meat.

“I’ll try to schedule it around your lunch time.”

“That’s all I ask.”

She left him there and crossed alone toward the court. The air stank of sweat, hot metal, cheap spice smoke, and fryer oil. Above her, the undercity ceiling vanished into a haze of pipes and traffic lights. Around the court, locals sat on crates, speeder shells, broken walls, and rusted-out bleachers, all one hard sneeze from collapse.

That was where she found Karloto. He sat on the second-highest bench, surrounded by the usual collection of street scum: too-thin boys with sharp eyes, girls with glitter on their cheeks and knives in their boots, old addicts with hollowed faces, and two thick-necked men pretending not to watch her approach. Karloto himself was laughing, sliding hands with a Devaronian in a movement so smooth it practically screamed, ‘I’m taking credits and dealing poison in broad view because I think I’m charming enough to survive it.’

Karloto was not completely wrong about having… charm, she supposed. He had a quick smile, gold caps on two teeth, and the kind of sad brown eyes that made fools think he had a soul. Rosita stopped at the base of the bleachers and looked up at him.

“Karloto!”

The laughter died gradually, and Karloto looked down, saw the DEA armour, then her face and his smile widened. “Agent Turuy,” he said, spreading his arms. “You come to watch the game? I knew yer a fan.”

“I am.”

“That means a lot.” He slapped a hand over his heart.

“I’m a fan of watching people fall from great heights,” she said, climbing the bleachers. Some of his friends snickered, and Karloto’s smile twitched. The game continued behind her, but the mood around the court shifted. People noticed a narc when one walked into their little kingdom. Rosita reached Karloto and held out her hand.

He looked at it. “You asking me to dance?”

“I’m asking you to stand.”

“No kiss first?”

“Now.”

He sighed, made a show of handing his drink to the girl beside him, then rose with both hands raised. “For the record, I’m being harassed.”

“For the record, you’re under arrest.”

The crowd burst into noise. On the court, someone let out a squeal, it seemed to come deep from their gut.

“Piggy pig pig!” another voice shouted. “Narc narc narc!” Then it spread, because mobs were rarely original but always enthusiastic. “Piggy pig pig! Narc narc narc!” Rosita ignored them, twisted Karloto’s arm behind his back, and marched him down the bleachers. He went easily, which meant he was either smart or planning something. She put pressure on his wrist until he hissed through his teeth.

“Easy, pretty mama.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll break your thumb.”

“You’d break my thumb over a compliment?”

“I’d break it for the sound,” she corrected him.

Behind them, the chanting grew louder.

“Piggy pig pig! Narc narc narc!”

A ball came sailing toward her head. Rosita ducked in time. It struck the side of the bleachers with a hollow clang and ricocheted into the crowd, and she turned just long enough to stare at the court. The players scattered into exaggerated innocence until one of them oinked. She smiled an unfriendly smile, and the oinking stopped. She dragged Karloto across the court toward the speeder. Kellick was still inside, about to start his second burger, watching them through the side mirror with mild interest

“Already?” he asked.

“He was sitting right there.”

“Criminals these days. No work ethic.”

Rosita shoved Karloto against the speeder’s trunk hard enough to make the suspension dip. His cheek hit metal, and she pinned him there with a forearm across the back of his neck.

“You always this rough on the first date?” Karloto asked through a grunt.

“For your friends,” she said under her breath.

“What?”

“They’re watching,” she said. His eyes flicked toward the court. The bleachers had gone quiet. Every dealer, runner, addict, gambler, and bored local was watching her put hands on Karloto. She leaned closer to his ear. “So smile less and look scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Act then.” She drove her knee into the back of his thigh, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He grimaced properly then, face twisting in pain. Rosita took hold of his jacket and slammed him against the speeder's trunk again for good measure.

“You need help?” Kellick asked in a tone that said he wasn't getting up for anything. 

“No.”

“Good.”

“I need cannis,” Rosita said, so only Karloto could hear. He went still beneath her.

“Wrong neighbourhood for that,” he muttered.

“I need tainted cannis.”

“That’s an even wronger neighbourhood.”

“I know you can get it.”

“I can do a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I do em.”

“I don’t have time for games.” Rosita put more of her weight into him.

“You came to a hover hoops court.”

“Karloto,” she snapped, her tone sharpening. He turned his head enough to look at her from the corner of one eye. The joking had gone out of him now. Good. Joking was armour. She preferred people without it.

“You got an evidence crib,” he said. “Go steal some from there.”

“I can’t get authorization.”

That surprised him. His eyebrows raised. “DEA can’t get its own dope?”

“Not this kind.”

“Then maybe someone doesn’t want you touching it.”

“Maybe.”

“And you still want it?”

“Yes.”

“Yer either brave, stupid, or trying to get dead,” Karloto breathed out a slow laugh.

“Maybe.”

“You want me to hand tainted cannis to a narc?”

“I want you to obtain a sample. Quietly. No theatrics. No street sales. No trail back to me.”

“Mm.” He licked his lower lip. “No.”

“No?” Rosita slammed him again. Not hard enough to injure. Hard enough to sell it. The crowd booed.

“Piggy pig pig!” someone started again.

“No,” Karloto said through clenched teeth. “I don’t help no narcs for free.”

“I can pay.”

“I don’t want yer credits.”

“Then what do you want?”

“My cousin Martin.”

Rosita paused. Karloto must’ve felt it as he kept going, “Martin Vegur. He’s locked up in Black Cell 14. He doesn’t belong there.”

“Everyone says that.”

“He was carrying for me, not selling. First offence. They put him with murderers and gang boys because some clerk needed to pad numbers. He won’t last the month.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

“He’s sixteen, trying to join the army, wants to get out of here, and helped me because that’s what he does. He helps.”

Rosita’s grip loosened slightly before she could stop it. Karloto noticed. Of course, he noticed. These street rats noticed everything or died young.

“He’s clean,” Karloto added. “He didn’t even know what was in the bag. I told him they were carcindarts, but it was actually filled with brisk and other types of spice. That part’s on me. But Black Cell 14? That’s on you people.”

“I’m not a prison administrator.”

“Yer DEA. You people put him there.”

“Your poison put him there.”

Karloto twisted suddenly, forcing her to shove him back down before the movement looked too intimate. He grunted when his ribs hit the trunk.

“Then help me get him out,” he hissed. “Transfer. Reduced charge. Work detail. I don’t care. Something. You want tainted cannis, Turuy? Get Martin out of Black Cell 14.”

“You think I can do that?” Rosita stared down at him. Behind her, the game had resumed half-heartedly. Shoes slapped against duracrete, the repulsor nets hummed, and somewhere, someone laughed too loudly, probably to prove they weren't afraid.

“I think yer smart enough to find out.”

“You overestimate my influence by a lot.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” he said, using her own words against her.

“You’ll bring me a name with the cannis,” she said, grabbing the back of his collar, hauling him upright, and shoving him against the speeder door. He winced theatrically this time, catching on to the act.

“A name?”

“Who supplied the batch. I need a starting point.”

“Martin first.”

“Agreed.” She shoved him once more for the watching crowd, then began to do the motions of cuffing him. The crowd erupted in protest. Karloto’s eyes widened for real this time.

“Wait, wait, wait, what are you doing?”

“Making it look good.”

“I don’t like this, Turuy.”

“Neither do I.”

She opened the back doors of the speeder, then stopped, as if reconsidering. Kellick finally looked disappointed.

“Are we taking him or not?”

Rosita pulled Karloto around and drove her fist into his stomach. He doubled over with a strangled cough. The bleachers roared.

“Run,” she said under her breath. He didn't need telling twice. He stumbled before sprinting back toward the alleys behind the court, his hands cuffed behind him. A few of his people cheered, and someone threw a cup that landed nowhere near her. She turned back to watch him disappear, then turned back to the speeder. Kellick stared at her with his straw between his teeth, slurping the last of his drink loudly.

“That was a lot of work for not making an arrest,” he said.

“I didn’t find anything on him.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.” Rosita opened the passenger door. “Are we done here?”

“You had him. Karloto’s small-time, but he’s useful small-time. Vask wants a chat.”

“And he will… eventually.”

Kellick stared at her. Rosita stared back.

The chant from the court had shifted into a song now, something obscene about pigs, the emperor, and what fun it was to ride. Rosita made a mental note never to underestimate Esther Hole’s capacity for group poetry. Kellick turned the speeder on. The thrusters coughed, shuddered, then caught.

“You planning to tell me why we just performed a theatrical catch-and-release?” he asked.

“I roughed up a dealer in public and reminded the neighbourhood we exist. That has value.”

“That has Vask asking me why my trainee lost a suspect and a good set of cuffs.”

“I thought you liked lying to Vask.”

“I like lying to Vask when there’s profit in it.”

“There may be.”

They pulled away from the court, Kellick guiding the speeder into the traffic lane with one hand. The hover hoops court shrank behind them, swallowed by pipes, neon signage, and a dirty curtain of steam leaking from a vent tower.

…

The posting to Esther Hole as punishment was genius. Rosita had to hand it to Spenc for the layers to it, because it wasn’t just the posting itself but the placement. Level 2100 Operations Division was a unit buried so far below the Empire's respectable machinery that even her diploma felt embarrassed by association.

It felt so good to be known so intimately by a man. Spenc understood that the worst punishment for her wasn’t hardship; he knew she could handle hardship. It wasn’t being forced to be surrounded by those she had once, under the cover of darkness, come down to harass; she was a DEA agent, and harassing undesirables was part of the job. The heart of the punishment lay in irrelevance, in being positioned where her skills were real but her future was not.

Thoughts of Moff Ghadi at the graduation reception formed, and of the way he had come to meet her, with the warmth of a man who already knew everything he wanted to know and was only confirming it in person. "There's such colour down there," he had said. Indeed, there was. Her thoughts moved to tainted cannis, to how it was killing people exclusively below Level 2500, to how the DEA's Operations Division was tasked with elimination, with no investigation into tweakers, to how Vask had shut down her harm-reduction argument so fast he had not even let her finish the sentence, and finally to how Karloto had said, "You people put him there."

After four years at the RIA, Rosita knew when she was being played.

The problem was that she had no access. She was a trainee, with a partner who liked burgers and lying to Vask, a supervisor who considered her theorizing a personal inconvenience, and no authorization to touch evidence related to the tainted cannis supply chain. She had the word of a dealer and the impossible task of freeing his cousin from Black Cell 14.

Clearly, something had to change. She picked up her comm and turned it between her fingers. What she needed was an outside perspective, or better yet, someone with the kind of lateral thinking that didn’t require institutional permission. Someone who would read the pieces she had and find a pattern she could not yet name. She found Thrawn's contact code, and it stared back at her from the screen. This was ridiculous; she had busted down doors, shot tweakers in stairwells, argued with Vask, and threatened dealers, yet here she was, undone by the prospect of sending one polite message to an alien.

It wasn’t her fault, of course. The awkwardness came from the fact that they hadn’t seen or spoken to each other for 6 months, which was both nothing and too much.

For that one semester at the Academy, Thrawn had been everywhere: in the common room, in the mess, in the lab, standing too still in doorways, watching too closely, offering advice she had not asked for and later depended on. His presence had once been as irritatingly unavoidable as inspections and morning drill—a fever dream brought on by proximity, rivalry, and the particular madness of the RIA. The Academy had been a sealed container. Everything inside it had expanded under pressure. Hatred became an obsession, competition became intimacy, and a single compliment could feel like a hand around the throat. 

If Thrawn had only remained what she first assumed he was: alien, arrogant, and intrusive, she would have let the plan unfold without hesitation. Thrawn would have been hurt before the race; her team might still have won; Spenc would not have learned of her warning, and their breakup could have waited until after she had secured enough money or status to refuse him from a position of strength. Like a civilized woman, with options. But he hadn't. He killed her with kindness instead.

 Rosita opened a blank message and wrote:

Lieutenant Thrawn,

No. Too cold. She deleted it.

Thrawn,

Too intimate. She deleted it.

Dear Thrawn,

"Dear Thrawn," she muttered, appalled. She leaned back in her chair and pressed the heel of her hand to one eye. Perhaps she could flirt. The thought arrived with such vigour that she laughed aloud. Flirt with Thrawn? How? What was she supposed to write? Thrawn, I hope this letter finds you well. Sometimes, when I feel frisky in the shower, I think about what your cock might taste like. Not long after you arrived at the RIA, Gimm mentioned checking you out in the shower and said you were packing some girth. I want to feel if that’s true.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, half choking on her own laughter, half gagging in disgust at her own weakness. It was best to keep it cordial. Professional. Perfectly reasonable. Nothing in the message would suggest she had imagined Thrawn in any private or compromising context, or that she missed him. Nothing would suggest that she needed him in a way that was... unbecoming.

Good day,

I’m writing to ask a favour, which I recognize is an uncomfortable position for me to be in, but for you, perhaps not an unusual one with me. I won't dress it up.

I'm six months into a posting that was designed to bury me, and I have stumbled on something I don't have the tools or access to pursue on my own. I will not put the details in writing. What I will say is that it involves the lower levels of Coruscant, a supply chain that appears not to exist, blood that I'm not allowed to run through toxicology, and an institutional indifference that I'm beginning to suspect is not indifference at all.

I need someone with strategic intelligence and no stake in the outcome. I need someone who will look at what I have and tell me honestly whether I'm seeing a pattern or manufacturing one out of frustration.

I'm asking you to come to Esther Hole at your earliest convenience.

I'm aware this is not a small request. I'm making it anyway.

Agent Trainee Rosita Turuy
Drug Enforcement Agency, Operations Division

She read it once. It was blunt, it was honest, and it exposed only what she was comfortable exposing. She sent it before she could talk herself out of it.

By the time she showered at the field office, then again once she arrived home to her box and crawled into bed. She had decided Thrawn would not respond for several days. Possibly weeks, or never, depending on how tedious the Navy had made itself. That is, until her comm chimed right as she was about to fall asleep. Rosita sat upright so fast her blanket fell to her waist. There was no good reason for her heart to behave like that. None. She snatched the comm from the bedside crate and checked the notification, then bit back a squee.

Agent Trainee Turuy,

I will come.

However, I must be candid with you in return. I have used a considerable portion of my leave days visiting the galleries of the Mid and Outer Rim, and the fiscal year does not turn for another four months. I cannot request further leave until then without attracting attention, and I would prefer not to do so at this stage of my posting.

Four months is not nothing. I recognize this, but I would ask you to continue gathering what you can in the interim. Document everything and trust your instincts about what is incidental and what is structural. You have good instincts, even though you have used them improperly in the past.

I will be there when the fiscal year turns.

Thrawn

Rosita read the line again, even though you have used them improperly in the past, and exhaled through her nose. The nerve of him. The absolute, consistent, and unrelenting nerve. She could not decide whether to be irritated or grateful, so she settled on both, which was more or less her natural state where Thrawn was concerned.

Four months? Four months was enough time to file Martin Vegur's transfer paperwork. Enough time to get Karloto's sample and have it tested quietly, outside of DEA channels. Enough time to build something worth showing. She set the comm down and pulled the death wand's case out from under the bed. She opened it, lifted the weapon, felt its power up against her palm in its quiet blue pulse.

Continue gathering what you can.

She intended to.

Chapter Text

Black Cell Fourteen was not a prison so much as a gaping mouth that swallowed people from the lower levels and made them disappear from official digestion records. To reach it, Rosita had to pass through three checkpoints, a bored clerk with long painted fingernails, and a supervisor who kept insisting that operational agents had no authority to conduct interviews.

“I’m not conducting an interview,” she said for the fourth time. “I’m confirming a classification issue.”

The supervisor, a thin man with an oily moustache and a face that had never known urgency, looked down at her credentials as if written in an extinct dialect. “You’re DEA Operations Division,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Not Investigations.”

“So?”

“You don’t conduct suspect interviews.”

“I’m not conducting a suspect interview.”

“You want to speak with a detainee.”

“To confirm a classification issue.”

“That sounds like an interview.”

“As I said,” Rosita began slowly, as if speaking to someone who couldn’t understand common Basic. “I’m here regarding a possible evidentiary error in a narcotics classification. If the detainee is incorrectly logged as having possessed tainted cannis, then your facility is wrong to hold him.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

So, begging it was then, “All I need is fifteen minutes,” Rosita said, sweetening the pitch of her voice by going up an octave. “I swear. I’m not here to investigate. I want peace of mind.”

“You have fifteen minutes,” he said finally. “No recording, no transfer promises, and no legal advisement.”

“Of course,” Rosita said before being led down a corridor lit by strips of blue-white light that buzzed overhead. The walls were clean, technically, but not in a way Rosita trusted. The whole place smelled of disinfectant poured over urine and shit. Somewhere beyond the corridor, a man was screaming, not in pain… not exactly. It was the scream of someone who did it because it was all they could do.

The guard walking ahead did not react. At the end of the corridor was a narrow interview room, divided by a scratched, transparent partition, and a metal table jutted out from both sides of the barrier. She sat and waited for Martin Vegur to be brought in.

There was still a bit of fight in Martin; he twisted himself free from the guard's grip before sitting down opposite the divider. He wore a prison tunic that hung loose at the shoulders, his hair was shorn close to the scalp, his lower lip was split, and a bruise yellowed along one cheekbone. He picked up the corded comm and held it to his ear.

Once the guard left, Rosita followed suit, picked up the comm and said, “Karloto sent me.”

“Feels bad, huh?” Martin replied in a voice too dry for the circumstances.

“Bad enough to help me.” Rosita leaned back in her chair.

“Good,” Martin sneered. “He fucked me sideways; the least he can do is get me out.”

“Your name?”

“You know my name.”

“Humour me.”

“Martin Vegur,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

“Charges?”

“Possession with the intent to distribute.” Martin shook his head, disgust evident on his face.

“Possession of what?” she asked.

“You in uniforms are saying tainted cannis, Karloto sent word it was 3 kilos of various spice, none of it tainted, all pure as a fuck. So you tell me.”

“Do you have a good lawyer?”

Martin snorted; it was a weak sound barely caught by the comm’s mic.

“Don’t tell me you plan to use free counsel?” she asked. “If you're being charged with possession of tainted cannis, with the intent to distribute, you're facing life. This isn’t a joke.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Martin asked incredulously. “I don’t have credits for a good lawyer. I’d ask Martin for one, but they don’t offer the option to choose. They assign us one, and that’s that.”

“Who arrested you?” Rosita asked.

“Security droids first. Then some private boys came and took me here.”

“Private boys?”

“All black armour, no markings.”

“Tell me about your assigned counsel.”

“Some woman. Never told me her name. Showed up for maybe five minutes and said I should sign a labour deferment.”

“A what?” Rosita asked.

“Labour deferment.” Martin shrugged, trying for casual and failing. He looked perturbed to say the least. “She said if I sign, I don’t sit in prison, I’ll get transferred to a work program, and as long as I work hard, they’ll set me free. She said it’s my best chance.”

“What work program?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Where?”

“Dunno, off-world somewhere.”

“They’re taking you off-world?” Rosita asked. Her mind then exploded with thoughts of the implications. Framed for carrying tainted cannis, taken to a private detention and offered a labour deferment off-world by some mysterious broad who he was forced to use as representation. This didn’t sound like a clogged system; it was clearly a pipeline of some sort.

“That’s the scam, ain’t it?” Martin said, a sneer moving his mouth, “Move me off-world so I can go work in some mine somewhere until my lungs rot. They think I don’t know how this goes.”

“Don’t sign anything,” she said.

“No?” Martin laughed. “Like that’ll save me.”

“I mean it. Nothing. Not a plea. Not a deferment. Not a transfer consent. Nothing.”

“They’ll make me.”

“Then refuse.”

“That gets me beaten.”

“Better beaten here than some internment camp stars know where. Just take it. Ask for more time to consider. Tell them you might fight the charge instead. Make it convincing that you really want to think about it.”

“Yer bad at comfort.” He stared at her.

“I’m not here to comfort you.”

“No. Yer here because you need Karloto for something. What does he owe you?”

“A sample of this tainted Cannis.”

“And if he gets it to you, you’ll help free me?”

“Something like that.”

“Good luck.”

“What do you mean?”

Martin snorted.

“If you know something, now’s the time.”

 “No one here knows who’s dealing tainted cannis, and trust me, there are some pretty big players locked up in here. I know my cousin, I’m pretty sure he won’t be able to find any.”

 “He might surprise me. Your cousin’s a slippery fellow.” Rosita leaned forward. “Did they screen you? Draw any blood, do any tests?”

“Yeah.”

“What did they do?”

Martin hesitated. “Took blood, checked my teeth, tested my reflexes, grip strength, eyes. They made me run on a belt til I puked. That normal?”

“Maybe…” Rosita considered it.

“They said it was for labour suitability.”

“Could be for that, yes. Do you have family besides Karloto?”

“My mother’s dead, father fucked off as many of them do. I have an aunt on Level 2033, but she’s got three little ones. She can’t help.”

Something buzzed, and a guard’s voice came through the wall speaker. “Times up.”

Rosita rose halfway, comm still in her hand, then stopped herself and sat back down. Martin watched her with open suspicion now. “Are you actually going to help me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Even if you find out Karloto can’t get yer sample?”

That gave her pause, and she wondered, would she? “Yes,” she decided, “I’ll still help.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to win.” Rosita stood now leaning down so the corded comm reached her ear. “Remember what I said, sign nothing,” she left the interview room in silence, passed the screaming man again, though now his voice had faded into a raw, wet rasp. They passed the supervisor with the oiled moustache, who made a point of not looking up from his terminal. She passed through the checkpoints, the scans, the metal doors, and the disinfected throat of Black Cell Fourteen until at last the lower-level air hit her face like a dirty hand.

That kid was as good as gone without a competent lawyer. Her father’s clean-shaven face came to her, uninvited. She sighed long and loud. Morris Turuy, with his expensive suits, smooth voice and male-patterned baldness, knew courts, contracts, and loopholes better than most in his field.

It made sense to ask, and he did feel like he owed her; that would be useful. Rosita looked down at the comm, and she found his name in her contacts. Her thumb hovered over the call icon. There would be no reunion, no forgiveness, and no daughterly appeal.

Here was his olive branch: she would make him useful. She pressed call, and on the third ring, he answered.

“Rosita?”

She closed her eyes and, when she opened them, said coldly, “I need a lawyer.”

…

Something was wrong. Rosita knew the moment she stepped into the bullpen. Senior Special Agent Vask stood in the middle of the room, arms folded across his chest. Kellick stood beside him, as at ease as a man waiting for someone else’s execution. No one around them stopped what they were doing; that would have been too obvious. Agents kept typing at their terminals, sipping their caf, and arguing over call logs in low, irritated voices.

"Turuy," Vask called out. “Come here.”

“Sir.” Rosita stopped beside her desk and set down her helmet and respirator before making her way over.

 "Do you enjoy wasting my time?" He asked in a slow, lazy drawl.

“No, sir.” Rosita kept her chin high.

"Interesting." His crooked nose wrinkled. "Because our hierarchy of command seems to think you do."

A few heads in the bullpen dipped lower over their terminals. She felt a little chill move over the back of her neck. "I don't understand."

"No?" Vask asked. "Then let me help you. Someone above my pay grade flagged irregular movement through detainee access in the Black Cells. You want to tell me why an Agent Trainee in Operations thinks it's appropriate to interview detainees without clearance?"

At first, Rosita said nothing, not because she had no answer, but because any answer she gave would sound worse when spoken aloud. She had thought herself careful to frame her curiosity as administrative confusion. Apparently not.

"Well?" Vask barked

"I wasn't doing anything improper," she said at last.

Kellick made a small sound in the back of his throat that might have been a laugh. Vask turned his head slowly toward him and asked,  "Jeffry, did you know what she was up to?"

"Not a thing." Kellick lifted both hands from where he had them loosely crossed over his chest and shrugged. "If she'd told me she planned to poke around the Black Cells like some half-trained investigator with a death wish, I'd have stopped her.” Rosita's eyes narrowed as Kellick continued. "I suspect she's a bit of an idiot and wouldn’t have listened to me regardless."

"I'm not an idiot," she snapped before she could stop herself.

"Shut up," Vask said between his teeth.

The bullpen went fully silent now. Rosita shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked together.

"The only thing stopping me from sending you to the basement to destroy scandocs for a week,” Vask began, taking one step toward her and pointing a thick finger in her face. “is that Kellick here has convinced me you're too stupid to understand the seriousness of what you were doing."

Hatred became her, and heat rushed to her face. Her hatred began with Kellick, who had no right to call her an idiot; then it shifted to Vask, who was stupid enough to believe it. She hated them both equally because there was nothing she could say without making it all worse. Kellick, to his immense credit or cowardice, did not look at her.

"You’re lucky, Turuy. Do you understand me? Lucky Command is allowing this to end with a warning." Vask lowered his hand but did not step back.

"I understand, sir.” Rosita swallowed.

"No, I don't think you do." His voice lost volume then, which made it more dangerous. "I've personally seen insubordinate agents end up in the Black Cells. Not suspects. Not street filth. Agents."

That landed. Rosita kept her composure, but something cold and very real moved through her midsection. She had imagined plenty since coming to Esther Hole: corruption, incompetence, malice, even. But Vask did not sound as though he were trying to frighten her with a story. He sounded like a man remembering something he would rather forget. He seemed to study her face, and, evidently satisfied by whatever he found there, said, "Good. Maybe now the lesson will stick."

There was nothing she could say to that.

"You don’t investigate detainees. You don’t go near the Black Cells unless ordered. You don’t improvise jurisdiction where you have none. You’re Operations. Your job is to answer calls, neutralize threats, eat food, and move on."

"Yes, sir."

"Go home," Vask said with a look of disgust.

"Sir?"

"I said, go home. You're no use to me today. Go sit in that little box of yours and think about what you've done before I change my mind and send you downstairs anyway."

For one awful second, pride overcame reason. "With respect, I-"

"Try me," Vask cut across her, his eyes hardening.

She did not.

"Turuy," Vask said as she was about to turn and go. "Whatever you think you're doing down here, stop thinking you're the only one clever enough to notice when something stinks. The difference between you and those above you is that they know when to keep breathing through it."

Rosita collected her things and left before her face betrayed her thoughts.

Chapter Text

By the time Rosita returned to her accommodations, she had worked herself into a temper hot enough to burn through reason. A bit of an idiot? Kellick could go fuck himself! He saved her, did he? That was what made it unbearable. If he'd denied knowing anything and left it at that, she could have resented him and called it a day, but no, he had to protect her by making her small while Vask had done the rest.

Yet, beneath the anger, something uglier sat in silence. Vask had personally seen insubordinate agents end up in the Black Cells, and Rosita had to cross lines to solve this case. Was she now supposed to tell Thrawn she had decided to drop her investigation because Command demanded it? Would he think her weak for giving up?

Of course, he would. She would think him weak, too. Her eyes fell on the wall vent, where the silk scarf fluttered in the recycled air. The room felt smaller than usual. The little lamp on the desk cast a warm, stupid light over the artificial flowers and the holobit Fleek made of her dancing with Thrawn. She suddenly hated it all. The softness, the attempt at domesticity, and the suggestion that this assignment was something she could decorate her way through. She sat on the bed and began to remove one boot, about to remove the other when her comm chimed.

The tone was wrong. This was a system-priority message, urgent enough to override her settings. Rosita snatched the device from the bedside crate and checked the screen.

ALL Operatives Esther Hole

Code: HIGH RED ALERT  
REPORT TO BROWN STAR MALL IMMEDIATELY
SWARM EVENT IN PROGRESS
LEVEL 2114
FULL RESPONSE ALL MIGHT

Swarm event? Rosita frowned. What the Kriff was that? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be tweakers. Tweakers didn't swarm. They were mostly solitary, fractured, and consumed by hunger and the noise inside their own skulls. Her comm vibrated in her hand before she could think further. It was Kellick. She answered at once. "What’s a swarm event?" she asked in greeting.

"Get dressed and arm yourself. I'm five minutes out." No hello, no insult, Kellick's voice came fast and flat through the speaker.

"What is it?"

"Brown Star Mall. Full response."

"Kellick—"

"I said get armed."

The line cut.

Rosita stood very still, the comm clenched in her hand. Then she moved. Her motions came quickly now, sharpened by habit and instinct. The same instinct that had driven her towards the Black Cells in the first place. The same one Vask had basically told her to eat. Once she donned her armour, she finished by putting on her belt and sidearm, and looped the sling of her standard-issue E-11 over her shoulders. As she reached for her helmet and respirator, her gaze dropped to the dark green lockbox half-hidden beneath the bed. She stopped; the room seemed to bend her towards it.

It was not standard issue. It wasn’t authorized for routine field deployment. It wasn’t the sort of weapon one took to a scene unless one expected the scene to require ending lives decisively. Kellick would lose his mind if he saw it, Vask would likely have her skinned. Rosita looked toward the door, then back at the bed. The smart move would be to leave it. Command had just warned her, Vask had threatened her, and she ought to have taken the lesson and been obedient for at least the rest of the day. Instead, she crouched, dragged the lockbox from under the bed, and punched in the code. The lid sprang open with a soft mechanical click.

There it lay in black foam: her death wand, compact, sleek, and beautiful. The moment her hand closed around the grip, it recognized her and proved so with blue light. Rosita exhaled. "You're coming with me," she murmured, sliding it into a compartment in her chest plate.

…

Kellick drove like a maniac in heat.

Rosita kept one hand braced against the dash and the other gripping the overhead strap as the speeder fishtailed around a delivery truck, dipped under a freight tram, then shot through a yellow hazard lane meant for emergencies, not regular traffic. Emergency lights flashed red across the underbelly of Coruscant’s bones. Steam hissed from broken pipes. Sirens wailed, then were lost in the great mechanical groan of the levels stacked above and below.

“Are you trying to kill us before we get there?” Rosita asked through her respirator.

“If I were trying, you’d know.” Kellick grinned with all his teeth.

She nearly bit her tongue when he took a turn too hard and sent them bouncing over a service ramp. “You're sick!” she yelled.

“You only say that because I’m good.”

The comm on the dash kept crackling with fragments from other responding units.

“—civilians trapped on the third floor—”

“—food court breach—”

“—I repeat, this is not contain—”

“—multiple active clusters—”

“What do you think is happening?”

“Can’t talk,” Kellick replied. “Gotta focus here.”

That was fair. Rosita stared out the viewport, watching Brown Star Mall rise into view between the towers and service bridges, its exterior holo-signs still blazing in cheerful colours despite the catastrophe spilling out of it. One sign advertised imported spider-silk garments. Another rotated a grinning family through a field of stars beneath the slogan: BUY FOR TOMORROW. The irony almost made her laugh.

Then she heard the screaming before the speeder stopped.

It came in a shrill, collective wave—high, panicked, and unceasing, not the scream of one person in pain but of many sentients realizing at once that the walls around them were no longer enough. Behind the screams were the predatory growls and shrieks of tweakers. Rosita felt the sound in the base of her throat. Kellick killed the siren, dropped them hard behind a blockade of patrol speeders and med-units on the large landing pad that wrapped around the mall.

Brown Star Mall’s front plaza looked like a battlefield. Civilians stumbled down the wide steps and across the potholed landing, many of them bloodied, several missing shoes, others missing more critical things. A woman in a floral sack of a dress ran by with one side of her face flayed open. An older Duros sat upright against a planter with his entrails in his lap, blinking as if he still expected someone to come and ask for his scandocs. Security droids lay in pieces where they’d been pulled apart. The broad doors to the mall had been shattered inward. Every few seconds, another scream tore out from deeper inside, followed by blaster fire and then a noise Rosita now knew too well: the wet, ugly impact of a body being ripped open.

“The stars,” she muttered.

“No,” Kellick said, grabbing his rifle from the rack. “This is the Hierarchy of Command.” She followed his gaze and saw them at once. The propaganda crew was on scene. They were not in their usual bright blue and red uniforms with Imperial crests pinned proudly to their chests and equipment, the sort of attire meant to tell viewers that the state was both informative and benevolent. No, tonight they wore blue and red armour. Actual armour. Polished chest plates, reinforced greaves, full helmets with the visors up and slim camera rigs mounted over one eye or onto stabilized shoulder brackets. Others carried long-arm rigs balanced on mechanical supports like blaster rifles. Their light sources were built into their forearms or clipped to their backs.

They moved efficiently through the blood and broken glass, as if they belonged there more than the medics. Rosita watched one of them kneel beside a cluster of bodies near the entrance, adjusting a portable light until the sheen of blood reflected just so. Another tilted his camera and made a slicing motion with two fingers, directing a third to step half a step to the left so that a dead mother and child framed the vending machine behind them. One more had climbed halfway up a decorative fountain to shoot from above, capturing the plaza’s chaos with the same concentration she had once seen in cadets during target practice.

“Of course they’re here,” Kellick muttered. “Wouldn’t want a massacre going unwitnessed.”

Vask stood near the base of the shattered steps with three supervising special agents Rosita had only seen in passing before, all in darker armour than they were in Operations, and with enough rank tabs to make any sane person nervous. Vask looked furious and flustered all at once; his red beard was uncombed, and his eyes had the harried look of a man already ten mistakes into someone else’s disaster. He turned as more units arrived, saw Kellick and Rosita, and thrust his head toward the growing knot of operatives gathering in the plaza and yelled, “Move to formation! Move!”

They picked up their pace until falling in line with the others. Operations agents, tactical overflow, and a few uniformed support officers. Some looked grim, others looked green, and one of the propaganda crew drifted close enough for Rosita to hear the faint electric hum of his stabilizer. Vask stepped onto a low barrier block so they could all see him above the crowd of helmets.

“At least eighty tweakers are inside the mall now,” he barked without introduction. “That’s confirmed. It means there are more. They are slaughtering anyone in their path. Security failed containment, mall lockdown failed, and the responding units that went in first got cut off around the food court. If you stop to count bodies, cry over bodies, or think for one second you are entering a rescue pageant, you will die and make more work for the rest of us. Heard?”

“Heard,” came the ugly, uneven chorus.

“You are being split into four teams. Alpha takes the main entrance and advances toward the concourse. Bravo enters through the east parking structure. Charlie takes the upper maintenance lifts and clears downward. Delta,” his gaze briefly fell on Rosita’s section of the group, “Skirts the building and enters through the rear loading bay, which is where they are believed to have breached first. Your objective is to cut through the service corridor, clear the stockrooms, and move inward and upward toward the food court, where we believe the largest active cluster has formed.”

Rosita adjusted her grip on her rifle and listened.

“Now hear this part carefully,” Vask went on, sounding as if it physically pained him to continue. “The propaganda crews will accompany all teams.”

That landed worse than the tweaker number. A low wave of disgust moved through the operatives. Someone near the back said, “You’re joking.” Someone else muttered, “Kriff me.” Kellick let out a long snort beside Rosita.

“No, I’m not joking.” Vask made a knife hand. “And I don’t care what you think about it. That order came from above you and above me. You’re not to interfere with them, threaten them, obstruct them, or make me hear later that you shoved one down an escalator. They stay with you. You do your job.”

Rosita looked again toward the armoured media unit as one of them turned his lens her way for just a second, then moved on. She let her nose wrinkle.

“Try not to die photogenically, it’ll only encourage them.” Kellick leaned in slightly and said out of the corner of his mouth, Rosita would have answered, but Vask was still talking, splitting the four teams, and assigning team leaders.

“Delta team, with me now,” Vask said. “The rest of you, move. And remember this: if it charges you, tears at you, or looks at you like it wants inside your ribs, put it down. Centre mass if you have time; head if you don’t. Don’t waste energy playing hero.”

The teams broke. Two propaganda technicians followed Delta. One carried a shoulder rig with a barrel-thick lens and a folding light array on his back. The other wore a front-mounted camera and moved with disturbing grace, always just to the side, just behind, never in the way, yet impossible to ignore. Rosita hated them both on sight; it would now be impossible to search the bodies of tweakers for Cannis. When would she ever have access to more than 80 of them in one location again? This situation was supposed to be impossible.

The rear of Brown Star Mall was a less glamorous beast entirely, all receiving docks, refuse chutes, and broad service doors. The screaming sounded different at the back, echoing through the service alleyway in bursts that ricocheted off the walls. One of the loading bay doors hung twisted in its track. Blood had dried along the handles in dark rust-coloured streaks.

The service corridor beyond was narrow, fluorescent-lit, and lined with crates of packaged goods split open in the violence. Fruit pulp mixed with blood on the floor. One of the freezers had been torn partly from the wall, and someone had smeared red handprints all the way down its silver face. Somewhere ahead, metal shrieked against tile.

Then came the first tweaker.

He burst through a swinging door with a janitorial bucket wrapped around one forearm like a shield and a handful of flesh hanging loose from one hand. He was fast, faster than he ought to have been, his eyes bugged wide and milky with that awful brightness Rosita had come to associate with the tainted cannis. Kellick fired first, taking him twice in the chest. The shots staggered him but did not stop him. Rosita brought her rifle up and fired once into his throat. His body spun, hit the wall, and folded into the toppled freezer.

“Contact!” Special Agent Neral, a hard-jawed woman with one white eyebrow and a scar disappearing beneath her collar, yelled unnecessarily.

More came at once.

Delta opened up, and the corridor flashed red, blue, and white with blaster fire. One of the propaganda technicians backed up directly in front of Rosita for three steps, filming over his shoulder as the tweakers rushed into the bolts, then sidestepped at the last instant with the infuriating smoothness of a dancer.

A woman in a shredded tunic rushed from behind a stack of beverage crates with half her scalp missing and her hands hooked like claws. Behind her came two males, one still wearing what looked like a vendor’s apron, the other stripped down to blood-slick skin and shredded trousers.

The woman in the shredded tunic got too close.

Rosita dropped her rifle by instinct, let it hang on its sling, drew her sidearm, and put one bolt through the woman’s eye at almost point-blank range. Hot spray hit the front of her armour and visor. It was impossible she felt the heat, but she could, and the wetness too. Behind the dead woman, the apron-wearing male hurled himself over the body and came low, teeth bared, fingers spread to gut. She shot him once in the collarbone, and he kept coming.

“Turuy!” Vask barked, his own weapon deploying in the opposite direction. “Handle it!”

Did he think she wasn’t trying? She stepped back, reached into her breast compartment, and in the same movement pulled free the death wand and disengaged the safety. Part of her held hope that Vask wouldn’t look back at her. Once he saw the death wand, he would likely rip it from her hand and beat her with it. The weapon activated.

For one beat, everything around her seemed to sharpen. The corridor, the flickering lights, the other agents, the grey of the service walls, the red on the floor, but mostly the bloody, wet mouth of the thing running at her. She raised the death wand and fired.

The blast hit the apron-wearing tweaker centre mass and unmade him. He flew apart in a spray of flesh, bone, and smoking fabric, the force of it punching pieces of him into the wall and ceiling so hard that packaged goods burst open behind him. The propaganda technician nearest Rosita made a sound that was almost ecstatic and immediately swung the lens toward the weapon, then to her face, then back to the pile of flesh.

“What the fuck?” Vask said, distracted for only an instant before returning his attention down his sight.

Another cluster rounded the bend ahead, drawn by the noise. Rosita fired again. The second blast took a pair of them at once and blew them backward through the swinging stockroom doors, which came off their hinges with a metallic scream. Blue-white light flared along the walls. The corridor was filled with smoke, meat, and the smell of scorched plastic.

The propaganda crew was on her instantly.

One got low to shoot up at the wand in her hand. Another backed ahead of her, filming her advance straight-on through the haze. A third operator had somehow appeared on a crate stack to the right, catching the angle of her silhouette against the strobing service lights and drifting smoke.

They had found their story. Rosita knew it before she had time to both resent and welcome it.

Every time the death wand fired, they shifted around her like carrion birds with elite training. Their lenses found the blue flare, then her hand, then her face, then the ruin she left behind. One adjusted a light so the discharge lit her profile more cleanly through the haze. Another nearly collided with Kellick in his effort to catch the weapon’s muzzle from below.

“Watch where you’re going!” Kellick snapped, shoving the technician sideways with his elbow before firing past him into the chest of a limping tweaker emerging from the smoke.

Rosita should have hated it. She did. She hated the way they moved around the dead as if setting a table. She hated that they had arrived dressed for battle. She hated that some creature in her chest still thrilled at being seen wielding a weapon of her own design with such devastating effect. That was supposed to be the worst part. Not the cameras, not the bodies, but that dash of satisfaction running through the disgust…only it wasn't.

The corridor opened into a broader stock area full of pallets and overturned trolleys. Somewhere beyond it, deeper in the mall, civilians were still screaming.

“Neral!” Kellick shouted over the din. “We’ve got movement through receiving!”

“I can see that!” Special Agent Neral fired twice into the dark.

 “Delta forward!” Vask yelled. “We push to the food court!”

The death wand outstretched, Rosita moved through the stock area, her standard-issue rifle slung forgotten over her shoulder. Tweakers emerged from between the pallets, from behind stacks of boxed glassware and holiday décor, and from a burst cold-storage room where butchered bodies lay under cuts of imported meat. Whenever one came too fast or too many came together, she used the death wand, and the result was always the same: annihilation, both immediate and obscene.

The propaganda technicians kept pace.

When she pivoted left and blasted a charging pair apart in one stroke, they were there, in her way, preventing her from quickly checking the tweakers' bodies for cannis.

When she kicked aside a fallen cart in the concourse and stepped over the crawling body of a victim to fire into a knot of three bursting out of a shoe store, they were there.

When the wand’s blue flare washed over the walls and bathed her armour in light, they were there, lenses focused.

“What is that thing?” one of the propaganda technicians asked once the violence in the food court ended and they regained control of the mall.

It would have been better to give its official name. Riot rifle. Instead, Rosita said the truth, “It’s my death wand.”

Chapter Text

By the time the all-clear was given, Brown Star Mall no longer looked like a place where people strolled through shops with more desires than credits; it now looked like bones with freshly peeled flesh.

The screaming had stopped, but there were still the moans of the dying and those in despair intermingling with the more organized sounds of the aftermath: med-droids rolling over singed flooring, officers barking inventory numbers, forensic teams unpacking kits, lift cables humming as support crews arrived floor by floor. The dead were being counted now. The living were being sorted. The blood, however, remained where it pleased.

Once outside the mall's shattered main entrance, with her helmet off and her respirator hanging loose around her neck, her armour was tacky with blood and soot. Not much of it was hers. Every so often, a body bag was zipped shut nearby, and the sound seemed far too small for what it meant.

The propaganda crews were still there, of course.

They moved through the plaza with renewed purpose now that the danger had passed. They filmed the wounded being loaded into transports. They filmed the dead being covered. They filmed the mall's ruined doors and the operatives standing in small exhausted clusters, as if fatigue itself were a patriotic spectacle.

One of them kept angling for another shot of Rosita. She noticed because he wasn't subtle.

None of them were subtle now; she held her hand up in defiance and gave them her back. She should have been furious about the cameras. She was, in part. But the stronger feeling was stranger and harder to admit. She had done what no one else there could do. She had cut through clusters that would have overwhelmed them. She had saved lives. She had also given the cameras exactly what they wanted: a weapon, a silhouette, a woman in blood-splashed armour lit by blue muzzle flare like some imperial grindhouse horror.

Kellick stood a few meters away with two other agents, waiting in line to get hosed down by a water truck and recounting something with one hand and smoking with the other. He caught Rosita's eye once and gave the smallest shrug, as if to say, there it is.

And there it was.

"Turuy." Vask's voice pulled her around. He stood alone now, a little away from the others, one hand on his hip, the other hanging loose at his side. He looked as if the entire evening had deepened the lines in his face by ten years.

Behind him, cleanup crews were taking over the plaza, and the remaining operatives were being dismissed in waves. Team leaders were handing off to investigators, medics, and the black-badged specialists who appeared whenever there was too much carnage for ordinary paperwork.

"Senior Special Agent," Rosita said, straightening automatically. His gaze dropped, not to her face, but to the weapon in her hand. She still held the death wand and hadn't realized it until that moment. She expected the explosion then, expected him to hold out his hand and demand it, before telling her she was finished. Instead, he only looked at her. Coldly. Thoroughly.

"You've had a night," he finally said, to which Rosita said nothing. His eyes lifted to hers. "Do you know what everyone of them sees when they point those lenses at you?"

"I imagine whatever they're told to see." She glanced past him. Another propaganda tech was indeed filming them from a distance now.

A faint movement touched Vask's mouth. Not a smile, something more tired than that. "No. They see a story. That's worse."

"I used what worked." Rosita tightened her grip on the death wand.

"Obviously." A pause fell between them, filled with the sounds of the aftermath of battle. When Vask spoke again, his voice had lowered enough that only she could hear, "You're beyond my help, Royal Academy girl."

"Sir?"

"If you wish to be seen, be seen," he said. His eyes flicked once toward the nearest camera. "And find out for yourself what it means to be held."

She stared at him, frowning, trying to decide whether this was a warning, a condemnation, or a kindness delivered by a man too damaged to disguise it as one. "You're not recommending a charge against me?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Vask's expression went flat. "If I charged every operative who broke protocol tonight, I'd have no unit left by morning."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting." He stepped back. "Go home, Turuy. Sleep if you can. Report for your next shift on time and in proper kit." Then he turned and walked away toward the investigators, never once asking her to surrender the death wand. Rosita watched him go until one of the propaganda crews brushed past her shoulder, chasing a better angle on a stretcher. Only then did she move towards the hoses.

…

Her room felt too quiet after the mall.

Not peaceful. Never peaceful, just sealed off, like the inside of a pressure chamber. Rosita stripped her armour in stages, each piece heavier than it should have been. Breastplate, greaves, and her utility belt with its sidearm. Last of all, she pulled the death wand from the breast plate and cleaned it most carefully before returning it to its foam-lined case. Her hands were steady while she did that—less steady when she stepped into the shower and watched pink water spiral down the drain. She scrubbed twice.

By the time she emerged in an oversized sleep shirt with damp hair and aching shoulders, the room's little lamp cast its familiar warm pool of light over the desk. Her comm sat on the edge of the bed where she'd left it before showering. Thrawn's last message was still open from when she re-read it on the ride home, his promise still feeling like a Winterlude gift; he would come when the fiscal year turned. Rosita let out a long, drawn-out sigh and began typing before she could decide against it.

Thrawn,

Today, we had what Command called a Swarm Event. That's the term they used, Swarm Event. It took place at a mall. At least 100 tweakers broke in, overwhelmed security, and cut off first responders around the food court. That's not normal. You've never seen them here, you don’t know Tweakers as I do, so trust me when I say this was different. Why would they all descend to one location as if summoned? Are they getting smarter, and do they know the mall is the best place to feast? How did they know to breach from the back? It’s so obviously suspicious that it’s sloppy. I’m beginning to think this is a test, and Command is just daring us to say something. To draw out the disloyal. We’ve lost at least 4 agents today, from what I’ve heard.

They sent in propaganda crews in armour alongside us. Not after. With us. They filmed everything. I used the Death Wand, and no one stopped me. Stranger than that, no one punished me for it afterward. My supervisor saw it. He should have ripped it from my hand and had me written up. Instead, he gave me what I think was a warning about being seen. I don't know whether today was opportunism or choreography, but it felt staged in a way I can't yet prove with concrete evidence. You told me to keep gathering what I could. I'm trying, but I think I might be getting scared.

R.T.

She reread it once, feeling too damn exposed, but removed nothing, and sent it.

The room felt a little less airless after that. Not because he would answer immediately. He might. He might not. But the message existed now outside of her. The pattern was no longer trapped solely in her own head, where doubt could chew on it uninterrupted. Rosita leaned back in the chair and let her eyes drift to the holobit on the desk. Fleek's stupid recording, he made her a copy of. She picked it up and activated it.

First came the soft classical music, creating a distinct atmosphere, then the image rose soft and grainy in the room's dim light: the Unity Gala dance floor, her chainmail gown catching the light as she moved. Thrawn opposite her, precise and composed, blue hands steady at her waist and in her hand, as if the entire room had narrowed to the logic of one song and then another and another after that.

It was hard to say how he had been looking at her, but she liked to imagine he had been looking at her with devotion. Rosita watched one more turn, then another. The memory of the mall still lived under her skin, but the holo put distance between her and it. Not enough to erase anything. Just enough to let her breathe without hearing screams under the silence. She lay back on the bed with the holobit still glowing on the bedside crate, the dance looping in soft light.

Somewhere in the middle of another turn, her eyes closed, and this time, sleep took her before the dead could come back.