Author's Note:

Sorry for the long delay! Here's hoping I can actually get this fic finished before November! I don't actually have that far to go, but I had to get another fic finished and its sequel started, and I had connection issues, and I now have a beta! Muchas gracias to Lady Ravena for all her help and witty comments! Trust me when I say that this chapter is much better for her having looked it over. Now go read her Thrawn fics—they're terrific!

Oh yes, and one more thing! There is a new Thrawn forum here on FF.N! Just go to my profile, click "My Forums," and go to "Mitth'raw'nuruodo." And help bring my little forum to life, please—we need more people!

To my reviewers:

Imperial Warlord: Thrawn will tell them, don't worry. ^^

serenity8118: Of course it's a cliffie! ;-) Hope this chapter delivers!

Historian 1912: You definitely have to read the Thrawn Trilogy, and the Hand of Thrawn duology would not be amiss, either. The short stories "Mist Encounter," "Command Decision," and "Side Trip" Parts 1-4 would also be good.

Lord Tom: Well, thank you very much! I do have an unfortunate tendency to leave some of my works in another fandom unfinished, but inspiration for those stories comes less often, and I receive less feedback due to it being a smaller fandom. I don't think you have to worry about me leaving behind an SW fic! ^^

I can say for certain that there is a collection of one-shots in the works as a follow-up to this fic: missing scenes and other sequel pieces that are too defocused to make a fic in their entirety. As for a full sequel, well, that's entirely possible! Clone Thrawn does rather have better moral principles, if only because he understands where end-justifies-means thinking can take him, thanks to his father.

Chiss, as a rule, are very disciplined, very duty-oriented, and very family-oriented. And none too emotional. …Clone Thrawn just hasn't had much personal contact with his people, yet. ^^ Anyway, thank you for the lovely review! Made my day!

Mireilles3: Thank you! I'll keep it coming, and hope you continue to enjoy!

effique: …Wow, your review had to be one of the more interesting ones that I've gotten over the past couple of years. ^^ I do appreciate that your review was long and kind of rambling, 'cause I got to see more of your thought process, and it softened the less positive parts. No hard feelings, really! I'm glad you've been enjoying it, and I'm glad you subscribed. Now, let's see if I can make this reply short 'n' sweet.

Someday, I'd like to do a take on Thrawn VS. the Vong, but I'm not sure. If I do, it'll be far in the future. Meantime, there's another writer, Davin Sunrider, who will be starting a fic in the next few months, set in his One Missed Strike universe—dealing with the YV invasion, and in which Thrawn and an unburned!Vader go up against the Vong, presumably alongside the NR. You should check out his series—it's good.

I liked the clone relating that memory 1st person. The way I figure it—and I might be off, but this is how I figure it—is that he sees the imprinted memories, for the most part as something between personal memories and remembering scenes from a holovid. And if he chooses to hone in on a memory, like a zoom lens, then it gets more personal. And then there are certain memories that are quite vivid and very personal: Thrawn's highs and lows. Already distanced like that from his host's memories, the clone also might have already had enough time to come to grips with things by the time Luke and Mara showed up—it shouldn't have taken that long, anyway, since Thrawn (be he original or clone) is very fast on the draw.

Timothy Zahn has said that a clone of Thrawn would understand that he was not the original and that he had an enormous responsibility to live up to (check Wookieepedia). Along those lines, I can imagine that the clone might want to acknowledge Thrawn as his father, rather than his template, because otherwise, he's quite alone in family terms, and family is extremely important to the Chiss.

Clone Thrawn hasn't had much chance yet to be much of anything other than "nice," as it were. He's been having to do a lot of "sweet talking" (albeit, dead serious sweet talking) to get himself accepted by several people. Not only that, but in Outbound Flight, the real twenties-something Thrawn was pretty doggone nice himself to Jorj Car'das, Maris Ferasi, and Dubrak Qennto. I would argue that the clone still does have many traits of the original—the biggest difference being that he acts younger and more open and can sort of turn the Grand Admiral in him off and on. I would also argue that, in Outbound Flight, Thrawn might not have biologically been much older than his clone in this story, and he was pretty gun-ho himself. He could "save the galaxy," he knew it, and he acted upon it—similarly, the clone knows that the reason for his very existence is to "save the galaxy," and he knows he can. And clone Thrawn has been and will continue to reserve some information—after this chapter, if you look, you can catch it. I also wouldn't say that his decisions are affected by his emotions, and even if they are, you can give him a little slack via Outbound Flight once more—it can be argued that Thrawn's regard for Maris did affect a couple of his decisions. That book is more where I'm getting my characterization from than any other Thrawn tale.

To wrap up this little discussion on the clone, I'll quote something my beta said, after pointing out that Soontir Fel's clones had very different personalities from the Baron himself: "So, all a clone does is take the original's template and make it his own. If he slips into Thrawn mode too much, he risks blurring the line between the Syndic and the Admiral." That's definitely a line that the clone does not want to blur.

Okay (so much for "short 'n' sweet" *rolls eyes at self*)… Ooo, glad you liked the Luke/Mara, and the fluff! And yes, this chapter gets a little, mm, harsher, maybe, for Junior. Hopefully, you'll enjoy him in the first scene. Thank you once again!

Till It Was a Battle Cry

"There's a degree of risk involved. But risk has always been an inescapable part of warfare."

—Grand Admiral Thrawn, Heir to the Empire

Pellaeon's lips compressed to a thin, angry line as he watched the circus show of Moffs before him. How a mere seven men could make so much noise arguing was beyond him. He had had just enough time to greet Thrawn's clone before he'd had to preside over an emergency meeting with the politicians. The Empire was still in an uproar from Disra's coup, with no clear ending in sight to the madness.

Of course, it might not have helped Pellaeon's relations with the Moff Council that he'd ordered Disra's execution, but the man had been a traitor, clear and simple.

An aide entered the room and hurried over to Pellaeon's side. "Admiral, the, ah, Syndic wishes to enter," the young man whispered.

Pellaeon nodded. "Send him in." He settled back in his seat and folded his hands—he still wasn't entirely certain of this young clone, but the next several minutes promised to be most interesting.

The door hissed open, and a black uniformed figure stepped into the room. A couple of the Moffs noticed the new arrival right away, and stared at him slack-jawed. It took the others a few moments to notice the newcomer, but when they did, the room descended into a shocked silence.

The face was younger, but it was undoubtedly that of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

"Greetings, Admiral Pellaeon, Your Excellencies," the clone said, bowing slightly.

"Welcome, Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Pellaeon nodded gravely, glad that he had taken the time to practice the difficult name. Privately, he was enjoying the bewildered expressions of the seven politicians before him.

Moff Hort was the first to break the pause that followed. "What is this?" he demanded, eyes flicking back and forth between Pellaeon and Mitth'raw'nuruodo. "Who are you?"

The clone focused a cool, deliberating gaze on the man. "You may, perhaps, know me better by my core name, Thrawn."

"Another imposter!" Moff Quillan spat.

The clone turned to Quillan, his expression dropping a few degrees in temperature. "I am no impostor, Moff Quillan, I assure you," he said coolly. "I am genetically one-hundred-percent Grand Admiral Thrawn."

It took them a few more moments to digest that, and then it was Andray that spoke, his tone matching Mitth'raw'nuruodo's, his expression contemptuous. "A clone. You're a clone."

Unperturbed, Mitth'raw'nuruodo inclined his head toward Andray. "Correct, Your Excellency."

"What are you doing here?" Bemos demanded.

The clone arched an eyebrow. "I should have thought it obvious—I am here to aid the Empire."

"And just how do you propose to do that?" said Edan skeptically.

"I retain most of the late Grand Admiral's memories," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said, his tone the same tone that Pellaeon had heard the Grand Admiral use many times to lay out his plans, "and I have flash-learned a wealth of information. I also—" he stepped forward to stand directly before the end of the table—"have inherited his tactical and leadership abilities. The Empire has been adrift for far too long. I wish to return a sense of purpose to it."

"And just what purpose do you propose?" Hort sneered. "And why should we allow you into the Empire at all? We've just suffered from an attempted coup on the part of one of our own and a clone, supposedly also bearing Thrawn's military genius."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo's eyes narrowed, and his next words held an edge. "Oh, Major Tierce certainly bore Thrawn's military genius, Your Excellency—make no mistake of that. Had Admiral Pellaeon not received data from outside sources, the Empire would have continued to follow the plans of a tactically-brilliant stormtrooper clone, and you would never have been the wiser."

He straightened perceptibly, morphing in an instant from a civilian to a warrior, the powerful and nearly regal air of Grand Admiral Thrawn settling upon him. The Moffs all felt the change. Pellaeon himself could not help but be impressed.

"There has been enough infighting," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said firmly, his glowing eyes intense. "And enough of this bloody, unnecessary conflict with the New Republic. We face an impending challenge, gentlemen, that will test us all.

"You all know of the Grand Admiral's 'exile' to the Unknown Regions. What you do not know, however, is that the Grand Admiral engineered his fall from grace with the Emperor himself." Mitth'raw'nuruodo paused to let that sink in.

"Preposterous!" Hort spluttered.

The clone eyed him coolly. "Believe what you will." He let his gaze roam over the rest of the Moffs. "The fact remains that Grand Admiral Thrawn spent his years in the Unknown Regions building up a substantial Imperial presence. It was to be the vanguard of defense against the multitude of threats in the Unknown Regions."

"Multitude!" Quillan snorted. "If there are so many enemies out there, why have we yet to see them?"

The clone favored him with an even colder look. "Because it is that Imperial presence, coupled with the Defense Fleet of my own people, that keeps those enemies at bay. There are hundreds of threats out there that would freeze your blood if you knew of them. Be grateful you do not."

A heartbeat, and Sander blinked and shook his head. "How substantial is 'substantial'?"

"One hundred sectors," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replied promptly.

The small council exploded in disbelief. Pellaeon let it go for twenty seconds, counting them down in his head, and then stood. "Enough! Your Excellencies, let the Syndic continue."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo waited for all the men to retake their seats, then nodded to Pellaeon. "Thank you, Admiral. It is true, Your Excellencies. The Empire in the Unknown Regions indeed holds one hundred sectors, with several colonies and multiple garrisons, intel centers, shipyards, and alliances. Directing the operations since the Grand Admiral's death is Admiral Voss Parck, who is continuing the work Thrawn began. If I enter the Remnant, rest assured the Empire in the Unknown Regions will follow."

"And if you do not, they will not," Vered guessed. "Are you trying to blackmail us?"

"Not at all, You Excellency," the clone countered mildly. "I am simply pointing out the facts. With a hundred sectors at my disposal, I hardly need the eight sectors left to the Remnant, save for the political value."

"You want us to make you the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy," Andray said flatly. "You want your host's position."

"I was created for my host's position," Mitth'raw'nuruodo corrected. "I was the Grand Admiral's backup—I was meant to continue his work if he should die. As I said, there is an impending challenge on the horizon. Thrawn wanted to ensure that, whether by himself or by his clone, the galaxy would be prepared to face that challenge."

"And this challenge is~?" Sander prompted.

The clone's face hardened. "Roughly fifty years ago, a hostile, extragalactic species entered the Unknown Regions, unlike anything previously seen. These warriors were incredibly deadly, using organic technology that outmatched the technology my people possessed at the time. Our sound thrashing convinced the Far Outsiders to avoid that part of space, but we still receive reports from time to time. They are still out there, and I believe that we will see them mobilize against both the Remnant and the New Republic in less than a decade."

He leaned forward marginally, his entire manner intense. "They are a vast people, these Far Outsiders. One can gather from various intel that their population is at least as large as the human population of this galaxy, and possibly larger."

"But how could such an enormous populace keep secret?" Edan asked, incredulous.

"It is simple enough to hide from the galaxy proper when you wait on the sheer edge of it," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replied, something in his tone sending a chill down Pellaeon's spine.

Bemos shook his head. "How do we know we can trust you?"

"You don't, just yet," the clone conceded calmly. "But realize that the stakes are high. If I am wrong and you dismiss me, you lose nothing, save the chance to grow and thrive once more." He leaned forward and pressed his hands on the table. "But if I am right and you dismiss me, you will lose much more than the Remnant."

As soon as the door to his planetside office hissed shut, Pellaeon allowed his posture to sag. "I suppose that went about as well as could be expected." He sank into his seat behind the desk.

"Indeed," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said, taking a chair before the desk. "I'd fully expected to fight all the way, but Andray, Sander, Edan, and Vered were not fully opposed to me by the end. I intend to keep an eye on all of them, though—especially Bemos, Hort, and Quillan."

"Agreed," Pellaeon said gravely. He leaned back in his chair. "I must say, you put on quite the performance in there."

The clone's brow furrowed slightly. "It was no performance, sir."

"Oh? Explain to me, then, how you shifted from a civilian—cool and deliberating, but a civilian, nonetheless—to a Grand Admiral in the space of one second. Disra's con artist Flim can pull the same transformation, you know."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo's eyebrows arched. "You believe I was acting?" A beat, and then: "You still don't trust me."

"Perhaps I don't," Pellaeon said coolly, eyes searching the younger man's face. The clone could be quite open when he wanted to be, unlike his predecessor, who had maintained his reserve. Whether that was a personality difference or merely the result of the clone's youth, Pellaeon didn't know. Right now, he could tell that the boy was frustrated.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Admiral," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said stiffly. "I'm doing my best. Being a Grand Admiral is still an intrinsic part of me, but it's not the only aspect of my personality. I can be Thrawn, and I am Thrawn, but at the same time, I'm not." He ran a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated with himself. "I'm not certain how to explain it further."

Looking up, he met Pellaeon's eyes, and Pellaeon had a difficult time holding that penetrating crimson gaze. "Give me a test, if you doubt me. Something that would not be high risk, but important enough that I can prove myself."

Pellaeon's eyes narrowed. "The Chimaera is to meet with the Errant Venture in eight more days for the peace treaty. I want you to be there with me."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo inclined his head. "As you wish."

Pellaeon tapped a finger on the desk for a few moments, then added, "I assume you flash-learned Carida academy training?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We have a new Imperial II-class Star Destroyer that needs a name and a captain. I can hand you my position as Supreme Commander of the Navy, but only the Moff Council and I together can make you a Grand Admiral. I believe it may be some time before you're able to acquire that commission—therefore, I am commissioning you to be captain of my newest Star Destroyer. You may name it, if you wish."

The clone regarded him steadily. "Thank you, sir," he said at last. "I accept."

Pellaeon arched an eyebrow. "And your ship?"

The clone's gaze went distant, and Pellaeon had an abrupt flash of déjà vu, having seen that look in the Grand Admiral many times. "The Vigilant."

"Inconceivable!" Hort expostulated. "Handing the reins of the Empire to a clone! An alien clone, at that!"

"A boy alien clone," Quillan added. The two Moffs were dining together at one of the few upscale restaurants in the city. "Not the best combination, is it?"

"Not at all. And Pellaeon will let the thing walk all over him."

"I'm not so sure about that," Quillan reasoned. "Pellaeon seemed pretty cold."

Hort snorted. "Yes, but Pellaeon also served under the real Thrawn—second-in-command, no less. Just you wait: it won't take him long to warm up."

"And what, precisely, do you suggest we do about it?" Quillan asked pointedly.

Hort looked his colleague in the eye. "Prevent it from happening."

Quillan's face hardened. "Kill the boy and you'll make him a martyr. It'd be better to frame him for something, make him fall out of grace."

"Do you really think that'll work?" Hort said derisively. "If the boy does have one ounce of his host's intelligence, we'll never be able to outmaneuver him."

"And just how do you propose to kill him?"

Hort settled back in his chair. "Leave that to me. Just don't breathe a word of this to anyone else, or Pellaeon will have our heads." Disra's fate was a very fresh memory.

"My lips are sealed," Quillan said wryly.

"Ack! Mara, you're choking me!"

"Sorry!" Mara's elbow shifted down, away from Luke's throat—

To jab into his chest. "Ow!"

"Well, for star's sakes, I'm trying!" she growled. "Landing this kriffing thing is harder than getting it airborne!"

"Just sit still and let me land it with the Force," Luke groaned.

"Is that really nece…" Mara's voice trailed off as she twisted around to meet Luke's hardening gaze.

"Yes. If you want me to survive this landing, yes."

Her shoulders slumped. "All right, all right."

"Thank you." Luke reached out with the Force and held the ship on course with the flight path the controller had given them. As cramped and uncomfortable as he was, he couldn't help but think that this was truly making history: an X-wing flying into the Imperial capital under a white flag, and two non-dark Jedi giving their aid to the Empire.

Hopefully, it was a sign of better things to come.

They touched down on a private pad near Admiral Pellaeon's planetside residence. Getting out of the X-wing proved to be as painful as getting in, and once it was over, they were about as irritated with each other as two people who'd just agreed to get married could be.

A frowning aide led them from the pad to Pellaeon's office in short order. Waiting while the aide went in to announce their arrival, Mara had just enough time to run her hands through her hair to ensure that it didn't look too messy before the aide returned and told them to go inside. Mara and Luke traded a glance before stepping into the room.

Mara had never met Pellaeon in-person, but she had seen several holos. Medium height, white hair and mustache, brown eyes, lined face, perfect posture. There was durasteel in the man, as well as an air of quiet dignity that good men in the military achieved in several decades of service.

"Welcome, Master Skywalker, Captain Jade," Pellaeon greeting, rising from his chair.

"Admiral Pellaeon, a pleasure to meet you," Luke said, extending his arm over the desk and shaking the Admiral's hand.

Not military and not strictly Jedi, Mara settled for a respectful nod. "Admiral Pellaeon." Her eyes were drawn to the side, where she noted Thrawn sitting quietly. Her lips twitched. "Syndic."

He smiled faintly up at her. "Hello, Mara. Hello, Luke."

"Hello, Thrawn," Luke nodded back, his blue eyes smiling.

Pellaeon glanced between the two of them and Thrawn, his expression inscrutable. "Please, be seated."

"Thank you," said Luke, settling into the proffered chair.

"Thank you," Mara echoed, taking the other unoccupied seat.

"I must admit, Master Jedi," Pellaeon began, focusing on Luke, "I'm not quite sure why you've come ahead of the embassy for the New Republic."

Mara could tell that Luke was picking his words carefully. "You could say, sir, that we're here for moral support—Syndic Thrawn's. I assume he explained how we stumbled across him out in the Unknown Regions." He flashed a brief smile at the clone. "We figured he could use a little encouragement."

Thrawn smiled back, an expression that did not quite reach his eyes. Mara frowned, then returned her attention to the Admiral when he spoke again.

"You're here simply as friends?" Pellaeon asked disbelievingly.

Mara cocked her head. "Mostly. I must admit, we were curious to see how Bastion would take Thrawn's appearance."

"Thus far, I have not made a truly public appearance," Thrawn said quietly.

"Probably a good idea," Mara reasoned. Her frown deepened. "Thrawn, is something wrong? You seem a little… tense."

Dry humor tugged at the clone's lips. "A meeting with the Moffs will do that to you."

"Oooo," Mara said sympathetically. "That would explain it, all right."

Thrawn laughed silently for a moment in spite of himself. "I must admit, it's frustrating. Most of the men out in the Unknown Regions would welcome me with open arms—here, I have to fight to get them to listen to me."

"The men out there are your father's men," Luke said gently. "The men here aren't—not the majority, anyway. You had to know this would happen."

Thrawn exhaled. "Oh, I knew, all right." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I'm tired. I need to regain my father's endurance."

Mara nodded sympathetically, then frowned at herself. Just when did she become a mother hawk-bat?

Luke pursed his lips thoughtfully, then returned his attention to Pellaeon. "Admiral, when and where are you meeting with the New Republic?"

"Eight days," Pellaeon replied. "The Chimaera will rendezvous with the Errant Venture."

Mara snorted incredulously. "Since when did Booster Terrik get stuck pulling ambassadorial duty?"

One corner of Thrawn's mouth pulled back. "Since he 'got stuck' under the command of General Garm Bel Iblis."

"What?" Luke and Mara said together, eyes wide. "We haven't been away that long!" Mara added.

Thrawn spread his hands. "I think there was some maneuvering done."

Mara leaned back in her seat and folded her arms, her green eyes flicking from Thrawn to Pellaeon. "Admiral, what's your take on all this? Are you really accepting Thrawn into the Remnant?"

Pellaeon threw a clearly assessing look at Thrawn before replying. "I believe Mitth'raw'nuruodo shares his predecessor's vision," the older man said slowly. "And I think he can affect a coalition between the Imperial Remnant and the New Republic."

Thrawn remained pensively silent.

"Thrawn?" Mara prompted slowly. "C'mon, kid, don't be sullen."

A smile flashed across the clone's lips before he could suppress it. "I'm hardly being sullen—I'm thinking."

Mara arched an eyebrow invitingly.

Thrawn looked up and met her eyes. "The Moffs, the Remnant, the Unknown Regions, the Chiss, the New Republic, the peace treaty, the Far Outsiders… so many different aspects, and they're all coming to a head."

Luke caught Mara's eye before saying, "Mara and I have been getting that sense, too, lately."

Thrawn shook his head. "There's a war on the horizon the likes of which we've never seen before. The Empire and the New Republic need each other in order to survive." He turned to Pellaeon. "Sir, we must make the Moffs and the upper echelons of the military see that."

The Admiral looked pensive for a moment. "I will do what I can, Captain. I can't promise you any more."

Author's Note:

Wow, only two more chapters and an epilogue! Next chapter—the Remnant and the NR meet. And yes, life will get dangerous, once more.

Please review!