The Freak Fleet 'verse: A series of stories exploring the dynamics among Grand Admiral Thrawn, Pellaeon, Covell, Parck, Niriz, Dorja, and other members of the Seventh Fleet. Legends cast in Rebels, a couple of OCs. Mix of Canon and Legends (Essentially AU). Serious, as well as not-so-serious fics. Semi-crack.

The Freak Fleet - Breaking the Ice - Of Chiss and Men - Witch Hunt - Second Chances - Chance Encounters - The Evil So Terrible It Tried To Black Out The Stars - An Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object - All Roads Lead to Coruscant - Freak Fleet Files - A Kingdom of Isolation

Author's Note: The title is based on Star Wars: Rebels Season Four official trailer, in which Captain Hera Syndulla refers to Grand Admiral Thrawn as an evil so terrible it tried to black out the stars. *snort* C'mon, Hera.

Whenever he could, whenever his tight schedule allowed it, Thrawn would come to his private gym adjoining his command room and practice with his assassins droids. The physical exertion served as a welcome distraction from the matters that occupied his mind, and at the same time it helped to keep his body fit and in prime shape.

There were times, however, when a practice with an artificial intelligence was not challenging enough, for although Thrawn had programmed his assassin droids with an ability to defeat him and deliver a critical hit, they were, even without a memory wipe, a mere artificial intelligence following certain logical patterns.

From time to time, he needed a living opponent. Finding an unpredictable opponent, human or otherwise, who was strong enough, fast enough, skilled enough, and possessed enough sense of professionalism to swallow their pride and their ego to agree to Thrawn's terms was difficult.

The goal was not to strike Thrawn down, the goal was to catch him off guard, to confuse him, to back him into a corner and force him to improvise. That counted as a victory for his opponent. It did not matter how much raw power the opponent possessed, as a warrior Thrawn had no qualms fighting against a physically superior opponent (Chiss were hardly the strongest species in the universe), and he certainly did not mind restricting the force of his blows for a physically inferior opponent he deemed worthy of a challenge.

Today, it was Freja Covell's turn, an example of the latter. If it had been an actual fight to death, the Colonel would have been terminated within a matter of minutes. The other man had understood and was able to come to terms with the fact, a rare trait among humans, especially among males. Females had much easier time accepting the fact that they would lose against him in an actual combat.

Once Thrawn had limited himself to Freja Covell's level, the Colonel instantly turned out to be a worthy opponent; his mind was flexible and versatile enough, possessing an ability to keep up Thrawn's subdued movements and of coming up with counterattacks. From time to time he delivered a completely unexpected blow, forcing Thrawn to reevaluate his approach and thus call it a fair hit.

Thrawn very much enjoyed fighting a battle against an opponent who had the ability to do so. It woke up his inner warrior spirit, it brought a sense of thrill, and it posed a real challenge. Such moments were certainly worthy of swallowing his own pride and ego and allowing it to happen.

Therefore, Thrawn was very much disappointed by Freja Covell's performance today. The man was distracted, delivering his attacks at mostly random, leaving himself wide open, vulnerable to an injury, forcing Thrawn not only to restrict the force of his blows but to abandon some of them altogether because subdued or not, the man was not paying attention and would not be able to block them, leading to a fatal wound.

And another opening?!

His patience with this man finally ran out.

Thrawn went after the Colonel's unprotected left side with his staff, delivering a blow to his solar plexus, making him double over in pain, resulting in the man dropping his weapon from the shock. Then he proceeded with a strike at the Colonel's calves, making him lose his balance and send him falling down face forward.

Thrawn threw away his staff and caught the Colonel's dominant right hand in midair, locking it firmly in place behind his back, applying enough pressure to to make him hiss in pain. Falling down with him the additional weight of Thrawn's body resulted in the human's gasp of pain at the impact with the hard floor.

He used his other arm to lock Freja Covell firmly in place, applying more force than necessary on purpose, and then finally lay atop of him, whispering in his ear: "Coming here today was a mistake, Colonel."

Freja Covell was in no condition to fight, and Thrawn would not have held it against him had he chosen to excuse himself from today's practice. Had he admitted to being unable to focus after an initial few random strikes, Thrawn would have let him walk away with his dignity intact.

The Colonel went completely rigid under his touch, taking shallow, irregular breaths not from an internal injury but rather from a fear of an imminent death, his human heart beating faster and faster, his mind coming to a realization he was about to pay the ultimate price for his mistake.

He was making so many allowances for humans.

Thrawn sighed softly and released the human from his firm grasp, getting back to his feet in a single quick, fluid motion, walking away to give the other man a chance to regain composure. He sat down cross-legged two metres away from Freja Covell, outside of human perception of personal space, patiently waiting until the human calmed down before continuing.

"I am not Lord Vader, Colonel. I do not spend my men recklessly nor do I take their deaths lightly. You made a mistake, a very foolish one if I may add, but it did not result in an unnecessary loss of lives of men under your command. There is no reason for you to fear me."

In fact, the Freja Covell had a very much to fear from a man in his position. Thrawn had risen to the rank of the Grand Admiral, the highest rank of the Imperial Navy, the one that could be appointed only by the Emperor himself, effectively turning him into a direct executor of the will of the Emperor, a War Lord.

The pristine white uniform with golden epaulets and a silver collar came with many privileges; Thrawn answered only to the Joint Chiefs, the Moff Council, Grand Moff Tarkin, the Dark Lord, and to the Emperor himself. As a direct instrument of the Emperor's will he had the ultimate control over the lives and deaths of men under his command. With a mere snap of his fingers he could have anyone removed permanently. The Sith Lord did not need even that; he had an ability to kill with a single thought.

However, just because one could did not mean one should; with power came responsibilities, something the others did not seem to realize, ruling by fear alone. From time to time, an instillation of fear or the use of a deadly force was necessary, it kept the subjects in line. On the other hand, an over-reliance on fear was an error that would eventually lead into a revolt, a lesson that the Rebellion was teaching them lately. Thrawn hoped that the error could be corrected before it became a mistake which would lead into an unnecessary loss of lives on both sides, and quite possibly the pan-galactic civil war.

"I am sorry, sir," the Colonel said awkwardly, his face flushed with embarrassment, "I promise it won't happen again."

He followed Thrawn's lead and sat up into a similar cross-legged position.

"Do not make promises you cannot keep, Colonel," Thrawn replied in a calm tone, closing his eyes as if mediating to make the human more comfortable, letting his tired muscles relax after a physical extortion.

Curious that such a simple action as closing his eyes was enough to give humans a sense of control of the situation; no matter how reasonable their human brains were, their human hearts believed that the glowing red eyes had the potential to hurt them with a deep gaze.

Gilad Pellaeon, pure-blooded Corellian as he was, believing in things so typical of Corellians such as the Nine Hells, thought that the red glowing eyes had the potential to see through his soul. A notion so absurd that it left Thrawn completely at loss for words, a very rare occurrence indeed. On the other hand, it was Gilad Pellaeon who had been able to hold his deep gaze without an irrational fear for his soul despite his personal beliefs.

"Speak your mind instead," Thrawn said in a smooth, measured voice, "for that is the only thing that will set your heart and your mind at ease. Only this once, Colonel, I am not willing to become your private counselor nor I am interested in listening to your personal problems. We are hardly equals."

Navy men tended to see battles from a very different angle than their Army counterparts; standing on a bridge of a Star Destroyer it was easy to forget what the war was truly about because there was a vast distance between them and the enemy ship. All they needed to do to destroy their opponent was to press a button. Army men had to press the actual trigger, watching their opponents die in front of their eyes, the real reason why Imperial Navy and Imperial Army never got along.

As a Chiss warrior, Thrawn had experienced both.

Army men tended to have much shorter careers, not only because their bodies were exposed to various environmental conditions, different gravities, and they were far more likely to suffer from a war wound. They tended to burn out faster for it was their minds that had been far more exposed to the reality of war.

"It's Atollon, sir," the Colonel whispered, the tone of his voice colored by shame, his musculature tensing. The Empire had won the battle which took place a one month ago, after all. He should have been feeling proud; instead the human had been brooding, slowly being eaten from within by his own fears of the future.

"The Bendu, you mean," Thrawn corrected him, nodding his head in a gesture of acknowledgment. He did not need to open his own eyes to know the human had returned his nod, too scared to admit his fear aloud.

"Death is an inescapable part of warfare, Colonel," Thrawn said in a detached, purely clinical tone, an acceptance of a fact. "So is defeat. A warrior cannot allow himself to lose the sight of the bigger picture simply because an immortal creature claiming omniscience told him he would be defeated one day. It is statistically impossible to win every battle."

Thrawn shook his head, a gesture of a dismissal.

"You have demonstrated the series of events that unfolds when one allows such poisonous thoughts into one's mind."

The human seemed to consider his words, his breathing calm and steady, his hands making sounds of fingers rubbing against the fabric of his trousers, a sign of unease. Usually it was Thrawn who was studying humans, observing them in their natural habitat. This time it was a human who was trying his best to study a Chiss, to read his body language, to imagine what must have been going behind the red eyed gaze.

No, Thrawn did not possess an ability to read minds of other beings. His whole life would have been certainly much easier had he had. He was, however, able to make an educated guess based on their body language, the knowledge of their customs and character traits, and their works of art.

Freja Covell originated from Corulag, just like Voss Parck. They shared similar values that shaped their minds during their formative years. The more time he had spent around them, the more predictable their thought patterns became, and then, of course, they would say or do something so unpredictable which would serve as a reminder that he would never be able to prepare himself for every eventuality. A blow to his Chiss pride. A valuable lesson on humility.

Perhaps the Bendu was right. Perhaps Thrawn would be defeated. Perhaps he would die before the real war even started. And perhaps not. In any case, one had to be prepared for every eventuality. Ultimately, it did not matter whether he lived or died as long as he succeeded in his mission. He trusted his human descendants to carry out his will.

Curious creatures, these humans. For it was them, not the Chiss, who had the saying 'pride before fall.' If the Chiss Ascendancy and a strong, predominantly human government could form a true alliance, they would be unstoppable, unbeatable. The Chiss would have to swallow their pride first and come to the terms that the Uncivilized Territories had not been so uncivilized after all.

Thrawn focused his attention back to the human in the room and slowly opened his Chiss eyes, observing the man, taking into an account his body language, the lack of tension in his posture, and the relaxed expression on his face. The Colonel found his equilibrium, a simple acknowledgment of his fear and seeing his leader unmoved by such irrational things like death or defeat was enough for him to find his own balance.

Curious creatures, these humans. One of their biggest weaknesses was that they needed to believe that their leaders must be stronger than them. It couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but that was how the entire human society worked.

Did he hate himself for not telling the man the truth? No. Thrawn had once thought that telling the truth at all times was the only possible way, and he had learned from his error. He still hated liars with all his heart, but he had discovered that not all beings were capable of handling the entire truth.

Especially humans.

So he let them believe in whatever they wanted to believe. Had they asked him, he would have told them, but they never had. They made their own assumptions and it would break their human hearts if they learned the truth before they figured it on their own. It was a human saying, after all, the knowledge came with a price.

The truth? The truth had several layers. The truth this man, no, most men under his command wouldn't be able to handle was that the Chancellor Sheev Palpatine and the Darth Sidious had been the one and the same man. Heroes and villains? The two sides of the same coin. Jedi and Sith? Likewise. In case of the latter, the proverbial coin had been the Force.

Thrawn was neither.

He would leave it to historians to decide what, exactly, he was.

For the history was a set of lies agreed upon.

THE END