Title: Neck Deep in Trouble

"Colonel Covell," the smooth, carefully modulated voice belonging to one else than Grand Admiral Thrawn made Covell stop right in his tracks, just a few paces away from the haunted training room. He cursed inwardly, mentally preparing to face their alien commander.

"I do not recall mentioning I require your presence."

"Uhh, no, sir," Covell swallowed hard, only barely suppressing a wince as the glowing eyes bore deep into his own. The pale blue features hardened, a nearly imperceptible change, but still it spoke volumes when it came to their alien commander, meaning the Grand Admiral was irritated; enough to be noticed even by a casual observer.

In other words, General Bittenfeld was in trouble. Neck deep in trouble. "I wouldn't…" He watched as the glowing eyes narrowed. "I mean General Bittenfeld wouldn't..." Damn, he was babbling like an idiot. "That is to say… I'm sure it's a terrible misunderstanding, sir."

The stoic alien regarded him for a moment, and Covell tried his best to not to squirm under such an intense scrutiny. Under normal circumstances, Covell had no problem meeting the strangely hypnotizing gaze but these were hardly the normal circumstances. Surely the gundark wouldn't, would he? But then, Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn't supposed to return until tomorrow morning…

The problem was that Covell was aware that General Bittenfeld had been seeing Lady Lisetha for some time, presumably teaching her how to fight. In fact, he had even mentioned showing the red-eyed femme fatale (Bittenfeld's words, not his!) how to operate a bazooka, which left Covell speechless when he had first heard about it.

Corulag moons, please let it be a misunderstanding!

The Grand Admiral let out a long, deep exhale and released Covell from the spell. "Naturally." He said in a resigned tone. "Let's clear the misunderstanding together, shall we?" He turned on his heel and gracefully walked over to the computer terminal next to the Training Room#69, taking out one of his rank cylinders, opening the heavy blast-door using his personal override code.

All training facilities aboard Imperial military vessels were completely sound-proof; the crew of forty thousand people wouldn't take it kindly if they had to constantly listen to the sound of blaster fire or a melee. This time, however, there was no tell-tale pew pew from a blaster rifle or a thunderous boom from a bazooka. Or the sound of melee weapons clashing against each other, or even a heavy panting from hand-to-hand combat.

It was music.

Waltz. Nabicci Futana to be precise.

Covell sucked in a long, hissing breath. Corulag moons, it wasn't a misunderstanding! Here they were, General Bittenfeld and Lady Lisetha, dancing slowly into the rhythm of the music.

I'm so dead , Covell realized. I'm never leaving this room alive. No one is leaving here alive. The time has come for the matter-antimatter reaction.

"What is the meaning of this, General," the Grand Admiral said in his oh-so very typical smooth, cultured voice; his stance, however, became unnaturally stiff, and the red eyes narrowed into mere slits, emanating an intense, bright red glow.

The two abruptly halted, right in the middle of a spin.

"Thrawn, dearest," Lisetha called after him, the powder blue features brightening up in a soft smile. She left Bittenfeld where he stood and waltzed over to the Grand Admiral. "You weren't supposed to return until tomorrow. How is Governor Pryce?"

Covell's heart skipped a beat. Holy kriff!

At this very moment, the Grand Admiral reminded Covell of the strange lizard statues he had kept in his office. The glowing gaze darted from Lady Lisetha to Bittenfeld and then back again. "I see." He said in a deceptively mild tone.

Covell's complexion turned ashen; the position of the Seventh Fleet General had just opened up and it wouldn't be him taking over the gundark's position.

"Grand Admiral, your wife is an excellent dancer," Bittenfeld hummed approvingly, crossing the room with a smirk on his lips, the longish, ginger hair looking strangely disheveled. "Funny, considering you have two left feet."

Only the gundark would welcome death with the open arms.

Covell cupped his face in his hands. It wasn't any different from Bittenfeld's usual approach at the battlefield, most certainly true; this time, however, Covell had the feeling that Bittenfeld was really playing with fire. But more importantly, Grand Admiral Thrawn couldn't dance? At all?! And he didn't even try to deny it?!

Lady Lisetha flashed him a conspiratorial wink. "Oh, you are too kind, General," she said with a sincere humility in her voice, the glowing eyes glittering. "This is what Dear Voss taught me before he left."

Covell jerked in shock, his eyes widening. Dear Voss? As in Voss Parck?! What! The little mapping expedition to the Unknown Regions started making so much sense now. The fellow Corulagi could consider himself lucky he ended up with a dead-end assignment and not a blaster bolt in his heart. Covell gulped.

"Colonel Covell," Lady Lisetha addressed him kindly, too kindly in fact, breaking his line of thoughts. "Can you dance, too?"

It's a trap.

"I..." Covell stammered. "I think I need to go and water my plant." He said the first thing that came to his mind, laughing stupidly. "I can't recall the last time I've watered it, actually," he continued lamely, spreading his arms wide, "but I get the feeling if I don't go and water it right now, it will wither and die."

"Water you plant?!" Bittenfeld snapped.

"That's the best excuse you could come up with?!" The gundark bellowed in a tone he had often used towards fresh recruits. "It's the worst excuse ever, scuttlebutt!"

Covell squeezed his eyes shut; it was three a.m., and they had spent the past week down on Lothal, chasing lothcats with full assault gear and heavy artillery as per General Bittenfeld's orders. A much needed ground exercise, the gundark had called it. Damn him to the Nine Hells of Corellia! Who could blame Covell for coming up with such a pathetic excuse?

"Oh, you have a plant, Colonel?" Lady Lisetha asked innocently, her voice full of curiosity.

Covell opened his eyes, feeling an impeding sense of doom. The last thing he needed was to pique the Chiss curiosity. Yes, he had a plant. One couldn't possibly keep a pet aboard the Star Destroyer, could he? Gilad would have never tolerated such mess aboard his precious ship.

"Can I see it?" She asked suggestively, stepping directly in front of him. It took all Covell's self-control to not to take a step back. "Perhaps I could water the plant for you?"

Covell flinched. "I..." He let out a discreet cough. "I don't think it would be proper, my lady." He said in a low tone of voice, not daring to look into the other pair of glowing eyes.

And Bittenfeld, despite knowing it was a trap, chose to make a forceful breakthrough. "Oh yes, Lissy, the scuttlebutt really has a plant." He declared boldly, the light brown eyes calmly rising to meet the Grand Admiral's. "Corulag lovestone ivy. It's a creeping plant that climbs over various surfaces, stones, and fences. And it's quite huge, actually."

You're only making it worse, General!

"His quarters look more like a greenhouse than an officer's cabin nowadays. In the blooming season I can't even go in without sneezing. You know, hay fever."

When the Grand Admiral needed something from his senior staff, he'd either comm them or summon them directly to his office. When the General needed something, he would come knocking on their doors, stormed in like the force of nature he was, said what he had to say, and he stormed out again. Except for the ivy's blooming season; at that time even the gundark resorted to the ship's intercom.

"Lissy?" The Grand Admiral repeated ominously. "You called my wife 'Lissy,' General?" He asked in a tone that could have cut the glass.

"Yes, I did." Bittenfeld stood his ground. "Is there something wrong with the name?"

What the hell?!

Then Covell realized where Bittenfeld was going with this; he tried to deflect the Grand Admiral's anger back to himself. His commanding officer was harsh but he was fair; Covell murmured a silent thank you.

The Grand Admiral shot him a hard glare.

"Has she not explained Chiss naming customs to you? Reli is the House affiliation name. Set is the central stem. Harana is the immediate family name, or, in her case, Second Ruling Family affiliation name. Lisetha is what we call a core name." He lectured in a sharp, uncharacteristically impatient tone for Grand Admiral Thrawn. "Lissy' makes absolutely no sense. Moreover, such an abbreviation sounds completely unbecoming for someone of her social standing."

Covell gaped. That… was not the reaction he had expected.

"Oh, I rather like it, dearest," Lady Lisetha said with a playful smile on her lips, looking at Thrawn as if daring him to comment on the matter.

"Lisetha," the Grand Admiral breathed out. He looked … well, he didn't look jealous, he looked tired. He exhaled softly, and then he switched into the melodic, song-like language of his people, Cheunh, they had called it, and started a long monologue that lasted a couple of minutes.

Finally, Lisetha's expression softened, and she replied back in the same language.

Covell couldn't understand a word, naturally, but it looked like Bittenfeld could, and from the expression on the gundark's face, the conversation wasn't cheerful.

"Wait a moment," Bittenfeld carelessly interrupted them (the man wouldn't know tact even if it hit him in the face!), his expression darkening. "I didn't get much but I could understand Pryce and … A planetary ravager? What's going on there?"

Trust General Bittenfeld to start with vocabulary involving destruction when starting with a new language.

"Close, General. A World Devastator," The Grand Admiral clarified. "Governor Pryce came up with the wonderful idea to start mining Lothal's rich natural reserves of doonium using World Devastators."

Bittenfeld let out a loud snort, rolling his eyes. "Ha! Well, Thrawn, this sure beats even your wonderful idea to start using Darth Vader's favorite pet aliens."

The glowing eyes narrowed once again. "We have talked about this, General. There are at least two known Jedi among the Rebels, and given the fact that the Noghri easily bested you and me in a physical combat, they could be the solution to our little Jedi problem."

And now Covell felt like an ensign listening on the ranking officers' private conversation. Noghri?

"I have studied their art very carefully, General," the Grand Admiral continued in a dreamy voice. "They may be a race of assassins but they come from an honor-bound culture, which makes them perfect for my purposes. Deadly but predictable."

Bittenfeld crossed his arms in a negative stance. "Honor-bound culture my ass!" He exclaimed. "Once they get tired of your manipulations, GrandAdmiral, they'll stab you in the back. No Noghri." He declared resolutely. "Over my dead body."

A blue-black eyebrow cocked up. "Why, that could easily be arranged, General."

Covell shuddered… He wasn't… He couldn't be serious, could he? But then, this was Grand Admiral Thrawn they were talking about. He was always serious.

Lady Lisetha chose the moment to disperse the tense atmosphere between the two men; she turned her attention back to Covell, rewarding him with an almost a sympathetic expression.

Now that there was another member of the Grand Admiral's species around, Covell was given a unique opportunity to compare their expressions to see whether the impassive features belonged to Grand Admiral Thrawn exclusively or whether they were a species trait. He had seen Lady Lisetha only a couple of times (General Bittenfeld would have been a better judge here), and even though her face was slightly more expressive than Thrawn's, it was still much less expressive than of an average human. Could it be possible that the differences in bone structure and musculature resulted in what constituted an impassive face by human standards?

"You still haven't answered my original question, Colonel." She said in an encouraging tone, breaking the line of his thoughts once again. "Can you dance?"

The two giants stopped glaring at each other and focused their attention at him instead; General Bittenfeld's face lit up in amusement (the gundark knew, damn him!), the Grand Admiral looked nonplussed.

Covell shook his head; very well, he'd try the gundark's blunt approach for once. "Yes, my lady." He admitted grudgingly. "Imperial standard, Core World classic, Rim World rhythm. And a few Outer Rim swing dances."

He shrugged at the two blue heads that tilted slightly to a side. Each to a different side, he noted with interest.

"I, ah, my mother was a performing artist. I grew up surrounded by dancers."

"Oh," Lady Lisetha gasped. The glowing eyes shone up with an open curiosity.

"What kind of performance became your mother famous for?" She wondered. "Ballet? Core World classic?" She speculated with a dreamy expression. "I find your human dances most intriguing, Colonel. Chiss ones are rather boring, you see, ritual group dances performed at rite of passage ceremonies. Birth. Maturity. Weddings. Burials. And so on."

She made an absent minded gesture with her hand.

Covell's eyes met Bittenfeld's; a muscle in the General's cheek twitched at first, then slowly the man's lips twisted in an evil smirk. Of course the gundark wouldn't give him a helping hand there. Now this could get really interesting. Were the two Chiss even familiar with the expression? At any rate, it wasn't exactly a secret among the crew, such things had the tendency to spread faster than lightspeed; he, as the head of the Chimaera's rumor mill, had realized that better than anyone else.

There was a reason why Covell fit in the Freak Fleet like a Twi'lek dancer in a disreputable establishment; back on Corulag he had been known as the son of a whore. On the other hand, he could always go lower in the eyes of fellow Corulagi, he supposed. Or that was what he had kept telling himself. He could be a son of an actual whore. Or he could be gay. At least what his mother had been doing was still, if borderline, legal back on his world.

Covell exhaled slowly. He had resented his mother for her performances during his teenage years, but eventually he had come to the terms with it. Raising children as a single mother couldn't have been easy. Especially during the Clone Wars.

"Burlesque."

THE END