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There was snow on the Chimaera’s bridge.
Thrawn blinked. His vision swam, and he felt horribly nauseous. It took a moment for his vision to clear and the nausea to subside to a bearable degree.
The snow was still there.
...Strange.
He looked up and noticed small flakes slowly drift down to the deck from behind him. The bridge seemed brighter than usual, with beams of light from the main viewport support structure cutting wedged shadows across the aft of the bridge.
That… wasn’t right.
He was suddenly very aware of his injures—his head throbbed, and each movement of his skull made his swimming vision worse and exasperated his nausea to an almost unbearable degree. His back and lower neck were hunched beneath the viewport console, and the awkward angle of his neck caused an uncomfortable strain on his shoulders. Careful to keep his symptoms to a minimum, Thrawn slowly looked down at his hands, splayed out at his sides. The viewport’s transparasteel had shattered across the deck, and some of the resulting shards had found their way into his palms. The small wounds had clotted some time ago, and left lines of dried blood around his fingers and the sleeves of his uniform. He noticed his pistol about a meter away, covered in a light frost.
And beyond that, was—
Bridger.
The events of Lothal rushed back to him in a painful lurch. The rebel takeover of the Imperial dome, his bombardment of the capital city, Bridger’s capture and delivery to the Emperor, the fight on the bridge, the purrgil—
—and then nothing.
Just.
Noticing snow.
On the Chimaera’s bridge.
He hadn’t eaten anything the day before, (the Emperor’s ominous promise of a long, long talk when he got back to Coruscant had him too anxious to eat, and Faro wasn’t there anymore to harass him), so when his nausea finally won out, he pitched to his left, fell on his elbows, and dry-heaved painfully onto the deck, with his head thudding to the beat of his heart.
When he caught his breath again a few moments later, he laid his head on his arm and waited for the pounding to cease. He took a long, slow look at Bridger’s body, laying on the middle of the command walkway. He was on his side, facing Thrawn; a light dusting of snow covered the top of his body and the area around him. The shattered transparasteel had not spared him—long, bloodied cuts ran across his cheek and brow. Behind him, the bodies of Thrawn’s bridge crew and stormtroopers showed more of the same.
He wondered if the Jedi was dead.
(He wondered if his crew were dead.)
Thrawn carefully maneuvered himself back into a sitting position; then, bracing himself on the viewport’s lower support structure, he hauled himself up. His head spun, and he clenched his eyes shut and willed himself not to let the nausea overtake him again. He focused on trying to breath. As it passed, he opened his eyes and was met with the scene outside the viewport.
The Chimaera had been—Dropped? Wedged? Thrown? He couldn’t tell…—into a pure white snow-covered mountain range. The forward tip of the hull was crushed between two peaks, and the midsection of the ship was covered in dark, rocky debris and avalanches snow. The entire ship was covered in only a small layer of frost, but Thrawn could see a swath of dark clouds rolling in the distance. Lightning flashed, but he heard nothing.
There was no sign of the purrgil.
Thrawn turned back towards Bridger, and, pushing himself off the viewport, slowly and carefully stepped towards him.
The crunch of his boots in the snow broke the otherwise peaceful silence. There was a slight ringing in his ears.
As he got closer, he glanced down into the twin crew pits. He could see Senior Lieutenant Pyrondi strapped into her station’s crash couch, head lolled away from him. Blood was splattered on the weapon’s console and down her uniform. Thrawn couldn’t tell if she was alive.
Two other officers who had been standing unharnessed in the crew pits had been accelerated into the aft wall.
He hoped their deaths had been quick.
When he got to the Jedi, he slowly got down to his knees, careful to not loose his balance, and put two bloodied fingers to the boy’s throat.
Alive.
The pulse was weak and thready against his cool skin, but it was still there.
Thrawn sighed and pulled away. He was about to get up to check the bodies of the stormtroopers against the back wall when he noticed the rather large pool of blood under Bridger’s neck. He quickly grabbed the boy’s shoulder and turned him over, revealing the slowly-bleeding blaster bolt to his left shoulder Thrawn had put there himself.
Thrawn allowed himself a quiet but rather filthy curse in Cheunh before removing his jacket and using it to pressure the wound. Blood slowly blossomed through the white fabric, staining his glass-embedded palms. He tried to remember the location of the first aid kits through the fog in his head. Looking around the bridge, he took note of a few more bodies, including those of Commander Hammerly and Senior Lieutenant Lomar, before spotting the emergency supply locker panel.
Making sure to keep an eye on Bridger, Thrawn got up, stepped over the Jedi, and made his way over to the locker, making sure he didn’t trip on any frosted shards of transparasteel. He twisted the handle of the locker and pulled it open with a loud creak, revealing five standard medkits and a few cases of bacta stims. He grabbed a kit and a handful of stims, and made his way back to the boy.
He took quick care of the shoulder wound before deciding not to bother with the bacta. His command crew would get what they needed first.
With that thought, he moved on to the body closest to him, a stormtrooper propped up against the back wall.
A Thrawn attempted to preform first aid on his bridge crew and piece together some semblance of a plan, the snow continued to silently fall.
It was a grueling and nauseating process.
Anybody standing in the crew pits was dead. Those in crash couches were heavily injured and concussed—Pyrondi was alive, but had broken her nose and crushed two of her fingers beyond repair when the Chimaera had rapidly decelerated. She was also heavily concussed, but had a general idea of their situation.
Those on the main bridge were a different story. Many of the stormtroopers and officers had been saved by the Jedi’s Force-hold of the air in the bridge and had only passed out. That was the case with Commander Hammerly, who upon gaining consciousness had immediately assisted Thrawn in assessing the damage to the rest of their crew members. Most of the stormtroopers survived due to their armor plating and helmets.
The dead had been moved to the side briefing room, the officers covered with their uniform jackets. Bridger had been cuffed and placed in the secondary bridge with a stormtrooper guard alongside the injured.
He still hadn’t woken up.
By the time everybody had been assessed and tended to, the storm outside had gotten close. The snow was falling harder, and the wind had picked up. Thunder boomed through the sky and lightning lit up the darkening bridge. Thrawn made the decision to move any available and mobile communication and medical equipment from the main bridge to the secondary one to avoid the cold and potential water damage. With the help of some of his stormtroopers, he was able to reliably seal the entrance to the bridge.
With the main power down and the flashes of lightning no longer illuminating their surroundings, the crew had to deal with red emergency lighting from the backup generators and glow rods from the secondary bridge survival packs.
With everybody settled in, Thrawn approached Hammerly and Lomar, the latter of which was busy getting their emergency radio set up and running.
“Any contact with the lower decks yet, Commander?”
Hammerly shook her head and sighed. “No sir. There’s either some sort of interference from the storm outside, or nobody else has had the time to set up their radios.”
It went unspoken that there may not be anyone alive to get a signal to.
Thrawn nodded, doing his best to follow the conversation. He was feeling quite ill, and his head was still pounding. “I see. Let the crew know that they can receive their emergency rations for the evening. We have enough stocked up here for a few weeks, but make sure that they are all kept track of.” He let out a breath of exhaustion. “In the morning, we will attempt to contact the lower decks again. If need be, I’ll have the stormtroopers try to get down through the turbo lift shafts.”
She nodded. “Yes sir.”
As Thrawn turned away to find a place on the deck to rest, Hammerly abruptly. “Sir?”
“Yes, Commander?”
She looked like she very much wanted to say something, but couldn’t decide how to word it, so saved her the trouble. “Commander, we are stranded on an unknown planet in unknown territory. We have no idea how far the nearest Imperial base is. If you wish to bring something to light about anything, may it be something that affects our survival or a personal concern, you have permission to speak freely.”
Hammerly stared at him for a moment before nodding. “Alright then. Before you settle down for the night, you need to have a medical exam. I don’t know much about chiss biology, but—”
“I have no need for a medical evaluation, Commander. I have been able to perform efficiently for the past few hours unhindered—”
“I really hope you know that’s krayt-spit, Admiral,” Hammerly said flatly. “You’ve been staring off into space all evening, and you look like you’re about to be sick. You probably have a mild concussion, which means you need to take it easy.”
Thrawn gave her an uncharacteristic glare. “You do realize our situation, do you not? I need to be working on getting us all back to Imperial space, one way or another.”
“Of course I understand the situation, sir. I’m only suggesting that we evaluate your symptoms and determine the severity of your concussion, as we’ve done with the rest of the bridge crew. If it’s bad, you’ll need to let some of your command staff take over some of the workload, but if it’s only minor, you will know that you’ll be able to operate more efficiently without us needing to baby-sit.” She smiled halfheartedly. “It’ll only be a moment, sir. Just some simple tests and questions.”
Thrawn stared at Hammerly for a few moments. She was right, but he needed to get back to Imperial space. The Emperor would be furious at his failure, and it would be best to get it over with sooner rather than later. Perhaps delivering Bridger in person would reduce his punishment and reaffirm his loyalties. Then there was the fact that he needed to contact the families of the dead and tell them that he had allowed this to happen—
“—ir? Sir?” Hammerly snapped her fingers near his ear a few times before his eyes adjusted. He haven’t even realized his vision had blurred. “You’re spacing out again. Come on, the sooner we get this done the sooner you can get to bed.”
She guided him over to one of the med scanners and sat him down. His stomach lurched as he did his best not to topple over. He remembered that he hadn’t eaten in over a day by now, but the thought of food made him want to heave again.
Hammerly was suddenly next to him with a med scanner. “Alright, Admiral, I’m going to ask you a few questions and performs some eye-coordination tests. All I ask is that you answer them to the best of your ability.”
It went on for about five minutes. He felt nauseous, slightly dizzy, and recalled his memory problems after waking up. He described his headaches and neck pain, and followed Hammerly’s finger as she waved it slowly in front of his eyes.
After a moment she put down the scanner and sat in front of him. “Alright, your pupils are a bit difficult for me to see, but I’ll try me best here. I’m going to shine a small flashlight in your eyes for only a moment to check their response. Let me know if the headache gets any worse.”
She did so, and Thrawn was pleased to note that the light only inflicted a small spike of pain rather than the piercing that he was expecting. Hammerly was squinting at his eyes now, though, her brow furrowed.
“Commander?”
She sighed. “Your eye color is all red. I can’t tell if you’ve got any broken blood vessels or not. If it’s alright, I’m going to open the lids and have you look left and right.”
“You have my permission.”
She quickly did so, and confirmed that his pupils were dilating properly and that he had no other damage too his eyes.
“Alright, that does it,” Hammerly said quietly. “It seems like you have only a mild concussion. Get as much rest as you can, and try to limit your exposure to screens and datapads; they can make the headaches worse. After a few days, the worst of the symptoms should pass.”
Thrawn bowed his head. “Thank you, Commander Hammerly. Is there anything else?”
She looked hesitant again, then nodded and gestured to Bridger, who was still passed out in the corner with his stormtrooper guard. “What do you want us to do if the boy wakes up? He got us into this mess, and I’m guessing that if he’s feeling particularly vindictive, he can make it much, much worse.”
Thrawn considered that. He needed the Jedi alive, to know what his end goal was—despite the apparent randomness that had occurred, there had to be a plan.
(“Whatever happens next, happens to both of us.”
“That’s the idea”.)
“Sir, you’re starting to space out again.”
Thrawn focused on Hammerly again. “My apologies. Yes, I see your point. If he regains consciousness, try to make him aware of how dire our circumstances are. If he is uncooperative, you have permission to stun him. However, I do not want him harmed. He is outnumbered here, and I hope we can use that to our advantage.” He slowly got up and looked around the room before spotting an empty sleeping mat and making his way towards it. “I’m going to get some rest. Wake me if anything changes?”
Hammerly nodded and gave a final “Yes, sir,” before walking back over to Senior Lieutenant Lomar and the emergency radio.
Outside, hailspheres started to rattle the hull plating, and thunder shook the air.
Despite that, he fell asleep soundly.
He did not dream.