#forbiddendesires

3. Thrawn

— I sincerely apologize for all this mess, this kind of thing does not happen frequently here, I guarantee it. Damn, what's gotten into them?

Tarkin

I barely listen to Yularen's apologies, deep in thought. Obviously. Her resemblance to the moff struck me the moment I saw her. And the residue of doubt that remained had been swept away later that evening, when she delivered her chaotic speech to the attention of the bride to the wrath of her father and boyfriend.

Her boyfriend who has just left the room with his tail between his legs, his eyes full of resentment, curiously filling my being with a delicious satisfaction. Either that or I would rip his grades off him, there were way too many for my liking for such a crass character.

—Grand Admiral? Can we pick up where we left off?

—I will, but before that, I would like to discuss the Tarkin daughter.

Yularen raises his bushy eyebrows and I guess behind his generous mustache that he would be ready to talk to me about any other subject than that.

—The bride ?

— No, Colonel. The other. Don't pretend to misunderstand.

The other who is just staring at me like an animal about to leap through the window overlooking the outside courtyard. The future recruits of the ISB are agitated around her and if they want to make a mistake without being detected, it is the opportune moment to take advantage of the situation.

What's worse is that I'm just as absorbed as she is in this mutual contemplation.

—There is nothing more to say than what you have seen, Grand Admiral. She shines with her rather sulphurous temperament.

Sulphurous, that's a very ironic word to describe the coldness of the look she gives me.

—I noticed. I struggle to keep my lips from sketching a carnivorous smile, rehashing the prank from earlier. I admit I enjoyed the way she advanced her pawns as a most inventive military tactic. Pushing your opponent to confess his wrongs rather than accusing him always puts us in a situation of strength and Tarkin understands this.

—And what about her other assignments?

There are questions not to ask and I have always been particularly adept at doing so despite everything. My own experience within the academy has revealed this skill. Yularen freezes, sits next to me, puts his hands on the table, and stares at me as if I've just revealed my rebel allegiance to him.

—There is nothing to say about it.

—Oh, please. It would be a crime to spoil such a sulphurous character.

My caustic smile wipes his suspicious gaze. I can easily guess that the Tarkin case is a taboo subject for the director of the ISB, which confirms my suspicions: she is not only here to teach the soldiers how to shoot. She is stubborn and probably out of control, but if Yularen keeps her so close to him it is because she has skills far beyond what she shows.

—Are you there for her?" There is a hint of accusation in his remarks. I lean against the back of my chair, tying my fingers together smugly, trying not to show my acting too quickly.

— No, Colonel. I'm here to talk about StarStorm Agent and the Phantom Unit.

He sniffles loudly. Hoping his annoyance dissuades me from broaching his subjects as well.

—How did you know of its existence?

Obviously, the colonel is upset to learn that he is not the only one who knows everything.

—I made great use of the data transmitted by Agent StarStorm in my last hunt for smugglers. His help was decisive in intercepting the fugitive in question, I would like to thank him.

And engage it too. But I'm not sure Yularen would give me such a valuable unit so easily. Yet I have good reason to believe that Agent StarStorm and I share a common goal, and not just when it comes to smuggling. A common objective to flush out in the darkest corners of our prestigious empire.

— The Phantom Unit never shows up with its face uncovered.

— I agree. What could be more normal for the galaxy's most hated unit ? Hidden behind pseudonyms, they can act as they see fit both outside and within our ranks. The empire monitored from within by his fellows, up to the highest of the hierarchy, a Machiavellian idea, particularly ingenious, even formidable.

And definitly very useful.

—I wish I could leverage your leverage to have a talk with the agent.

—His mission on Coruscant is taking up all of his time, Admiral, and I'm not sure he'd be willing to meet you. I nod wordlessly, a weary smile forming on my lips.

— Was it your idea?

I watch him hesitate for a moment before getting up and turning on his heels to approach the bay window in front of us. Gathering his hands behind his back, Yularen heaves a resigned sigh.

—I would like to pretend, but the creation of this unit is not my responsibility.

— Who ? My gaze meets his through the bay window, on the brunette figure of the instructor who stares thoughtfully into space before being overtaken by the uniform of an admiral. The man draws her to him by catching her by the hand, dragging her in his wake after having whispered a few words in her ear. Yularen will not answer this question, nor any questions about unity. The debate is closed.

—Then, as a consolation, may I speak with Agent Tarkin?

His reaction is so abrupt that he almost falls backwards.

—Speak with Tarkin? For what ? There is no connection between her and the Phantom unit.

— Funny that you make this connection, it was not my intention to link these two subjects, but since we are there.

Hit hard, Yularen adjusts the collar of his uniform and knowingly avoids my gaze. It will be difficult for him to dodge the traps I set for him, but he brushes my remark aside.

—I know where you're coming from, Thrawn, but I assure you that Agent Tarkin is not involved in this. She is part of the ISB and is nothing more than an agent at my service.

No. It's more than that, at least in his eyes. I guess there is much more than a professional relationship between them. Would he have become attached to the Moff's daughter to the point of considering her his own? In this case, I will have to redouble my efforts and intelligence to achieve my goals.

— Well, it is as a simple agent of the ISB that I wish to use his services. You know that I am currently involved in a most curious smuggling case and that the danger does not only weigh on the planets of the surrounding systems. They are also striking on Coruscant and it is only a matter of time before the plague spreads through the heart of the empire. It's a complex business that requires determined temperaments and from what little I've seen, Tarkin is the perfect candidate.

We sound each other in silence for only a few seconds, this tiny lapse of time when Yularen sweats worry and doubt. He's probably wondering if he's ready to throw his little protect to the Seventh Fleet and the ruthless world the Emperor has sent me to subdue.

—You seem worried for her.

—She's one of my best agent. He pauses, takes a deep breath and continues. And above all, I forbid you to tell her. It is already not easy to keep this crazy horse in the ranks, it should not be encouraged by a bit of confidence.

—It will be our little secret. I will see to her safety if that can convince you to leave her to me.

—It's not me you'll have to convince, but her.

A nervous chuckle escapes me and my legs cross under the desk.

—If I can meet her now, I can be convincing.

Yularen then laughs with a thunderous laugh that makes the walls shake, placing a warm hand on my shoulder before presenting himself in front of the door.

—To meet her ? Ha! Grand Admiral, we don't meet Eléanore Tarkin, we confront her!

***

When she joins me in the office, closely followed by Yularen, something changes in her expression, a detail that upsets her earlier confidence.

Would I have upset her?

Her cold eyes meet mine. Tarkin has nothing to envy to her father's coldness or severity. These emaciated features make her particularly hard, emphasizing the angular edges of her jawline. Her hair brushing the birth of her neck undulates in a mixture of brown and ash which makes her whole attitude more dark.

What a curious person.

It often happens that I remain contemplative in the face of pretty things. Art in all its forms is a field that takes many unexpected turns and I am particularly sensitive to it. There is nothing better than contemplating art to realize the relativity of things and our sensitivity and that is what I think of when observing it. Tarkin is far from the image of the many masterpieces that I have come across in my life and would not win the unanimity of a jury, but she remains fascinating nonetheless.

When Yularen officially introduces us, I reach out my hand in her direction and only receive a motionless wall whose ocean orbs deviate towards my invitation, throwing all the contempt they can contain at her.

— What do you want ? She settles in without further ado, her fingers praying on the edge of the table, no doubt hoping that this interview will not drag on. I fully appreciate the ink that covers her hands, as long as the drawings slip under the fabric of her sleeves. At the same time, Yularen gives me a jaded look.

—Don't pay attention. It's a typical bullying tactic on his part.

— Have no fear, I notice her parades.

—Believe me, no one here is worth showing off.

Exasperated, she looks at me as if the uniform I'm wearing was a vulgar servant's outfit. Arrogance is definitely a family trait.

—Your genetic heritage betrays you, Tarkin.

—If you know my family reputation, you better cut it short, I am the least patient of all.

—Tarkin. Yularen gasps at the end of his tether. Can you…

—Tututu is between the big all-blue guy and me, okay? You are just there for form.

The big all blue? I almost want to laugh, outraged by such insolence towards me and Yularen.

—He's your boss.

— That remains to be seen. Everything will depend on what you have to say to me and on the trap you are trying to set for me, both.

She laughs at us. That's what Yularen's eyes looking up at the ceiling and his loud breathing are trying to tell me. If she continues like this, she will have the death of this old man on her conscience much faster than she imagines.

I show him my datapad with the content I want to submit.

—As you know, the Seventh Fleet is currently operating in Lothal.

—I don't go to Lothal anymore. Arindha Pryce and I are not friends. No wonder when you know them both. Pryce is probably the antithesis of this cheeky.

—But you work on Coruscant.

— ICourse. 'There's a dubious affair at the moment that I want to get to the bottom of and which seems to be linked to the smuggling of contraband on Lothal. I nod dismissively at the datapad. Everything is there. Data concerning an organization – pirate or rebel – which brings together individuals from all over the galaxy. The correlation with strange disappearances within our own troops not being to be left to chance, I add this detail to the presentation already present in the file.

—Agent StarStorm has also found that pirate frequencies are rampant on the holovid networks and they are likely communicating through them. As to whether...

—I'm not sure to understand. If the StarStorm agent is on the spot, there is no point in rounding up the whole ISB.

She looks at me, her eyes half-closed, the suspicious expression that takes shape on her delicate features tells me that she is not fooled. We are indeed not here to discuss only this matter.

— I'm not talking about the whole ISB, but just about you and…

—No. I will not join the Seventh Fleet to settle your petty stories of bribery and piracy. Let the Phantom unit take care of that. I have things to do here, and I'm getting married in a month.

That's when I really notice the ring around her finger. This reality takes on a different consistency and reminds me of her closeness to Admiral Spencer. So he's not just her boyfriend?

—I suppose I should congratulate you?

A brief purse of the lip betrays his annoyance.

—Or be quiet if you like, I don’t care.

—You should consider my proposal.

—I thought about it for more than a minute, it's enough to refuse, even if you gave me the order.

—I will do more than that…

From inside my jacket, I pull out a piece of paper folded in four and lay it on the table. Yularen immediately understands that bringing Tarkin back with me has always been the main objective of my visit and no doubt scrolls through his mind a multitude of options to put me to death. As for Tarkin, she remains impassive before grabbing the paper and gently unfolding it. The impact is approaching and I relish it in advance, watching her blue eyes circled in a shade of lagoon green congeal with fear and her cheeks turn a forbidden red.

—A requisition?

—Nice reading, Tarkin. -

—You are completely insane!

—I'm a Grand Admiral, have some respect.

Her distress is almost funny and I struggle not to taunt her with a triumphant smile. I sincerely thought I had won the battle by presenting her with a requisition that no soldier could have countered. But I forgot that Tarkin was not afraid of dying and that she was particularly fond of teasing the hierarchy.

Fueled by her aggressiveness and a certain madness, she applied herself to shredding every bit of the sheet without taking her eyes off me. A kind of fierce confrontation that none of us really wanted to get out of.

—You can't apply a requisition that doesn't exist, can you?

— One way or another, it's.

And she doesn't answer, contenting herself with blowing in my face the scraps of paper she was holding in her hands under Yularen's mad gaze. Impassive, I blink taunting her without expressing the slightest emotion about her.

It's time for Lieutenant Tarkin to find out who's in charge here and I intend to be the one to bring her down.

—Sorry you took it like that, Lieutenant. It seemed to me that I had done you a favour.

— A favor ? She repeats in a voice tinged with surprise and angst. The only favor you could do me is to leave me alone, Grand Admiral.

—I have a recruit to assess. It would be very upsetting if I could not do so due to an unfortunate setback.

I love seeing that gleam of rage in the back of her eyes, it's like she's silently insulting me. We are going to make a hell of a team, together, there's no doubt.

—It's not the norm to blackmail things you agree to beforehand

—It's just a matter of perspective. I see that as more of a negotiation. —Then you are a very bad politician.

—I am a soldier, not a politician.

And she is silent, not knowing what to answer and I would have to gain an additional rank for having managed to silence her.

— Rule number 1: I always win. No matter how long it must take me.

Nothing but her exists in this room. Her and the angry look she gives me, the distinguished way of bringing her fingers in front of her thin lips, the disdainful fluttering of her eyelashes when she looks away from her superior. Yularen fumes, huffs loudly, and probably tries to find a way to keep me away from her charge, but it's too late.

The games are already done.

— Good. I imagine that I would be quite disloyal in going back on this tacit agreement. She hisses bitterly. But I intend to come back here in a month.

—I suppose I can grant you that permission.

—And I would also like something else…

Tarkin hasn't said her last word, she hums her last remark like a fatal melody and my neck cracks under the tension that settles there.

— I find you very hard, but go ahead.

—I want someone to come with me. We'll have our work cut out if what's on your datapad is correct.

The colonel's eyes widen in surprise, and he nods his head, urging me to accept.

—And who would you like to take in your suitcases?

— Archibald Lewis.

Lewis, the man I'm supposed to assess in less than two hours. The success of which will depend on my judgment and from which Tarkin's departure will then follow.

Checkmate.