Chương 84: Interlude (I)
Prince Admiral Delak Krennel moved through the darkened corridors of his palace on Ciutric IV, the capital of the Imperial Remnant known as the Ciutric Hegemony, in complete silence. This was a realm he had wrested from the grasp of Grand Vizier Sate Pestage several years prior, executing the traitor along with his entire family. Justice, as Krennel saw it, had been served.
** Prince Admiral Delak Krennel (Ciutric Hegemony) **
Tall and powerfully built, Krennel was broad-shouldered but devoid of unnecessary bulk. Despite his imposing stature, he possessed an uncanny ability to move with the silence of a shadow. Even his cybernetic right arm, concealed beneath synthetic flesh, did not detract from his formidable appearance. During his days at the Imperial Military Academy on Prefsbelt, he had been renowned for his unparalleled skill in hand-to-hand combat, and neither time nor circumstances had diminished his physical prowess. The cybernetic arm, operating as silently as the man himself, only enhanced his abilities, making him more formidable than ever.
Krennel entered his office, indifferent to the darkness that filled the room—deep night had taken hold on Ciutric IV. Under normal circumstances, he would still be resting, but urgent news had shattered the stillness of his sleep, demanding his immediate attention.
The news concerned Grand Admiral Thrawn, and it was so unsettling that Krennel had refused to trust the data relayed by his droid secretary. He intended to verify it personally.
The Prince Admiral flicked a switch. Long vertical light panels embedded in the walls activated, their glow reflecting off the ceiling and filling the room, decorated in rich brown tones, with a cold, sterile light.
Even before he saw her, he knew she was there. She was always present when needed.
Krennel hadn't seen her in person for several standard years, though she had haunted his nightmares. She was slightly shorter than him, with jet-black hair interrupted only by two white streaks that framed a face admired for its beauty on many worlds. Her high forehead, sharp chin, prominent cheekbones, and straight nose could captivate almost anyone. Yet, two details marred her otherwise perfect appearance.
The first thing anyone noticed when they met the infamous Iceheart in person was her eyes. Her left iris glowed a deep scarlet, like arterial blood, as if filled with it after a radioactive burn. The pale blue of her right eye conjured images of icy, snow-covered planets scattered throughout the galaxy. Her gaze had the power to sear through one's soul, inciting fear deep within. Even after losing everything—her subordinates, power, and resources—this woman still exuded an aura of dominance and control. Many men had desired her, but only a few were wise enough to understand that she would consume them whole without hesitation, using them until they were of no further use before discarding them and moving on.
But there was another flaw, a new "decoration" that had not been present before the disaster on Thyferra—a network of scars crisscrossing the right side of her face, starting from a small mark on her temple. Before Thyferra, Ysanne Isard's appearance had been unmarred by such imperfections. Krennel focused on these scars, using them as an anchor to resist falling under her spell once more.
The scars created a slight asymmetry in her features, a subtle reminder of the serious injury that had required surgery. Rumor had it that Rogue Squadron had boasted about killing Iceheart on Thyferra. But clearly, they had been wrong.
** Ysanne Isard **
"So, it's that easy?" Krennel asked with disdain, his eyes lingering on her seductive figure clad in a red version of the Imperial Navy uniform, devoid of any insignia. "No traps at the entrance, no checks to keep me on edge? I'm disappointed, Isard."
"Taking your life would be as effortless as sipping a café," Iceheart responded in a calm, emotionless tone, her gaze never leaving him. "I can end you whenever I choose. And when your people find your corpse, they'll eagerly swear their allegiance to me. Remember that."
The Prince Admiral harbored no illusions that even now, as ruler of the Imperial Remnant, he had any control or understanding of this woman. On the contrary, she was using him for her own hidden agendas, and he was acutely aware of it. The moment he let his guard down, Isard would be the one to snap his neck.
"You sent a droid to me with a report," he said, bringing the conversation back on track. "It concerns Thrawn. What is it you want?"
"The same as always—to preserve my master's Empire."
Krennel found himself laughing and perched on the edge of his wide desk.
"The hole in your head must have affected your memory. The Empire is shattered. And the Emperor is dead. Or have you forgotten?"
Isard's features sharpened, transforming her expression into that of a predator ready to pounce.
"I forget nothing, Krennel! This pain will always be in my heart."
"Pain? You have a heart?" Krennel's face remained impassive.
"Get to the point, Isard. You said you had news about Thrawn."
"Patience, Prince Admiral," advised the former Director of Imperial Intelligence, her voice laced with a subtle threat. "One day, you'll fulfill your old dream and kill him. How long have you hated him?"
As always, Ysanne played her part masterfully, orchestrating her own symphony. It was nearly impossible to predict what her endgame would be.
"You forget nothing," he mused with a wry chuckle. "Then you must remember I've despised that blue-skinned upstart ever since I was sent to the Unknown Regions and found myself under his command—a non-human's command."
"It was a blow to your honor, taking orders from a non-human, wasn't it?" she purred, her voice smooth as silk.
"I acknowledge his talent, but he's always been a brat who needs to be eliminated," the Prince Admiral growled through gritted teeth.
"Oh, yes, his dabbling in the study of alien cultures was rumored to bring him victory," Ysanne said, her tone dripping with mockery. "The Imperial Center buzzed with talk of how he sent you back, like returning a sick animal to a shelter. Remind me, why did he do that?"
"Because that creature can't comprehend that alongside his obsessions with alien cultures, sheer overwhelming power and ruthlessness are far more effective in subduing the natives," Krennel's prosthetic hand clenched into a fist.
"Your career would have ended if the Emperor hadn't died at Endor," Ysanne remarked pointedly. "Thrawn had an inexplicable influence over the Emperor…"
Why was she reopening old wounds? What was she trying to achieve?
"You abandoned your ambition to become one of the rebel military leaders six months after the Emperor's death, when it was revealed that Sate Pestage, who controlled the Imperial Center, was attempting to negotiate with the rebels. He offered to surrender the capital and several key worlds in exchange for his safety and comfort. When his treachery was exposed, Pestage fled to Ciutric. You were dispatched to exact retribution. You found the fugitive, stripped him of his power and possessions, and proclaimed yourself Prince Admiral, a title of your own invention, establishing your cherished little empire across a dozen planets.
"I don't need a history lesson, Isard!" Krennel barked.
"Thrawn's return terrified you," Isard pressed on, her voice laced with mockery. "He could have easily taken your little empire—your prized toy—away from you. It was fear alone that drove you to aid the Grand Admiral, supplying his fleet with finances, weapons, munitions, and personnel. How often have you woken in the dead of night, dreading that his destroyers would invade your beloved Hegemony and subjugate it? No one would come to your aid. Your supply of military equipment to the Imperial Remnants is no panacea. And your fleet, no matter how much you nurture it, is laughable in comparison."
"Well observed, Isard," Krennel retorted, striving to unsettle his adversary. "But it's not for you to dictate what power I hold in my hands. If you had as much strength as I do, you'd have built your own empire by now. Oh, wait," he pretended to ponder, "you already tried. First on the Imperial Center, then on Thyferra. And the rebels killed you for it."
A flame of blind rage ignited in her eyes, as destructive as it was mesmerizing. Iceheart reflexively touched the scar on her temple with her fingertips.
"They failed," she hissed.
Krennel noted the uncertainty beneath her bravado. She doesn't remember what happened on Thyferra when Ysanne lost everything—three Star Destroyers, the Lusankya, and control of the galaxy's only bacta supplier. Amnesia, no doubt, caused by severe injury. She likely believes she's only suffered a minor setback, which is why she's come to visit him. With the same ease that she once sent her filthy, tattered prisoners from Lusankya to Ciutric.
"Did you drag me out of bed just to mock me?"
"No," she replied coolly. "I said all of this so you could see the opportunity to rebuild the Empire and claim its throne. Remember, I once made you a similar offer, but instead, you chose to seize Pestage's domain by force rather than deliver the traitor to me. I would have made you Emperor. I still can."
"And all I hear is you spending an hour extolling an inhuman, wasting my time!" Krennel growled.
"Without my support, you would have been conquered long ago, Krennel," Isard replied with chilling calm. "Only my strategies and my agents allow you to continue living without the fear that the Imperial Ruling Council or Ardus Kaine will send a fleet to crush your insignificant state. That's the only reason you're still alive. But with each passing day, you become less and less useful."
"Thrawn always amused me," Iceheart continued. "An excellent executor. Give him a task, and he'll complete it in record time, so flawlessly that others can only envy him. It's curious, isn't it, that Thrawn was the only one forgiven for not following orders? He could easily tell Palpatine that a certain battle would end in defeat for the Empire—and Palpatine would believe him. Of course, the Emperor would first demote him, send his fleets into a slaughter, and then promote him again. Poor Osvald Teshik had to personally participate in a similar operation against the Hapes Consortium, while Thrawn remained in the rear. Until recently, I believed that Thrawn's destiny was merely to drive away some savages on the galaxy's fringes. And in just a few weeks, he's proven he can easily operate against battle-hardened rebel armadas. But he's a fool because he doesn't understand that sometimes firepower strikes greater terror in the heart. And terror itself is a weapon. He doesn't wield fear, and that is his fatal flaw."
The Prince Admiral's metallic palm tightened around the edge of the table.
"I pointed out that flaw long ago."
"Apparently, he's trying to correct it," Ysanne Isard smirked.
Krennel's temples began to throb. His heart pounded faster as the words fell from her lips in a hoarse, quiet voice, almost a whisper. Isard was giving voice to thoughts the Prince Admiral had harbored since his youth when he helped his father burn down the homes of non-humans to make way for agricultural complexes. The tone of this extraordinary woman, her conviction, her confidence in what she said—it all resonated with the imperial commander. Isard knew what he was thinking, knew she could bare her soul to him (if she even had one) without becoming an object of ridicule. No matter how much he feared her, she was irresistible. And he tried with all his might to maintain a safe distance, to avoid being burned like a moth drawn too close to the flame.
Krennel forced himself to breathe.
"You've learned something new about Thrawn," he deduced. Isard loved to toy with her prey, drawing them into her web.
"Our esteemed Grand Admiral has returned from another campaign," she revealed. "Once again—with victory. Do you recall how many Imperial-class Star Destroyers he commanded?"
"Eight I-class and one II-class," he replied without hesitation. "Two Victory-class destroyers, and another joined after the Ubiqtorate withdrew from Tangrene. Three Interdictors..."
"Now add to that three more Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, one MC80-class Mon Calamari star cruiser, one Venator-class Star Destroyer, a Neutron Star-class heavy cruiser, and one Acclamator-class assault cruiser. Not to mention a few smaller-class ships at his disposal..."
"Who gave him these ships?" Sparks of rage flared in the Prince Admiral's eyes.
"No one," Isard replied calmly, watching him closely. "He took them by force. He lured his enemies into a trap, letting them believe they were hunting him. And he crushed them. Smugglers, pirates, and a New Republic strike team. And he lost only four insignificant ships, half of which he left as traps on the battlefield. Two more ships, a Victory and an Interdictor, sustained heavy damage and have returned to his forward base for urgent repairs before rejoining him at Tangrene."
"It sounds unreal," Krennel shook his head. "I thought you said he was hunting the legend —the Katana fleet."
"Oh, he found that too," Isard smiled. "Intriguing, isn't it? His Star Destroyers cruise right under the noses of the New Republic, ferrying ships from one part of the galaxy to another, straight into his hands."
"That bastard has the power to destroy my fleet!" Krennel hissed. "He'll use that advantage to seize the Hegemony!"
"Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions, Admiral," Isard advised. "Yes, he commands a formidable fleet. But all of it still needs repairs, crews, training, and, most importantly, maintenance."
"You mentioned that Baron D'asta is sponsoring him," Krennel recalled. "And that he contributed some of his private fleet's ships."
"More than that," Isard's smile widened. "The Baron personally came to congratulate him on his victory. And with him came several cargo tankers carrying fuel, food, and spare parts for small craft. Not to mention the three thousand volunteers from the D'asta sector who have enlisted in his service."
"That bastard sent me a request for nearly three thousand MLAs just a few weeks ago," Krennel's eyes narrowed. "He planned this all along, didn't he?"
"Perhaps," Isard said, her interest in him waning. "But don't worry too soon. His ships need repairs and maintenance, which will take time. And the provision of his fleet with fighters and interceptors depends entirely on you, Prince Admiral!" Isard stood up and began to pace, never coming closer than a few meters to him. "He is powerful, but that power is still potential. You must maintain the appearance of goodwill towards him. Fulfill his order for small craft—but demand payment upfront for the entire batch. He has no choice—he needs fighters. He likely intends to equip his dreadnoughts with them, among other things. This is no small task, as he also needs to crew the ships. With the funds from his order, you can bolster your own fleet, Prince Admiral."
Krennel realized why Ysanne had begun to address him with such respect. She effortlessly transitioned from a dominant peer to an equal advisor, understanding that only by presenting the information this way would Delak receive it as a directive for action.
"Your spies must gather as much intelligence as possible on Thrawn's future plans," the Prince Admiral commanded. "I'm certain he'll try to rally the Moffs of the sectors adjacent to Morshdine and declare himself their ruler. He can't be so apolitical!"
"We'll know soon enough," Isard smiled slyly, casting a mysterious glance in his direction. "Thrawn has a unique trait—he's strategic in his actions. This means he'll start moving before his entire fleet is battle-ready. We just need to track his objectives and piece the puzzle together."
"And then what?" Krennel asked impatiently.
"We'll wait until he's secured his rear and restored his fleet to full strength. Then we'll strike a blow from which he'll never recover. Let him play with his allied sectors. His greatest flaw will be his undoing."
The look that the former director of Imperial Intelligence gave him left the Prince Admiral deeply unsettled.
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