“Another flute then Sate? If I didn’t know better, I would mislabel your intentions...honorable as they may seem.” Ysanne commented as the elder advisor offered her the glass in his left hand, turning himself to look over the veranda to the Grand Promenade below them both. A delicate ensemble sourced well beyond sight found itself wafting through the air between the monotonous hum of lively chatter and the tinkling of glassware from those below their vantage.
“It only seems appropriate Madam Director as we perch in our lofty position, our eyes on the comings and goings.” Pestage responded, draining his own flute in a quick gulp.
Ysanne only shook her head in turn, shaming the aged man for his glaring lack of decorum if nothing else, “I find reason to set myself above the rest Sate, if not in stature then surely to protect what assets I have.”
“By the stares you have already elicited, I would suggest your assets most certainly need protection.” Sate Pestage responded, the folds of his robes doing nothing to betray the sidelong glances Ysanne knew the man guilty of every few minutes.
“By the stars Sate, your old enough to be my father….grandfather even on some worlds.” She stated with a huff and forced chuckle.
“But you’ve already had one of those, haven’t you.” Pestage said, setting his own flute to the immaculate tiled floor at his feet then resting his arms upon the carved stone railing before him, his eyes ever downward toward the dark tinted half sphere in the middle of the lower chamber.
“How much longer would he entertain the likes of Vorchan, Sate. I couldn’t think of a more underserving Sector than Mikaster.” Ysanne changed topics entirely.
“Perhaps that is what is occupying our Emperor’s time.” Pestage responded, Ysanne noting an edginess within his voice that spoke to the coiled bundle of muscles underneath the man’s dress robes, ready to respond should the need arise. She knew it was only a ploy, however, their Emperor needed no protection of any sort.
“While you toil yourself with low lying fruits, there are those concerning ourselves with the dangers of those that remain out of arms reach Miss Isard.” Sate retorted after several moments passed between the two. “Think on your own observations and relate that to what you already know…” He paused, turning his aged face slowly in her direction, “Mikaster serves as a gateway to the Brema Sector Ysanne, the same Brema in which resides the Sullust system.”
Ysanne needed no further reminding, her eyes flaring open quickly, then just as quickly returning to their purposefully sultry state, a thin smile reaching across her lips as she turned her own focus to the darkened half sphere below, noting the nonchalant movements of their Emperor’s royal guard edging their way carefully toward its edges.
“You see Miss Isard, while you have been crafting your own designs, a noteworthy endeavor I will admit, our beleaguered Daris Vorchan has allowed a stolen light cruiser passage beyond his Sector’s borders.” Pestage said in a muffled voice. “While we enjoy the finery of obfuscation, the rebellion never sleeps.”
Ysanne turned to him, incredulous. “Why was I not notified!” She scolded the Advisor in a strained yet throaty whisper, all pretense of nonchalance stolen from her features.
With a quickness that had defied the three seconds she had removed her gaze from the tinted sphere, all encroaching red robed guards had stolen themselves from view, Ysanne turning her attention to it once again after realizing the secretive Advisor wouldn’t be answering that particular question. The lights high above them all flickered but for a moment, the charged hum of electricity notable through the clanging and vociferous noises below, all of which continued without interruption. “And with that…” Sate said, an uncontrollable chuckle brewing deep within his chest, “Brema Sector is in need of a new governor I would wager.” He pushed himself from the railing and crooked his left arm a few paces from her. “Perhaps, Miss Isard, you would be willing to fill the role?” He said with a certain finality over his shoulder.
Ysanne swiveled her gaze from the tinted sphere to the waiting invitation and back again, noting to herself with a ragged exhale that the invitation was anything but voluntary. “Your methods elude reason Pestage.” She said, sliding her right arm through the offered support.
“As does your ambition Isard.” He rebutted in the same manner she had initiated. “No one will offer you apologies for your own lack of knowledge. If you press to obtain that which you so desire, you best be prepared to be in a position to posit credibility on a galactic scale.” He continued as he paused slightly, offering the woman at his side slightly more support as they began to descend the wide white marble staircase to the Gala below. “Yet you toil with that same endeavor within the confines of your own office, finding yourself on the receiving end of information you didn’t even know you needed.”
Ysanne had no retort as she shuffled closer to the left railing, pulling Sate Pestage with her and confiding in the support of both man and stone as her legs began to weaken under the pressures of the Advisor’s truth. Her thoughts swirled without prompt, all of them finalizing in a pathetic example of the impetuous child she now felt like. There was no cunning defense she could muster to fabricate some form of embellished treaty with the facts that clearly lie well outside her knowledge. She half turned to the Advisor, opening her mouth to formulate some form of response.
“Don’t waste what lies you’d conjure on me Madam Director, and I would highly advise you stow that sentiment entirely for the next few minutes of your life Ysanne.” Pestage said outright, no regard given for present surroundings, Ysanne only now aware of where the Advisor was guiding her. Within steps of the tinted sphere, Sate Pestage halted his advance, dropping his supportive arm at his side and folding his hands patiently before his waist. “Your expected Madam Director.” He said slowly, offering an open palm forward toward the edge of the darkened sphere.
With a nullifying gulp of air, she tried to keep hidden from the gangly man ushering her, Ysanne stepped through the deamplification sphere once again, leaving the safety of the clamor behind her. A central dais was finalizing its rise back into place just beside her Emperor, the charring at its surface sourcing thin lines of smoke that twisted around the dark robes of the man that had concealed his face entirely within the vacuous hood pulled low over his head. She quickly noted the unmoving red garbed forms of the man’s Imperial guard standing at attention along the sphere’s internal perimeter, twenty at least. ‘Had their even been that many in attendance?’ She found her mind asking the most divergent question possible.
“And there are twice as many still in attendance…” The throaty voice beneath the cowl answered for her.
“Whatever your goal with the former ISB Director Miss Isard, it pains me to inform you that he has eluded capture.” Emperor Palpatine ushered forth, setting the tone and objective with an unquestionable straightforwardness that Ysanne found jarring. “You had better hope he is incapable of presenting anything outwardly damning to your cause my dear.” He was slow and deliberate with his message, allowing no assumptions to seep in between the lines of his own resolve. “Else you will be the sole beneficiary of any justice to be meted out.”
Ysanne found herself asking the question before her brain could stop itself, “how is that possible My Lord?”
The Emperor focused the shadow of the cowl squarely on her position, the yellows of his eyes defying the darkness within as they glowed with a passion she could only describe as hatred. “My dear, things are transpiring well outside your capacity to understand them. Pestage knows because he makes it his business to know. I would think the Director of Imperial Intelligence would place priority on the same objectives.” He almost barked with a seething raspiness Ysanne found disturbing at best. “But perhaps a certain naivety is also a boon, lest you find yourself underfoot at the most inopportune moments.” He continued, a certain degree of grace returning to his voice that eased her nerves somewhat.
“The stolen light cruiser…” Ysanne began, an effort to further her understanding despite the warning veiled by the stabbing slight.
“Is of no interest to Imperial Intelligence.” Palpatine barked immediately, cutting off that particular avenue of discussion before it even had a chance to enlighten her with a shred of information. “What I am curious about however, is the method of escape enacted by a damaged man in a heavy freighter that jumped directly to hyperspace from a location far to near your offices Miss Isard.” The sneer returned as he cast his head downward somewhat, a sense of pained fear welling through her spine. “To that cause you will direct your focus because the manner of his escape should have been impossible.”
“A direct jump from the planet’s surface?” Ysanne forgot about the fear momentarily, her mind racing with the improbable calculations necessary to enact such a feat.
“Precisely why you will be working with Evan Sylde.” Palpatine countered the very thought, driving home the necessity to contain her thoughts in his presence.
Ysanne could only stare within the dark cowl, her mind a torrent of controversy as she scolded herself internally for the position she had put herself in, completely lacking the foresight necessary to see beyond her personal ambition. “There is no way possible Audenhoen could have done that My Lord, not without some form of assistance. If it is Evan Sylde then so be it, together we will determine his method and resolve this as quickly as possible.” She stated, her intentions matching her own resolve, leaving no room to interpret the statement any other way.
“I will leave you to your work then Miss Isard.” Emperor Palpatine offered quietly.
Ysanne contemplated her exit but found her eyes falling to the charred flooring at her Emperor’s feet suddenly. “I take it Mikaster is need of a new governor..”
She didn’t hide her amusement despite the obvious tones directing her toward the conclusion of her business with the man.
“Mikaster already has its successor my dear, Hasse has already agreed to take the assignment.” Palpatine conveyed with a sense of curiosity, despite the urgency with which he decreed his intentions.
“Brimmon Hasse? That would seem a demotion My Lord.” She couldn’t help but comment, noting the importance of late placed within the Mandalore Sector.
“Only to those that would not know any better Miss Isard. Now, I believe you’ve work to do…” Palpatine responded with a finality that was unquestionable. “Inform Pestage that I require his attention upon your exit Director.”
Ysanne, peeled her eyes from the charred floor and bowed deeply before her Emperor with a graceful courtsey, left with far too many questions she dare not entertain until well outside the inscrutable penetrating grasp of the man before her. She turned her back as she stepped slowly backward only when she knew the circle of Royal Guard were directly behind her. She hastened her exit and walked through the dark sphere, assaulted immediately by the regalia and clamor of the celebration pushing into its fifth hour. Sate Pestage, stood with a sneering grin on his weathered face, “I understand you’ll be taking your leave Madam Director, forgive me if I do not provide the expected escort to your waiting conveyance, matters to attend to and all.” He said with a snark laugh hidden in his words. He bowed mockingly before her and disappeared behind her in the blink of her eyes, leaving her to tread to her own exit through the throng of uncaring onlookers.
✦
“My Lord.” Sate Pestage said immediately, materializing between two of the Royal Guards.
“Guards. Leave us.” Palpatine ushered the command with a sharp bark of his raspy angst, the context of what followed clearly meant for their ears alone. “I almost let my concentration falter old man. The nexus of our own device has made itself known to me.” He ushered into importance their conference the moment the red robes vanished through the darkened sphere. “The components that have been set and cultivated at last bear fruit.”
“And the terminus is Botajef, as you have foreseen then?” Sate Pestage asked, knowing full well his Emperor would be speaking of nothing but.
“You have been the sole heir of my own machinations Sate, oftentimes the linchpin, securing the fluidity of our stated undertakings. What I will share with none other is a point that has only been recently conceived.” Sate knew Palpatine was no longer speaking as his own Galactic Emperor, that what would follow was far more personal, and sinister, in its own right. “Improbabilities, no matter the source, always intertwine in ways least expected.”
“You refer to the oddity involving former Director Audenhoen?” Sate was sure it could have been nothing else, but also found himself backpedaling mentally as a third phenomenon presented itself as an option, “the commandeered vessel…”
“You have guile worthy of the Sith my friend.” Sidious nodded his approval through his croaking voice, one that neither focused entirely on what was being said nor relayed much in context beyond the words themselves. Sate considered the comment quite the achievement in any case, all things considered.
“My Lord, if that is the case, we will need to align your cover. And I would assume, with your proposed proximity to Aborah, Lord Vader is not to be informed.” Sate continued, perhaps out of place, but only if he were presenting a case to be made to his Emperor, not his architect.
“No. He is predisposed as it were regardless. Moreover, his poor decisions on Ambria would present the option moot in any case. No Sate, Jade will accompany me.” Sidious responded quickly, lifting a hand to his bony chin, and stroking the cadaverous feature slowly, “as for the cruiser, let it be for the moment. I feel it will prove quite useful in conjunction with Project Swarm, perhaps even provide a sense of….” Sidious paused reflectively as he searched for the right description.
“Anticipation perhaps?” Sate offered his own variation of a projected sentiment.
“Hope.” Sidious said before the looming sneer gripping his lips, twisted, and contorted into an uncontrollable lurch of derision and ridicule.
“I am certain I do not follow but that is for me to learn in due course. The ship was last seen in the Halrun Kal system, heading for Koureye. What sort of Injuncture would be required?” Pestage responded once the twisting face of the Sith Lord returned to his own time and space.
“Do not press our own presence Sate, in fact, Koureye will provide challenge enough for our privateers.” Sidious paused in reflection, “hmmmm…” He continued with verbal contemplation, “perhaps we should assist in fact, give them scraps to keep them wanting…”
“Your methods are diabolical as always My Lord, but in a system not even the Hutt’s dare tread...it may leave our intentions exposed…” Sate countered for musing advocacy, pointing out the little-known fact for emphasis.
“Their hunger for finality will leave them blind to it I say.” Sidious barked his response, cutting off the attempted advocacy altogether, turning to leer in line with Sate’s own gaze.
Sate’s features twisted into their own mocking jibe, falling into line with his Masters thoughts and schemes, “far be it for me to argue the point My Lord, this Rebellion is nothing short of tenacious.”
“And it will be their downfall….so long as they continue believing they have the upper hand.” Sidious responded, his tone softer as the words fell from his mouth like the thoughts that dripped their constant poison upon the galaxy.
“I am sure we will be revisiting the issue My Lord, in the meantime, your cover lies below. I will assume we are enacting our standard protocols and will escort him from the premises within the hour.” Sate Pestage regaled his assignment before being asked to, Sidious’ lips twisting up with a graciousness that was rare indeed.
“Sate, just when it seems there are none my equal, I am reminded why DeMask introduced us in the first place.” Sidious commended with a subtle nod toward the man who had been at his side from the beginning.
Sidious moved toward the center of the sphere, ready to sweep himself from the event altogether, yet the look of concern on his Advisor’s face caused him pause. The sullen eyes betraying the anxiety the man clearly held internally, Sidious oblivious to any reasons why, “what troubles you Sate?”
Pestage paused himself, his eyes falling to the floor before quickly recentering on his Dark Lord’s once again, “only Isard and Sylde in tandem My Lord…” He wasn’t quite certain how to phrase his criticism, “is it wise?”
Darth Sidious, seconds away from descending to his waiting speeder, slowly lifted his hands to the outer rim of the cowl draped over his head. The spindly, knotted fingers wrapping around the hem with a delicacy Sate Pestage had yet to witness. Within the ambient light of the darkened sphere the Dark Lord’s twisted features became wholly visible, “is it wise you ask?”
Sate backpedaled slightly, casting his gaze downward in reverence, “I mean no disrespect of course, but they share the same iniquities My Lord.” Sate was certain his Lords indignation was forthcoming, but he would not cast aside his own duties as title suggested, “she is cunning and ambitious. He is tactful and efficient, yet they both are blinded by an arrogance that could be contagious.”
“Neither are taciturn by nature Pestage and have forged my allegiance through the successes of their pasts.” Sidious responded, not at all conveying the wrath Sate was certain was surely brewing underneath.
“My Lord, Sylde can be merciless in his own endeavors, a compliment before the battlefield, but, My Lord, he is no Thrawn.” Sate was certain the message would not be well received and dreaded the point the reminder was threaded to make to begin with. He could feel the tension flare wildly between himself and the Dark Lord before him, the heavily robed right arm pulling into the sleeve at his side. But then, just then, a look of calm stole over Sidious’ deformities, the yellow eyes that burned with a fused hatred not moments before, diminished contritely as he lowered his own gaze to the ground at his feet in reflection.
Sidious pondered the immediacy of the suggestion through a long pause, considering the multitude of moving parts under his own direction that relied heavily upon his own interaction, and with that, the failures that always seemed to accompany the designs set in motion that he had willingly delegated responsibility to. ‘Failures, one and all..’ He thought sullenly, understanding the connections his advisor was trying to make without shifting blame aside from those who had earned it. The vast array the thoughts conveyed, a web of failure that stemmed from a single commonality stole him back in years to the advice of his own Master. Underestimation had been at the heart of his own Master’s teachings from inception, a trait he found rife throughout his Empire within his own contemplation. ‘Tarkin...Thrawn...even Vader’ the thought persisted as he centered himself upon the central dais, curious if those he had surrounded himself with were truly up to the tasks set before them.
Sidious activated the mechanisms below his feet as he slowly released the grip he had tenuously held upon the hilt of his own saber, the muscles yearning to release the pent-up rage and aggression that frothed to life under his wretched skin. He could not, however, train that rage upon the only man that had ever resisted the complacencies of power and title. The only man that opined for reason and doubt in the face of certain victory, sage witness to the very things that he himself was guilty. If not for the Advisor, ‘if not for him, what?’ The question begged for an answer as he lifted his gaze toward Pestage a final time before descent stole the man’s return gaze from him, the passage to the private tunnels basking him in a darkness that was complete.
✦
Ysanne Isard slipped from the Gala Imperium’s massive front archway, oblivious to the stares and expressions that ranged from amazement to nocturnal suggestion, frantic to be free of the ringing noise the congregation had suddenly digressed into. Her mind twisted in both reflection and anxiety as the first waves of bewilderment sought to finitely destroy the foundations of her own machinations, each meticulous band of doubt sewn to impose a wrath of their own upon the prolific path she had diligently forged for herself. A path that had just been upended and corralled into a possibility she had never imagined, and one well outside her control. She pulled herself together as she descended the wide sweeping stair case that stood as a forum for those denied entry and others withdrawn from the festivities within, focusing her thoughts on the waiting speeder waiting patiently for her.
Ysanne approached the wide doors of the bright polished silver limousine, a porter from within stepping out to offer her entry in one fluid motion. She sat without care given to the finery of the fabric about her lithe frame and immediately cast her gaze through the closed rear window and into the city scape beyond.
“Residence or offices Madam?” The voice was direct, to the point, as it crackled slightly through the rear cabin’s comm link.
‘How easy it would be to sleep it all off.’ She found herself thinking, knowing the fate of the late Governor could easily be her own, “offices.” She demanded, thrusting aside any weaknesses within.
Without another word, the speeder veered away from the entries veranda lip and rose slowly to merge into the nearest traffic lane. Ysanne continued staring through the thick translucent polymer, each light in the distance a reminder of station she had strived to avoid, station she had achieved.
“Congratulations by the way Miss Isard, or should I say, Madam Director of Imperial Intelligence.” The comm buzzed again, not at all out of place as she had inherited her father’s personal driver.
‘As promised My Lord….’ she thought in contemplation, readying herself for the personal transition she had no choice but to enact, “thank you Rawls.” She said sublimely, her thoughts already carrying through with the transition as she began searching her memory for any knowledge she held pertaining to Evan Sylde.
“If I may Madam...your father would be proud.” Rawls conveyed his sentiment.
‘Is everyone against me?’ Ysanne thought following the reminder of blind ambitions cost and legacy. “My father…” She began, utterly lost for words as she considered her own predicament, stealing any angst from her that the man’s memory could dredge and suddenly very aware of the similarities they both now shared, “is dead.” She conveyed her annoyance through the finality of the statement, closing that particular avenue of distraction altogether.
Ysanne fought to rid herself of the thoughts that would derail her own agenda as the speeder began to slow then stop in one fluid motion. The porter, seated silently aside the door, removed himself from his position and opened the door as she stood to exit, nodding her thanks as she briskly passed him. The chill in the Coruscanti air bit into her exposed shoulders as she strode with purpose toward the waiting guards at the partitioning doors ahead, each responding with their own dutiful purpose as they closed ranks around her. Ysanne ignored the nip in the air, each step forward a method at her disposal to shed the remnants of her failures and arrogance. Reaching the inner doors to her personal offices, she felt compelling wave upon wave of a refreshing vigor that provided power enough to stamp out the detritus left in the throes of self-pity and weakness of the mind.
Ysanne thrust herself through the doorway, her attendant guards positioning themselves as they always had, closing ranks in a protective wall of dedication.
“Timms, connect me with Captain Evan Sylde.” She said quickly, continuing through the office and into her private room.
“Already done Madam Director.” The wavering electronic warble was not that of her own resident AI, Ysanne pausing just through the doorway and turning briskly toward the expansive desk to her left.
“Apologies Madam Director, but Timms is currently offline. I am custodial and operational AI Zero Seven of Silent Fleet, refer to me as Seven if you wish Madam Director.”
“I wish only to have this unauthorized intrusion vacated and my own AI restored.” Ysanne barked out with unwavering fervor, tearing the dress from her body in one quick motion.
“The wisdom in employing a single platform for cooperative efforts cannot be overlooked Miss Isard.” The voice was human and so clearly stated that she slipped into her black bodysuit faster than she had wanted to, quite certain the man was standing just outside the open door.
“I will insist without pause, disable...Seven, or I will.” Ysanne calmed her voice enough to eliminate the emotion she had wished to convey, but remained direct enough to insert her will regardless. With an exasperated breath she slid her feet into waiting boots while buttoning the alternate, boldly black, tunic up to her neck and launched herself to the edge of her desk.
“Madam.” Timms voiced through the office’s comms, assuring her that the message had been taken as it was directed. She immediately initiated her own firewall protocols and severed any connection her personal systems had to the Imperial network entirely.
“Miss Isard, we meant no disrespect, only an openness for exchange from the onset…” The human voice rang through the offices again.
“And I will not allow the infections of a foreign contaminant entry into my private servers...Sylde, I assume?” She continued relaying her ire without conveying the anger that raged just under her skin.
“Captain Evan Sylde, at your service Madam Director.”
“If you will hold briefly Captain Evan Sylde…” Ysanne didn’t wait for compliance, pausing the transmission immediately. “Timms, can you access that AI’s framework?”
“Of course I can Madam. If your inquiry requires access that is clandestine, the answer remains the same.” Timms responded quickly, protocol determining his ability to read the situation.
“Do it, I am concerned with the intrusion itself, any possible clandestine connection that could remain as well as any former intrusion that could have been made within any of our ongoing projects.”
“Processing…All facets of stated tasks are complete. Running diagnostic now.” Timms responded, Ysanne blowing out her breath in relief.
“Going forward, record all interactions, verbal and somatic.” She stated.
“Very well Madam.”
Ysanne reactivated the comms transmission, “So then, Captain Evan Sylde, where do we begin?”