Colonel Tycho Celchu, commander of Rogue Squadron, walking alongside an officer of the same rank, Colonel Wessiri, had no idea which of the thousands, if not millions, of Imperial military installations they were currently on.
However, he was glad they had finally been let out of the hold of a Salassian freighter of the Brail type, in the depths of which he and the 'Rogues' who had survived the massacre in the Minor Corvis system had been... how long? A week? Two?
When you see neither day nor night, and the artificial lighting in the hold stays on even when fatigue overcomes you, your biological clock stops, and it's simply impossible to determine anything using your body's reserves. Whoever kept them there was clearly a specialist — none of the surviving New Republic pilots could tell how long they had been... Captive? Visiting?
It was hard to understand their status.
But Wessiri had promised that after meeting his commander, everything would become perfectly clear. So Tycho agreed to go with him.
Uncertainty disoriented more than endless barrel roll training.
The base looked relatively new and decisively Imperial; the personnel were all humans, mostly men, all in Imperial uniforms. Strict adherence to protocols, professional composure, and a chill in communication — strictly Imperial.
And Colonel Wessiri himself seemed to have stepped off a recruitment poster, the kind with a slogan urging immediate enlistment at the nearest recruiting station. Slightly taller than the Alderaanian himself, with black hair beginning to thin at the temples and sharply defined, noble features on a handsome face. When he first met Celchu face to face, he shook the Alderaanian's hand firmly. The colonel chose his words carefully, as it seemed to the Rogue Squadron commander, and had a nervous habit of brushing invisible specks of dust off the sleeves of his black flight suit. He lacked the usual Imperial smugness or arrogance — he was the same kind of pilot as Celchu's squadron mates. Only more restrained.
And in his eyes — deadly danger.
Tycho had no doubt that Colonel Wessiri, with equal effectiveness, would not only have saved them by intervening with his 'Defenders' in the skirmish with pirates, but would have killed them all if he had such an order. No, of course, one could argue whether he could achieve his goals, but at the very least he would have done everything possible to ensure they didn't escape the encounter without even greater losses than they already had.
Celchu walked beside the Imperial, occasionally glancing sideways.
There was something strange about two squadrons of TIE Defenders appearing out of nowhere. So few of them had ever been produced. Not to mention that during Grand Admiral Zaarin's rebellion, most of the manufacturing complex for this type of newest Imperial starfighter was destroyed. Repairing them or continuing small-batch assembly was unprofitable. At least if you planned to put them into mass production, equipping even a single destroyer's air wing.
But if you were equipping an elite unit...
His mood had suddenly plummeted. Because it might turn out that Commander Wessiri was a being Tycho Celchu would not want to meet under any circumstances. But duty was duty, professional and civic alike. So, if he was lucky, he should find out more about this place. Maybe there was something here that would attract the New Republic's attention.
And if so, it wouldn't hurt to work as a scout to the best of his ability.
But now, as in the previous days, something else was troubling him.
In the battle in the Korvis Minor system, he had lost four pilots.
Ken Nitram, Hae-Jin Sli, Wes Janson, Asyr Sei'lar.
And nearly lost as many again... But why fool himself? They had nearly all died at Minor Corvis! There wasn't a single undamaged ship in the squadron, only cripples.
The thought of Asyr's death made him feel cold. The Bothan woman was liked by all her battle comrades as a loyal friend and an atypical representative of her race. She never backed down when it was time to fight. And if you remembered the condemnations heaped on her by other Bothans because of her relationship with Gavin... A woman of stone who did not deserve to die at the hands of pirates.
The squadron would miss Wes Janson... Wedge would not forgive him for such losses, because Janson had done as much for the squadron as the general himself. Yavin IV, Hoth, subsequent battles... Together with Wedge, they had created Wraith Squadron, which had earned the right to be called one of the best in the New Republic. Yes, sometimes Janson's inherent sense of humor involuntarily made those around him reach for a blaster to throttle the pilot, or for the joker's own throat. But it was foolish to deny the obvious — Wes was the soul of Rogue Squadron.
And Ken, Hae-Jin...
Suddenly, Celchu realized that his escort had stopped beside one of the doors. But for some reason he was in no hurry to open it, calmly and attentively looking at the Alderaanian.
"Any problems, Colonel?" inquired Tycho.
"I want you to know, Colonel Celchu," Wessiri spoke quietly, calmly, confidently. And clearly from the heart. "I regret that we could not come to your aid sooner, and you lost your pilots. As a unit commander, I understand your grief and fully share it."
"Thank you," Tycho said, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat.
"You should know that your people destroyed about ten pirate squadrons," continued Colonel Wessiri. "I'm sure they would have shot down more if the pirates hadn't fled."
"I'd rather they had destroyed fewer but all survived," Celchu admitted.
"Losing your people is never easy," Wessiri nodded understandingly. "But I also want to say that you should know something else. The man in this office," he nodded toward the door, "sent us to your rescue. Whatever your judgments about this man, accept the fact. If there had been no order from this office..."
"We would have been wiped out," Celchu finished for him. "I understand, Colonel."
"I hope so," the Imperial sighed. "You fought excellently. As a former Imperial, you should understand that not every Imperial unit has pilots as fine as yours."
"If the Empire had as many elite squadrons like the Rogues, we would hardly be talking now," Tycho clarified.
"I'm glad you understand that," Wessiri keyed in a code, and the door slid into the floor; the colonel gestured into the semi-darkness inside the room. "Please. And don't forget what I said. The order from this office saved your subordinates."
"That's hard to forget or overestimate," Celchu stepped fearlessly over the threshold, closing his eyes for a moment to let his vision adjust to the change in lighting.
The door closed behind him, and he heard Colonel Wessiri's footsteps beside him.
"Colonel Celchu delivered as per your order," he announced into the dimness.
And the transformation began.
Light panels slowly flared up. Flooding with artificial light an oval office decorated with carved wooden panels. The walls, floor, ceiling — everything was adorned with real wood paneling, indicating the refined taste of the office's owner.
The carving looked quite intricate, creating a feeling of hypnotic effect that caused headaches and mild disorientation.
A massive desk stood directly opposite the entrance door, also made of wood, which even in Imperial times only the wealthy could afford. Given the "wooden" interior, it seemed as if the desk literally grew out of the floor.
The backrest of the multi-functional chair, standard for Imperial military commanders and so beloved by Imperial commanders and political appointees, rose high above the head of the person sitting in it, and harmonized with the wall carvings.
Celchu needed only a fraction of a second to understand and recognize the identity of the person sitting before him. And his body reacted accordingly — his heart beat faster, his body felt as if it were filled with durasteel, his upper and lower jaws locked together in such a tight embrace that a creak was heard.
At that moment, the Alderaanian would have given a lot to be in the place of the joker Janson or any of the other fallen pilots. And he would honestly and openly have wished the same for each of his pilots.
The image of this heartless woman could not be erased from the memory of anyone who had ever crossed paths with her.
She still wore a scarlet uniform, though her hair had turned from jet-black to snow-white strands framing her face, her waist had widened somewhat, and her face had lost its sharpness. But she had retained her cold beauty, despite her age. Any thought that the years since their last meeting had softened her evaporated at the sight of her eyes.
One, icy blue, reminded Celchu of Echo Base on Hoth.
The other, fierce red, resembled a red dwarf destroying everything with its deadly energy.
The Alderaanian had thought this woman dead at Thyferra. Because he himself had fired torpedoes at her shuttle. And had seen it destroyed.
Yes, the prisoners from the asylum on Commenor claimed to have seen her, but he had refused to believe them. Until now.
Ysanne Isard, alive and well, slowly rose from behind the desk.
"Colonel Celchu," her voice sounded like poisonous music that destroyed the boundaries of reality. "Finally we meet again. I have long dreamed of this, hoped..."
"I hoped you were dead," the former prisoner of Lusankya hissed.
The woman smiled. That smile made it hot, as if he had been thrown into the active zone of a reactor.
"Breaking you, like Corran Horn, was a pleasure for me..."
"Firing torpedoes into your shuttle and hoping the proton ordnance hit you directly in the face," Colonel Celchu returned the courtesy.
"Oh, I have no doubt about that," the Ice Queen continued to smile. "I've already added you to the list of those who would be happy to kill me for certain. Number two."
"I'll cede first place to Horn," Tycho felt his clenched fists piercing the skin, and beneath them it became sticky and hot from drops of blood.
"Don't worry," Isard advised him. "No one will leave disappointed. Your desire to kill me will soon be fulfilled if we agree to become allies for a time."
It took him a couple of seconds to pick his jaw up off the floor.
"Speak," Celchu said hoarsely. "Your death will be the best thing I can do for the galaxy in such difficult times."
"No other answer was expected," the Ice Queen said sweetly.
And the soul of the commander of Rogue Squadron continued to fall into the abyss...
* * *
There are three things you can watch forever.
How fire burns, how water flows, and how others work.
In my case, all three postulates merged into one.
A substantial dose of bacta and several expensive surgical droids can work miracles.
Because the Isard sitting before me could hardly be given the years she "deserved." Comparing the photograph of the "original" and the clone, one could successfully state that she does not look her forty years.
Five to ten years younger — yes. But beneath the youthful appearance there is not a gram of innocence, lightness, or ease.
This is still the same unscrupulous, cunning, and deadly dangerous woman who easily orchestrated the Krytos virus infection of all Coruscant. She can eat ice cream with the same expression on her face as she watches hundreds of beings burning in a neighboring house, desperately fighting for their lives.
Is it dangerous to leave her alive? More than. Is it deadly to bring her close?
Absolutely.
That is why our meeting takes place in the company of five guardsmen and one Noghri.
Ysanne Isard (clone). And yes, the cosplay is magnificent, I couldn't leave it out.
She is dangerous to leave alive. Without any doubt.
That's exactly why she is alive.
At least — because she has access to the same intelligence network as the real Isard. This is quite a joke, but after Thyferra, when the clone was activated, both the original and the copy used the same illegal informants.
One could spend years beating the names out of her and subjugating the intelligence network for oneself. Or — come to an agreement.
Delta Source will be discovered sooner or later. And the flow of information straight from the depths of the Imperial Palace will undoubtedly be cut off. That cannot be allowed. It cannot be allowed at all.
And here, just in time, numerous agents, informants, "snitches," and all sorts of other informers in Isard's service come to the rescue. Not to mention that she herself is not a bad agent in the service of the Empire. Perhaps even one of the best.
But the main thing in all this, the primary reason I kept the clone alive, is not only her practical use as an agent, but also because she possesses the same intricate mind as the original Isard. And therefore, she is useful in finding the latter.
The search for Molo Himron has already been dragging on, which does not honor us at all. And now additional news from Minor Corvis does not please either.
It does not please at all.
Because we found too few corpses and debris there for it to be considered "destruction." And the testimony of prisoners directly indicates the intervention of a third party in the firefight between Rogue Squadron and the pirate gang that had an interdictor cruiser in its arsenal. In fact, because of the presence of that ship in the system, the Rogues did not escape their sad fate. And the encounter with two squadrons of TIE Defenders.
This painfully resembles the "miraculous rescue scene" orchestrated by the original Isard to lure Wedge Antilles and his pilots into her plan to destroy the Isard clone. However, the famous New Republic general clearly did not fall into someone else's trap this time. Simply because he had stopped piloting an X-wing as part of Rogue Squadron.
"Grand Admiral," Isard, sitting opposite me, leaned back on the sofa, looking at me with narrowed eyes. "It seems your thoughts are far away."
"Yes," I simply replied. Why invent anything when you can not invent and answer honestly? This is masterful manipulation of facts — that is Thrawn's trademark style. That's how we live.
Because if I started telling Isard something else, like "It's none of your business!" and similar synonyms, it would only pique her interest. Forbidden fruit is sweet and dietetic, so everyone who watches their figure wants it.
"Would you by any chance be thinking that it would be easier to give the clone to the original and earn her loyalty?" Her voice was calm, confident, without emotion. In the same tone, she could comment not on her own life but on the filling of a pie or give orders for mass executions.
"If you decide to betray me, I will devise a fate worse than death for you," I promised.
"Will you clone the clone?" she inquired. And again the same matter-of-fact tone. But there was some wariness in her voice. The understanding that at any moment she could be replaced by an extremely loyal copy. If anyone knew about cloning technology, it was Isard.
The only problem is that a loyal clone would not have the motivation for revenge against the original. A loyal clone would simply serve without asking questions. And an Isard who is nothing more than an obedient puppet on errands — that is something extremely terrifying and unnatural. Organically rejected.
"I thought we had discussed all the prospects for further cooperation in extreme detail," I reminded her. "You do what you are ordered, without starting any ventures that harm me" I agree, this is a rather vague definition that is hard to apply to the Ice Queen — "in return, you get the chance to settle scores with the real Isard."
"And then you'll hand me over to Shohashi?" she asked. Ah yes, threats...
"Such a quick death must still be earned, Director," I said.
"Don't call me that," she said sharply. "I share her DNA, one appearance, most of the memories, but I am not the Ice Queen." Then what? "Icedrop"? "Telomere analysis clearly proved to me the essence of my existence and the correctness of your words."
A relatively simple but at the same time effective way to confirm my words to the clone about the truth of her origin. And, oddly enough, this became the reason why the clone became less... destructive toward others. At least she hasn't killed anyone or blown anything up yet. As far as I know.
"A convenient way to avoid unnecessary questions," I noted. "Just claim you are not involved in the original's atrocities."
"And at the same time — to deflect accusations for what she did directly," Isard agreed. "Easily and casually reduce the list of accusations from a couple of volumes of listings to just a few hundred that I personally carried out after my 'activation' just before the Ice Queen lost Thyferra."
"And ideally, to put her on trial altogether, thereby cutting off all leads to you and blaming her for the crimes you committed against the New Republic?" I clarified.
"That is precisely why the best option for all of us is to find and destroy that bitch," Isard twirled a fork, clearly hinting that she could easily send it flying, for example, into my eye. A small test of comfort zone. If I got scared or made the guards react, she would know she had found a vulnerability in me. The fear of death is one of the basic instincts, hard to escape. "Her crimes against the New Republic don't affect you at all. It is necessary only to get her out of the way once and for all, cut all ends, and allow me to operate from the shadows — that's usual for me. The New Republic and their ridiculous democratic regime are ready to believe any plausible lie. Including a remotely controlled shuttle. So fooling them won't be difficult. For example, let Shohashi cut off her head during one of Your Excellency's broadcasts on the HoloNet. Then send the body in pieces to Coruscant so the Republicans can rejoice that the threat of the Ice Queen is in the past."
"What dictates your desire to deal with the original in the bloodiest possible way?" I inquired.
"Revenge," the woman precisely cut a small piece of pie from the main part and sent it into her mouth. Glancing at how she slowly pulled the fork from the captivity of her lips, I asked:
"Don't you want to exist knowing you are nothing more than a copy?"
"I hate being second," she methodically chewed the piece after freeing the literal cavity from the utensil. "And besides, this galaxy is too small for the two of us. And I like it here, despite everything. I wouldn't want the galaxy to turn to dust because of the original's existence." How pretentious. "Well, well," she noted, licking her lips. "Tavira was right. Your nerves and self-control are stronger than a droid's. Welcome to our club of Palpatine's soulless toys."
"So the original instilled loyalty to the Emperor in you?" I asked. Side conversations to distract attention. No, this trick won't work with me. At any moment, the guardsman standing behind her could break the clone's neck.
"Even if so, I don't feel obligated to him or ready to die at his first command," the clone replied. "What irritates me more is the fact that you handed over the prisoners from Lusankya. I'm tempted to go after them, gather them all, and guard them. The original worked hard to make sure I performed my task excellently. Preserve and protect, find and re-hide. How prosaic the fate of a human body is, don't you think? Or do you prescribe a more extensive loyalty program to your clones?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Don't take me for a fool, Grand Admiral," she asked. "I am guarded by four guardsmen at once. I cannot move around the ship without your permission. And at the same time, by limiting my sphere of habitation, you have not gouged out my eyes or deprived me of reason. I see that the guardsmen — at least they — are clones. And most likely not only them."
"An interesting observation," I noted. "What are the premises for such a conclusion?"
Isard smiled, cutting off another piece of cake.
"Palpatine provided the real Isard with some guardsmen as servants," she explained. "Rejects that did not meet his high standards for personal bodyguards. But even they are interesting specimens for study. Drill may have beaten out all possible habits and individuality, but by small mannerisms you can always distinguish one from another. Yours, for example, hold their vibro-pikes exactly the same way," I looked at the guardsmen. Looking, I confirmed the truth of the clone's words. Indeed — the same angle of the weapon, the blade resting on the shoulder. The same grip on the hilt. "And other minor details. They adjust their cloaks the same way, turn their heads the same way, always start walking with the same foot. Those unfamiliar with guardsmen's habits would consider it no more than the result of their ruthless training. Others, if they are attentive enough, will understand that something is wrong with them. Such synchronicity is impossible among beings who do not think and exist identically. But when they have one, extremely regimented donor — that is the most probable answer."
"Perhaps you have suspicions about who is the source of these clones?" I inquired. Interesting to find out the limits of her observational skills.
"Your adjutant, Grand Admiral," the non-Ice Queen stated peremptorily. By the way, how should I address her now? "Too good physical preparation for an officer of that type. Adjutant is an intellectual position, and you have always valued intelligence in subordinates more than the ability to bend durasteel bars with bare hands. So there is some other reason why you chose a guardsman as your adjutant."
She is good. Especially considering that she herself saw Tierce only twice — once in guardsman attire during her recovery. And the second time during the escort to this conversation — Tierce was just handing me information chips from Lieutenant Colonel Astarion with data from the interrogations of Captain Nima and Orra Sing.
Well, her presence will not let me relax and rest on my laurels. Which is the cornerstone of the defeat of all Imperial commanders without exception. Though, to be fair, not only Imperial ones.
"Let's return to our affairs," I said.
"Just as you start thinking that you were simply invited to a formal dinner, allowed to leave your kennel, you are reminded of your place," for the first time since our conversation, a smile appeared on her face. Oddly enough, even falseness was not felt. "Well, I won't be flippant and will say directly. Tavira and Disra are easy to break. He is a bundle of complexes, in particular the desire for ever greater power. Real, not ephemeral. That is a hook that is easy to work with. His conditioned reflexes are simple to the point of ugliness. Fear and only fear. But it is also short-lived. I advise you not to waste time on this slug — his limit of work is administration, and medium-level at that. But not sector management. When I break him, he will be useless — he is driven by fear and greed. One prevails, then the other. No concepts of honor or loyalty to anyone or anything. Only to himself. He is incapable of teamwork — when others achieve success, he will envy, try to grab the heat with someone else's hands, then get rid of his comrades. That is his nature, and it has repeatedly surfaced, exposed under certain circumstances. It would be easier to destroy him and not waste time on the slug."
Well, that coincides with my own assessment of Moff Disra's mental abilities.
"Squeeze out of him everything he owns," I ordered. "Literally — everything."
"Especially if it concerns Grand Moff Kaine and the Pentastar Alignment, isn't it?" she smiled slyly.
I did not answer — it was clear without that. If he cannot be used for my intended purpose, then "every little bit helps." I am not going to clone him using the GeNod method and instill loyalty either. Just a waste of time. And besides, Disra is officially dead. So let him go there. Of course, it would be right to execute him for actions taken against Grand Admiral Rufaan Tigellinus, but considering that the latter is actually involved in the fact that the real Thrawn was "exiled" to the Unknown Regions, it would look like an outright farce. And Kaine, who has reined in his horses, might take serious offense.
"Everything," I emphasized. "And don't make me repeat myself."
The clone looked at me with interest, like a scientist examining a curious animal. Then, barely noticeably, she nodded.
"Leonia Tavira," the duplicate of the Iceheart identified the second interest in the conversation. "She's quite resourceful, but has certain mental disorders that I use to form positive habits in her, working for the benefit and fulfillment of the goals and tasks set before her. Conditioned fear reflexes toward authority figures will help keep her in line. However, I should note that her disorder of sexual preference also needs to be satisfied. As positive reinforcement for her work. Otherwise, her psyche will go haywire and no programming will take effect."
"Was that the reason the Lusankya had those who could resist the programming under the 'sleeper agent' program?" I inquired.
"The Original used an enhanced stormtrooper training program used on Carida," Isard began her reasoning. "And she got it from the Kaminoan clondealers. They used it to program clones for loyalty to the Grand Army of the Republic. Unfortunately, it's most effective only during the cloning process using Kaminoan technology, when a developing brain absorbs information like a sponge. Given that the clone uprising on Kamino forced Palpatine to cease all possible contact with them, he limited himself to applying a similar program to recruits. I," the clone hesitated. "Isard modified this program, though it took many years. By the time the Lusankya was commissioned, Isard's program was barely functional, but the presence of test subjects accelerated the progress. Which, unfortunately, remained imperfect. Misfires happened. Well, nobody's perfect."
"Without specific orders, you will not program agents," I warned.
"I don't have the necessary equipment," she said. Rolling her eyes dreamily, she added: "However, that doesn't stop me from imagining what shock the New Republic would experience if Leia Organa Solo shot Mon Mothma during a Senate speech. And died with the word 'Lusankya' on her lips."
"Yes, that would have a powerful ideological effect," I agreed. "Especially considering the fact that the Lusankya is in the hands of the New Republic."
"And I am more than certain that this very fact is the source of the Iceheart's gnashing of teeth," news to me. "The incompetent loss of a ship personally gifted by Palpatine... Yes, that should clearly cause her a certain degree of dissonance."
"That issue isn't on the agenda for now," I said. "You received data about the intervention of two squadrons of TIE Defenders in the Rogue Squadron's confrontation in the Minor Corvis system."
"They were sent for a combat reconnaissance," the non-Iceheart said, finishing her pie. "And they fell into an ambush by pirates who decided to loot a food production facility for xenos. Additionally, security squadrons from the Distna asteroid joined the battle. It was quite a brawl. Considering the presence of agents even on New Republic ships, and also the ability to intercept and decrypt messages through relays, she could have learned about the 'Rogues' launch almost immediately after they left their base ship. Therefore, her base must be not too far away — no further than half the flight range of a TIE Defender."
"Not necessarily," I replied. "She could use a carrier ship to deliver the fighters to the location and back to base."
"That's a dead end, then," Isard concluded. "This way, she could be anywhere in the galaxy — even in some part of the Hegemony, inside a hollow asteroid like Distna."
"That's your main task," I reminded her. "Analysts' data on Imperial bases that supplied TIE Defenders has already been delivered to you."
"Knowing her, she won't be stationed at a standard facility," the clone said. "So it's either a secret base, or one that would be the last place anyone would think of."
"Including one built independently," I suggested.
"Unlikely," Isard replied. "She doesn't have enough resources to set up bases. She's more likely to find something abandoned, or even better — something secret and operational. Otherwise, I can't explain why my memories lack information about such facilities. And I should know about them — Imperial Intelligence was responsible for maintaining the secrecy of all Imperial installations."
"Which ISB clearly didn't like," I noted.
"They always have something that someone in leadership won't like," Isard said with obvious disdain. "For now, I suggest monitoring the situation with the Iceheart and Rogue Squadron. Sooner or later, they'll reveal themselves. Judging by the fact that they weren't killed but taken prisoner, it means she has plans for them."
Yes, I even knew what kind. But right now...
"How likely is it that Isard will try to reclaim the Lusankya using them?" I inquired. Speaking from personal experience — if a plan is good but can't be applied in a specific situation, why not just edit it a bit?
"An interesting hypothesis," the clone said after a pause. "But even with a couple of squadrons of Defenders, she couldn't capture a Super Star Destroyer. She'd need at least a minimal crew. The Lusankya is sufficiently computerized to be operated entirely from the bridge by a small number of people. Fifty qualified technical specialists would be enough. They don't even necessarily have to be specialized, trained in naval operations."
Yes, I recalled that this was exactly how Isard planned to steal the Lusankya in the events I knew, after the defeat of Grand Admiral Thrawn. After his assassination, the Empire left the Bilbringi shipyards to the New Republic, and they moved the Lusankya there to complete repairs. An initiative was even developed to possibly use this ship against Prince-Admiral Krennel, though it was planned for the end of that year. But now that's completely irrelevant. Except for the fact that now I could end up in Krennel's place, and I've already offended the New Republic more than once.
"But if she hasn't changed anything in my thinking and value system," the Isard-clone continued, "the Iceheart, though not without difficulty, knows how to take hits. And to withstand them. A burst of emotion alternates with a phase of re-evaluation and drawing conclusions. Working on mistakes is something both she and I excel at. Especially when nothing hinders it. So, understanding the New Republic's strengthening in recent years, she could hardly have recaptured this ship — wherever it was, she wouldn't have been able to acquire a large enough number of ships to attack its base and escape with the prize. And there's no force that would make her go against logic. At least, not among the living."
"Revenge for humiliation?" I suggested. I, of all people, know the force that could make Ysanne Isard step over herself.
"She, like me, is not one to wait for years for a lucky break," the duplicate countered. "It's easier to create the right situation yourself. But here, the change in the political situation needs to be considered. Your actions, Grand Admiral, have significantly darkened the existence of the New Republic. Created instability in its armed forces. So they will definitely be preparing the Lusankya for attack — one way or another..."
In fact, they already are.
"And that's exactly what the Iceheart could use to take revenge for her humiliation at Thyferra, which the entire galaxy knows about," the duplicate said. "A ship under construction, numerous transports arriving — it's simple to sneak aboard one of them, take control of a ship with barely any crew, just craftsmen."
"Why is Rogue Squadron necessary, then?" I inquired.
"The reasons could be various," the non-original shrugged. "Revenge against the Rogues is practically an idée fixe. But when the possibility of using them to capture the Lusankya arises, the desire to settle scores takes a back seat. Properly set priorities for her and me are the foundation for the rational allocation of effort and available resources. And she undoubtedly has few of the latter."
"Then why did Krennel get you, and not her?" I inquired.
"We'll find her and ask," the duplicate replied. "Perhaps she feared Krennel — he's quite a madman and a sadist. Especially since he has a penchant for very unhealthy hobbies involving torture and other delights from the Imperial interrogators' arsenal."
"You say that as if you've never done such things yourself," I reminded her.
"There's nothing terrible about several dozen prisoners from the Lusankya dying under my control," Isard replied. "I even saw to their burial."
"In the depths of the empty Distna asteroid. And later, Krennel built a factory for producing TIE-series equipment on their bones," I had to remind her again.
"A war crime isn't a crime if you do it in the name of the Empire," Isard smiled. "And I highly doubt, Grand Admiral, that you intend to hold me accountable for what I did. You're interested in cooperating with me..."
"Don't confuse the concepts," I asked. "Cooperation and use are different things."
"Is that so," her eyebrow rose.
"The right to be called an ally still has to be earned," I clarified.
The non-Iceheart silently resumed eating her treat, carefully avoiding meeting my gaze.
We sat in silence for a while.
Then, finishing her dessert, she decisively pushed the saucer away, laying her fork across it rather theatrically.
"Fine," she said. "Now, no jokes. A direct question — under what circumstances will I avoid meeting Captain Shohashi?"
"I thought everything was perfectly clear," I replied. "You are assigned work, you do it. Do it well — Shohashi will get the real Isard. And finding her is in your own interest. As is completing the other tasks assigned to you. The slightest disobedience — the result will be somewhat predictable."
Isard leaned back on the sofa, crossing her legs. I won't say it was as demonstrative as Leonia Tavira's behavior, but clearly with the same subtext. Though, when it's already your second life, such tricks become almost amusing. Even if it's one of the most attractive, yet at the same time deadly dangerous young women in the galaxy.
"How about honesty for honesty, Grand Admiral?" she inquired.
"I wonder what you could offer me besides the information I already possess?" It was unlikely she would start this conversation if she intended to deceive me.
"A simple and basic truth," Isard replied. "Based on personal experience and external observation. Palpatine seemed alien and unattainable to everyone except his inner circle, due to his lack of close relationships. Vader was feared because he remained a mystery to all. Krennel demonstratively positioned himself as a loner. The original Isard was feared to the point of visceral terror precisely because nothing but rumors about her connection to the Emperor could be obtained. Even if someone tried hard enough. The less humanity your subjects find in you, the more apprehension they will have about your intentions."
"I'm not a bar of aurodium for people to dream of my company," it came out a bit harsh, but these attacks and hints about arranging a personal life are starting to frankly irritate me.
"Yes," Isard confirmed. "In three months, you could have brought the New Republic to its knees and crushed it completely if you had wanted to. But you are an alien to this galaxy. A genius in matters of destruction and warfare, perhaps. While the war is on, no one will think about how you differ from other sentients. The military simply has no time to think about it. But civilians... They don't risk themselves on the battlefield; they're deep in the rear. And they have lives, as well as the ability to endlessly discuss those in power, judging them by various criteria. From such gossip was born the tale about my," she hesitated again and hastily corrected herself, "that is, the original Isard's alleged love affair with Palpatine."
The second mention of the same fact within minutes of conversation. Lexical emphasis to implant it in the subconscious and make it a subject for later analysis and deliberation. Subtle, but foolish. My current focus isn't on that.
Here you don't know how old you are in this body, how long you'll live, and what will happen in a couple of months when the Revived Emperor pops up like a jack-in-the-box, and first a nymphomaniac pirate, then a clone of the Empire's chief lady of repression, practically tells you in plain text that it would be good to 'humanize yourself.'
Of course, I can understand them — they think I'm the real Thrawn, that I have everything under control, that crushing an enemy costs me nothing. In their understanding, the emergence of a romantic interest here and now seems somehow justified.
But in my opinion — no. First, current problems should be solved, and only then move on to something 'human.' You can't let the personal prevail over duty. However you look at it, I am now Thrawn. And only I know all the coming threats. Maybe I wouldn't be against 'having a fling' if I were younger and had no idea what was coming. But facts, as they say, are stubborn things.
All personal matters should be put off until the end, and problems solved as they come. There are enough problems and active operations right now to clutter my head with 'romantic interests.' If I ever have to 'fully humanize myself,' it certainly won't be here and now.
Thank you, it's enough that I explain my actions to my subordinates, instead of just giving orders and disappearing into the shadows, wrapped in a cloak, saying: 'Because I am Thrawn!'
Start hanky-panky during a war, and moreover, 'at the prompting' of a copy of the Iceheart? No, sorry, I'll politely decline.
"Thank you for the valuable advice," I initially wanted to address her by name, but remembered she was trying to distance herself from the original's past. Which is quite difficult, given the circumstances. "Now return to your work — I need Tavira."
Since she managed a pirate gang and acted successfully, and even governed planets, she'll be perfect for managing our auxiliary forces. But only if she's under control. And the restraining factor... Well, I have one interesting fellow in mind who can satisfy the demands of her wild imagination.
"As you command, Grand Admiral," Isard readily agreed, getting to her feet. Looking at me with genuine interest. "But, I must tell you that after processing, it's not worth cloning her — the breaking won't transfer to the clone. Even if you load memories of it — the effect would be near zero. And breaking clones, over and over... It's easier to find truly loyal people."
I see. Noted.
"What do you know about clone madness?" I asked the woman.
"Multiple factors causing schizophrenia to progress in clones," she replied instantly. "Simply learning that your entire life is nothing more than a copy of someone else's isn't very pleasant either. Every program had its own problems. It all starts slowly and gradually progresses to severe mental illness. Should I prepare a memorandum on the matter?"
"No," I said. Taking a silver medallion from my pocket, I held it out to her on my open palm, hidden by a snow-white glove.
"What is this?" she asked with interest.
"In his time, Palpatine cloned a Jedi," I explained. "Madness reached him too. However, when he lost control, touching this medallion would calm him down. I want you to keep it with you. At all times."
"Hmm..." Ysanne approached me, examined the medallion with interest, then took it. Walking to the wall mirror, she brushed her hair aside and unbuttoned her gray naval tunic, issued to replace the red one, down to her waist. "Beautiful. I will wear it next to my heart, Grand Admiral."
"You don't have one, Isard," I replied calmly, nodding to the guards.
The woman turned, a fierce gleam in her eyes. Her hair swept like a wave... as did the medallion.
We stared into each other's eyes until a guard grabbed her by the collar and shoved her toward the exit.
"I await your reports, Ysanne," I said, picking up my personal datapad. Talk is talk, but the time allotted for preparing the fleet for the campaign was running out. "And one last thing. Don't waste either your time or mine on useless flirting. We have duties that require our attention. There's no time for distractions."
"A time will come, Grand Admiral," the duplicate said in a calm, perfectly composed tone, straightening her uniform, "when threats will be fewer. I believe in your willpower, but a moment will come when you will need to pay attention to this matter. But by then, you will have lost everyone who was willing to partner with you willingly, out of sympathy..."
"If such a moment comes, Ysanne," I emphasized the conditional probability, which I reasonably doubted, given the current realities, "you may not live to see it if you keep wasting my and your time on such nonsense and its discussion. And if you do live, rest assured that the prospect of a deadly kiss doesn't entice me. A pretty wrapper should conceal content useful to me; otherwise, it's just a stupid marketing gimmick."
"I will remember your words, Grand Admiral," Ysanne stated without a trace of emotion. "May I be dismissed to my post?"
"You may," the guard, without ceremony, shoved Isard outside.
Left alone with my thoughts, I just shook my head in disappointment.
A good attempt to 'get under my skin.' It might have worked if I didn't have more important things to do. So, I'll have to be more careful — with the non-Iceheart as well.
Sweet talk is dangerous precisely because it narrows your perspective, turning it into so-called 'tunnel vision.' I don't believe that even a duplicate of Isard could just so simply develop feelings for anyone. It contradicts sound logic. Especially since the 'mind games' the clone played with Krennel to manipulate him for her own, still unclear goals, are fresh in my memory.
Asking her that question directly isn't the right time yet — it's not entirely clear where she's been 'digging' and exactly how she made Krennel fall.
She can talk all she wants about how she is not Isard and that being a monster is not her lot. Words can only be trusted when they don't contradict deeds. And for now, I have too little data to trust this woman an iota.
She saved her own life to achieve strictly defined goals, and that's worth remembering. And not to 'let my guard down' betrayal comes solely from those close to you. And the closer they are, the more devastating their treachery.
There it is, the flip side of fame — when you achieve a certain level of success, all sorts of opportunists try to 'latch on' to you. And some of them are deadly dangerous.
Simple logic — boys can't wait to find themselves new girlfriends in any reality, while men live for war.
No wonder Thrawn easily spread the New Republic thin across the galaxy: while others cared about each other's feelings and preserving relationships, the Chiss fought for a better future, striving to bring back to the galaxy the militarism it so desperately needed in light of the impending Yuuzhan Vong invasion.
The law of the genre: as long as you care only about the greater good, you are unstoppable.
But the moment various feelings, relationships, sympathies, and other hormonal-love paradigms wedge themselves into this noble endeavor, the mind becomes clouded, leading to mistakes that cause ruin.
* * *
Ysanne Isard, the Iceheart, gazed at the Republic officer standing before her with her characteristic lack of anything human.
"Despite everything, Colonel Celchu, after I saved you and your men, regardless of how you and the rest of the 'Rogues' feel about me, I have the right to be heard."
"Let's say," Celchu's voice took on the shades of Hoth's ice. "But your ruthlessness towards the prisoners from the Lusankya, whom you left on Commenor to literally rot alive, strips you of any shred of trust. You are a monster."
"Well then," a smile appeared on the Iceheart's lips. "Then you're going to hear a monster's confession."
Tycho remained silent.
Isard was quiet for a few seconds, then demonstratively stretched, evoking a comparison to a snake about to strike its prey.
"After leaving Coruscant, following the advice of Grand Admiral Thrawn, who was still in the Unknown Regions at the time, I gained control over Thyferra," she said, instantly riveting attention to her words. "You, Antilles, and the other pilots of your unit declared personal war on me and sought to free the prisoners. Well, in that case, I needed to outplay you and move them far away, so that even in the hypothetical event of your victory, you couldn't find and free them. That's why I scattered them across many systems. This task was so important and critical that I couldn't risk its failure by entrusting it to anyone but myself. Besides, my presence was also needed on Thyferra itself. So I activated my clone, created to perform tasks that required my personal involvement. She was supposed to hide the prisoners, and then return to Thyferra and die. That was the plan, but events unfolded quite differently."
"You had a clone?" Tycho frowned. Two Isards in one galaxy? Rather three 'Death Stars.'
"Created in Palpatine's personal cloning laboratory in the Imperial Palace almost immediately after your Rebel Alliance killed him at Endor," there was... pain? in Isard's voice.
"I've never heard of anything like that," Celchu admitted.
"And you won't hear it," Iceheart chuckled. "Naturally, I destroyed all traces of his existence, and the only incubator where my clone was maturing, I hid safely aboard the Lusankya."
"I don't recall anything like that being found there," Celchu frowned. No, of course, no one would tell them, but if intelligence had discovered a facility for creating duplicates aboard a Super Star Destroyer, they would have tried to find out about it one way or another. In any case, they would have asked the "Rogues" questions. Especially those of them — Celchu and Horn — who had been in captivity and might know more than the others.
"You've possessed my ship for a considerable amount of time," she smirked. "But you haven't uncovered all its secrets. However, that's no longer important. The main thing is that the clone possesses my knowledge — up to the final development of the situation on Thyferra. I couldn't get rid of her. And, apparently, she spent a long time in the shadows, covering her tracks. But the actions of Grand Admiral Thrawn apparently forced her out of the shadows. And as it happens, I know where she is right now."
"Well, then kill her," Tycho shrugged. Let the two vipers destroy each other and rid the galaxy of their presence. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"Yes," Iceheart confirmed. "I interfered in her operations to lay a trail of breadcrumbs for you all the way to the Ciutric Hegemony, where she had dug in under the protection of Prince-Admiral Krennel. While she was planning to either destroy or subdue you by luring you there, I was acting from completely different motives."
A-ah... Now it was clear why Iella Wessiri was so skeptical about the "tracks" leading to Liinade III. Because it was done deliberately.
"Considering that the latest news hasn't been restricted for you," Ysanne continued, "I think you're aware that Councilor Fey'lya decided to steal someone else's glory and attacked Ciutric IV. He managed to kill Krennel, but he himself was defeated by Thrawn. Who now controls both the Hegemony and a number of neighboring sectors."
"And the clone is now serving him?" Celchu went cold. Yes, the news wasn't a big problem for them — during their journey and while in the hold of the Sullustan freighter, the Imperials had been passing them updates.
"I'm more than certain of it," a hesitation uncharacteristic of her crept into Isard's voice. "She is my exact copy in everything concerning the means of achieving goals. And I, if it's more convenient to accept it, have always worked comfortably under the tutelage of a stronger leader. Thyferra showed me that I cannot successfully run any campaign on my own. So seeking a patron and acting under his protection is the most logical option. And the Grand Admiral certainly knows how to secure his borders and intentions. As well as how to mislead the enemy by artificially creating their fears of something."
"What are you talking about?" the Alderaanian felt an unpleasant sinking feeling in his stomach.
"The 'Death Star' at Linuri," Isard smiled. In a way that sent shivers down the spine. "In some things, Councilor Fey'lya was right — it's disinformation. Neither Krennel, nor Lady Santhe, nor even Ennix Devian, possess such a weapon or even the intention to create one. Curiously, it was the plans for a parody of a 'Death Star' that I intended to use to lure you into a battle against Krennel and destroy him and the clone."
"Are you saying Thrawn outplayed you and used your own developments for his own purposes?" the Alderaanian clarified.
"Twisting the situation in the way he needs it, the Grand Admiral can do like no other," Isard explained. "Of course, he hardly knew about my intentions; he simply came to a similar conclusion on his own. In any case, it's delicate work. I would even applaud him, but I'll refrain."
"That doesn't explain why we're here right now," Tycho continued to clarify the points. "Or why my pilots died."
"I need allies," Isard said simply. "Believe it or not, but I couldn't think of anyone better than you."
"You're right — I don't believe you," Celchu said. "The very thought of cooperating with you makes me sick. And when my pilots find out, there won't be the slightest doubt that they'll support me."
"In that case, I should explain something to you," Isard shook her head. "Thrawn is damn dangerous on his own. In his time, he defeated Grand Admiral Zaarin. And even before his service to the Empire — with a squadron of picket ships, he destroyed an entire Trade Federation fleet. Palpatine supposedly exiled him to the Unknown Regions for mapping them — according to my information, Krennel, who served under his command, said that Thrawn has an entire empire, hundreds of sectors that can rally under his flag. He is merely the vanguard of the invasion. Clearing the battlefield for those who will come later. And with the support of my clone, he will destroy the New Republic from both outside and inside. Even after the collapse of the Empire, I have thousands of deep-cover agents in my assets who can start a galaxy-wide fire overnight. And as it happens, the clone has access to them. I managed to encapsulate a significant part of the network, but not all of it. If you want your New Republic to continue to exist, destroying Thrawn and my clone is vitally necessary. He's already settling in the north of the galaxy and can subjugate all the Remnants. If with just a dozen ships he was able to make you bleed — which you're still bleeding from — what will he do to you when he has the resources of the Empire at his disposal?"
Celchu went cold. Yes, there was logic in her words, but...
"So, what do you need from us?"
The woman sighed heavily, hanging her head.
"After Thyferra, I realized that my life's work was dead. The Empire has fallen, and I have no desire to bother with what's left of it. I will help you destroy Thrawn, my clone, subjugate the Ciutric Hegemony, and whatever else is part of Thrawn's Dominion."
"And in return?"
"A pardon," the very thought that Ysanne Isard, Iceheart, tormentor and executioner, would escape responsibility for her atrocities, made him feel sick. "I need peace. I want to be left alone. No public appearances, no long and heartfelt speeches. It will be enough for you to secretly slip me the coveted document and allow me to disappear. I won't cause you problems, but at the same time, I'll help get rid of the last Grand Admiral before I leave the stage."
"And how do you intend to do that?" Tycho inquired. "I don't exactly see you having a fleet stashed away."
"Moreover," Ysanne continued. "Within a few days after Thrawn took control of the Ciutric Hegemony and the territories he now runs, he purged them of my agents. I don't know how, but he did it. So I have little data on his activities. However, he is calling all Imperials to him. We'll play on that. Pilots, especially on TIE Defenders — he will undoubtedly welcome you with open arms. Which means you will have the opportunity to study the defenses of his planets, his tactics and strategy, his fleet. We'll pass all of this to the New Republic, and they'll prepare thoroughly."
"Our faces are too well known for us to pass for Imperials," Celchu reminded her.
"That's precisely why you'll use disguises," she smiled. "You're better at it than ever. Especially considering that this is exactly how you fooled the customs service before capturing Coruscant," Tycho went cold. Of course, no one doubted that she would figure it out sooner or later. "So. What do you say, Colonel Celchu? Are you ready to fulfill a lady's request and kill her clone?"
"Give me a blaster," Tycho asked, "and I'll start with the lady herself."
Colonel Wessiri muttered something disapprovingly. A smile flickered across Isard's face.
"Nothing less was expected," she said. "I will provide you and your pilots with the necessary training and equipment. When everything is ready, you will contact your command and let them know when and where to start the action. In this case, there's no need to rush because of my clone's informants. A single leak, and the mission is doomed to failure."
"And what if we refuse to cooperate with you, Isard?"
"Did you hear that sound, Colonel Wessiri?" Iceheart asked Colonel Wessiri. He, embarrassed, explained:
"Colonel Celchu, you and I both understand that the war between the New Republic and the Empire is already pointless. We need to get rid of radicals like Krennel and Thrawn, and then settle everything amicably. There's enough room in the galaxy for everyone."
"And in the end, peaceful coexistence is what we will all come to," Isard summed up. "But first, oceans of blood will be spilled. Thank you, but I'll pass. I've had my fill of that up to here. That's why I'm offering my help."
"I find your altruism hard to believe, Isard," Iceheart smiled. "But for the sake of those who died, I agree to cooperate. Where do we start?"
"First," Isard's lips twisted into a triumphant grimace. "We'll make real Imperials out of you."