I wish to thank
@megrisvernin profusely for their editing and help, and
@Always Late for editing and feedback.
Interlude: A Fly in the Spider's Web
Travel to Coruscant, especially from the Outer Rim, was a long affair, one that was not helped in the slightest by the seemingly inevitable fragmentation of the Galactic Empire with warlords and local leaders getting ready to split from the wider Empire. One of the first signs of their preparations was the ever increasing 'border' security, at least by those who could afford to divert their forces without gouging their war machines anywhere else along the hyperspace lanes that demarcated their petty territory: And while forces at the border of the Morshdine Oversector were little more than an overworked Arquitens-class Cruiser pulling quadruple duty as customs, trip line, spy vessel and security, those arrayed by Zsinj against Isard's state were more than just a token early warning force.
A trio of Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, multiple Victory II-class Star Destroyers, and a dozen escorts did their best to make Taris a fortress. An impressive force to be sure, were it not for what stood opposite them - for Isard's own forces made clear that if Zsinj decided to split from the wider Imperial cause retribution would be swift and deadly, for she commanded a dozen Star Destroyers of a variety of makes and sizes guarding a number of ordnance depots under construction - or so the scanners inside the 12th Fleet's detached Arquitens claimed.
Even after arriving on Coruscant, the signs of the ongoing fragmentation continued to show themselves. The planet itself had...changed, from when Saarle last saw it. The lights of the gleaming jewel of the Core were dimmed, the results of little under a year of wartime rationing. During her formative years, Saarle Fiosach had seen the planet-sized city twinkle with lights only dimmed by the surface-level factory blocks, a veritable glass sphere of culture and grand spectacle. Now, the planet almost seemed barren. Many of the districts were devoid of all lights, and even the vast sky traffic lanes deserted. Only a few locations were still fully lit as it was before the Galactic Civil War, the central government district amongst them, and the final destination of Moff Fiosach's Sentinel shuttle.
Ysanne Isard had made her home following the eventful days following the Emperor's demise, and while quite a few observed the planet's declaration of a week of mourning for him, ignorant or uncaring of the suffering on the Outer Rim or at least believing the Emperor a trusting old man misled by his advisors, those that did not had been rather loud and festive, lighting fireworks and gleefully toppling statues across the planet. At least until the mass arrests - and frequently executions - that followed. The state of mourning had after that been well observed indeed, and an atmosphere of terror was hanging over the planet which even those not sensitive to the Force could feel, even at the highest of levels in the former 500 Republica.
"Zsinj is faltering, and his Oversector has been weakened by desertion, rogue elements, and pirates, in addition to the Rebel attacks in the Galactic north and north-west." Isard flipped over a screen on the datapad Saarle had brought with her with contemptuous disinterest. Her tone was equally dismissive. "He is begging for reinforcements as part of an obvious, naked powerplay, withdrawing forces from Central Command for his own ends while lessening what I have to call on. Of course, I have refused." Saarle didn't need to guess how the woman framed that refusal. "He is faltering to such a degree, in fact, that I am beginning to doubt his competence."
Much like Coruscant, Ysanne Isard had changed as well. She had done away with all the frivolities and political balancing acts she'd been forced to engage in as part of Imperial Intelligence, cutting away all that was unnecessary until only the brass tacks were left: Gone was the garishly red uniform of the Director of Intelligence, replaced with an all-white uniform with golden accents and crimson piping, the only insignia a shield with the Imperial crest, surrounded by laurel wreaths and a pair of crossed swords underneath, and her escort, once composed of Stormtroopers and Death Troopers, had been whittled away until only a few elite Royal Guards remained. It was, in a way, a representation of the older system Zsinj was clinging to sinking in the abyss, while her New Order rose to replace it.
The room the two sat in too was an expression of the character of Isard's new Empire, being entirely bare save for functional furnishings and a few strategically placed plants here and there to hide recording devices. None of the gold, aurodium and chromium wasted in the opulence that the other Imperial warlords and leaders preferred was present, just a brown desk, a single terminal, and four seats - one behind said desk, and three before it. Snorting at Isard's judgment of the man, Saarle found herself forced to agree with the Director in some regard. Still, she immediately clamped down on her expressions lest she give an impression of disrespect or slacking off in front of a superior. For all Isard was as cold as her ice-blue eye, if enraged she could be just as bloodthirsty and volcanic as its crimson partner.
"Zsinj is a buffoon, that much is true. An excellent tactician with a good grasp on strategic thinking on campaign, but an incompetent statesman at best. His handling of the partisan situation in the Quelii Oversector immediately after the passing of his majesty has by-and-large soured the civilian population to his reign, according to the information I have," Saarle reported back, her words chosen with care. Every response had to be double-checked, she had to not underestimate Zsinj, nor could she overplay his strengths. Even the cadence she used must be considered. Casual, not too brown-nosing. If Isard hadn't told her to be at ease, she would've remained at the best attention she could compose.
"This is in addition to the weakness of his fleet, the incompetence of its officers wasting their vast number of powerful assets. An Executor-class Star Dreadnought, Crimson Command, hundreds of escorts - and still, he is overwhelmed. The array of enemies thrown against him is no excuse."
Isard nodded slowly, taking a sip from her glass of water before resuming her scroll through the datapad, reading the improvements that were being made to enhance military operations and economic capabilities of the Morshdine Oversector. One notable aspect was, of course, the unshakable loyalty the civilian population held for the Empire, even after the annihilation of Alderaan, the destruction of the First and Second Death Stars, and even the death of the Emperor - a loyalty unique to the Oversector, especially in the dire times the New Order was now in. Looking up from the datapad, a small, ice-cold smirk flashed over Isard's face.
"Quite right. And regarding your assessment, it is out of date - your Commissariat has been unsuccessful in either acquiring informants, or in keeping a low profile."
Saarle froze. Sitting opposite her Isard's smirk was that of a shark smelling blood, all the more unsettling for the blood-red sun setting behind her. Saarle swallowed, her throat suddenly as dry as the air of Mustafar. The pair of Royal Guards that had stood by the door prevented any retreat, nor would any help be forthcoming from that direction.
"Director-"
"No need to be surprised - the existence of the...'Commissariat for Internal Affairs' is not a secret, at least not in the way it was established and operated." Isard leaned forward, her eyes seeming to pierce right through every lie and mask that was Saarle, uncovering everything. "Men and women in brown uniforms with blue caps at spaceports and official locations are hardly inconspicuous, nor are their insignias. A distinctive black-white cockade on their caps, collar tabs, rank plaques… One questions the Empire's adherence to secrecy, when they make their spies so obvious…"
"The ISB had withdrawn their own forces, at least publicly. Something needed to be done to give the civilian faith that they were not abandoned without posting the Army to the streets." Saarle said very carefully, the tension in her muscles almost painful as she forced her body to sit rigidly straight, raw instincts sheathed in discipline that refused to bend even in the face of death.
The older woman nodded again, her diabolical smirk still in place and hands steepled together. Luckily, it seemed that Iceheart was in a good mood, for no accusations of treason were forthcoming, nor the summary executions for rebelling against Imperial authority. Still...
"Which is why there are no charges of treason being levied against you, Moff Fiosach, and why I am permitting the existence of this Commissariat. You're a more efficient organization than the ISB, less collateral damage for one, and you can be trusted with this responsibility: Zsinj, Kaine and Kilian, to name a few, are not - and for obvious reasons."
Kilian had used the local ISB in a scheme to purge loyalist Imperials before creating his militarist state, which was subsequently quickly absorbed by the New Republic, Kaine was in charge of the Pentastar Alignment and had been busy building his own powerbase in the region, while Zsinj's lack of fitness didn't need to be explained. Relief flooded her body, and Saarle grimaced at the thought of those three gaining access to the information networks her service had built, particularly given their latest operations...
"Those who are too set in the past are rapidly going extinct, swept away by the changing times - and I do not intend to be one of them, Moff Saarle. It is no secret that COMPFORCE is rapidly becoming a spent force, the same with COMPNOR - it is only in the Core regions that the organization remains strong, and even here only just: A Commissariat like what you have founded may just be what is needed to replace the bloated corpse of a service stuck in the glory days of Empire. It would be one thing if their methods were effective, results forgive many sins, but the fact several of their youth groups have been founding supporting the Rebel reveal the rot and disgruntlement even among their own membership-"
The danger was over, Saarle realized with relief, as Isard began to ramble on with the setting sun casting a menacing glare over the entire affair. But at last, as the clock ticked over to 23:00, the meeting come to an end: The older woman finally stood, her hands clasped behind her back, shadows cast over her face.
"Moff Fiosach, as the last surviving member in the original line of succession - given the deaths of the Imperial Ruling Council and the dissolution of the Central Committee of Grand Moffs my duty is clear- I have assumed the post of Regentess of the Galactic Empire and all of her subjects. Orders and requests will continue to come from Coruscant as before, if at a higher intensity: If any other Warlord claims to oppose the legal successor of his Majesty... They will be dealt with. Swiftly, and decisively." Isard intoned with perfect conviction and confidence.
"My Empire shall prevail, Moff - and if all goes according to plan, your loyal service and dedication will be duly rewarded. After all, the Galaxy is going through its greatest trial since the Clone Wars, and there are many territories that need the safe, secure, and proven leadership of the New Order. The map shall be redrawn sometime in the near future, and the trials of the coming months shall provide the ink."
"That is all, Fiosach. Long live the New Order. Long live the Empire."
Standing up from her seat, the Moff automatically raised her arm in the Imperial salute, an uncharacteristic icy expression on her face, her emotions locked up carefully so nobody could find and exploit them. Isard knew enough already.
"Long live the Empire!"
