CHAPTER 10

As the forces of Supreme Warlord Harrsk reeled from the attack, Admiral Daala found herself on the command bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Firestorm.

She surveyed the carnage High Admiral Teradoc’s forces had wrought: the smoldering wreckage of the flagship, the frozen bodies of all troops lost in the explosion. Three more of Harrsk’s Star Destroyers had also been sufficiently damaged as to require lengthy repairs. She would not be able to use them in her retaliatory strike.

That left eight—twice as many battleships as Grand Moff Tarkin had given her to defend Maw Installation. It would be enough.

Daala stood rigid on the bridge, staring out at the red giant star. Thick filters had been placed across the viewports so she could watch the blazing ocean of hot gas without blinking. The commotion of battle preparations continued around her unheeded.

Inside her, a cauldron of frustration simmered. She did not want to fight Teradoc. She did not want to fight Harrsk. She wanted them both—and all the other squabbling warlords—to fight the cursed Rebels! Commander Kratas had died because of their bickering. They were a disgrace to the memory of the Empire; and if this was all the Imperial ideal could offer anymore, then perhaps it was best they failed.

But Daala could not accept that. Tarkin had taught her never to give up. She clasped her hands at the small of her back, squeezing her black gloves so tightly that her bones hurt. There must be a better way, even if she had to force these others kicking and screaming to see it.

Harrsk’s magnified image came to her over the comm system. He kept his half-scarred face turned squarely into the transmission range, flaunting both his ugly and his undamaged side. “Admiral Daala, I am aboard the Star Destroyer Whirlwind at your flank. You will take the point in our attack. I trust you have already developed a strategy?”

“Warlord Harrsk,” Daala said, looking into the blurred image of his face, “I have just begun to study the data your spies gathered on Teradoc’s fortress. Give me a moment to assess the possibilities for attack.”

“No,” Harrsk insisted. “The High Admiral will never expect us to strike so swiftly. We lose our element of surprise with each second of delay. It’ll be a full-frontal attack with all weapons blazing. We’ll knock him reeling!”

Daala scowled. She took quick, controlled breaths through flared nostrils. “Warlord, I have studied my own failures and realized that many of them can be traced directly to ill-advised actions in the heat of anger.”

“Nevertheless,” Harrsk said, “you will follow my orders and launch an immediate attack. I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with your cowardice and in-subordination. If you continue to argue, I will strip you of your rank and place you in the brig.”

Daala stiffened. She certainly wanted to be removed from this sham command, but she did not want to be imprisoned and tried for treason. Kratas was gone. Her former crew was gone. Her every connection had dwindled to insignificance. And she must start somewhere to rebuild her capabilities. This was a beginning, and Daala decided to apply her imagination to discover some way to salvage the situation.

“Very well, Supreme Warlord,” Daala said, saluting him crisply. “With full command authority of this Star Destroyer, I will do my best to strike a blow for the Empire.”

“Good.” Harrsk rubbed his hands together. “My personal Star Destroyer will remain off to the side, so as not to draw direct fire. We will confuse them by having you lead the charge. Don’t let me down.”

“I would never let the Empire down, Supreme Warlord,” Daala said.

She gave orders to the navigator, and the Firestorm edged to the front line of battleships. The three damaged Star Destroyers remained in eclipse, huddled in the shadow of Harrsk’s hot world. The eight remaining ships followed Daala’s hyperspace coordinates as she gave the orders to launch for the fortress of High Admiral Teradoc.

A rocky swath of planetoids orbited in a disk around a lavender-and-white gas giant. The crumbling, ice-laden ring system looked beautiful from far away, reflecting distant gold sunlight—but Daala saw it as a tactical challenge. The rubble created tens of thousands of possible targets, all places the High Admiral could have chosen to hide his fortress.

“Let’s see if your spies provided good information,” Daala said into her comm system linked to Warlord Harrsk’s on the Whirlwind.

“It better be—we paid enough for it,” Harrsk said. “A significant portion of my budget was devoted to bribing other Imperials to get that information.”

Daala’s expression did not change, though disgust welled up inside her. It should never have been possible to bribe Imperial soldiers. That kind of unprofessional behavior had brought the Empire to its knees—corruption, dishonesty, and criminal lack of vision.

“Very well, Warlord,” she said. “We are heading directly into the ring systems, on target. All turbolasers are primed and ready.”

Like projectiles shot from a gun, the Star Destroyers plunged into the ring plane, swooping toward their target. Large ice shards and reflective rocks cruised around them. The fleet came on at full speed, hoping to pounce before Teradoc could muster his forces again.

Daala imagined that the High Admiral must now be celebrating, his commanders retired and relaxing, expecting no retaliation so soon. They would get a surprise, she thought with a smile—and so would Harrsk.

As Daala led the attackers on their high-speed assault, two of the planetoids in the rings exploded, proximity charges rigged to detect the passage of incoming hostile ships. The flaming debris from the detonations sprayed in all directions, hailing upon Harrsk’s Star Destroyers, crippling one and destroying two others.

Five left, Daala saw. What a waste.

“They know we’re here, Admiral,” her tactical officer said.

Harrsk was shouting over the comm system, his voice reedy with excitement. “Admiral Daala, what happened? Why didn’t you predict that?”

Daala blanked the sound on the transmission, enjoying the warlord’s livid face as he wordlessly continued to shout at her.

“We are locked on to Teradoc’s fortress right now, Admiral,” the navigator said.

On a screen in front of her, high-resolution diagrams of the ring system flashed up: one nondescript, medium-size rock blinked to indicate the site of the High Admiral’s stronghold.

“Victory-class Star Destroyers approaching!” the weapons sergeant shouted.

Daala gripped the bridge rail, studying all components of the situation. She saw that dozens of the small planetoids were in fact garrisons, hollowed-out rocks that served as hangars for the crimson Victory ships. The smaller warships emerged and began their pursuit, some newly refurbished, others still battle-scarred from the recent attack on Harrsk’s molten world.

“Do not engage them,” Daala said.

The tactical officer sat up, his black eyes glittering and startled. “Excuse me, Admiral?”

“I said, do not engage,” she snapped. “Those Victory-class ships are not our target. We have a much more important mission to accomplish, and we cannot afford to be drawn away by their amateurish attempts to distract us.”

Behind her, in the tattered remains of her phalanx of Star Destroyers, Harrsk ignored her orders and commanded his gunners on the Whirlwind to shoot at the pursuing Victory ships. Two other battleships followed Harrsk’s lead, but Daala snapped over the open-ship communications. “Cease fire! We need all of our energy for the main thrust.” The image of Harrsk continued to bellow in silence with the sound turned off. Daala ignored him.

She turned and looked at the bridge crew under her command. “Tactical officer, I want personal command of the weapons systems.”

“Admiral?” the weapons sergeant said. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Personal control,” she repeated. “I intend to fire the first blow myself.” Then she feigned a soft smile, banking on her reputation. “I’ve been working for this a long time.” The weapons sergeant nodded briskly.

Blazing spears of turbolaser fire shot at them from Teradoc’s fortress. On the enhanced view she could discern camouflaged weapons batteries, and she knew that the High Admiral himself was probably hiding deep in an armored bunker, safe from the battle, while his swarms of Victory ships served as disposable perimeter defenses.

Daala moved to the weapons console, and the gunner surrendered his seat, looking at her in awe. She sat down and glanced at the controls, familiarizing herself in an instant. Daala had spent the last year learning to become a part of the Empire’s future rather than staying mired in its past.

“I am siphoning off all power from the turbolaser batteries,” she said, “and concentrating our entire first strike on the ion cannon.”

The tactical officer coughed and looked at her nervously. “But, Admiral—the ion cannon simply obliterates electrical and computer systems. Are you sure that will be sufficient to accomplish our objective?” He squinted down at the readout of Teradoc’s rocky fortress.

“It will be sufficient to achieve my goal,” Daala said.

As the Victory ships came in, dodging icy ring-system debris, Daala targeted the Firestorm’s ion cannon and placed her finger on the firing button.

“Admiral!” the weapons sergeant cried, “those coordinates are—”

She removed her sidearm and fired a stun blast at the sergeant. Glowing blue arcs engulfed him and he tumbled into a crumpled mass on the deck. Before the others on the bridge could react, Daala fired the ion cannon.

The Firestorm’s weapon belched out a disruptive blast that washed over the bridge tower of Warlord Harrsk’s Star Destroyer Whirlwind. Lightning bolts traced a thousand wicked fingers across the hull, shutting down his command systems, his computers, his weapons.

The Firestorm’s bridge crew leaped to their feet in an uproar, and Daala stood quickly. She raised her voice to shout down the objections. “I am in command of this ship, and you will follow my orders!”

She leveled her blaster pistol and flicked its switch to the KILL setting. “Anyone who questions my orders will be executed on the spot for mutiny against the rightful commander of this vessel. Do you understand?”

She gave them only a second to look at her in cowed silence. “Drop back. We will parallel the Whirlwind. Harrsk’s ship is dead in space, so increase our shields to protect him in case any of Teradoc’s ships come after us.”

As the others moved sluggishly to respond, loud thumps reverberated through the Firestorm. Two of the three remaining Imperial Star Destroyers began firing oh her ship.

“They are loyal to Warlord Harrsk,” the navigator said.

“They don’t know what they’re doing,” Daala responded. “If any of you bore love for the Empire, you would have done this long ago.”

“Our shields are on full, Admiral,” one member of the bridge crew said, voice trembling. “We have covered both ourselves and the Whirlwind, but the shields are diffuse. We cannot withstand a full-fledged attack if the Victory-class ships—or our own—decide to take us out.”

“Open a channel,” Daala said. “All bands. I want to make sure our Star Destroyers are listening as well as Teradoc’s—and Warlord Harrsk himself.”

She stepped into the transmitting area and drew a deep breath of the processed air on the bridge. Good Imperial ships smelled sharp and clean and metallic. It reinforced Daala’s strength to follow her convictions.

“This is Admiral Daala,” she said, “in command of the Imperial Star Destroyer Firestorm. I serve the Empire. I have always served the Empire, and I will never fire upon any other loyal Imperial.” She swallowed grimly.

“I have made a preemptive strike on Warlord Harrsk’s Star Destroyer to prevent him from attacking another Imperial stronghold. Harrsk’s attack is in direct response to hostile action taken by High Admiral Teradoc. I condemn that action as well. I can no longer tolerate wasted effort and squandered resources that could be better applied to destroying Rebel bases.

“Many of you may have heard of my attempts to destroy the Rebel Alliance, when I had only four Star Destroyers, outdated information, and no support from the Empire.”

With a stuttering burst of static, Warlord Harrsk’s image broke in. Daala was surprised, but momentarily pleased, that he had been able to get his comm system working again so quickly.

“Don’t listen to her! She’s a traitor and a renegade!” Harrsk said. “I order the loyal crew on the Firestorm to take Daala by force and execute her. Her crimes are obvious.”

Daala continued to hold the blaster pistol, but she let it dip down as she swept her gaze at her bridge crew. “Is my crime so obvious?” she asked. “My only aim is to stop this civil war so we can fight our true enemy. Do you honestly believe Warlord Harrsk has the greater interests of the Empire in mind—or is he merely interested in his personal power?

“I am not taking over. I do not want personal power or political leadership. All I ask is a military command. I will serve under any leader who will devote his forces to defeating the Rebel Alliance once and for all.”

Working the comm controls, Daala broke through the jammed transmission and spoke to all ships again. She noticed that the crimson Victory-class ships had swarmed around them, dozens strong, their weapons sufficient to obliterate Harrsk’s Star Destroyers—but they held their fire.

Daala went to the command station on the Firestorm’s bridge, turning her back on the crew to demonstrate a measure of trust. She remained extremely tense, but refused to let it show. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the navigator slowly rise from his seat and begin to withdraw his blaster sidearm. Daala prepared to turn and shoot him without warning, but one of the operations chiefs placed a hand on the navigator’s forearm, making him hold his fire. Daala trembled with relief.

She punched up the command systems for the Firestorm, keying in her access code, glad that she had forced Harrsk to give her full computer privileges before agreeing to run the attack on Teradoc’s fortress. Harrsk had suspected nothing, and now she had the final say on every decision.

The Firestorm’s computer recognized only Admiral Daala. She punched in a command she had dreaded even to consider on her own ship, verified it, then pressed the COMMIT button.

She spoke again into the transmission field. “If this is what my Empire has become, I no longer wish to serve it. I have just initiated the self-destruct countdown on the Star Destroyer Firestorm.”

The bridge uproar was more subdued this time, as if the crew were still stunned from her first mutinous action.

“The countdown is set. Warlord Harrsk’s ship is powerless and trapped within my deflector shields. Self-destruct will take place in fifteen standard minutes unless Harrsk issues an immediate command ordering all hostilities to cease.”

Seated in the cramped bridge station of the Victory-class Star Destroyer 13X, Vice Admiral Pellaeon studied this unexpected new development, both pleased and perplexed. His cap fit snugly against his gray hair. He tugged at his long pale mustache as he sifted through the implications of the broadband message.

If the enemy had continued its headlong surprise attack, the fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers would certainly have caused severe damage to High Admiral Teradoc’s fortress. Pellaeon’s Victory swarm could have mopped up the remaining ships, but only at great cost to themselves.

Now, though, the leader of this sudden and unexpected retaliation had turned upon one of her own ships. Not surprisingly, Warlord Harrsk had not led the charge, cowering instead in one of the rear Star Destroyers.

But this Admiral Daala …

Pellaeon leaned back in his padded seat. He had heard of her, two years after the defeat of Grand Admiral Thrawn had left Pellaeon in personal disgrace. Daala had come out of nowhere and begun a single-handed attack against the Rebels. With such a small fleet she had no hope of ultimate victory, but Daala had seemed interested only in causing significant damage now, with no overall strategy, just a desire for destruction.

Pellaeon had admired her efforts to take action—the other Imperial commanders seemed to prefer internal arguments. He looked about him on the small control deck of a Victory-class ship, the smallest craft he had commanded in a long time. He did believe in High Admiral Teradoc’s plan of building up a huge fleet of smaller, more versatile ships—but still he missed the grandeur of commanding the Chimaera.

As he brought his fleet closer, weapons ready but not firing, Pellaeon hovered over the stalled Imperial Star Destroyers and looked down at Admiral Daala9 s ship, at how she had incapacitated Warlord Harrsk’s Whirlwind. Her turnabout had been an interesting, desperate, and inexplicable tactic—but Pellaeon admired its purity of purpose. Daala was someone who, like Thrawn, was able to focus on an objective and devote resources and tactics to that end. High Admiral Teradoc and Warlord Harrsk both seemed little more than ill-behaved children bullying each other about.

He heard Daala’s impassioned speech begging for a unified front against the true enemy. Several crew members on Pellaeon’s own ship softly murmured in agreement. He kept his own feelings to himself, though he agreed as well. As he looked at Daala’s image, he wondered what kind of artwork she might like.

“Vice Admiral Pellaeon,” his navigator said, “perhaps we should back off, if her self-destruct threat is genuine. If both of those Star Destroyers blow, we’ll be caught in the Shockwave and severely damaged, if not destroyed.”

Pellaeon sat rigidly for a moment, then stiffly shook his head. “No, we’ll stay right here. Open a channel.”

His bridge crew looked at him in amazement. “A channel to the Firestorm, sir?” the comm officer said.

“No, open band. I want all ships to hear this.” The comm officer blinked, then nodded and carried out Pellaeon’s order.

He rose slowly from his padded black chair. “This is Vice Admiral Pellaeon, commander of High Admiral Teradoc’s fleet, issuing a specific order to my own ships to maintain position.” Several crimson ships had begun to edge away from their confining net. Harrsk’s Star Destroyers had already backed away, gaining distance.

“As a gesture of good faith and out of respect for Admiral Daala’s request, I hereby order an immediate cessation of hostilities on our part.”

Almost immediately a red light flashed on the 13X’s comm panel. The officer turned to Pellaeon. “I have an urgent message from High Admiral Teradoc, sir.” The comm officer raised his eyebrows, clearly intimidated and awaiting orders.

“I’ll speak to him here on the bridge,” Pellaeon said. He squared his shoulders. “You may all listen.”

Teradoc’s image came through, red-faced and puffing. The man’s girth had increased threefold in the last year or so. “Pellaeon, what do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. “I order you to press your advantage! Use this opportunity to strike Harrsk’s Star Destroyers while they are weakened. Now we can obliterate him completely.”

Pellaeon frowned, thinking of fat Teradoc squatting in his bunker behind dozens of meters of the highest-quality shielding, absolutely safe from harm while the battle raged outside. Pellaeon did not think a true war commander would keep himself so isolated.

“I respectfully disagree, High Admiral. Warlord Harrsk is not my enemy. He is not the enemy of the Empire. I think we should confer with this Admiral Daala and hear what she has to say.”

Teradoc’s face turned from red to purple. “I don’t care what you think. If you do not fire upon Harrsk, you’re a traitor. Have you forgotten your training? Your entire life speaks of service to the Empire, of following the orders of your superior officers. You are excrement if you will not obey your rightful commander. What would Grand Admiral Thrawn think of you?”

Pellaeon frowned even more deeply as he faced the image of the fat warlord. Teradoc was correct, from a certain point of view. Pellaeon had spent many decades of his life in service to the Imperial Navy. He had commanded Star Destroyers. After the battle of Endor, he had taken over the Chimaera when its own commander had been killed in the hostilities. He had spent the following years trying to regain the status of the Empire through a succession of weak rulers, debilitating surrenders, and losses of territory. Pellaeon had watched his once-magnificent Empire dwindle to a mere island in what had been considered the backwater territories and formerly uninhabitable systems near the core of the galaxy.

It wasn’t until Grand Admiral Thrawn had come back from the Unknown Territories that Pellaeon had finally found a true leader he could follow with a genuine chance of recapturing lost glory. When Thrawn had fallen, Pellaeon had lost his hope again, merely serving any Imperial commander he happened to find and marching in place.

Now, though, Admiral Daala’s conviction and enthusiasm, and her willingness to risk all for the appropriate cause, made something stir within him again, something powerful.

Pellaeon took a deep breath and spoke to the bloated image of Teradoc. “I believe I know what he would think of me,” he said bitterly, “and you, sir, are no Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

He switched off the comm, then turned to his crew. “Prepare a shuttle and inform Admiral Daala that I am coming aboard. Time is short, and I wish to confer with her in person.”