Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [102]
“Wait,” Han interrupted. “Who is this new Imperial commander? I need to know.”
The information broker rumbled deep inside its body. “Oh, that’s all you want, is it? Why not ask for the number of sand grains on the beaches of Pil-Diller, or ask me to count the leaves in the forests of Ithor, eh?”
Korrda rapped the shell with his gnarled stick again. “Shut up and answer the question.”
“All right, all right, I was just getting to that, wasn’t I?” the information broker said, and slithered back into the shell, where it rummaged around for an interminable time before it finally popped out again. “Daala,” the creature said. “The admiral in charge of the Imperial forces is named Daala, you see? But that’s all—I’ve scraped the walls, haven’t I? Since I have no more information, good night!”
With that, the fleshy head popped back into the shell, leaving Leia and Han to gape at each other in amazement. Leia had expected nothing like this.
Han looked sickened. He blinked his eyes uncomprehendingly. “But how could it be Daala?” he mumbled. “She’s … dead.”
Leia met his eyes and decided she didn’t want or need an explanation right now. “Apparently not,” she said. “This puts a whole new spin on things—doesn’t it?”
CORE SYSTEMS
CHAPTER 35
In Admiral Daala’s hands, the remnants of the Empire became a machine, a massive cohesive engine being tuned to peak performance.
Cogs spun. Components fit together. Armament factories processed resources into additional weapons: TIE fighters, blastboats, AT-STs, and structural components of new Star Destroyers. Hyperdrives were mass-produced and installed in ship after ship. Weapons’ cores were charged with tibanna gas. Formerly downtrodden workers—even aliens and females—were given responsibilities and put to work for the glory of the Empire.
Daala reveled in the progress reports she received. Now aboard her great black ship, the Night Hammer, she progressed from system to system, knitting together once-scattered allegiances, cementing loyalties, and squeezing more work out of subjects who had been lax for too long, drawing tight the Imperial net.
Accompanied by awesome red Imperial Guards, she spoke at armaments factories and shipyards, raising her voice and building morale, making herself visible so that all could see a charismatic leader who was there to do something against the enemy, fostering hope in the future once more.
She paced around the Night Hammer’s ready-room, a private strategy chamber that was itself as big as the entire command deck on a Victory-class Star Destroyer. Daala stared out the viewing window, drinking in the brilliant spatter of stars at the heart of the galaxy. Nebular material streamed in ribbons across star clusters.
The huge ready-room seemed extravagant, almost intimidating. She would have preferred a more confined place to gather her thoughts, but in her position she could not take command of any ship other than the Super Star Destroyer. The ready-room had its own sleeping quarters, food-processing stations, even access to command-level escape pods, should disaster befall the warship. Though it was immense, the Night Hammer functioned with a relatively small crew, relying on massively redundant automated command systems.
Vice Admiral Pellaeon cleared his throat and waited for her attention. Daala knew the older officer had arrived, but she let her thoughts wander a while longer. “Our fleet is growing strong,” she finally said out loud. “I can feel it.”
Pellaeon waited for her. “Yes, Admiral.”
“I don’t want to strike before we are ready … but I’m anxious to go to battle again.” She sighed and turned to Pellaeon, who stood holding a datapad with the latest fleet statistics. She frowned wearily and sank into one of her chairs. “I do grow tired of administrative details, though,” she groaned. After only a moment she stood up again and began to pace around the ready-room, a blur of nervous energy.
“These details are