Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [27]
Admiral Daala walked erect and alone, a proud example of Imperial training as stormtrooper guards provided an armed escort into the fortress of Supreme Warlord Harrsk. Her face appeared to be chiseled from stone, still beautiful but now weathered so that its edges held a bitter sharpness. Faint lines were etched around her mouth from too many years of clenching her teeth, too many months trying to reunite the feuding warlords who squabbled over the Empire’s remaining military might like nek battle dogs tearing a carcass.
Shadows haunted Daala’s eyes, memories of failure and a snuffed fire of revenge, but the green of her irises flashed molten when she thought of how simple it would be to strike effectively against the clumsy New Republic. Even now, the Rebels still hadn’t managed to secure their hold on the galaxy, though the Empire had given them years in which to accomplish it.
The stormtroopers formed a tight and comforting honor guard around Daala as she strode down the fused corridors into the bedrock. Supreme Warlord Harrsk had established his stronghold on a rocky planet that orbited close to a red giant star. Its surface crust remained soft and cracked, seeping lava like an oozing wound.
In orbit, giant solar smelters provided energy and processed raw material to construct Harrsk’s personal fleet of Imperial-class Star Destroyers. Upon arrival here, Daala’s loyal second in command, Kratas, had gone aboard the flagship Shockwave to inspect the weaponry. Harrsk had completed construction on twelve of the Star Destroyers so far, using whatever resources he could scrape together by bullying all the systems within reach.
Daala thought of the unexploited military strength in the safe shadow of Harrsk’s planet, where ripping rays from the red giant could not damage the ships’ systems. Back when she had been ordered to guard Maw Installation, Daala had commanded only four Imperial Star Destroyers—and in her private little war against the Rebels, she had lost three of those ships.
Yes, she could console herself that she had destroyed a Rebel colony, blown up a convoy to a new military base, and attacked and damaged the waterworld of Calamari—but overall her tactics had been woefully outdated and ill-considered. She had allowed dark anger to blind her to the shortcomings of her own schemes. She had suffered from fiendishly bad luck as well—but she had no intention of allowing luck to become a factor again.
Daala had given up everything to limp back to the Empire, surviving in the battle-scarred wreck of her last Star Destroyer, the Gorgon. Reaching sanctuary, she had been unimpressed with the weak and childish warlords who now held the future of the Empire in their hands. Imperial authorities had commandeered Daala’s remaining troops, scattering them among other ships in other fleets. They had scrapped the Gorgon, taking away the few usable components to rebuild other ships.
Daala, though, did not give them the chance to reassign her to a fighting group, preferring instead to act as a freelance ambassador, a peacemaker visiting the far-flung warlords. Each of them had concocted increasingly ridiculous titles for themselves, trying to top their nearest competitor—from Grand Admiral to High Admiral, to Supreme Commander, to Omnipotent Battle Leader. Admiral Daala had retained her own simple rank, requiring no further medals or titles. Her mission of unification remained incomplete, and she and Commander Kratas traveled from system to system, banking on their reputation and speaking to ears that seemed unfortunately to be filled with duracrete.
Around her now, the air smelled warm and steamy with a sulfurous edge that leaked through the vitrified tunnels. Daala’s mane of reddish hair flowed behind her like a comet’s tail. She had tried to trim it back to control it, but she disliked the severe look it gave her. Part of her needed to remain free, confined only by the limits of what she knew she could accomplish.
Harrsk’s stormtroopers formed up and lined the corridor