Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [28]
Daala tried to hide her expression of distaste. Elaborate formality and overblown demonstrations of supposed power did not bode well. Supreme Warlord Harrsk seemed to consider himself very important—and in Daala’s experience, that meant he probably wasn’t.
The synrock doors ground open, and Daala marched forward without waiting to be announced. Her black boots clicked on the fused stone floor. She saluted. “I give you greeting, Supreme Warlord Harrsk.”
In a large chamber Supreme Warlord Harrsk had installed banks of observation panels. He sat on a small floating chair that bobbed as he kicked himself away from the station over to another panel.
“Ah, Admiral Daala,” Harrsk answered. The grin stretching across his face was hideous. The entire left half of his head was sizzled, leaving only bubbly pinkish skin, a mass of thick and insensitive scar tissue. His eye had been blinded, but Harrsk had replaced it with a synthetic droid optical sensor that caused his eye socket to glow yellow.
Harrsk had been nearly killed in an explosion during the battle of Endor. His Star Destroyer was crippled, but he managed to escape with part of the fleet to a rendezvous point in the Core Systems just after he had seen the Death Star explode. Harrsk could have repaired his skin with existing medical techniques, but had chosen not to, keeping the hideous scars as a badge of honor—and no doubt, Daala thought, a means of intimidation.
He shifted in his repulsorchair, and the seat bobbed with his motion. The hair on the unscarred half of his head was short and neat and black, and he seemed to show as much meticulous care for the intact side of his visage as he showed disdain for the scarred portion.
“Your reputation precedes you,” he said. “I am honored to have such a great war hero among us—and pleased that you have at last come to me after wasting so much time with my weaker rivals.”
Harrsk gestured toward the screens on his wall. Daala noted that he had holocams mounted on the hellish planetary surface, as well as remotes in orbit and more distant spy satellites on the fringes of the system. One image showed an ongoing fissure tearing a rock shelf apart as scarlet-orange lava spilled out in an incandescent waterfall. Harrsk nodded to the central screen that showed his dozen Imperial Star Destroyers in shadow where the rocky planet eclipsed the red sun.
“I was just speaking with your Commander Kratas,” Harrsk said. “He seems to be most impressed with my Shockwave.” He punched a button, and the scene shifted to show Kratas leaning over a station on the command bridge of a new Star Destroyer. His dark eyes glittered, and his heavy eyebrows were upraised.
“Admiral!” Kratas said, snapping to attention. “It feels good to be on the bridge again. This is a fine piece of military machinery. I had forgotten how sleek and maneuverable an Imperial Star Destroyer could be, after all the damage we suffered on the Gorgon.”
Daala reminded herself to chide him for showing such glee. Kratas must learn to act more professional. But he had been through enormous ordeals at her side. Kratas had been a solid second in command, a foil for her ideas … though perhaps if he had been stronger in his resolve, more willing to show a little backbone, Kratas might have convinced her that her tactics against the Rebels were unwise.
“I’m glad you are impressed, Commander,” Harrsk said. “You may continue your inspection. Admiral Daala and I have some things to discuss.”
Kratas began to snap a trim salute, but Warlord Harrsk ended the transmission without even acknowledging him. He swiveled in his floating chair to face Daala. She looked at him intently, staring at his one dark eye and one glowing optical sensor.