Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [35]
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.