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CORE SYSTEMS

CHAPTER 18

Daala dropped the Firestorm’s shields just enough to let Vice Admiral Pellaeon’s shuttle approach her Star Destroyer. The self-destruct countdown continued toward zero like an avalanche of diminishing numbers.

Daala studied her bridge crew grimly. She pitied them, yet admired their stoic demeanor. She respected Pellaeon’s cool, unshakable bravery—or perhaps his recklessness—for approaching a ship that would likely detonate in his face.

She turned to the comm officer. “Have you been advising Supreme Warlord Harrsk on the status of our self-destruct countdown?”

Pasty-faced, the comm officer swallowed. “Yes, Admiral, but I’ve received no response.”

“A pity,” Daala said blandly. “I hope he doesn’t think I’m bluffing.”

“I’ve assured him you’re not, Admiral,” the comm officer said, then looked away, his lips pushed together in a pale bloodless line.

“Time remaining?” Daala asked.

“Seven minutes.”

“Vice Admiral Pellaeon has just docked in the shuttle bay,” the tactical officer interrupted.

She stood firm at the control station, arms clasped behind her back. The crimson Victory-class warships surrounded Harrsk’s fleet like a pack of hungry predators. Daala didn’t quite understand what Pellaeon was doing, but the fact that so many of his battlecruisers followed his seemingly suicidal orders gave her great confidence in the vice admiral’s leadership ability.

“Escort him here immediately,” she said. “An honor guard of stormtroopers. Make sure he understands he’s not being held captive. Treat him as a respected negotiator.”

“Is there time, Admiral?” the deck chief said. “Only six minutes remaining.”

“Then they’ll need to run, won’t they? We must be optimists,” she said, her lips twisting in a bitter smile. “Though optimism is difficult in the face of juveniles like Harrsk and Teradoc.”

By the time the honor guard arrived on the Star Destroyer’s bridge, only one minute forty-five seconds remained on the clock.

Six stormtroopers marched in briskly, hustling a trim, mature man with a heavy mustache and neat gray hair. His eyes looked shrewd and bright, his body wiry and flexible.

“Vice Admiral Pellaeon, I presume,” Daala said in a calm voice. “I’m pleased you could join me here at the moment of our death.”

Pellaeon swallowed. “Admiral Daala. I’ve heard much about you, and I’m aware of the determination and dedication you have already demonstrated. I doubt you are bluffing. I wish Warlord Harrsk were similarly convinced, however.”

“One minute, Admiral!” The officer’s voice was a strangled squawk.

“Is our log pod prepared for jettison?” Daala said. “If nothing else, perhaps our desperate act will make the other warlords aware of their folly.”

Before the comm officer could answer, Warlord Harrsk’s grainy image appeared. “All right! Stop, stop! Cease the countdown. I order all hostilities to end immediately. Daala, damn you—stop the self-destruct!”

The deck chief froze. The bridge crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Pellaeon watched her, eyebrows raised.

Daala remained standing at the station, not moving to negate her commands, though her heart thudded with triumph. She paused just a moment longer as the countdown reached the thirty-second point. She arranged her expression into a mask of subdued disappointment, just to convince those watching that she had genuinely intended to blow up the Firestorm—and the Whirlwind with it—if her demands had not been met.

“Admiral,” Pellaeon said in a careful, yet persuasive tone, “I would greatly prefer to negotiate with you … if you have the time.” His voice was soft but intelligent.

Daala reached out casually to flick the PAUSE on the self-destruct countdown. “Very well, Vice Admiral. I prefer alternate solutions myself.”

From memory, she rattled off a string of coordinates to the navigator. “We’ll take the Firestorm to an isolated area for a private conference. However, to dispel any impression that we might be kidnapping you, Vice Admiral Pellaeon, I invite two