Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [55]
She looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. “I think it’s better to be away from any possible treachery from Teradoc or Harrsk. I don’t trust either of them not to take advantage of the present situation.”
“I agree, Admiral,” Pellaeon said with a curt nod. The crows’ feet around his eyes wrinkled, and Daala felt deep down that this man’s ultimate goal for the Empire just might match her own. “If you would permit me to use your comm system, I will encode the appropriate orders to my flagship and a companion ship.”
Daala turned to her helmsman. “When the navicomputer has calculated the best hyperspace path, drop shields and proceed to our destination. Two Victory-class Star Destroyers will follow us.”
“But, Admiral—” the second in command said, “that would leave the Whirlwind helpless and surrounded by High Admiral Teradoc’s warships. After your ion cannon blast—”
“I believe Teradoc will be reluctant to open fire. But if I’m wrong …” She glanced down at the chronometer. “According to my estimate, the Whirlwind has had sufficient time to complete repairs. In fact, Harrsk has already had an additional six minutes. If I have misinterpreted Teradoc’s actions, and if I have overestimated the crew of the Whirlwind—then I will extend apologies later,” she said, but her grin was smug and laissez-faire.
“It’s agreed, Admiral,” Pellaeon said from the comm station. “Two of my ships are ready to follow.” He bowed his head. “We’re trusting that you won’t lead us into an ambush.”
Daala nodded, trying to stand even more rigidly than Pellaeon. “I understand the risk you’re taking, Vice Admiral—but, believe me, I wouldn’t go to such lengths just to eliminate two small Star Destroyers. Warlord Harrsk’s fleet could have done that just as easily.”
The Firestorm’s shields faded, leaving Harrsk’s helpless Star Destroyer hanging dark in space.
Flanked by two crimson Victory ships, Daala’s Firestorm rose up and out of the ring plane, cutting across the debris that hung like a sparkling necklace around the lavender gas planet. The trio of ships shot into hyperspace.
Three Star Destroyers, one large and two small, hung in a wasteland of space. The nearest star glowed dimly twelve parsecs distant. A diffuse molecular cloud spread its cold veil across the emptiness. Daala had discovered this stellar desert while she and her crippled ship Gorgon struggled back to the Empire after the devastating battle for Maw Installation.
Pellaeon sat across from Daala in her private ready-room adjoining the bridge. He sipped a cool drink, obviously trying not to succumb to comfort or social talk. Daala appreciated that. She peeled off her black gloves, straightened her flaming hair, and folded her hands on the table in front of her. She leaned across so she could look into his eyes.
“Vice Admiral Pellaeon,” she said, “believe me when I tell you, I intend no mutiny against the rightful heirs to the Empire. I have no interest in becoming a great leader like your Grand Admiral Thrawn. I have read of his exploits, and I cannot replace him. I resent any attempts to compare me with him. We are different people with different short-term goals—but I believe his long-term hopes were the same as mine.”
“And what are those hopes, Admiral?” Pellaeon asked, as if he wanted to believe her, needed to believe her—yet felt compelled to ask the question.
She nodded slowly. “I continue to bear great love for the ideal of the Empire. The galaxy was so much more orderly. Lawlessness did not run rampant. Citizens were not confused as to their place. The Emperor gave them a destiny. The Rebels have destroyed that and supplied nothing to fill the vacuum. They talk, they pamper, they go through the motions, but they have yet to display any genuine leadership. Is this the only alternative for those of us who served the Emperor? I don’t think so.
“On the other hand, I disdain what these puffed-up, self-appointed warlords have inflicted upon our fighting forces. Yes, the Empire has suffered many defeats in the past eight years,