Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [59]
Without windows the place seemed like a dungeon, so Daala had added electric-blue illumination crystals around the room to shed a soothing cool glow from shoulder-high metal staffs, high-tech torches reflecting off the dull gray walls. Outside the door, scarlet-robed Imperial Guards stood ominously silent, heightening the aura of command in her presence.
Daala sat back in her uncomfortable chair; she prefered rigid furniture because it kept her attention focused. She took several deep breaths, collecting her thoughts, gathering her stamina for what she knew would be a dreadfully difficult meeting. Daala despised meetings, preferring instead to make unilateral decisions and follow through on them—but that wouldn’t work in this case. At least not yet. She had to give the warlords a chance.
Pellaeon stood to one side of the door as an honor guard. High Admiral Teradoc was the first to pass through the doorway, fat and sweaty-faced, staggering even in the low gravity. His beady eyes were filled with seething hatred as he flicked a venomous glance at Pellaeon. With an out-thrust lower lip, Teradoc took the nearest chair to minimize the distance he had to walk. He placed himself equally distant between Pellaeon, whom he considered a traitor, and Daala—who, as an interloper, was probably worse.
After him came Supreme Warlord Harrsk, the little man with the hideously scarred face. Then Superior General Delvardus, a tall and skeletal man with dark-brown hair and shock-white eyebrows that stood out like electrical discharges from his forehead; he had a square chin bisected by a deep cleft. Following Delvardus came an endless string of High Moffs, Honored Overlords, Supreme Leaders, and other commanders with similarly pompous yet meaningless titles.
When the last of the warlords had taken his seat, Pellaeon clicked his heels together and marched briskly to the front. Making his turns sharp and exaggerated, he came to stand at attention beside Daala. “I want to thank you all for coming here,” he said. “I know this is a difficult compromise even agreeing to meet, but you must hear us out for the future of the Empire.”
Daala rose slowly to her feet, moving at the exact pace she hoped would capture their attention: fast enough so as not to distract them, slow enough to give them time to dread what she might say or do. She flashed her emerald eyes. “One Empire, one fleet—only this will guarantee us victory.”
From his seat obese High Admiral Teradoc made a rude sound with his lips. “Those platitudes might work with impressionable young soldiers, but not us. We’re beyond all that high-sounding nonsense.”
Pellaeon stiffened beside Daala, and his face blanched. She could sense the genuine anger boiling up inside him as he said, “Sir, they are not just platitudes. We’re talking about the fate of the Empire.”
“What Empire?” Teradoc said. “We are the Empire.” He waved his pudgy hand to encompass the other warlords and scowled.
Daala threw her words out like a fistful of ice chips. “High Admiral Teradoc, that would be cause for immediate execution if the Emperor were here.”
“Well, he’s not here,” Teradoc snapped back.
“And so we must function without him.” Daala glared at the High Admiral for a heartbeat, then swept her gaze across the other warlords who seemed alternately amused or bored by the altercation.
“I have seen what remains of the Imperial starfleet,” she said. “I’ve visited most of you in the past year, urging you to put aside your differences. Supreme Warlord Harrsk has a fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers. High Admiral Teradoc has a force of Victory-class warships. You others have blastboats, capital ships, millions upon millions of stormtroopers—unstoppable military might if we choose to use it as such!
“Grand Admiral Thrawn proved the Rebels have not yet managed to consolidate