Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [62]
Tarkin stared out the viewport at the partly assembled battle station, and thought about it.
The standing protocols at the Maw Installation were not open to interpretation. If a non-Imperial ship happened by and managed to avoid being swallowed by one of the many singularities surrounding it, the ship was to be captured and the crew interrogated as to how and why they were there. Failing the ability to capture it, there was but one other option—the vessel was to be blown to atoms. There were no exceptions, and any deck monkey with a rudimentary brain could follow those protocols. There was no need for Daala to be standing over the gunners repeating what they all already knew.
Abruptly, Tarkin made his decision. He went to his quarters and engaged his personal communications holo-unit, then sat back and waited for the connection. It was not long in coming.
“Wilhuff! How good to see you!”
The image of Daala over the holoplate was life-sized, and the resolution very sharp—it wasn’t the same as her being here, but the holo did capture her facial expressions, as well as her cold and haughty beauty, well enough. Like him, she sat in a command chair.
She was happy to see him, he could tell, and that pleased him.
“And you, Daala. How are things at the Installation?”
She made a dismissive gesture. “Less than exciting. You have news?”
Due to the secret nature of the experiments being done at the Maw, outside communications were, for the most part, forbidden. With the exception of this circuit, Daala and her crew were cut off from the rest of the galaxy save for the Emperor himself, and perhaps Darth Vader. Tarkin could justify this contact for reasons of security—and, if you couldn’t trust a Grand Moff, then who was trustworthy?
“Nothing that concerns your command,” he said. “We are winning the war.”
“Of course,” she said with a knowing smile.
He smiled in return. “We have had some small problems here. But they’ve been rectified, fortunately, with the help of a certain Imperial representative of whom you are no doubt aware.”
Daala nodded. She certainly knew to whom he was referring, though she would not speak Vader’s name aloud, either. This was supposed to be a secure circuit, the signal encoded and encrypted on both ends, but neither Tarkin nor Daala trusted that. Vader had ears everywhere, and what one technician could hide, another could uncover.
“However,” Tarkin continued, “I need to give you a … personal briefing, and to that end, I would have you pay us a visit.”
“Really? When?”
“Whenever your duties make it convenient.”
Both of them smiled at that one. They both knew that, at this point, her “duties” were about as exciting as a dish of curdled droat milk. The crews could do disaster and battle station drills in their sleep.
“Well,” she said, “I expect I can get away starting … what time is it now?”
He chuckled. Daala was the only person in the galaxy who could make him laugh. Aside from her beauty, ambition, and brains, it was one of her most endearing characteristics.
“Let me know when you depart. I look forward to seeing you, Admiral Daala.”
“And I you, Grand Moff Tarkin.”
After he disconnected, Tarkin felt something surge in his breast. Happiness? To be sure. But something more as well, something he could not quite put a finger on. Daala was an exciting woman in many ways, not the least of which was her physical attractiveness. But her ruthlessness also called to him. She was the highest-ranking female in the Imperial Navy—due in large part to his machinations, of course, but Tarkin did not doubt that she would have eventually risen