Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [146]
Fel … Where was he? Something wasn’t right here. She had assumed he hadn’t shown himself initially because he wanted to show off the Empire of the Hand. But after that … why wasn’t he on the Bloodfin? Why was Reige commanding it?
The Chimaera rocked as one of the Chiss Star Destroyers got in a good solid shot. “Shield deflectors have taken damage, but should hold for a while,” Remal said.
For a while. Daala drew her thoughts back to Fel. Why was he not here, overseeing his victory? Where—
“Remal,” she snapped. “Scan Exodo II and Boreleo. Thoroughly.”
He turned to her, confusion plain on his patrician face. “Admiral? We’re in the middle of a battle on three fronts. We’re taking damage.”
“Do it now!”
His face darkening with displeasure, Remal nonetheless obliged.
“And Remal—look for anything that could hide a Star Destroyer.”
“What?” Remal now looked as if he was moments away from deducing that his commanding officer was stark-raving mad.
“He’s got to be here, somewhere. Hiding on that cursed ship of his.” Daala could not bring herself to speak the name of the vessel.
“How could he possibly hide an entire Star Destroyer?”
And then she got it. “The mining on Boreleo,” she said, putting the pieces together as she spoke. “The moon’s interior is riddled with tunnels and caves. And that recent debris we noticed—just hot enough to throw off a cursory scan.” Which ours had been.
Comprehension and worry flitted simultaneously across Remal’s face. He turned back at once to the scan, but it was unnecessary. As if Fel had somehow overheard her, or more likely simply decided it was time to unsettle her fleet with another display, the Gilad Pellaeon, mammoth and intimidating, emerged from the dark side of the moon.
That trick can work only so many times, Fel, Daala thought.
“Lecersen?” she said. “I direct your attention to Boreleo.”
“I—I’m watching. That’s not what I think it is … or who I think it is—is it?”
“It’s your lucky day, Drikl,” Daala said. Her glee was brittle and bitter, but fierce. “I believe you had a few special things you’d been saving for Jagged Fel?”
“Indeed I did—and do,” he said, his old confidence creeping back into his voice.
“Let him have it.”
“With pleasure.”
Natasi Daala stood on the bridge of the Chimaera, barely blinking, her heart beating rapidly in anticipation. Jagged Fel had more than earned this. He’d had the audacity to name his flagship after a man she had admired and been fond of. He had taken that man’s own ship and commandeered it for himself. He was corrupting, twisting, and mocking everything the Empire had stood for, even debasing it by allying with another so-called “Empire.”
And at last, he was going to pay.
Her lips curled in the slightest of smiles three heartbeats later when the dark gray surface of the huge vessel suddenly blossomed with no fewer than four massive balls of deadly fire. Stories-high flame, fueled by the ship’s own atmosphere, licked hungrily at the gaping holes, and black smoke billowed. Bodies, pieces of bulkheads, and other debris spilled forth, almost like a stream of blood from a wound.
Finally.
Ashik had disapproved of Jag’s idea of several different stages for the battle. The Chiss’s plan, sensible and sound but unimaginative, had been to simply amass every vessel Fel had at his disposal, have them all emerge together, and cripple Daala’s fleet as quickly as possible.
Jag had disagreed. “I need to break her,” he said, “and her Moffs, as well. Put her off balance. I need to humiliate her in front of them. We’ve got many things that will surprise her when she sees them, and possibly shock more Moffs than Getelles to join against her once they materialize.”
“Psychological warfare,” Tahiri had said, listening. “Smart. Intimidate them enough fast enough, and you won’t have to kill as many of them. Not even Daala. Which is the whole point.”
“Exactly.”
“I do not trust Getelles,” Ashik had said, frowning.
“I don’t actually