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Sivron sat up in shock. In a nervous gesture his head-tails coiled behind his neck. “But how could that happen? With our Death Star design—”

“Grand Moff Tarkin built one Death Star, but the Rebels managed to steal the plans, and somehow they discovered a flaw, a thermal-exhaust port that allowed one small fighter access to the reactor core. The Rebels destroyed the Death Star and killed Tarkin.”

“I’ll assign a team to look over the plans so we can correct this flaw!” Sivron said, a matter of pride to him. “At once!”

“How is that going to help anything now?” Daala snapped. “Tarkin had Bevel Lemelisk with him on the outside. After the first Death Star was destroyed, the Emperor himself asked Lemelisk to design a larger model, this time eliminating the known flaw. The second Death Star was still under construction when the Rebels destroyed it.”

Sivron scowled, as if trying to figure out how he could solve a problem already several years old. As the years stretched out with no word from outside, Sivron had sent self-destructing drones through the fiery walls of the Maw, carrying coded transmission bursts, updates for Tarkin. Daala had strict orders not to leave Maw Installation, and so they waited. And waited.

Daala’s primary mistake had been overestimating the abilities of her mentor, Tarkin. She had graduated from the Imperial military academy on Carida, one of the toughest training grounds for military service in the Empire. She had excelled in every curriculum, defeated many warriors in single combat, used her strategic skills to wipe out entire armies in war games.

But because she was a woman, and because female officers were extremely rare in Imperial military service, the Caridan academy assigned Daala to difficult, thankless jobs, while they promoted the less talented men—men she herself had bested time and again—into positions of authority.

Out of frustration Daala had created a false persona in the computer networks, a pseudonym under which she could make suggestions that would be listened to. After a handful of these truly radical ideas paid off, Moff Tarkin had come to Carida to find this brilliant new tactician—but his detective work had uncovered Daala instead.

Luckily, Tarkin was more innovative and open-minded than the Emperor. He quietly reassigned Daala to his personal staff, took her to the Outer Rim territories on his fleet of Star Destroyers, and let her work with him.

They became lovers, two like minds, hard in spirit and unforgiving. Though he was older than she, Tarkin had a power and a charisma that Daala admired. Gaunt and tireless in his quiet viciousness, he had a self-confidence so great that he did not flinch even in the presence of Darth Vader.

To keep Daala hidden, Grand Moff Tarkin gave her four Star Destroyers and charged her with the task of guarding Maw Installation. But now that she had obtained new information from the captives, everything was changed. Everything.

Sivron stared at her with anger glowing in his eyes. “Where are these captives now?”

“In detention cells on board the Gorgon. They are recuperating from the … rigors of interrogation.”

“What if someone comes looking for them?” He turned to glance out the transparisteel window on his office wall.

“They were escapees from the spice-mining operation on Kessel. They had no idea where they were going. They’ll be presumed lost in the Maw—I myself can’t understand how they survived the passage through the cluster in the first place.”

“Why didn’t you just dispose of them?” Sivron asked.

Daala maintained her patience with an effort. This was yet another example of Twi’lek shortsightedness. “Because they are the only link with the outside we’ve had in a decade. Qwi Xux has already requested an interview with the prisoners to ask them for details about the actual Death Star. We may need to pump them for further information—before we decide what to do next.”

Sivron blinked his piggish eyes. “What to do? What do you mean? What is there to do?”

She crossed her arms over her chest.