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The simulated death of Coruscant continued, showing spreading fires across the cities, seismic disturbances and destruction that continued long after the Gorgon vanished into an incandescent spot of light in hyperspace.

“But what of us?” Kratas said. “What will we do then?”

Daala folded her arms across her chest. “We will accomplish both of our missions, as I said. When the Basilisk has destroyed Coruscant, the Gorgon and all of our personnel shall return to Maw Installation, where we will defend it to the death with every resource available. The Rebels know it is there—they will be sure to come sniffing around.”

Daala’s need for vengeance forged her heart into a white-hot brand that threatened to burst its way steaming and pulsing out of her chest. “Grand Moff Tarkin once said that setbacks are merely an opportunity for us to do twice as much damage the second time around.”

Captain Mullinore looked even paler than usual; pinpricks of blood vessels speckled his milky-white skin. His blond hair had been cropped severely close to his head, making him seem bald in a certain light.

“Admiral,” he said, “let me volunteer to remain onboard the Basilisk for this mission. I will be proud to captain my ship until the end.”

Daala looked at him and tried to determine if he sought some sort of compassion from her. She decided he wanted none. “I accept, Captain,” she said.

Mullinore sat down and gave a tight nod that jerked his chin toward his throat.

Daala rose to her feet. The muscles in her thighs and back felt like tightly bundled wires. Her entire body had been a clenched fist since the debacle on Calamari, and she knew the only way to release the crushing tension would be to strike a devastating blow against the Rebellion.

“Begin the transfer of personnel and equipment,” she said. “We must strike Coruscant at once.”

Daala glanced once more at the seething nebula that hid her ship, and then she left the war room. She headed to her quarters, where she would review Tarkin’s tactical tapes, searching for lost and secret wisdom that would guarantee her victory.

29

The Calamarian female emerged from her teardrop-shaped transport pod and swiveled her head as she took in the thick jungles of Yavin 4, the tall ancient temples. She waited.

Luke hurried out of the hangar bay and tried to maintain a careful pace across the cleared landing area. Artoo accompanied him across the packed ground.

He noted that the Calamarian female had a smaller stature than Admiral Ackbar. She wore yellow-and-turquoise robes that hung loosely about her frame, sleeves that flowed like waterfalls. He sensed a sad determination from her.

The Calamarian female saw Luke and gestured with a flipper-hand to the unseen pilot of the transport pod. Behind her the craft rose skyward with a magnetic hum, leaving her behind. She did not look up to watch the pod streak back into the low-lying clouds, but seemed intent on staying right where she was.

“Master Skywalker,” she said with a velvety burr that put him at ease. “I am Ambassador Cilghal from Calamari. I have a message for you.” She reached into one of her flowing sleeves and withdrew a gleaming disk traced with patterns of copper and gold.

“Artoo?” Luke said.

The little droid trundled forward, and Cilghal bent down to insert the message disk into Artoo’s drive. After a momentary whir Artoo projected a flickering image of Leia in the air in front of him.

Luke stood back surprised, then looked at Cilghal with a deeper interest as Leia started speaking.

“Luke, I hope all is well with you. I think I’ve found someone for your Jedi training center. Ambassador Cilghal comes with my highest recommendation. She has demonstrated to my satisfaction that she has a true proficiency in using the Force. She seems to have a knack for healing and for short-range prediction. She was a great help during the recent battle on Calamari. Please help her and train her. We need more Jedi Knights.”

Her image smiled up at him. “We hope