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The Hydra, Daala’s fourth Star Destroyer, had been torn apart in one of the Maw cluster’s black holes. It had been Daala’s first significant loss in combat, one fourth of her destructive capability wiped out by Han Solo and the traitorous scientist Qwi Xux, who had stolen the Sun Crusher superweapon and fled the Empire’s closely guarded Maw Installation.

“However,” Kratas continued. His voice quavered the smallest bit, then he straightened. “Forty TIE fighters from the Hydra did manage to reach safety inside the other Star Destroyers, which makes up somewhat for the other losses.”

Daala’s Star Destroyers had emerged from the Maw cluster, expecting to engulf and obliterate Han Solo—but her ships had run headlong into Kessel’s ragtag fleet like frenzied battledogs. Though her Star Destroyers had defeated nearly two thirds of Kessel’s ships, the Basilisk had suffered severe damage and had to be linked with the Gorgon’s navicomputers for escape to a secret location in the Cauldron Nebula.

“What is the status of repairs to the Basilisk?” she said.

Kratas clicked his heels smartly as if pleased to give good news. “Three of the four damaged turbolaser cannons have been refurbished and are now operational. We expect to finish repairs on the fourth battery within the next two days. Armored spacetroopers have completed work on the breached external hull. Decks 7 through 9 are airtight again, and we are currently replenishing the atmosphere. The damaged flight-control circuitry has been rerouted, and the navicomp and targeting consoles are now fully operational.”

He drew in a deep breath. “In short, Admiral, I believe our entire fleet is ready for battle again.”

Daala leaned closer to the observation window, curling her long fingers around the simulated wood of the railing. She tried unsuccessfully to stop a smile from creeping across her lips. The metallic smell of the air comforted her. She had lived on the Gorgon for over a decade now. The air had been reprocessed and replenished until pungent organic odors had been scoured away, leaving only sterile smells, the tang of metal and lubricating oils, the reassuring scent of pressed Imperial Navy uniforms and polished stormtrooper armor.

“If I might ask a question, Admiral,” Kratas said, glancing around to see the other personnel at their stations, every head turned studiously away from the conversation, pretending not to listen. Daala raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“With the information we gained from interrogating Han Solo, and with transmissions we’ve received, we know that the Emperor is no longer alive, that Darth Vader and Grand Moff Tarkin are also dead, and that the Empire has fragmented into civil war.” Kratas hesitated.

Daala spoke for him. “You are wondering, Commander, who our Commander in Chief is?”

Kratas nodded vigorously. “Grand Admiral Thrawn has been killed, as has Warlord Zsinj. We know of several commanders still fighting over the remnants of the Empire, but they seem more interested in destroying each other than in battling the Rebellion. If I may make a suggestion? The Imperial Military Academy on Carida still appears to be stable and loyal, with a great many weapons at their disposal. Perhaps it would be best to—”

“I don’t think so,” Daala said sharply, turning from him to smother her scowl. She had been trained and trounced in the harsh military academy on Carida. Because she was female, Daala had been passed over for promotion after promotion; she had been given the worst assignments. She had been brutalized. And that had only increased her drive to succeed.

Finally she had created a false identity for herself through Carida’s vast computer networks and used that identity in combat simulation rooms. She had won repeatedly, creating breakthrough tactics that had been adopted by many of the Imperial Army’s ground assault forces. After Moff Tarkin had discovered Daala’s true identity and realized her talent, he had secretly