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“Minor damage to the forward ridgeline, sir,” the officer reported. “One sensor array knocked out, leaving five turbolasers without ranging data.”

“Acknowledged.” All theoretical damage, of course, calculated under the assumption that the Preybirds were using full-power capital-ship turbolasers. Pellaeon had always loved war games when he was younger; had relished the chance to play with technique and tactics without the risks of true combat. Somewhere in all those years, the excitement had faded away. “Helm, bring us around twenty degrees to starboard,” he ordered. “Starboard turbolasers will lay down dispersion fire as they make their next pass.”

The Preybirds were back in tight formation now, once again approaching their target. The Chimaera’s turbolasers opened up as they came, their low-level fire splattering across the Preybirds’ overlapping deflector shields. For a few seconds the opponents traded fire; then, the Preybirds broke formation again, splitting apart like the fingertips of an opening hand. Twisting over and under the Chimaera, they shot past, scrambling for the safety of distance.

“Damage report?” Pellaeon called.

“Three starboard turbolaser batteries knocked out,” the officer called back. “We’ve also lost one tractor beam projector and two ion cannon.”

“Enemy damage?”

“One attacker appears to have lost its deflector shields, and two others are reading diminished turbolaser capability.”

“Hardly counts as damage,” Ardiff murmured. “Of course, the situation here isn’t exactly fair. Ships that small and maneuverable would never have the kind of shields or firepower we’re crediting them with.”

“If you want fairness, organize a shockball tournament,” Pellaeon said acidly. “Don’t look for it in warfare.”

Ardiff’s cheek twitched. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Pellaeon sighed. The finest the Imperial Fleet had to offer … “Stand by the cloaking shield, Captain,” he ordered, watching the faint drive glows as the Preybirds regrouped again in the distance. “Activate on my command.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

There was a sudden flare of drive glow, partially eclipsed by the Preybirds themselves, as the enemy kicked into high acceleration. “Here they come,” Pellaeon said, watching as the single glowing dot rapidly resolved itself into eight close-formation ships. “Lock Predictor into fire control. Stand by cloaking shield.”

“Predictor and cloaking shield standing by,” Ardiff confirmed.

Pellaeon nodded, his full attention on the Preybirds. Nearly to the point where they’d broken formation last time … “Cloaking shield: now.”

And with a brief flicker of bridge lighting, the stars and incoming Preybirds vanished as the cloaking shield plunged the Chimaera into total darkness.

“Cloaking shield activated and stabilized,” Ardiff said.

“Helm, come around portside: thirty degrees by eight,” Pellaeon ordered. “Ahead acceleration point one. Turbolasers: fire.”

“Acknowledged,” an officer called. “Turbolasers are firing.”

Pellaeon took a step closer to the viewport and looked down along the Chimaera’s sides. The faint blasts of low-level fire were visible, lancing a short distance out from the Star Destroyer and then disappearing as they penetrated the spherical edge of the Star Destroyer’s cloaking shield. Blinded by the very device that was now shielding it from its opponents’ view, the Chimaera was firing wildly in an attempt to destroy those opponents.

Or perhaps not quite so wildly. If the Predictor worked as well as its designers hoped, perhaps the Empire still had a chance in this war.

It was a long time before the Chimaera’s turbolasers finally ceased fire. Far too long. “Is that it?” he asked Ardiff.

“Yes, sir,” the other said. “Five hundred shots, as preprogrammed.”

Pellaeon nodded. “Deactivate cloaking shield. Let’s see how well we did.”

There was another flicker from the lights, and the stars were back. Mentally crossing his fingers, Pellaeon peered out the viewport.

For a moment there was nothing.