28

Reflected glows from the Cauldron Nebula made slow dancing patterns on the polished surface of the Gorgon’s war-room table. Admiral Daala sat alone at the far end, separated from Commander Kratas, Imperial Army General Odosk, and Captain Mullinore of the Basilisk.

Daala stared at her own drawn and distorted reflection in the liquid sheen of the table. She kept her emerald eyes fixedly ahead as she squeezed her fist, feeling the supple black leather of her gloves. Her head pounded with a dull ache, like the imagined echoes of screaming troopers on the exploding Manticore. Hot blood roared through her veins as she thought of how she had also lost the Star Destroyer Hydra. Half of her force obliterated!

What would Tarkin think of her? In her nightmares she pictured his spectre drawing back his open hand to strike her across the face for her miserable failure. Failure! She had to make up for it.

Commander Kratas drew his bushy eyebrows together in an expression of concern. His Imperial cap rested against his short dark hair. He turned away from Daala’s stare, then looked toward the general and the captain of the other Star Destroyer. No one spoke. They waited for Daala, and she tried to summon the courage to speak.

“Gentlemen,” she finally said. The words felt like rusty nails catching in her throat; but her voice was strong, startling the three commanders into attention. She eyed each one in turn, then swiveled her chair so she could gaze out at the seething Cauldron gases. A knot of bright blue-giant stars at the heart of the nebula poured out intense energy that illuminated the cloud of gas.

“I have reassessed our mission.” Daala swallowed. The words already sounded like defeat to her, but she would not give in to it. “We must somehow differentiate between conflicting priorities. Our original command from Grand Moff Tarkin was to protect the Maw Installation at all costs. That is why we were given four Star Destroyers. Tarkin considered the scientists there a priceless resource for the ultimate victory of the Empire.”

She clenched her teeth and hesitated again. Her body betrayed her and started to tremble, but she gripped the edge of the polished table with her glove, gripped it hard until the cramped muscles in her fingers steadied her again.

“But we allowed the Sun Crusher, the most powerful weapon ever designed, to be stolen from our grasp, and we lost one fourth of our fleet in a failed attempt to recapture it. Upon learning of the changed situation with the Rebellion, I decided that it was more important to fight the enemies of the Empire. We left Maw Installation undefended as we harried Rebel worlds. Now, after the disaster at Calamari, I see we have failed in that too.”

Commander Kratas rose partway to his feet as if he felt compelled to defend her actions. His skin flushed darker, and Daala noticed a disgraceful hint of stubble on his jaw. If these had been normal disciplinary conditions inside Maw Installation, she would have reprimanded him seriously.

“Admiral,” he said, “I agree that we’ve suffered severe losses, but we have also struck crushing blows against the Rebel traitors. The assault on Dantooine—”

Daala’s hand swung up to silence him with the finality of a vibroaxe. Kratas clamped his thin lips shut and slithered back into his chair.

“I am fully aware of the battle statistics, Commander. I see the numbers in my sleep. I have studied the datapads over and over.” Her voice rose and became molten with anger. “No matter how much damage we have done to the Rebellion, their losses have been insignificant compared to ours.”

Then her voice dropped to such a sudden quiet coldness that she saw General Odosk’s watery eyes widen in fear. “And so I intend to use my last resources in one final assault. If successful, it will fulfill both of our missions.”

Her gloved fingers worked the controls at the end of the table. From a holoprojector in the center of the black slab rose the computer-generated image she had worked up that afternoon in her private quarters while the image of Grand Moff Tarkin droned on with his prerecorded lectures.

“I mean to stab at the heart of the Rebellion,” she said. “Coruscant itself.”

A high-resolution mapping of the last-known surface topography of the Emperor’s planet focused on a world-sized metropolis with frozen polar caps and sparkling chains of city lights on the night side of the planet. She saw spacedocks, curved solar mirrors that warmed the upper and lower latitudes of the planet, communications satellites, large freighters, streams of orbital traffic.

Daala gestured, and two fully rendered images of her Star Destroyers appeared traveling side by side at high speed toward Coruscant.

“I intend to take all ships and all personnel onto the Gorgon, leaving only a skeleton crew—of volunteers, of course—on board the Basilisk. Our Star Destroyers will come out of hyperspace just beyond the moons of Coruscant. We will drive in at full sublight speed, without hesitation, straight toward our target.

“We will give no warning, and we will fire every turbolaser battery we have, clearing a corridor to head directly for Imperial City. Any ship that stands in our way will become a cloud of ionized metal.”

As she spoke, the computer animation demonstrated her tactics. The two Star Destroyers arrowed toward the capital city of the New Republic.

“The Calamarian commander who defeated the Manticore gave me an idea with his suicide run, and we shall turn the tables on them.” Daala watched the stony face of General Odosk, the appalled look of disbelief on Captain Mullinore, and the stern support of Commander Kratas.

“This will be our deadliest hit-and-run,” Daala said. “It will cause enough damage for our names to live forever in the annals of Imperial history. We shall deal a death blow to the Rebel government.

“As we approach in-system, the Basilisk’s small volunteer crew will begin a self-destruct countdown. The Gorgon will run interference until we reach our target, at which time we will turn aside. At full speed the Basilisk will plunge into the atmosphere of Coruscant. It will be unstoppable.”

On the simulated image one Star Destroyer split away before touching the skin of air, curving in a tight orbit around Coruscant and then streaking off into space as the first ship plummeted flaming into the atmosphere toward the most heavily populated center on the planet.

“When the Basilisk detonates …” Daala said. She paused as the planetary image flashed with a brilliant ring of fire that sent ripples igniting through the atmosphere. All the lights on the night side of the planet went dark. Cracks of fire appeared across the land masses.

“The explosion will be sufficient to level the buildings on half a continent. The shock wave traveling through the planetary core could topple cities on the other side of the world. The underground reservoirs will break open. Tidal waves will cause damage along the coasts. For the price of one Star Destroyer, we can lay waste to Coruscant.”

Odosk looked grimly admiring at the simulation. “A good plan, Admiral.”

“But my ship—” Captain Mullinore said.

“It will be a glorious sacrifice,” Commander Kratas said. He steepled his fingers and leaned across the polished table. “I agree.”

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.