not counting the weapons designers in Maw Installation itself. She did not
want to waste them.
She glanced up and down the hangar, her molten-metal hair trailing behind
her. Inside an electromagnetic cage that shielded the entire vessel,
technicians scoured the battered Imperial shuttle Endor that had been
brought in by the new captives. Endor--what kind of name was that? She had
never heard the term before. The technicians would be checking for service
markings, locator beacons, and course-log files.
For a moment Daala considered taking the battered shuttle itself down to Tol
Sivron, the chief scientist of Maw Installation; the effect would probably
shock him into paying attention to her for once. But that would be a
childish gesture. She let the technicians continue their work and chose
instead the Imperial shuttle Edict.
"I can pilot this myself," she said to her bodyguards. "Leave me." On the
flight down she wanted time alone. She knew what Sivron would say on hearing
the news, but this time she would not let him get away with it.
The bodyguards dropped back and to the side as Daala stepped up the ramp
into the shuttle. She moved with quick, habitual movements, powering up the
engines, running through the automated checklist. She mounted the headset
nodes to her temple and to her ear, listening to her course vector as she
raised the Edict from its pad and arrowed it out through the magnetic
shields that closed off the hangar bay from the vacuum of space.
Surrounding her was the colorful, deadly shell of gases swirling into the
endless gullets of black holes. Below hung Maw Installation itself, a
cluster of planetoids crammed at the exact center of the gravitational
island. The surfaces of the barren rocks touched in some places, grinding
together. Immense bridges and bands held the asteroids in place. Access
tubes and transit rails connected the cluster of drifting rocks.
Under Grand Moff Tarkin's direction Imperial constructors had ferried the
rocks across space and through the obstacle course into the Maw. The insides
of the asteroids were hollowed out into habitation chambers, laboratory
areas, prototype assembly bays, and meeting halls.
If we present the citizens with a weapon so powerful, so immense as to defy
all conceivable attack against it, a weapon invulnerable and invincible in
battle, that shall become the symbol for the Empire. Daala had read a draft
of the communiqué Tarkin had sent to the Emperor, urging the creation of
superweapons. We may need only a handful of these weapons to subjugate
thousands of worlds, each containing millions upon millions of beings. Such
a weapon must have force great enough to dispatch an entire system, and the
fear it shall inspire will be great enough for you to rule the galaxy
unchallenged.
After getting permission for his scheme, Tarkin had used his new authority
as Grand Moff to put together this super-secret think-tank installation,
where he could isolate the most brilliant scientists and theoreticians,
giving them orders to develop new weapons for the Emperor. Since Tarkin took
credit for everything without citing his sources, the Emperor himself did
not know of the installation's existence.
The workers and architects who built the place had boarded a return ship,
thinking their job finished, but Daala had reprogrammed their navicomputers
herself with an incorrect course out of the Maw. Instead of flying to their
freedom, they had plunged straight into the mouth of a black hole. No loose
ends.
The secret of Maw Installation had been protected. After Tol Sivron and his
teams proved the initial concept of the Death Star, Grand Moff Tarkin had
taken one of the Installation's top scientists, Bevel Lemelisk, to the Outer
Rim to oversee actual construction of the first production-model Death Star.
Tarkin's last words to the Maw scientists had been a challenge: "Good. Now
create an even more powerful weapon. Surpassing the Death Star may seem
inconceivable, but we must maintain our superiority, we must maintain a
sense of fear among the citizens of the Empire. The Death Star is terrible.
Think of something worse. That is your reason for existence."
Tarkin gave them nine years to develop his next-generation ultimate weapon.
And now, since Tarkin was dead and no one else knew Maw Installation even
existed--Daala could make her own decisions, plan her own course of action.
Finally reaching the small gravity field of the central administrative
asteroid, Daala secured the shuttle Edict in the docking bay. She stood
beside her shuttle, breathing deeply of the dusty, exhaust-laden air and
already wishing she could be back on the gleaming and sterile decks of the
Gorgon. She would deal with Tol Sivron quickly, then return.
A contingent of stormtroopers assigned to ground duty bustled to assist her.
"Follow me," she said. A show of force would smother any protests from the
scientist administrator.
She did not announce her arrival but strode directly through the anterooms,
startling the various clerks and administrative assistants. The
stormtroopers stood at attention. The clerks stared at them, then slowly
took their seats again and refrained from making any outbursts.
"Tol Sivron, I need to speak with you," Daala said, entering his office. "I
have some important news."
The scientist administrator's office was cluttered, but with all the wrong
things. More a bureaucrat than a scientist, Tol Sivron required the
theoreticians and designers to build concept models and tiny prototypes of
their ideas, which Sivron left on shelves, on furniture, in alcoves. Daala
guessed that Sivron played with them as toys during dull moments.
Around the office lay piles of proposals, design studies, regular progress
reports, charts of optimized parameters that the scientist administrator
required in hardcopy. His clerks studied these reports, then wrote their own
reports summarizing them and referencing still further documents. Daala
didn't believe the administrator read any of them.
"Tol Sivron swiveled his chair to look at her with a bored expression.
"News? We haven't had any news in a decade."
Sivron was a Twi'lek, pasty-faced and hairless, with two whip-like
head-tails that dangled from his skull. The tentacles fell over his
shoulders like two skinless blood-eels sucking the back of his cranium.
Sivron's close-set pig-like eyes and mouthful of jagged teeth heightened
Daala's disgust. Twi'leks were generally a disreputable lot, slinking around
with smugglers and acting as henchmen for crime lords like Jabba the Hutt.
Though Daala rarely questioned Grand Moff Tarkin's decisions, she didn't
understand how Tol Sivron had obtained his position here.
"Well, we have news today. We captured three prisoners who blundered into
the Maw in a stolen Imperial shuttle. We have put them all through deep
questioning, and I see no reason to doubt the veracity of this information,
as unpleasant as it may seem."
"So what is this unpleasant information?"
Daala kept her face absolutely rig
id. "The Emperor is dead, the Rebels have
won. A few warlords tried to put the Empire back together, but they merely
caused years of civil war. A new Republic is now the primary government in
the galaxy."
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 -comb 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. "We can take the new Sun Crusher and
destroy the New Republic system by system." She stared at him with her green
eyes, not blinking.
The Twi'lek squirmed. "But the Sun Crusher isn't finished yet. We still have
tests to run, reports to file--''
'You have been procrastinating for two years. You are behind schedule thanks
to your bureaucracy and ineptness. Grand Moff Tarkin is not coming back, and
you no longer have an excuse to delay. I need the weapon now, and I'm going
to take it."
Her mind kept replaying the words Tarkin had told her while inspecting the
Kuat Drive Yards. I am giving you enough power to turn any planet to slag.
And with the newly designed Sun Crusher weapon, she could bring the New
Republic to its knees.
"If Solo is telling the truth," Daala said, "then my fleet could be the most
powerful remnant of the Imperial Navy." She picked up one of Tol Sivron's
small models. "We can't just wait here any longer. Now it's our turn to show
them what we can do."
The Caridan ambassador arrived with his entourage on the recently repaired
west landing platform, far from the Imperial Palace. His diplomatic shuttle
looked like a glossy black beetle, bristling with weapons that had been
remotely neutralized before the ship was allowed to approach Coruscant.
On the landing platform Leia waited to greet Ambassador Furgan with a full
contingent of New Republic honor guard. The wind picked up, blowing around
the tall buildings, as if trying to push the Caridan delegation back in the
direction it had come. She wore her formal government robes as well as rank
insignia for the Alliance forces.
Carida, with its powerful military training center, was one of the most
important strongholds still loyal to the Empire. If she could crack open
negotiations with them, her coup would not be soon forgotten. But the
Caridan system was going to be a tough jewel-fruit to crack, especially with
a rude and icy ambassador like Furgan.
The shuttle's hatch hissed open as the denser air of Carida rushed out. Two
stormtroopers marched down the ramp, shouldering ceremonial blaster rifles
equipped with bayonets. Their white armor gleamed from meticulous polishing.
They moved like droids, walking off the ramp and stepping to either side,
then freezing in position as a second pair of stormtroopers followed them
down and waited at the end of the ramp.
Ambassador Furgan strode down, stubby-legged and self-important, as if to
ceremonial music. His uniform was spattered with more badges, insignia, and
ribbons than any person could possibly have earned in a lifetime.
After two more stormtrooper officers followed the ambassador down, Furgan
drew a deep breath, looking into the distance and ignoring Leia.
"Ah, the air of Imperial Center." He turned toward the waiting reception
committee, beetling his thick brows. "Smells a bit sour now, though. The
taint of rebellion."
Leia disregarded the comment. "Welcome to Coruscant, Ambassador Furgan. I am
Minister of State Leia Organa Solo."
"Yes, yes," Furgan said impatiently. "After Mon Mothma's words about the
extreme importance of Carida, I expected her to send more than a minor
official to greet me. A slap in the face."
Leia had to fall back on some of Luke's temper-controlling exercises, a Jedi
mind-blanking technique that allowed her to quell the surge of anger. "I see
you have not taken the time to familiarize yourself with the structure of
our government, Ambassador. Though Mon Mothma is the New Republic's Chief of
State, the Cabinet is the actual governing body, of which the Minister of
State and my subordinate diplomatic corps comprise perhaps the most
important arm."
Leia stopped herself, angry with Furgan for goading her, and angry with
herself for letting him manipulate her into petty games. Mon Mothma had
instructed her to extend every diplomatic courtesy to the ambassador. She
wished Han or Luke were there beside her.
"Mon Mothma has a great many other duties, but she has arranged for a brief
face-to-face meeting with you later in the day," Leia said. "Until then,
would you like me to show you to your quarters? Some refreshment, perhaps,
after your journey?"
Furgan's eyes looked like small, overripe berries as he directed his gaze at
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