By Mark Richards
Admiral Kirsten Daala watched the pinprick of the distant shuttle disappear completely into the night of space. A tiny flash of light momentarily marked the shuttle's position before it made the jump into hyperspace. He was gone now, leaving her alone. Abandoned. Alone with the greatest challenge of her life, an assignment that she had fought to be given. And now she had the control of four Star Destroyers and over one hundred eighty thousand personnel, she desperately wanted the support of the man who had just left her.
Daala studied her reflection in the transparisteel, shocked by her drained, tired appearance. She quickly skirted her glance around the bridge of the Gorgon, making sure no one was watching her. It was night by the ships onboard time and thankfully the bridge was quiet. The night watch consisted of only a few officers and crew, who busied themselves in the crewpits below her position. She turned back to the reflection, searching for her inner strength in the deep glassy emerald eyes that shone back at her. But all she saw was her fear and loneliness. The molten-metal hair that she had once proudly grown was cropped short and bristly, a reminder of her days at Carida. It had been part of her indoctrination into the Empire, part of the humiliation and contempt, which she had met. It was those harsh times that had brought her here, that had made her find her inner strength and determination to succeed against the odds.
Daala had been a gutsy performer at Carida rising above the taunts and barbs about her sex, even the outright bias and distaste for her being there, at the Empire's premier training facility. She was made to feel inferior, worthless compared to her male colleagues. Any lesser woman would have buckled under the pressure, have been squashed by the oppression of Carida, but Daala was no ordinary woman. She wanted what her male dominant counterparts had; she wanted those same opportunities and respect. She was determined to get it.
Sten Har, a Sullustan hacker had enabled her to achieve at least part of that dream. He had helped her create a second identity in the Imperial Network. Once safely guarded by the anonymity of a false identity, Daala began to play simulations, wiping out whole armies single-handedly, discussed radical and new ideas on military tactics, all of which brought her to the notice of him. Grand Moff Wilhuf Tarkin.
Tarkin had brought her here, taken her from the lowly rank she was destined for in the Imperial Navy and delivered her eventually to the Maw. He had given her four Star Destroyers and the rank of Admiral to protect his most important secret. She had what she wanted, power and influence and the highest rank ever bestowed on a female in the Empire. But she also had more than that. She had a man who became more than a mentor and guide, he became her lover too. Her first real lover. A man who understood her, who appreciated and respected the harsh beauty of Daala. And she loved him deeply too. He was unlike the immature, arrogant men that she had to endure at the Academy. Tarkin was a visionary filled with great personal power and charisma. His gaunt, striking features were a sign of his strength in her eyes and his self-confidence made her feel empowered.
Daala learnt from Tarkin, drinking in his knowledge and wisdom, listening always intently and purposefully to his words. His greatest vision, which bore his name, still made her spine tingle everytime she replayed the words in her mind. Rule through the fear of force rather than through force itself. If we use our strength wisely, we shall intimidate thousands of words with the example of a select few. The Tarkin Doctrine. It was a measure of the man whose mind had created it. And now that was all she had left. He was gone, swallowed up into space, en route to the newly completed Death Star. The most impressive product of the Maw scientists to date and the flagship from where he would arrest the flames of rebellion. He said he would be back. In nine years he would return to her and the Maw, ready for the latest weapon of terror to come from the brilliant scientists he had left her to guard.
Today was just the beginning of that wait for his return. Her task would not be an easy one. She had the sole responsibility for her hundred eighty thousand crew and personnel and four Star Destroyers. At her fingertips she possessed one of the most powerful destructive forces in the galaxy. She remembered witnessing their construction, how in awe she had been of these huge behemoths as they had taken shape at the Kuat Drive Yards. How Tarkin had shared in her delight at the gift he was giving her. How they had loved passionately since that moment...
Tarkin was gone now. She had been abandoned, adrift at the Maw, locked in the jaws of a black hole cluster, where every turn could possibly lead to disaster. Hidden and forbidden to make contact with the outside galaxy, she felt deserted. What did the rank of admiral mean now? Not even Emperor Palpatine knew of her position, and the row of red and blue rectangles across her left breast seemed nothing more than a token gesture. A parting gift from her lover, but it was all that she had to hold onto. Her rank and the position Tarkin had given her was the only remaining hope she could cling too. And that he would return to. When he did return there would be no need for this continued secrecy about her or the Maw. Tarkin would come back when the Emperor had been overthrown and the Rebellion crushed. Tarkin's imprint would have been made on the New Order and she would serve him as loyally as she had loved him. They had shared everything together and she would continue to honour him for as long as she lived.
Daala straightened herself, knowing that Tarkin would not want to see her like this. As he had left her, he had parted with strong words. Daala didn't need soft reassurance, she needed strength. She looked back into the transparisteel, her eyes burning back with a harder intensity, the tears that had threatened to come had been bit back. Tarkin was gone now, she told her heart. It would have to be silent to her desires. She would save herself for Tarkin, the only man that knew her own heart better than herself. She would turn cold in the intervening years of their ever-longer separation; she would never look at another man in the way she looked at Tarkin. Those pleasures were gone now. She was an admiral in the Imperial Navy, ready to serve her duty to protect Maw Installation. Proudly she tugged at her tunic, straightening its appearance, a mild satisfaction at the lean, shapely figure that reflected back at her. The olive green uniform once again burned with pride and she ran her hand across the row of rectangles that adorned the left breast. She may have been abandoned but she had been charged with an important responsibility. She had everything that she had ever desired and alone or not, she would not fail Tarkin.