The bright orange sphere of a frozen sun filled the endless black skies, coming into view slowly from the farthest right side. It's rays cris-crossed throughout the dark system, hitting nothing and continuing endless, as far as the eye could see. They touched nothing, for this system, like many in the Deep Core of the galaxy, was barren and empty. No planets orbited the lonely star, and its only visitor was a tiny Class VI comet that was still one hundred years away from arriving. The entire area was empty, save a survey number by an outdated cruiser taken over forty standard years ago. With all the quiet, stillness, and calm, things seemed at peace. Save for the plot that was being developed even now in the mind of one human being. Soon this planet wouldn't be known for its emptiness, but for where the next chapter of the future of it's galaxy's people would begin. If only the galaxy for which the frozen sun dwelled wasn't so conflicting, wasn't so infected and corrupted. Politics, diplomacy, peacekeepers. That was what the galaxy had turned to in the end, throughout all the wars and after exploring different choices. There was no strength, no force. Democracy would never work; force was needed to rule over a kingdom, such as a galaxy. "Rule through fear of force rather than by force itself." That was the phrase that would phrase the future, the glorious future, of a united civilization under one ruler. Men had failed numerous times in the past trying to achieve this stunning and palpable goal. Worthless, useless tries. But soon that would change. Order would be established, and out of the ashes of war, a woman, not a man, would rise to take the throne. The same woman that the frozen sun was enveloping in its warming rays as it eclipsed the gray surfaces of the command deck.
Too many times had Grand Admiral Daala Tarkin let men triumph when she could do better. Ruling wasn't an easy task, and men, as far as Daala was concerned, were incapable of ruling correctly. Emperor Palpatine had proven that with his Empire's disastrous defeat at the hands of a pathetic band of politicians and ill-trained officers and soldiers piloting outdated warships and a battered starfighter fleet. He, and his henchmen, that stupid, traitorous Darth Vader, had personally been beat by an amateur Jedi, Luke Skywalker; a farmboy from the barren world of Tatooine. Even more disgusting, the man was beaten twice by the same group of people who had routed him last time, using the same technologies and same warriors, and the same Skywalker...as far as Daala was concerned. Since then, many men had tried to save the Emperor's once glorious Empire. Teradoc had failed. Zsinj had failed. Zaarin had failed, his attempted coup of the Emperor ending in pitifully tragedy. Harrsk had failed. Delvardus had failed. Pellaeon–military ruler of the Imperial Remnant; but nevertheless a weak fool who's own resolve had failed him, expectedly from Daala's new point-of-view on the man, in the end–had failed. Thrawn, the military Chiss genius who Daala still admired despite his death at the hands of his own bodyguard–had failed. Daala's husband, the late, fantastic Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin–though he hadn't tried a coup of the Emperor like Zaarin– had failed his brilliant future when he died with his infamous Death Star at Yavin–another example of Palpatine's pitiful Empire. Daala loved Tarkin nonetheless. Bevel Lemelisk had designed the Death Star with a huge weak spot that had been exploited. It wasn't Tarkin's fault that he died. Lemelisk was another imbecile. Nevertheless, all the men that had tried to dominate the galaxy under the name of the Empire, had failed. It didn't matter though. When Daala was ruler of the galaxy, all those failures would be rendered insignificant. Daala's Ruling Dominion would not fail.
But Daala knew her prejudice had a limit for which it grow. Despite her disgust at the numbers, Daala knew that well over sixty percent of current Deep Core population that served her were men. The percentage of men that occupied jobs in the military was well over sixty, somewhere in middle eighty percent. Though she would never openly admit this, but if this master plan were to succeed, it would with the sacrifice and the help of mainly the men under her command. Men were more built than women, were stronger,–though they often times buckled under intimidation and pressure–faster, and were a great deal more intimidating and impressionable than women. Another thing she would never openly admit was that she too, had failed to bring about order to the galaxy and therefore strip it away from the New Republic–now called the Galactic Alliance. She had been defeated almost as many times as the men she had criticized and killed. But that was because of her ignorance. She had underestimated her enemy and it capabilities, especially the capabilities of the Jedi Knights, a mistake she would never make again. Skywalker was powerful, and his band peacekeepers were equally as challenging as the Jedi Master himself. The Alliance itself was a worthy opponent for someone of Daala's genius. Though she despised her common enemy, she had to admit, their recent two-year-old victory over the cunning and vicious Yuuzhan Vong was very impressive, a most notable victory. However, also in Daala's opinion, the Alliance and Skywalker had taken too long. If Daala had been in command from the beginning, the war would have gone much smoother and would have quickly been over. The Alliance had gone about defeating their foe all wrong–which wasn't surprising, since men had been the majority of leaders and high ranking officials and officers– in the end suffering severe casualties and a number of cripple or destroyed navy vessels. The war had made them weak. The leadership of men had made them weak. Weak enough to be beaten by an outstanding foe.
So she stood on the bridge of the new Super Star Destroyer Scyla II, a ship built from parts salvaged from Daala's original flagship, the Imperial II Star Destroyer Scyla as well as numerous other severely damaged Imperial ships and vessels. That, added with polished and brand new manufactured parts from Imperial factories all over the Deep Core, made up the powerful hull, shielding, and weapons of the massive battleship. The woman stood, proud and tall, as the sun enveloped her body and reflected off her long crimson-orange hair. Even as the full sphere of the sun pulled into the whole viewport and lit up the bridge fully with it's radiant beams, Daala stood undaunted, not even squinting at the wave of bright sunlight being shoved into her pupils. She craned her head slightly to glance across the bridge at the people working the consoles and terminals around her and below her. The bridge was large and extended the full width of the command deck. Many people were hard to see. But Daala could easily tell by the number of weak stature's and slouched shoulders that a majority of them were men, and that majority, most of them anyway, were squinting in the powerful sunlight.
Daala snickered at their cowardice. Weaklings, she thought. She turned back, defying the sunlight and staring it down with honor and pride. Staring it down gave her a feeling of power, or worth. "When I'm ruler of this galaxy," she whispered to herself, "No one will squint in something so low as sunlight. There will no be no weakling in my order." Daala eyes glinted and she once again ran over her plan to crush the Galactic Alliance and its Jedi Knights. She was basking so much in her brilliance that she didn't even hear the footsteps of one of her numerous subordinates Captain Rammis Mash–another man, blast it–approach her from behind. Why were men always promoted to the valuable ranks. Oh yes, Palpatine. If only the idiot hadn't been both sexist and racist, maybe his Empire would have succeeded. If Daala had been rightfully treated, she would have the Rebellion. She would not have lost at Endor like that moron Piett had.
Mash swallowed and stood at attention, waiting patiently for the Grand Admirals notice. Daala didn't give it to him, feeling no motivation to bow to his patience. The two stood alone, each silent, each waiting.
Daala rolled her eyes after another few moments passed. Idiot man, she thought.
Mash rolled on his heels and finally spoke. "Grand Admiral Daala–"
"Captain Mash." Daala didn't turn around. "You are an idiot. Next time, get to talking quicker. My attention will only go to you if you want it, not if you make me wait for it. Now what is it? Is the Assembly ready for me yet?" Daala still didn't turn around.
"The shuttle carrying Moff Joffandor has arrived. The Assembly is–"
Again Daala cut him off, rolling her eyes at his lengthy explanation. "'Yes' or 'no' will do Captain."
"My apologies, Admiral–" he started.
Daala raised her chin"'Yes or 'no' Captain!" She half-shouted.
"Yes, ma'am. The Assembly–"
"Good." Daala finally turned around, the sun still flowing around her slim body. She marched forward, stopping abruptly at Mash's side. She locked eyes with, burning her stare into his cowardly brandy-brown eyes. "And Captain Mash," she continued. "If I have to remind you one more time that 'yes' or 'no' will do..." she let the sentence trail off as he watched him swallow in fear. "Impossible," she snickered. "You'll never get it." She sighed irritably, her breath blowing into his face. Walking away, she called after her. "The bridge is yours Mash." She stopped and turned back to him momentarily. "You remember what that means don't you?"
Mash stood to his full heights and opened his mouth to speak. Daala's rage began to swell as she braced for his lengthy explanation on the Grand Admiral's version of Bridge Shifts and Duties of Commanding a Bridge. That meant that Mash was to only watch over the ship. He could nothing else with it but stand guard for it. If the Star Destroyer was threatened by anything, he could, would do, nothing at all but wait until the Grand Admiral arrived on the bridge and then he handed the ship over to her. Only if Daala was not on the ship could he do anything defensively with it. The Scyla II was her ship, and she expected every officer to treat it as her ship, especially Mash. This man was going to get a severe reprimand for this. Evolution hadn't improved the brains of men of the last one hundred millennia.
Mash made a noise with his vocal cords, but suddenly stopped on the verge of saying the first word of his sentence. His mouth closed for a moment, his mind racing, and then opened again. "Yes," he simply said.
Daala continued moving without another word. Maybe evolution hadn't given up quite yet. Nevertheless, he would still attach a reprimand to Mash. For the delay in his answering.