The Rise of the Empire: Star Wars: Featuring the novels Star Wars: Tarkin, Star Wars: A New Dawn, and 3 all-new short stories

by John Jackson Miller

  “You’re sure your people can cut the auto-control system,” Tay said.

  “That’s the plan,” Hera answered. She recited the procedure she had memorized. “Once we’re at the designated altitude, we slave the ship to the traffic network. It’s supposed to take us all the way into the port at Lessu. After we pass Marker 210, our contact will cut the network broadcast for twenty-five seconds. We drop beneath the net and proceed to the rendezvous.”

  “So they’ll assume we’ve crashed,” Rheden said. Warnings flared as Eclipse touched the edge of the atmosphere, and she trimmed the ship for reentry. “Won’t someone be looking for us?”

  Hera shook her head. “Goll says the Imperials won’t care about one civilian freighter. They’ll just report it to what’s left of the civil authority.”

  “Lovely,” Rheden muttered, and reached for the intercom. “All right, everybody, we’re beginning reentry. Stand by for some turbulence, and I’ll let you know when we’re down.”

  “Captain.” It was Baratha, of course, and Hera saw the captain roll her eyes. “We should be on the guns.”

  Goll cut in quickly. “That makes sense. We’ll be in the turrets, Captain. Give us power when and if you have to.”

  Outside the cockpit, the stars were disappearing. Eclipse bounced once and steadied, Rheden balancing the ship’s shields against the atmosphere, melting away velocity.

  “What if your people don’t cut the power?” Tay asked.

  Hera glanced warily over her shoulder. “We can override the system from here—we’re not locked in. But that will alert every Imperial patrol in the area.”

  “If we have to do that, the mission’s off,” Rheden said. Under her hands, Eclipse steadied into blue sky, the broken clouds beneath them revealing flashes of barren orange ground.

  “But—” Hera began, and Rheden shook her head.

  “Not up for debate. My first priority is to protect the ship.”

  And what about the people on the ground, the people who were risking their lives to help deliver this cargo? Hera struggled to find words, but the warning from the console interrupted her. “The auto-control system wants to take over. They have us on the standard course for Lessu.”

  A new bank of lights sprang to life in the center of the control boards. Rheden glared at them but entered the codes to give the autopilot access to the ship’s systems. One by one, the lights went from orange to green, and a voice came from the speaker, scratchy with distance.

  “Tirion, you are now on remote pilot. Do not attempt to adjust your controls. I repeat, do not attempt to adjust your controls.”

  “Confirmed.” Rheden leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “Better not fly my ship into anything.”

  Tay reached up to flick switches on an overhead panel. “Set the tertiary receiver to 93.39, please, Hera.”

  Hera did as she was told. A smaller speaker crackled, and voices came clear.

  “…V-254 vector Alpha 10. Delta Flight return to base…”

  Hera’s eyes widened as she listened. “That’s the main Imperial channel.”

  Tay shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea to know what they’re up to.”

  It would have been a better idea if the information had been shared. This was part of the problem, Hera thought. Each group kept its assets secret from everyone else. There was no trust.

  Minutes turned into hours as Eclipse bored on toward the capital, the background chatter of the patrolling V-wings and the steady thrum of the engines blurring into a soporific drone. Hera blinked hard, trying to stay awake, then sat up abruptly as she saw the scrolling map.

  “Captain. We’re coming up on Marker 210.”

  “I see it,” Rheden said, and flipped the intercom switch. “Okay, people, we’re in the zone. Everybody be ready. Hera, do we have patrols in range?”

  “Only one, and it’s moving off.” Hera adjusted the sensors. “No other traffic within a thousand kilometers.”

  Red lights flashed across all the displays, and a mechanical voice announced, “Auto-control disengaged! Auto-control disengaged!”

  Rheden pitched Eclipse into a steep dive. Hera disabled the autopilot and silenced all outgoing transmissions, one eye on the clock. The first layer of clouds whipped past the cockpit windows.

  “Twenty-two seconds,” she said. “Twenty seconds.”

  “Engines at maximum,” Tay said. “Weapons hot.”

  Rheden didn’t respond, all her attention on the controls. Hera could feel the ship shivering, hull and engines straining. They were shedding height, but not fast enough. “Ten seconds.”

  “More power,” Rheden said.

  “We’re at max,” Tay answered, and Rheden swore, the controls jerking in her hands.

  “Three seconds,” Hera said. “Two…One.”

  The lights on the auto-control console went from red to green, then began flashing yellow, a silent warning streaming across the screen. Signal present, auto-control disabled. Reengage auto-control.

  Baratha cut in over the comm. “Did we make it?”

  —

  The lights in the control room flickered, and instantly the alarms blared. Moff Delion Mors, Commander of the Imperial Forces on Ryloth, bolted to her feet and leaned over the railing of the mezzanine office that let her literally overlook the nerve center of Imperial control. The main display screen showed a stream of error messages rather than the regional traffic plot, and every console seemed to be glowing red. A dozen different alarms were sounding, and a confused clamor of voices rose from the pit as the technicians shouted for answers. There was a power problem somewhere, she could tell that much just from the pattern of the lights, and she closed her hands on the rails and leaned forward.

  “Report! Stations, report!”

  There was no immediate answer from the technicians and supervisors bent over their consoles, and her grip tightened.

  “Karris! Report, now!”

  This time, her voice cut through the clamor, and she saw the frantic movement take on new purpose as supervisors shut off superfluous alarms and technicians began to work together.

  “Moff Mors!” That was Karris at last, shouldering past the last row of technicians to look up at her. “We’ve had a power glitch, several systems are offline—”

  “Which systems?” Mors glared down at him, a knot of fear tightening in her stomach. “I need proper reports, Commander.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Working on it.” He turned to slap the nearest technician’s shoulder, ambiguous encouragement, and Mors scanned the control room again. On both ends of the arc of consoles, systems were coming back online. She identified them as base environmentals and the main comm network—a good start, but the tracking systems were still down, and it looked as though the sensor net was only partially restored—

  “Moff Mors!” Karris swung away from the pit to look up at her, clasping his hands behind his back to hide his nerves. “Our technicians have traced a fault in power production that led to a five-second general outage. Backup systems are coming online. We have full communications back, sensors report no sign of attack or infiltration, and I am running a full set of diagnostics—”

  Mors waved the words away. “What’s not working?” She started down the stairs: This was something she needed to see for herself, not watch from a distance. She’d come too close to losing everything during the Emperor’s visit to Ryloth a year ago; she was not going to allow anyone the chance to make mistakes on her watch.

  Karris’s eyes fell. “The traffic-control net was down, but our people are bringing it back up—”

  “Commander!” That was one of the technicians in the center of the pit—traffic control, Mors identified, and fear knotted her guts. The Emperor had made it clear that this was her last—her only—chance, and she squared her shoulders. She would not fail.

  “Commander, we’ve restored the auto-control system, but a ship is missing. It was there when the system went out, but now—it’s go
ne.”

  “Show me,” Mors said before Karris could answer, and pushed her way past the other consoles. The man on duty was a stranger, when once she’d prided herself on knowing all the people under her command. “What’s your name, son?”

  The technician gave her a nervous glance. “Denner, ma’am.”

  “Tell me what happened, Denner.”

  Denner took a deep breath. “When the power went, we also lost the auto-control grid, with twenty-eight ships on the beams. We weren’t down for more than twenty seconds, twenty-five at the outside…Ma’am, we’re missing one freighter, inbound to Lessu on Route Alpha, A2.93. Tirion. We have one last ping, falling like a stone, then she’s below our net. Looks like the pilot wasn’t paying attention when the beam went out.”

  Mors looked up at the main display. He was probably right. The Free Ryloth Movement was broken, destroyed by the Emperor himself, and a part of her was tempted to ignore the missing ship. However. She was on probation, the Emperor had made that clear, but he’d also made it clear that she could redeem herself. She couldn’t afford to ignore anything, no matter how trivial it might seem. “Maybe. And just maybe…Well, if they did crash, I want to know where and why.” She squinted at the display, reading the symbols. Tirion had been over the jungle: Luck help the poor devils if they did crash in that, she thought, and looked at Karris. “Commander. Lieutenant Niol’s flight is the closest. Have him check it out and report back.”

  —

  “I thought they didn’t take civilian problems seriously,” Tay said.

  “They never used to,” Hera answered. She could see the V-wings on her screen, swinging in an arc that would bring them up on Eclipse’s tail. “Captain!”

  “I see them,” Rheden answered. “Tay, all the power we’ve got. The rest of you, weapons hot! We’ve got company.”

  There was a bank of clouds ahead, and for a second, Hera thought they might reach its shelter before the V-wings found them. But the Imperial ships were too fast, the group of three swelling in her screen, and the sensors pinged loudly as the flight leader located them.

  “Jam their transmissions,” Rheden said, and Hera obeyed.

  “Tirion, reduce speed and return to auto-control.”

  “Not happening,” Rheden said. “Let them get close, then take them out.”

  “Ready,” Ul’ligan said, and Goll and Baratha echoed him.

  “Tirion, respond! Respond, or we will fire.”

  “Hera, are you jamming?” Rheden demanded.

  “Yes—” Hera flinched as the first V-wing fired a warning shot, the bolt of emerald fire snapping past the canopy.

  “Respond—”

  Baratha opened fire, followed an instant later by Ul’ligan and Goll. Hera saw one V-wing disintegrate immediately, but the other two veered away, one trailing a thin stream of smoke. She twisted the jammer’s knob to full power, and the speakers filled with static. Eclipse rolled hard left and pulled up, and the first V-wing overshot, airfoils extending as it tried to brake and turn. For an instant, its vertical radiators presented a perfect target, and both Goll and Ul’ligan fired. The radiator disintegrated in a shower of flame and fragmenting metal; the V-wing pitched up and fell off to its right, and Baratha hit it again, blowing it apart.

  Eclipse rocked violently as the remaining V-wing came up under her stern, and Hera heard the steady pounding of the cannons as first Ul’ligan, then Baratha returned fire without result. The V-wing swept past, pulling up and over as it tried for a head-on shot. Rheden banked sharply away, but the ship bounced again as the shots went home. A warning flashed on Hera’s console—primary communications were hit—and sparks flew from Rheden’s secondary console. She cursed, slapping at breakers, but the main panel exploded in her face. She cried out and tumbled from the pilot’s chair. Eclipse nosed up, and Hera snatched for the controls.

  She pointed Eclipse down again, and the V-wing rolled as it came around behind for another pass. Goll fired, and the V-wing rocked, shedding parts in a stream of spark and flame, but came on, firing steadily. Eclipse shook again, warnings flaring. Hera cut power, and the V-wing shot past, trailing smoke. Baratha fired twice more, and it dissolved in flames. Hera wrenched Eclipse sideways to avoid the debris, and the cockpit filled with the sound of alarms. She steadied the ship, though it had an alarming tendency to heel left every time she eased pressure on the yoke. “Status, Tay?”

  “Engines took a direct hit.” Tay answered. Hera could hear her moving from station to station at the back of the cockpit but didn’t dare take her eyes off the controls to see what she was doing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could just see Rheden slumped unmoving against the bulkhead. “I’ve got creeping shorts in the electrics, too. Still locking them down.”

  They’d lost long-range sensors and the main transmitter, Hera saw, but she could compensate for that. At least there was no sign of any other patrols, but they’d be on their way. Eclipse pitched again, more violently, and there was a heavy thud as either Tay or Rheden fell hard against something.

  “I need the gravitics back,” Hera said, and a thin thread of smoke rose from behind the environmental display. “Tay—”

  “Working on it,” Tay said grimly.

  Something snapped in the control linkage, and Eclipse nosed up again, then fell off to the left. Hera hauled on the controls, got no response, and saw the breaker lights flashing. She flipped the switch, once, twice; the lights went out, and when she pulled again, the control yoke moved, Eclipse shuddering under the strain. The jungle was coming closer, but she concentrated on the pressure of the controls against her hand, waiting for the gravitics to stabilize. More power, and turn into the spin: She pushed the yoke hard left. Trees filled the cockpit windows, a flock of insects exploding away from them as Eclipse arrowed down. And then the spin slowed, stopped, and she hauled back on the yoke. Eclipse groaned and lifted, the stern turret just brushing the top of the forest.

  She leveled out a dozen meters above the treetops, scanning her panels for any more damage. Everything seemed stable for the moment, and she risked a glance at the captain. Rheden looked only half-conscious, clearly in need of help. “Tay…”

  “The captain needs help.” Tay moved closer, dropping to her knees to open another panel. “And the ship needs proper repairs. We have to land.”

  “Not here,” Goll said from the hatch, and Hera jumped. “The jungle life is more dangerous than being chased by V-wings.” He went to one knee beside Rheden’s crumpled body, his face tightening, and reached for the intercom. “Baratha, get up here. Captain’s injured!”

  “On my way,” Baratha answered. Eclipse wobbled again, and Hera caught it, then freed one hand to extend the secondary sensors to their maximum range. The screen was empty so far, but she doubted that would last.

  “I can’t fix this if we don’t land,” Tay said. “Whatever’s down there, you can hold them off.”

  Goll shook his head. “They’re lyleks—armored insects, with stabbing limbs and poisoned tentacles. They hunt in packs, and they’ll travel for days to get fresh food. We might kill the first wave, but we couldn’t keep them back for long.”

  “Lovely,” Baratha said under her breath. Hera flinched at the raw burn that covered Rheden’s face from her forehead to the left side of her chin, but at least the captain seemed to be conscious.

  “Tay.” Ul’ligan appeared in the hatchway. “Repair droids are deployed, but I don’t know how much they can do on their own.”

  “Let them work,” she said. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

  For an instant, Hera wished she’d been able to bring Chopper. But Goll had been certain there was no place for another droid on the ship, especially not one with Chopper’s notable eccentricities. A warning light flashed on the sensor display, and her heart sank. Another flight of V-wings was coming in fast from the north.

  “Goll.”

  “I see them. Can they see us?”

  “Not yet.” Hera turned E
clipse south and increased power, losing altitude so that they were barely skimming the treetops. If she could stay out of range—yes, there were the mountains, and she angled her course westward, aiming for the Bypass Notch. If she could get through that before the V-wings were fully in range, the mountains would block their scanners.

  Tay flung herself to the floor plates beside the nav computer and yanked open an access hatch. There was a puff of smoke and the smell of burning, and she blasted the compartment with an extinguisher. “Okay, rerouting that. We’ve got to at least slow down, I can’t keep giving you full power.”

  “We have to get through the mountains.” Hera looked at the map unscrolling on her screen. “Ten minutes.”

  “The mountains? We have to abort,” Baratha said to Goll.

  “That’ll put us right in the path of the V-wings,” Goll answered.

  Tay tore open another panel and began shifting cables. Hera heard a fat snap, and the ship lurched again but steadied.

  “The captain can’t fly,” Baratha said.

  “I’m—” Rheden hissed in pain. “I can handle it.”

  “You can’t see out of that eye,” Baratha said. “And you’re in shock.”

  “I’ve studied the landing,” Hera said. “I can get us in and out.”

  Baratha shook her head. “Look, I’m sure you think you’re a good pilot—”

  “She can do it,” Rheden said. “The ship, though—” She broke off again as Baratha wrapped a bandage around her face, her hands more gentle than her words.

  “I don’t know.” Tay’s hands were busy inside another console. “If we can’t put down—we could lose the ship. Maybe Baratha is right.”

  “What about the V-wings?” Goll asked.

  Hera glanced at the scanners. “Just coming into range, but they haven’t spotted us yet.” The mountains weren’t far ahead, their gullied orange slopes rising jagged out of the jungle. She could see the gap between Mount Foreth and Mount Maali that would hide them from pursuit. Or at least from these pursuers; there would be other patrols out looking for them. She tipped Eclipse into the turn that brought them into Foreth’s shadow. “Clear.”