Star Wars: Scourge (43 page)

Bidlo Kwerve shot a suspicious glance at him, blinking his ice-green eyes. Jabba nodded. “Good,” the Hutt said.

Kwerve stepped forward. The Corellian looked again at Bib Fortuna. “What did he say?” Now Malakili understood the twitching expressions on the Corellian’s face. Bidlo Kwerve didn’t understand Huttese!

Bib Fortuna gestured him forward as he himself stepped back. Kwerve raised his pocked chin in the air and stood in front of Jabba, awaiting his reward.

“You shall be the first victim I feed to my rancor,” Jabba said. “I will watch your struggles and remember them for all time.”

Salacious Crumb cackled maniacally. The group of Jabba’s followers in the throne room snickered and watched. Bidlo Kwerve looked to Bib Fortuna, and it was clear he did not know what Jabba had said.

As the Corellian’s face was turned aside, Jabba punched the button that released the trapdoor. The floor fell out from beneath Bidlo Kwerve.

In following years, everyone agreed that Bidlo Kwerve put up a spectacular fight. The Corellian had somehow managed to conceal a small holdout blaster in his
body armor—which was strictly forbidden in Jabba’s presence. But the rancor’s sheer ferocity astonished the spectators even more as it devoured its first live meal since its capture on Tatooine.

Malakili watched the monster’s victory and felt warm inside, like a proud father.

The destruction of the second Death Star and the death of Emperor Palpatine—the climactic conclusion of
Return of the Jedi
—has shaken the Empire to its core. While the remnant of the loyal Imperials settles in for a long, drawn-out last stand, the victorious Rebel Alliance and its supporters found a galactic governing authority they name the New Republic. Troops and warships are donated to the cause, as New Republic military leaders forge plans to seize Imperial fortress worlds, invade the Core Worlds, and retake Coruscant itself. Eventually, the Imperial Remnant is pushed back to a small part of the Outer Rim, and the New Republic is finally able to focus on restoring just and democratic government to the galaxy.

At last the heroes of the Rebellion are free to pursue their own lives. Han and Leia marry … but before the birth of their twins, Jacen and Jaina, the galaxy is once again torn asunder by war, as the Imperial forces—under the control of military mastermind Grand Admiral Thrawn—step up their campaign of raids against the New Republic. Even after Thrawn is defeated, the Imperial forces forge on, harrying the New Republic and Luke’s nascent Jedi academy—the start of Luke’s dream to rebuild the Jedi Order from the ground up. Plagues, insurrections, and rogue warlords add to the chaos and push the New Republic back a step for every two steps it takes forward in its quest for peace and prosperity for all. Meanwhile, Leia becomes Chief of State of the New Republic, and the Solos’ third child, a boy they name Anakin, after his grandfather, is born; Luke has met Mara Jade, a secret dark side apprentice to the Emperor whom he helps bring into the
light, and the two subsequently fall in love and marry.

Finally, after a series of further setbacks and plots against the young galactic government and Luke’s Jedi, a peace treaty formally ends the long conflict between the New Republic and the remnants of the Empire. The events of these years are the answer to the question … “What happened after the movies?”

If you’re a reader looking to dive into the New Republic era, here are three great starting points:

Read on for an excerpt from a
Star Wars
novel set in the New Republic era.

Prologue

Eight months after the Battle of Endor

T
he Empire’s orbiting repair yard at N’zoth, code-named Black 15, was of standard Imperial design, with nine great shipways arrayed in a square. On the morning of the retreat from N’zoth, all nine slips were occupied by Imperial warships.

Under most circumstances, nine Star Destroyers together would have been an intimidating sight to any who might come under their guns.

But on the morning of the retreat from N’zoth, only one of the nine was ready for space.

That was the sorry assessment of Jian Paret, commander of the Imperial garrison at N’zoth, as he looked out on the yards from his command center. The orders he had received hours ago were still playing before his eyes:

You are ordered to evacuate the planetary garrison to the last man, at best possible speed, using any and all ships that are spaceworthy. Destroy the repair yard and any and all remaining assets before withdrawing from the system
.

Paret’s assessment was shared by Nil Spaar, master of the Yevethan underground, as he rode the work shuttle up from the surface with the first commando team. The orders he had given hours ago were still ringing in his ears:

“Notify all teams that an Imperial evacuation has been ordered. Execute the primary plan without delay. It is our day for retribution. Our blood is in those vessels, and they will be ours. May each of us honor the name of the Yevetha today.”

Nine ships.

Nine prizes.

The most badly damaged,
Redoubtable
, had taken terrible punishment in the retreat from Endor. The others ranged from old medium cruisers being upgraded and recommissioned, to the
EX-F
, a weapons and propulsion test bed built on a Dreadnaught hull.

The key to them all was the massive Star Destroyer
Intimidator
, moored at one of the open slips. Spaceworthy but completely unblooded, it had been sent to Black 15 from the Core for finish work, to free up a Super-class shipway at the command’s home shipbuilding yard.

There was more than enough room aboard it for the garrison, and more than enough firepower aboard to destroy the yard and the hulls within. Paret transferred his command to the bridge of the
Intimidator
within an hour of receiving his orders.

But
Intimidator
could not leave the yard as quickly as Paret would have liked. He had only one-third of a standard crew aboard, a single watch—too few hands to quickly ready a ship of that size to fly free.

Moreover, nine of every ten workers on Black 15 were Yevetha. Paret despised the gaudy-faced skeletons. He would have liked to seal the ship in the interest of security, or to draft additional work details in the interest of speed. But either act would prematurely alert the Yevetha that the occupation force was leaving N’zoth, threatening the withdrawal from the surface.

All Paret would do was call a surprise departure drill and wait out its lengthy checks and countdowns, letting the normal work details continue until the troop transports and the governor’s shuttle had lifted off and were en route. Then, and only then, could his crew
close the hatches, cut the moorings, and turn its back on N’zoth.

Nil Spaar knew of Commander Paret’s dilemma. He knew all that Paret knew, and much more. For more than five years he had worked to position allies of the underground throughout the conscript workforce. Nothing of importance happened without Nil Spaar’s swiftly hearing of it. And he had taken the information he had collected and woven it into an elegant scheme.

He had put an end to the rash of minor “mistakes” and “accidents,” demanding that those who worked for the Empire show diligence and strive for excellence—while learning everything they could about the ships and their operation. He had seen to it that the Yevetha made themselves indispensable to the Black Fleet’s yard bosses and earned the trust of its commanders.

It was that trust which had allowed the work slowdown in the months since the Battle of Endor to go on unquestioned. It was that trust which had given his Yevetha the run of both the yard and the ships moored in the slips.

And it was the patient and calculating exploitation of that trust which had brought Nil Spaar and those who followed him to this moment.

He knew that he no longer need fear the
Harridan
, the
Victory
-class Star Destroyer that had been protecting the yard and patrolling the system. The
Harridan
had been ordered to the front three weeks ago, joining the Imperial force fighting a losing rear-guard action at Notak.

He knew that Paret could not seal the
Intimidator
against his men, even by ordering a battle-stations lockdown. More than a dozen external hatches in Sections 17 and 21 had been rigged by Yevetha technicians to report that they were secured when they were not, and to report that they were closed when they were not.

He knew that even if
Intimidator
got free of the slip in which it was moored, it would not have a chance to escape or turn its guns on the abandoned vessels. The packages of explosives concealed inside
Intimidator
’s hull would break it open like an egg the moment its shields went up and blocked the signal that was safing the bombs.

As the work shuttle neared the receiving dock, Nil Spaar felt no fear, no apprehension. Everything that could be done had been done, and there was a joyful inevitability about the fighting to come. He had no doubt what the outcome would be.

Nil Spaar and the first commando team entered
Intimidator
through the hatches in Section 17, while his second, Dar Bille, and the backup team entered through Section 21.

There was no talking. None was necessary. Every member of both teams knew the layout of the ship as well as any Imperial crewman. They moved through it like ghosts, down corridors closed or cleared by friends on work details, through crawlways and up access ladders that appeared on no construction blueprint. In minutes they had reached the bridge—without ever being challenged, or drawing a weapon, or firing a shot.

But they entered the bridge with weapons drawn, knowing exactly which stations would be occupied, where the guard station was, who could sound a shipwide alarm. Nil Spaar shouted out no warnings, made no theatrical announcement, demanded no surrender. He simply walked briskly across the deck toward the executive officer, raised his blaster, and burned the officer’s face away.

As he did, the rest of the team fanned out behind him, each to his own assigned target. Six of
Intimidator
’s bridge crew were struck down in the first seconds, sitting at their stations, because of the power that rested at their fingertips. The others, including Commander Paret, quickly ended up facedown on the floor, hands bound behind them.

Taking the ship was not difficult. Timing the raid to avoid retribution had always been the challenge.

“Signal from the governor’s shuttle,” called out a Yevetha commando, slipping into the seat at the communications station. “The transports are leaving the surface. No trouble reported.”

Nil Spaar nodded approvingly. “Acknowledge the signal. Advise the crew that we’re moving out to pick up the garrison. Notify the yard that
Intimidator
is leaving.”

Like a cluster of insects returning to the hive, the fleet of Imperial transports rose from N’zoth toward the great dagger-shaped Star Destroyer. More than twenty thousand citizens of the Empire were crammed into the insect fleet—soldiers and bureaucrats, technicians and families.