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

  Tarkin blinked, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the midair holograms.

  What about Bracchia, the Koorivar asset on Murkhana? Was he involved in the plot, despite the part he had played in procuring a replacement starship?

  Were the Crymorah crime families involved?

  What about the crew of the freighter Reticent? Had they perhaps been aboard the cobbled-together warship that had attacked Sentinel Base?

  Then there was the matter of the warship itself. Who had funded the purchase of the modules, droids, and starfighters? Where and by whom had the ship been assembled? Just how wide reaching was the conspiracy? Did it involve only former Republic Intelligence operatives, or did it penetrate Imperial agencies, as well?

  Sentients, like animals, have their fussy behaviors, Jova would say. Learn the particulars of one, and you begin to understand the entire species.

  If Tarkin’s hypothesis about Antar 4 being the nexus of the conspiracy was correct, could the involvement of the Reticent’s crew owe to something as simple as having lost friends or relatives to the mass executions? Relatives who were perhaps affiliated with Teller’s partisans?

  Tarkin continued to scan the 3-D images.

  If he was right and he was actually looking at those who had stolen his ship and discovered how to replicate the Clone Wars Shadowfeeds, then as it happened they were not former Separatists nursing a grudge against the Empire, but rather former Republican loyalists with a vendetta.

  Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s onetime allies had become the Emperor’s new foes.

  Saving his research to an encrypted file, Tarkin thought: The trail continues beyond where you lose it.

  Were the dissidents leading him on a chase calculated to disguise their actual objective?

  The thread that had begun to unspool at Sentinel Base could end at only one point.

  —

  The Carrion Spike stumbled out of hyperspace to an interstellar reversion point ten parsecs from Nouane. The near miss in the autonomous region had left the corvette so rattled that, for a long while, the damaged navicomputer couldn’t even establish where the ship was. It was easier now to list the instruments that were still functioning than those that were damaged beyond repair.

  “We have two forward laser cannons and one starboard battery,” Cala reported to the others in the corvette’s main cabin, where Artoz was tending to Salikk’s facial injuries. “Shields are down to nothing. Hull armor’s the only thing protecting us from a collision with space dust. Hyperdrive motivator is marginal, but probably good for one, possibly two more jumps—”

  “One is all we need,” Teller said, while the ship groaned like a wounded animal and Salikk’s shed fur wafted in all directions.

  “Stealth systems and sublight drives are hit or miss,” the Koorivar continued. “Same with communications and the HoloNet.”

  Hask gave her pert-eared head a woeful shake. “We don’t come off very well in the vids the Empire released of the Nouane engagement.”

  “There go our ratings,” Artoz said.

  Anora scowled at him and threw Teller a peeved look. “So much for trusting your ally to hold up his end of the bargain.”

  “I said I trusted him up to a point,” Teller shot back. “If I trusted him entirely, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

  The remark was not an exaggeration. Had the Carrion Spike decanted in the Nouane system at the anticipated reversion point, she would have been instantly annihilated by Imperial fire. Instead, Teller had had Salikk decant the ship deeper in system, as far from the capital ships as was feasible. Regardless, they had been forced to make a run for it without firing a beam at the star system’s Imperial facility, its inconsequence notwithstanding. Boxed in and pounded by laserfire, they had jumped to lightspeed with a maneuver that in itself had been no mean feat.

  “Besides,” Teller went on, “he had to make it look real.”

  Anora loosed a bitter laugh. “They weren’t just making it look real, Teller. Face facts: We’ve been betrayed.”

  Teller snorted a bitter laugh. “Probably. But in the end it won’t matter.” He looked at Salikk, then Artoz. “Is he going to be all right, Doc?”

  “I’ll live,” Salikk said for himself. “At least for long enough to finish this.”

  “The autopilot also survived,” Cala said.

  Teller blew out his breath and nodded. “Then we’re good to go on that score. Plus, we’ve been assured of clear skies.”

  “As long as he’s still convinced we’re on our way,” Anora said.

  Teller nodded. “The Carrion Spike will arrive on schedule.”

  “You realize that the Empire won’t rest until we’re found and dealt with,” Artoz said.

  Hask glanced around. “Assuming anyone’s figured out who we are.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Tarkin and Vader—not with the Reticent crew in hand.” Teller compressed his lips. “Even if not, we’ll be given up at some point.”

  Cala grinned. “Fortunately, we’ve all grown accustomed to looking over our shoulders.”

  ON THE COMMAND WALKWAY of the Executrix, Tarkin waited for Vader to conclude a private holocommunication with the Emperor.

  “Vice Admiral Rancit is convinced that the dissidents intend to attack the Imperial academy at Carida, martyring themselves in the process,” Vader said when he emerged from one of the data pits. “The vice admiral has been given permission to redeploy as many vessels as he sees fit, and he himself will be commanding all elements of the task force.”

  Tarkin scoffed. “The dissidents’ last stand?”

  “Someone’s last stand,” Vader said. “The Emperor has given careful thought to your premise that his onetime allies have now become his foes.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that, Lord Vader. Then we three are in agreement?”

  Vader nodded solemnly. “We are.”

  Tarkin smiled in a self-satisfied way. “A shuttle is waiting to take you to the frigate.”

  Vader nodded again and started to move off, only to stop and turn back to Tarkin. “Tell me, Governor Tarkin, why did you choose to name the corvette the Carrion Spike?”

  Tarkin allowed his surprise to show. “The ship is named for a unique geographic feature on Eriadu, Lord Vader.” When he realized that Vader was waiting for a more complete explanation, he said, “Allow me to accompany you to the shuttle bay.”

  As they set off side by side, Tarkin began to tell Vader about his annual visits to the Carrion Plateau as a teenager, about the tests he had endured there, and about the training he had undergone at the hands of his wilderness-experienced elder relatives and various guides. Vader paid close attention, interrupting him several times to ask for clarification or additional detail. As Tarkin obliged, one part of him took note of how strange it felt to be having an actual dialogue with the Dark Lord. In the recent days they had spent together, their exchanges had been limited to a few sentences, and more typically had been one-sided. Vader’s mask was responsible for some of that, complicating the process of conversation. But just now Vader’s frequent downward glances suggested that he was actually listening; so Tarkin went on talking, opening up about his experiences on the plateau while they continued down the Executrix’s broad central corridor toward the waiting shuttle.

  “By the time I was sixteen, I had come to know the plateau almost as well as I knew the grounds of my parents’ home in Eriadu City,” Tarkin said. “There was one area that we avoided, however—a vast stretch of savanna interrupted by stands of thick forest. It wasn’t precisely off-limits. In fact, on several occasions I understood that my uncle was taking us well out of the way simply so I could get a glimpse of the territory. Each time he did so he would explain that we were not alone in being the plateau’s reigning predators. And while there was no denying that our blasters were capable of eliminating all competitors, an act of that nature would have flown in the face of keeping the plateau pristine. One goal of the training was to help me
understand how to place myself at the top of the food chain through fear rather than force, and how best to maintain my position. The territory we always seemed to skirt was there to provide me with another lesson, as it was ruled over by our chief competitors on the plateau, a one-hundred-strong troop of especially vicious primates.”

  He paused to glance up at Vader. “Are you familiar with the veermok?”

  Vader nodded. “I’ve had some experience with the species, Governor.”

  Tarkin waited for more, but Vader said nothing. “Well, then, you know how ferocious they can be on their own, let alone in a group. There’s scarcely a creature they can’t outwit or outfight when they set their minds to it. But the species on Eriadu is probably not the one you are familiar with. The Eriadu veermok stands a meter high, but is sleek-skinned rather than woolly, is social rather than solitary, and is ardently territorial. It has adapted to the dry conditions of the plateau, rather than to swamps and moist woodlands. Like the more ordinary species, it has razor-sharp claws, equally sharp teeth in its canine muzzle, and the strength of ten humans. Its powerful arms and upper torso appear made for climbing, but the Eriadu veermok is generally not arboreal. Like all its brethren, however, it is a swift and voracious carnivore.

  “At the center of the terrain the troop controlled stands a one-hundred-meter-tall hill that more resembles a rock fortress. Crowning it is a four-sided spire of black volcanic glass, some twenty meters high and flat at the top. A time-eroded shaft of quickly cooled magma, to be sure, as are the boulders that support it.”

  Vader looked at him. “The Carrion Spike?”

  “Just so,” Tarkin said. “Without Jova having to say as much, I began to grasp that the Spike was to be the site of my final test.”

  Vader interrupted his rhythmic breathing to make a sound of acknowledgment. “Your trial.”

  Tarkin nodded. “I was in the midst of my second season on the plateau when Jova first pointed the Spike out to me, but my…trial, as you say, wouldn’t take place for four years to come. When that time arrived, he explained what was expected of me: I merely had to spend an entire day at the Spike, on my own. I would have neither food nor water, but I would be allowed to carry a vibro-lance of the sort we used in some of our hunts.”

  “A vibro-lance,” Vader said.

  “An electroshock weapon longer and lighter than the force pike. It has the same vibro-edged head but is balanced in such a way that it can also be hurled like a spear. Mine would be primed with a limited number of charges, though Jova didn’t specify how many. In any case, if I could accomplish that—spend a single day at the Spike—my final test would be behind me, and I would no longer be compelled to visit the Carrion Plateau, unless of course it was my desire to do so.”

  “You must have thought it a simple task,” Vader said.

  “Initially, indeed,” Tarkin said. “Until Jova allowed me to observe the hill and the spire through macrobinoculars.”

  “Your eyes were opened.”

  “Jova said that I could take as much time as I needed to assess the situation and decide on a course of action, and I spent the better part of my sixth season on the plateau doing just that. The first order of business was to get to know my enemy, which I did over the course of the first couple of weeks. I would conceal myself in areas of forest or in the tall savanna grass and observe the routines of the veermoks, which rarely varied from day to day—or perhaps it’s better to say night to night, since that was when they would emerge from their hill caves and set out on communal hunts. The feasting that resulted from their hunts would continue for most of the night, sometimes at the site of their kills or sometimes back at the caves, where the females fed their gray-skinned young. With the return of the light and the heat, the males would ascend to the top of the hill and sprawl on the rocks at the foot of the Spike, which I was never able to get a good look at, even through the macrobinoculars, as the hill was the tallest feature for kilometers around in every direction. Midafternoon, the veermoks would make their descent, gathering at a watering hole to drink before repeating the entire routine.

  “The water hole became my preferred place for observing them, and it was there where I began to get to know some members of the troop individually. Their dominant member was a dark-striped male, large and battle-scarred, to whom I gave the name Lord. During my weeks of stealthy observation, I saw him challenged at regular intervals. Sometimes the fights would be to the death, but more often Lord would allow challengers to limp away in shame but remain part of the troop. Since it was impossible to defeat him, there was much competition among his subordinates to get close to him. In some sense, the fights were as much about training as they were displays of supremacy. Lord was teaching the weaker males, aware that he would eventually have to yield his position for the sake of the troop. The rest understood this and as a result followed his lead in all matters. I don’t think the species is capable of abstract thought, much less truly sentient, but they do communicate with one another through a complex language of displays and vocalizations.

  “There was a second male that caught my attention—a younger and smaller veermok who always seemed to be in Lord’s shadow, so that was how I began to think of him. Shadow would tag behind and watch Lord from a respectful distance. Sometimes Lord wouldn’t abide the scrutiny and would run Shadow off; at other times he tolerated the younger veermok’s attempts to learn from him. What interested me most, however, was that Shadow had a following of his own, a subgroup of some eight young males who accompanied him wherever he went. Lord tolerated them as well, so long as they kept their distance, which they always did, retreating if he so much as turned in their direction.

  “It was at the water hole that Shadow and his group began to take an interest in me. They observed me observing them, and began to study me as something curious that had showed up at the edge of their carefully defined domain. Sated from the previous night’s hunt and having dismissed me as a threat, they demonstrated no immediate interest in killing me. At that point in my life, I had never heard of a veermok being domesticated, but I had heard of people who used the creatures as watchbeasts, and I imagined that it was possible to enter into some sort of partnership with them. I thought that perhaps I could make use of them as allies of a sort, either when I was at the Spike or in making my escape; and so each day I would try to edge closer to them, only to have them challenge me on every occasion, forcing me back across the invisible line of their hunting grounds.

  “When I determined I had seen enough, I set myself to the task of thinking through the separate challenges I faced: getting to the top of the hill; climbing the Spike; and getting away—assuming I even survived the ordeal. Neither Jova nor any of the others offered help.

  “Getting to the hill was going to require nothing more than moving while the veermoks were in the caves. I would emerge from the copse of forest closest to the hill, cross an expanse of savanna, and pick my way through the boulders to the top. There would be no shade and no rest, and some of the crevasses between the boulders appeared deep enough to swallow me whole. If I wasn’t safely at the top by the time the veermoks emerged from the caves, I’d likely be torn apart on the hill.

  “The Spike itself presented problems of a different sort. The edges of the black glass column appeared sharp enough to cut through cloth or hide or human flesh. So I devised a strap made from a duranium-threaded belt I found among replacement parts for the old speeder we used from time to time; and from that same belt I also fashioned thick soles for my boots and protective pads for my hands. I knew that even the veermoks’ muscular legs weren’t powerful enough to propel them to the top of the Spike, but there was still the matter of my remaining on the flat summit for the entire day. Especially after Jova allowed that the veermoks might delay their nocturnal hunt until they had dealt with me. The vibro-lance was meant to counter that eventuality, though the lance wouldn’t contain enough charges to kill or stun all of the males. Worse still, they weren’t frighten
ed of the vibro-lance. In run-ins we’d had with solitary veermoks, they had evinced no fear even of blasters and had often proved agile enough to dodge beams. Add to this that I would have to scramble down and fight my way to the bottom of the hill and cross the savanna in darkness. That was where some of my predecessors had failed their initiations. Jova said that I would see what remained of their bones scattered about, as if the Spike were some sort of Tarkin reliquary.

  “To provide myself with an advantage, I spent days working with a shovel—while the males were lazing on the hill and the females were in the caves tending to the young—to excavate a series of traps and pits along what would be my escape route, some little more than deep holes, others with floors of sharpened stakes.

  “Then the day came.

  “I made my crossing through the tall grass and scampered up onto the porous, fine-grained rocks. One slip and I could have broken an ankle or become permanently wedged between the boulders. Venomous insects attacked me from hidden nests; stinging ants streamed out from hills of their own making; serpents rattled in forewarning. The heat beat down on me. Nature had conspired to make the hill a last stand against technology and civilization; a place engineered to test a sentient’s resolve to conquer and survive. But I endured.

  “The Spike loomed above me like a lightning rod, a solidified puddle of black glass at its base. I threw the strap around it, planted the thick soles of my boots against the edges, and hauled myself up centimeters at a time. The ascent took much longer than I had anticipated, and I had scarcely reached the flat, slightly angled top when the first of the veermoks arrived.

  “Seeing me there sitting cross-legged atop the Spike, the vibro-lance hanging over my shoulder, they began to hop and circle round in mounting, growling agitation, uncertain, perhaps awaiting instructions from Lord. Alone among them, however, Shadow merely sat on his haunches to watch me, communicating with members of his clique by clacking vocalizations. Finally Lord made his appearance, gazing up at me with fury in his eyes—and what struck me as hatred at having to be put to a test so early in the day. I wondered if some of my ancestors had survived by killing the dominant veermok, thinking that would dissuade the rest. But I didn’t believe that would work; not with Shadow standing by to assume leadership.