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

  He retained the upper hand now, through his logic and careful preparations. The berserk antics of the fool pilot had changed nothing. He’d added his own precautions to Skelly’s scheme, and those included dispatching more baradium haulers than were necessary. Already, the redundant vessels were moving into the area recently harried by the renegade. It would only mean a little lost time, not enough for the xenoboric acid to destroy the bombs he was implanting in the moon. It was the same kind of acid Lal had fallen into on Gorse, a refining necessity; Forager was full of the stuff. But it wouldn’t devour his plan.

  And the one random variable was about to be canceled out. The run-amok freighter was out of space to roam, hemmed in between the collector ship’s weapons and the swarm of TIE fighters now arriving on the scene. He’d thought of everything. It was his strength, his power. One day, the difference between success and failure for the Empire might be a simple thing someone else would overlook. It would not be his fault, and would never happen on his watch. He would see everything, and act.

  “We are at a safe distance from the target moon,” he said. “Reorient to face it.”

  The engines thrummed, and Cynda came fully into glistening view. Vidian didn’t bother to look at it for more than a second.

  “Give me an update on the enemy,” he commanded the nearest cybernetic assistant. Vidian never used the bald woman’s name; it didn’t seem necessary, after her surgery.

  “The freighter has not attacked,” she droned. “It is circling. Probing Forager’s energy shield.”

  “Is there a weakness?”

  “No, my lord. The only gap in the energy shield is rearward, along the horizontal axis of the vessel. The thrusters produce a flux when ignited.”

  Vidian froze. The engines had just been activated a few moments earlier. And it was at the tail of the ship, above the thrusters, where the shipping bays sat, open to space…

  “Proximity alarm!” the female cyborg said. “Unauthorized vessel on approach!”

  Vidian was already looking at the scene, his optical feed having been switched to the rear external cams. Pursued madly by half a dozen TIE fighters—and those were just the ones in firing range—the errant freighter raced toward Forager’s aft. “What are you waiting for?” Vidian said. “All defensive turrets, fire!”

  —

  Outside, Expedient rocketed through the cross fire toward the rear of Forager. Rows of landing bays perched atop and tucked beneath the glowing thrusters, open to space. “An open door’s as good as an invitation,” Hera said.

  But the freighter was going far too fast, Kanan thought. “This’ll be close!”

  At the last instant, Hera fired Expedient’s attitude control jets, spinning the vessel around 180 degrees. The ship entered the bay tail-first, piercing the magnetic screen. Hera fired the main thrusters, burning off speed—not to mention the chrome off any loader droids in their path.

  Expedient struck the landing surface, scraping noisily across the deck as it slid inward. It was a long hangar, and the freighter needed all of it to slow down. Kanan clutched the armrests, knowing the back wall had to be there somewhere…

  —

  A violent jolt shook the vessel, rocking Count Vidian’s underlings. Above, a droid slipped between the catwalk and the railing and fell to the main deck with a crash.

  Vidian, prepared for the impact, was unshaken. “All troops aboard Forager,” he transmitted, “stand by to repel boarders. Enough is enough!”

  “WE’RE STILL ALIVE!”

  Skelly had said it, but Kanan was as amazed as anyone. And Hera was simply straightening her gloves as if nothing had happened.

  “You’re incredible,” Kanan said. “I’m permanently moving to the passenger seat.”

  “Time to get out of it.” Hera stood, checked her weapons, and made for the airlock. “Come on, Zal!”

  Zaluna took a deep breath and retrieved her pouch of electronic magic from behind the acceleration couch. She met Hera at the door.

  Vidian was almost certainly at the head of Forager, where the transmitter was. “Do you have anything else aboard we can use?” Hera asked Kanan. “We don’t know the layout.”

  “I think so.” Adjusting his holster, Kanan walked down the aisle to a storage compartment. He knelt before the bin and opened it. There, beside Skelly’s bag of improvised explosives, which he’d hidden for safekeeping, was part of the Cynda emergency kit: a rappelling gun with an automatic winder. He passed it to Hera.

  He was about to close the bin when he glanced at his traveling pack—the one he’d carried with him when leaving Gorse. A thought occurred to him, and he unzipped it and felt around for something inside.

  His lightsaber.

  It was there, hidden innocuously inside the canvas carrying case for a blaster riflescope. Kanan hesitated for a moment before removing the case and strapping it to his left leg, opposite his holster. He wasn’t going to use it, of course, but unlike on Calcoraan Depot, the chances of the ship being searched were pretty good. He didn’t want anyone to find it.

  He turned back to see Skelly watching him. For a moment, Kanan worried he would ask about the scope case—he had no rifle, after all—but he quickly realized Skelly was eyeing his bag of death.

  “I’m not having you blow us all up,” Kanan said. He lifted Skelly’s bag. “This is coming with me for safekeeping.”

  “You’ll blow yourself up just carrying that.” Skelly forced himself to stand. “It’s all right. Leave it. I’ll go with you.”

  Kanan frowned. “You can barely walk!”

  “So I can keep up the rear. Put that down and let’s go.”

  —

  Forager’s interior was one huge automated factory floor, Kanan discovered. The seven spheres that formed the body of the ship intersected in a row, producing a single atrium several stories high that stretched forward out of sight. Vats, centrifuges, conveyor belts, pneumatic tubes—it was a Denetrius Vidian production, if ever there was one.

  Standing at a railing overlooking the area, Hera momentarily marveled at the sight. “It’s like someone crammed all of Moonglow’s refineries into a starship.”

  “Hurry, so we can save the real one,” Kanan said. He could see the stormtroopers down on the main floor now, running toward them from the far end. Metal stairs led down to what would be more than a kilometer of hard fighting, nearly the length of a Star Destroyer.

  “Can I…go back…and get my bombs?” Skelly said, panting at the railing. He’d fallen behind twice—and simply fallen once—on the way here from the landing bays.

  Kanan shook his head and looked at Hera. She was staring up at the rafters. “What have you got?”

  “Things are looking up,” she said, pointing. “There!”

  Kanan squinted. Up top, a tramcar track suspended from the ceiling ran the length of the room between two banks of industrial lighting. Kanan’s eye traced back toward his location—and the rungs of a ladder attached to the wall behind them, fifteen meters high or more. The ladder was the only route to the tramcar: There was no way the rappelling gun could carry more than one at a time.

  Hera had the idea; Kanan made the plan. It was how things were working out between them. Kanan sent Hera up the ladder first, having her stop at intervals to turn and provide cover fire, if necessary, against any arriving Imperials. Then he sent up Zaluna, who went without complaint. Heights were apparently one more thing Zaluna wasn’t afraid of.

  Skelly was his problem. He’d figured the guy had to go up ahead of him or he’d never go at all, but it was making their progress impossibly slow. Skelly was in pain—and reluctant to use his right hand for a grip.

  “Go on, Skelly!” Kanan yelled, after the third time he tuckered out.

  Skelly dangled precariously, his right arm looped around a rung. “Just give me a—”

  Skelly never finished his statement. Blasterfire peppered the wall around him, causing him to lose hold. Kanan grasped vainly at the man as he fell past, f
lailing. “Skelly!”

  The man fell outward, his body slamming against the railing of the balcony they’d been standing on earlier. Limply, Skelly fell over the side and out of sight—presumably toward the factory floor. High above, Hera opened fire on Skelly’s attackers.

  Hanging partway off the ladder, Kanan craned his neck to see any sign of Skelly. He couldn’t see anything—and now, more shooters were moving into the area. Hera called down from above, “Kanan, come on!”

  Kanan scrambled up the ladder, narrowly escaping being shot several times in the process. Reaching the apex, he stepped out onto the short metal landing next to the parked tramcar. Hera was in it already, hanging over the front and looking down. “No sign of Skelly,” she said. She looked back, her face fraught. “I don’t think he could have survived that!”

  “Nothing to do,” Kanan said, piling into the tramcar with the others. “We’ll look when we come back—if we come back. Let’s move!”

  Once activated by Hera, the tramcar rattled along across hundreds of meters. It rode on a single rail—probably electrified, Kanan thought—attached to the ceiling by metal framing.

  Things went quietly for a minute, until the stormtroopers below tripped to where the intruders were. Then it was open season on the rafters, with blaster shots deflecting off the girders, the ceiling—even a few off the tramcar itself. Passing control of the vehicle to Zaluna, Hera and Kanan fired back, but the targets were too small and numerous. And they hadn’t even traveled halfway across the factory floor.

  “We’ve got to do something before they bring out the heavy artillery,” Hera said.

  Kanan nudged her. “Check that out!” He pointed down and ahead to enormous cylinders on the factory floor, made of some kind of special clear composite. Inside was liquid, a shocking green in color. “Xenoboric acid—like in Lal’s factory!” It made sense: This was a thorilide refinery, after all. Kanan and Hera looked at each other, shrugged simultaneously, and then turned their weapons on the nearest vat.

  Multiple blaster shots struck the container at the same place. A sick groan later, the protective material gave way, releasing a fountain of acid. A stricken stormtrooper dropped his weapon and howled so loudly they heard it near the ceiling. The vat’s structure failed completely then, unloosing a gusher onto the floor. Now all the stormtroopers were on the move, rushing to alcoves to escape the effluent and throw off their boots and affected armor.

  Kanan and Hera targeted another vat, and then another, as the tramcar advanced. The trick was clearing their way better than any army. He grinned at Hera, hoping to see her smile in return.

  Instead, he saw her grimace as the tramcar ground to a halt. Hera moved to Zaluna’s side and punched futilely at the control buttons. “That’s it for the free ride,” she said. “Someone knows we’re here.”

  “I would think those guys,” Kanan said, pointing down. Laser shots were striking the ceiling again, but with less accuracy than before: The shooters were all huddled on top of control consoles and other equipment, avoiding the acid flow. He looked at the tramcar’s control panel. “I guess I can rewire this thing.”

  “I know I can,” Hera said, scrambling over the side. “You keep shooting! We’re running out of time!”

  Kanan turned to do exactly that—when Zaluna poked him. She pointed above, to where the frame of the tramcar track connected with the ceiling. A row of girders ran the length of the line, offering a small, protected crawl space above. But Kanan realized it would be a long hands-and-knees scramble—and it would take someone small and athletic to get up there.

  “I don’t think I could make it up there,” Zaluna said. “But one of you could go.”

  “We don’t know how to access the global communications systems you talked about,” Hera said.

  “Wait a minute,” Kanan said, getting an idea. “Hera, get back in!”

  As she did so, he put down his blaster and reached for the rappelling gun. Anchoring his legs behind the dashboard, he leaned out and fired at one of the horizontal supports, far ahead. The hook snapped taut, and the motorized winder groaned into action. The current might have been cut from the track, but the tramcar still moved along it—if slowly.

  “We’re too heavy,” Hera said. She looked up to a debarkation area, far ahead. “All three of us will take forever. I’ll take the upstairs route.”

  Zaluna looked at her, face fraught. “Hera, I don’t think you should go alone.”

  “And you shouldn’t, either,” Hera said. “Kanan, make sure she gets there. Get that warning message out!” She climbed onto the side of the car and leapt. Nimbly grabbing the side of one of the supports, she twisted her body around and disappeared into the small horizontal space, safe from the stormtroopers’ shots.

  The cable rewound, Kanan released the hook and prepared to fire again. Zaluna, looking up in vain to catch any sight of the scrambling Hera, shook her head. “We’re going to have to send the message while Vidian’s in the room, aren’t we?”

  “You’ve come this far, Zal. The hard part’s over.” Kanan grinned and fired the grapple. His Jedi teachers had warned him about lying to his elders, but he figured this time it was for a good cause.

  —

  “Forager reports being boarded,” an ensign called from a terminal. “Incursion force small. Three, maybe four.”

  “Stand by.” Captain Sloane walked to the junior officer’s station and looked over her shoulder. Ultimatum was receiving some security feeds from the collection ship, but it was difficult to see much. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of a running Twi’lek—and then she definitely spotted the arrogant space jockey.

  She shook her head. “Is Forager asking for help?”

  “No, Captain. Count Vidian is continuing the countdown, waiting for the final injection site to finish its work.”

  Sloane nodded. Vidian had his own stormtroopers and personal guards over there. It would be unlikely he would need assistance. Still, it was difficult just sitting here, not knowing what to do. It was times like this when she missed being a junior officer herself, having someone around with the answers—

  “Captain!”

  Sloane turned to see Commander Chamas rushing onto the bridge toward her. “What is it?”

  Chamas looked pale. “We have a priority-one message for you.”

  Sloane stopped. “From the Admiralty?”

  “No,” the commander said, breathless. “From the Emperor.”

  The captain’s eyes bulged. “I’ll take it in my ready room.” She was already to the door by the time she finished the sentence.

  COMMANDER CHAMAS APPEARED in hologram, speaking to the Forager command crew. “Your linkup to Detonation Control is live, Count Vidian. We read ten minutes until the last charges are implanted.”

  “I see it.” Vidian was already watching the progress at the last injection site. “The delays that fool freighter caused weren’t fatal.”

  He was still aggravated by the failure of Ultimatum’s fighters to stop the renegade, but the ship crash-landing on Forager hadn’t cost him much. The infiltrators had found a way around his stormtroopers, but he had shut down the tramcar line. They’d damaged the refinery area, true—but he had many other harvester vessels on the way.

  He looked up at the hologram. “Where is Sloane?”

  “The captain is…indisposed.” Chamas seemed agitated.

  “She’ll miss the show.”

  “Do you require assistance against—”

  “No. Forager out.” Vidian cut the transmission, and Chamas disappeared. The cyborg had never had any use for the man, and didn’t want to talk to him any more than necessary. Not now, in his moment of success.

  The sounds of blasterfire came from the southern hallway, one of three portals on the ground floor leading into the command center. Vidian switched to the security cam feed from the hallway and saw nothing unusual at all—just his stormtroopers standing guard. But something was wrong with the image. It was fro
zen, the soldiers halted mid-movement like statues—even as the sentries in the room with Vidian were firing through the southern door. They saw something he couldn’t.

  “Lower the security doors on the command floor level!”

  Heavy barriers slowly descended from the door frames in the three large entryways. Still shooting at whoever was in the hallway, one of the stormtroopers charged the exit, moving to get through it before the door sealed. But a blaster shot caught him in mid-stride, and he fell on his side. The massive door came down on the soldier’s collarbone. It stopped there, leaving a half-meter-high space between the bottom of the door and the floor beneath.

  Vidian heard the blasterfire cease. The opening was too small for the attacker to easily exploit, whoever he was. He checked the cam feed again. It was still on the guards standing around motionless, and the door was still open in the image. “Someone’s been interfering with what I can see.”

  A pinging noise came from his command console. A critical moment had passed: The very last set of baradium charges were being loaded onto the derrick for descent into Cynda’s deep interior. He couldn’t afford any more distractions. There weren’t blast doors at the entrances on the upper level of his chamber, but he could place his remaining sentries up there. On his command, the stormtroopers dashed up the steps to the catwalks. That left one route into the room, by which he might root out his real enemy once and for all.

  He turned to the command console, his back to the main door. This would be a simple matter.

  —

  Kanan stood on guard amid the fallen stormtrooper bodies. They’d beaten Hera here, as he expected, but there was no good way to sneak up on stormtroopers on alert. Now there was at least a way into Vidian’s chamber—for one of them. “Ready?”