Anakin and Jacen and Jaina were racing around, climbing around the hummocks of dirt that the repulsor had forced up when it had shoved its way out of the ground. They were being chased by a laughing Jenica Sonsen and a Belindi Kalenda who was too busy making ferocious faces to laugh. They were playing in the shadow of the repulsor. Once hidden underground, the top of the cylinder now rose a hundred meters up out of the ground.
Han and Leia laughed out loud as their children turned the tables and started chasing Sonsen and Kalenda. Mara watched the fun, smiling quietly, and even Chewbacca was enjoying the show. Not far off, Ebrihim and the Duchess Marcha were lounging on the ground, intent in conversation. Judging by their eager, focused expressions, they were either talking over some complicated matter of state or, more likely, dissecting some particularly juicy bit of family gossip.
It was probably the latter but Luke hoped it was the former. The Duchess would need the practice. Leia had told Luke of her plan to appoint Marcha the new Governor-General of the Sector.
Dracmus sat by the two Drall, apparently so enthralled with their conversation that she had fallen sound asleep.
Luke heard a high-pitched voice raised in protest behind him, answered by a rapid, high-pitched twittering that sounded far from complimentary. He turned around to see Artoo and Q9 at it again, bickering over some fine point of droid design or other. Threepio was standing between them, trying to calm them both down. Luke had a feeling Threepio would meet with his usual degree of success.
“You know,” he said, “it’s the beings on this plain, the humans and the Selonian and the Drall and the Wookiee and the droids right here. They’re the ones who won this war. Not the ships or the guns or the hardware.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Admiral Ackbar. “But no one wins a war. There are just different degrees of losing. The damage done on these worlds is shocking. Shocking. It will take them many years to rebuild it all, to sort out all the loose ends.”
Luke nodded. But at least some of the loose ends were being tidied up already. Admiral Ackbar brought news of the arrest of one Pharnis Gleasry, a self-styled agent of the Human League, part of the spy ring that had sliced its way into far too many government files back on Coruscant. It had taken very little to get Gleasry singing like a bird. The whole Human League spy ring back in Coruscant had been scooped up and thrown in jail where they belonged.
There was, of course, the question of what to do about the next star on the starbuster list. The short-term solution was to de-imprint the repulsor controls so they could be used by someone over seven, be ready with the right targeting numbers, and simply fire this repulsor—or the one on Selonia—as needed. Once it was too little, and too late, the Sacorrian Selonians had indeed caved in altogether. The long-term solution was to get the shutdown codes from the Triad. As the Triad was in an understandably cooperative mood—what with the New Republic occupation troops already on the way—that didn’t seem likely to be too much of a problem. Someone had started the completely false rumor that the New Republic Navy was going to re-aim Centerpoint straight at Sacorria’s sun, and leave it that way through all the starbuster pulses until they got the shutdown code. The rumor might well encourage cooperation.
And then there was the whole question of studying Centerpoint, and the repulsors on the other three worlds. Who had built the Corellian system, and when, and why, and what had happened to them? Well, some ends were looser than others. Those mysteries might easily take centuries to be solved—if they ever were.
There was one other loose end that Luke took a personal interest in. But he had a feeling that it would get sorted out without undue delay.
“You know,” said Admiral Ackbar, “you said it was the people here who won this war. I can’t help noticing two rather prominent names that seem to be missing. They were on the transport with us. Where in the world have they gone to?”
Luke smiled. He knew exactly where they were, but he had a feeling they were not much in the mood for company. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Admiral. They’re both the sort who are pretty good at taking care of themselves.”
* * *
“Lando?” asked Tendra as they wandered about on the churned-up land that the rise of the repulsor had produced. It was not the loveliest of landscapes, but it did have the advantage of providing a good deal of privacy behind every hummock and furrow of ground.
“Yes?” Lando asked. “What is it?” Tendra had found herself on top of a higher than usual clump of loose rock. Lando offered his hand, and she took it, used it to steady herself as she slipped and slithered down into the next little furrow of ground. He did not let go of her hand once she was on level ground, and she did not let go of his.
“Remember how I told you that a Sacorrian woman is not allowed to marry without her father’s consent, no matter how old she is?”
Lando felt a little flutter in his chest, a flutter of fear, and excitement, and interest, all mixed up together. “Yes,” he said, managing to keep his voice steady. “What about it?”
“Well,” she said, “there’s just one thing. We don’t have to do anything about it immediately, but there’s something more I want to tell you about that law. An interesting legal technicality. It’s been well established by many precedents that a Sacorrian woman is not bound by that law—if she is outside the Sacorrian system. If she were on, oh, Drall for example.”
“Is that so?” Lando asked, quickly regaining his old equilibrium. The idea needed time, and thought—but he definitely liked it at first glance. He smiled, and looked at her lovely face. “Is that a certifiable fact?” he asked.
“It is,” she said, smiling right back at him.
“Then why don’t we get back to the Lady Luck and discuss the whole matter over dinner?” he asked. “I’ve always found legal technicalities to be downright fascinating.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roger MacBride Allen was born in 1957 in Bridgeport, Connecticut. He graduated from Boston University in 1979. The author of a dozen science fiction novels, he lived in Washington, D.C., for many years. In July 1994, he married Eleanore Fox, a member of the U.S. Foreign Service.
Books by Roger MacBride Allen
THE TORCH OF HONOR
ROGUE POWERS
ORPHAN OF CREATION
THE WAR MACHINE (WITH DAVID DRAKE)
SUPERNOVA (WITH ERIC KOTANI)
THE MODULAR MAN
FARSIDE CANNON
THE RING OF CHARON
THE SHATTERED SPHERE
CALIBAN
INFERNO
ALLIES & ALIENS
The Star Wars Corellian Trilogy
AMBUSH AT CORELLIA
ASSAULT AT SELONIA
SHOWDOWN AT CENTERPOINT
DAVID BRIN’S OUT OF TIME: THE GAME OF WORLDS
UTOPIA
THE DEPTHS OF TIME
THE OCEAN OF YEARS
THE SHORES OF TOMORROW
BSI: Starside
THE CAUSE OF DEATH
DEATH SENTENCE
FINAL INQUIRIES
STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe
You saw the movies. You watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …
In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?
Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?
Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?
Yoda explained that the dr
eaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?
All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.
CHAPTER
1
Slowly, silently, its lights a faint glitter of life amid the darkness, the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera glided through space.
Empty space. Oppressively dark space. Long, lonely light-years from the nearest of the tiny islands that were the star systems of the galaxy, drifting at the edge of the boundary between the Outer Rim worlds and the vast regions of territory known as Unknown Space. At the very edge of the Empire.
Or rather, at the edge of the pitiful scraps of what had once been the Empire.
Standing beside one of the Chimaera’s side viewports, Admiral Pellaeon, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, gazed out at the emptiness, the weight of all too many years pressing heavily across his shoulders. Too many years, too many battles, too many defeats.
Perhaps the Chimaera’s bridge crew was feeling the weight, too. Certainly the sounds of activity going on behind him seemed more muted than usual today. But perhaps it was merely the effect of being out here, so far from anywhere at all.
No, of course that had to be it. The men of the Chimaera were the finest the Fleet had to offer. They were Imperial officers and crewers, and Imperials didn’t give up. Ever.
There was a tentative footstep at his side. “Admiral?” Captain Ardiff said quietly. “We’re ready to begin, sir.”
For a moment Pellaeon’s mind flashed back ten years, to another very similar moment. Then, it had been Pellaeon and Grand Admiral Thrawn who’d been here on the Chimaera’s bridge, watching the final test of the prototype cloaking shield Thrawn had recovered from among the Emperor’s trophies inside Mount Tantiss. Pellaeon could remember the excitement he’d felt then, despite his misgivings about the insane Jedi clone Joruus C’baoth, as he watched Thrawn single-handedly breathing new life and vigor back into the Empire.
But Mount Tantiss was gone, destroyed by agents of the New Republic and C’baoth’s own madness and treason. And Grand Admiral Thrawn was dead.
And the Empire was dying.
With an effort, Pellaeon shook the shadows of the past away. He was an Imperial officer, and Imperials didn’t give up. “Thank you,” he said to Ardiff. “At your convenience, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.” Ardiff half turned, gestured to the fighter coordinator in the portside crew pit. “Signal the attack,” he ordered.
The officer acknowledged and gestured in turn to one of his crewers. Pellaeon turned his attention back to the viewport—
Just in time to see eight SoroSuub Preybird-class starfighters in tight formation roar in from behind them. Cutting tight to the Chimaera’s command superstructure, they passed over the forward ridgeline, raking it with low-power blaster fire, then split smoothly out in eight different directions. Corkscrewing out and forward, they kept up their fire until they were out of the Star Destroyer’s primary attack zone. Then, curving smoothly around, they swung around and regrouped.
“Admiral?” Ardiff prompted.
“Let’s give them one more pass, Captain,” Pellaeon said. “The more flight data the Predictor has to work with, the better it should function.” He caught the eye of one of the crew pit officers. “Damage report?”
“Minor damage to the forward ridgeline, sir,” the officer reported. “One sensor array knocked out, leaving five turbolasers without ranging data.”
“Acknowledged.” All theoretical damage, of course, calculated under the assumption that the Preybirds were using full-power capital-ship turbolasers. Pellaeon had always loved war games when he was younger; had relished the chance to play with technique and tactics without the risks of true combat. Somewhere in all those years, the excitement had faded away. “Helm, bring us around twenty degrees to starboard,” he ordered. “Starboard turbolasers will lay down dispersion fire as they make their next pass.”
The Preybirds were back in tight formation now, once again approaching their target. The Chimaera’s turbolasers opened up as they came, their low-level fire splattering across the Preybirds’ overlapping deflector shields. For a few seconds the opponents traded fire; then, the Preybirds broke formation again, splitting apart like the fingertips of an opening hand. Twisting over and under the Chimaera, they shot past, scrambling for the safety of distance.
“Damage report?” Pellaeon called.
“Three starboard turbolaser batteries knocked out,” the officer called back. “We’ve also lost one tractor beam projector and two ion cannon.”
“Enemy damage?”
“One attacker appears to have lost its deflector shields, and two others are reading diminished turbolaser capability.
“Hardly counts as damage,” Ardiff murmured. “Of course, the situation here isn’t exactly fair. Ships that small and maneuverable would never have the kind of shields or firepower we’re crediting them with.”
“If you want fairness, organize a shockball tournament,” Pellaeon said acidly. “Don’t look for it in warfare.”
Ardiff’s cheek twitched. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Pellaeon sighed. The finest the Imperial Fleet had to offer … “Stand by the cloaking shield, Captain,” he ordered, watching the faint drive glows as the Preybirds regrouped again in the distance. “Activate on my command.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
There was a sudden flare of drive glow, partially eclipsed by the Preybirds themselves, as the enemy kicked into high acceleration. “Here they come,” Pellaeon said, watching as the single glowing dot rapidly resolved itself into eight close-formation ships. “Lock Predictor into fire control. Stand by cloaking shield.”
“Predictor and cloaking shield standing by,” Ardiff confirmed.
Pellaeon nodded, his full attention on the Preybirds. Nearly to the point where they’d broken formation last time … “Cloaking shield: now.”
And with a brief flicker of bridge lighting, the stars and incoming Preybirds vanished as the cloaking shield plunged the Chimaera into total darkness.
“Cloaking shield activated and stabilized,” Ardiff said.
“Helm, come around portside: thirty degrees by eight,” Pellaeon ordered. “Ahead acceleration point one. Turbolasers: fire.”
“Acknowledged,” an officer called. “Turbolasers are firing.”
Pellaeon took a step closer to the viewport and looked down along the Chimaera’s sides. The faint blasts of low-level fire were visible, lancing a short distance out from the Star Destroyer and then disappearing as they penetrated the spherical edge of the Star Destroyer’s cloaking shield. Blinded by the very device that was now shielding it from its opponents’ view, the Chimaera was firing wildly in an attempt to destroy those opponents.
Or perhaps not quite so wildly. If the Predictor worked as well as its designers hoped, perhaps the Empire still had a chance in this war.
It was a long time before the Chimaera’s turbolasers finally ceased fire. Far too long. “Is that it?” he asked Ardiff.
“Yes, sir,” the other said. “Five hundred shots, as preprogrammed.”
Pellaeon nodded. “Deactivate cloaking shield. Let’s see how well we did.”
There was another flicker from the lights, and the stars were back. Mentally crossing his fingers, Pellaeon peered out the viewport.
For a moment there was nothing. Then, from starboard, he spotted the approaching drive glows. Seven of them.
“Signal from Adversary Commander, Admiral,” the co
mm officer called. “Target Three reports receiving a disabling hit and has gone dormant; all other targets have sustained only minimal damage. Requesting orders.”
Pellaeon grimaced. One. Out of eight targets, the Chimaera had been able to hit exactly one. And that great feat had required five hundred shots to achieve.
So that was that. The wonderful Computerized Combat Predictor, touted by its creators and sponsors as the best approach to practical use of the cloaking shield, had been put to the test. And to be fair, it had probably done better than simple random shooting.
But it hadn’t done enough better. Not nearly enough.
“Inform Adversary Commander that the exercise is over,” Pellaeon told the comm officer. “Target Three may reactivate its systems; all ships are to return to the Chimaera. I want their reports filed within the next two hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sure they’ll be able to improve it, Admiral,” Ardiff said at Pellaeon’s side. “This was just the first field test. Surely they’ll be able to improve it.”
“How?” Pellaeon retorted. “Train the Predictor to be omniscient? Or simply teach it how to read our enemies’ minds?”
“You only gave it two passes to study the targets’ flight patterns,” Ardiff reminded him. “With more data, it could have better anticipated their movements.”
Pellaeon snorted gently. “It’s a nice theory, Captain, and under certain controlled situations it might even work. But combat is hardly a controlled situation. There are far too many variables and unknowns, especially considering the hundreds of alien species and combat styles we have to contend with. I knew from the beginning that this Predictor idea was probably futile. But it had to be tried.”
Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy III: Showdown at Centerpoint Page 30
