Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis - Before the Storm Read online

  The Black Fleet Crisis [049-5.0]

  Book One

  Michael P. Kube-McDowell

  Synopsis

  In the blockbuster bestselling tradition of Heir to the Empire comes

  this thrilling addition to the Star Wars saga, as peace gives way to a

  dire new threat...

  The blackfleet crisis, book one

  BEFORE THE STORM

  It is a time of tranquillity for the New Republic. The remnants of the

  Empire now lie in complete disarray, the reemergence of the Jedi

  Knights has brought power and prestige to the fledgling government on

  Coruscant. Yesterday's Rebels have become today's administrators and

  diplomats, and the factions that fought against Imperial tyranny seem

  united in savoring the fruits of peace.

  But the peace is short-lived. A restless Luke must journey to his

  mother's homeworld in a desperate and dangerous quest to find her

  people.

  An adventurous Lando must seize a mysterious spacecraft that has

  weapons of enormous power and an unknown mission. And Leia a living

  symbol of the New Republic's triumph, must face down the ruthless

  leader of the Duskhan League, an arrogant Yevetha who seems bent on a

  genocidal war that could shatter the fragile unity of the New Republic

  and threaten its very survival.

  BANTAM BOOKS

  NEW YORK TORONTO LONDON SYDNEY AUCKLAND

  In memory of my grandfather, Dayton Percival Deich, 1896-1975, who

  believed in a universe of wonders beyond this Earth.

  And for my children,

  Matthew Tyndall, born 1983,

  and Amanda Kathryn, born 1995.

  May their lives be joyful journeys through their own universe of

  wonders.

  Author's note

  Three people stand out above all others in deserving my gratitude and

  appreciation, though my poor words are hardly the equal of their gifts

  to me. Those three are Gwendolyn Zak, my best friend, SO, and POSSLQ,

  for her unwavering love, patience, support, and faith; Tom Dupree, my

  editor, for believing in me and giving me a chance; and Russ Galen, my

  agent, for going out on a limb and trusting me not to saw it off behind

  him. This book would not exist without them and their contributions.

  I also want to thank Gwen, Matt, and Arlyn, for being such helpful

  ("Didn't you blow up this ship in the last chapter?") and encouraging

  ("All right--where's the rest of it? What? Go write more!") first

  readers. Sue Rostoni at Lucasfilm saw to it that I had all the

  references and resources I asked for, and then applied her extensive

  knowledge of the Star Wars universe to keep me from violating the

  historical record as often as I tried to. Fellow SW novelists Vonda

  Mcintyre, Roger MacBride Allen, and Kevin J. Anderson generously shared

  their insights and their maps of the minefields. Also pitching in with

  SW trivia and general encouragement were Rich Mason, Timothy O'Brien,

  Matt Hart, Skip Shayotovich, and the rest of the Star Wars fan

  communities on GEnie and CompuServe.

  The writing of Before the Storm bracketed a long-awaited move and the

  even longer-awaited birth of a daughter. Generous gifts of time and

  perspiration from Rod and Marion Zak, Tracy Holland, Greg Cronau, Arlyn

  Wilson, Mary Ellen Wessels, Faye Wessels, Mike Thelan, Roberta Kennedy,

  and other friends and family members allowed us to survive those

  transitions and me to keep working.

  Finally, I'd like to thank George Lucas, for his blessing to tell this

  story in his wonderful universe--which I first visited nearly twenty

  years ago in a theater in Mishawaka, Indiana. If someone had told me

  then that someday I'd have a chance to add a few chapters to the life

  stories of Luke, Han, Leia, and their friends and enemies, I'd have

  just laughed.

  As it is, I'm still smiling.

  --Michael P. Kube-McDowell September 12, 1995

  Okemos, Michigan

  Prologue

  Eight months after the Battle of Endor The 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 work-force.

  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 sating 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.

  "Open all hangars," said Nil Spaar.

  Their destination in sight, the transports slowed and began to align

  themselves on approach vectors.

  "Activate all autotargeting batteries," said Nil Spaar.

  There was a collective gasp from the prisoners on the bridge, who were

  watching the same display screens as the Yevetha commandos who now

  occupied their stations.

  "You're all cowards," Commander Paret called out to the invaders, his

  voice bitter with contempt and anger. "A real soldier would never do

  this. There's no honor in killing the defenseless."

  Nil Spaar ignored him. "Lock on targets."

  "You vicious, pathetic fool. You've already won.

  How can you justify this?"

  "Fire," said Nil Spaar.

  The deck plates barely vibrated as the gun batteries erupted and

  approaching transports disappeared in balls of fire and fragments. It

  did not take long. None escaped. Moments later the communications

  station began to scream with shocked and panicked inquiries from all

  over the ship. There had been many witnesses to the carnage.

  Nil Spaar turned away from the tracking display and crossed the bridge

  to where Commander Paret lay on the decking. Grabbing the Imperial

  officer by the hair, he dragged Paret out of line and rolled him over

  roughly with his booted foot. Seizing the front of Paret's tunic with

  one hand, Nil Spaar lifted him half off the deck. For a long moment he

  loomed over the officer, looking like a tall, vengeful demon with his

  cold, black, widely set eyes, the white slash down his nasal ridge, and

  the deep scarlet-splashed ridges that furrowed his cheeks and chin.

  Then, hissing, the Yevetha made a fist with his free hand and cocked it

  back. A sharp, curving dew-claw emerged from the swelling at his

  wrist.

  "You are vermin," Nil Spaar said coldly, and slashed the claw across

  the Imperial captain's throat.

  Nil Spaar held on through the commander's death throes, then dropped

  the body carelessly to the floor.

  Turning, he looked down into the pit at the commando who had taken over

  the communications station.

  "Tell the crew that they are the prisoners of the Yeveth
a Protectorate

  and His Glory the viceroy," said Nil Spaar, wiping his claw on the

  trouser leg of his victim.

  "Tell them that beginning today, their lives depend on their being

  useful to us. And then I wish to speak to the viceroy, and tell him of

  our triumph."

  chapter 1.

  Twelve years later [ In the pristine silence of space, the Fifth Battle

  Group of the New Republic Defense Fleet blossomed over the planet

  Bessimir like a beautiful, deadly flower.

  The formation of capital ships sprang into view with startling

  suddenness, trailing fire-white wakes of twisted space and bristling

  with weapons. Angular Star Destroyers guarded fat-hulled fleet

  carriers, while the assault cruisers, their mirror finishes gleaming,

  took the point.

  A halo of smaller ships appeared at the same time.

  The fighters among them quickly deployed in a spherical defensive

  screen. As the Star Destroyers firmed up their formation, their flight

  decks quickly spawned scores of additional fighters.

  At the same time, the carriers and cruisers began to disgorge the

  bombers, transports, and gunboats they had ferried to the battle.

  There was no reason to risk the loss of One fully loaded--a lesson the

  Republic had learned in pain. At Orinda, the commander of the fleet