Series |
Hand of Thrawn Duology - Book 1 |
|
Pages |
386 |
|
Purchase |
Amazon.com |
|
Setting |
19 years after ANH |
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Published |
September 1998 |
Once the unquestioned master of countless solar systems, the Empire is tottering on the brink of total collapse. Once commanding an invincible armada of Star Destroyers, its fleet has been reduced to a skeleton force. Day by day, neutral systems are rushing to join the New Republic coalition. But with the end of the war in sight, the New Republic has fallen victim to its own success. An unwieldly alliance of races and traditions, the confederation now finds itself ridden by age-old animosities.
Princess Leia struggles against all odds to hold the New Republic together. But she has powerful enemies. An ambitious Moff Disra leads a conspiracy to divide the uneasy coalition with an ingenious plot to blame the Bothans for a heinous crime that could lead to genocide and civil war. At the same time, Luke Skywalker, along with Lando Calrissian and Talon Karrde, pursues a mysterious group of pirate ships whose crew consist of clones. And then comes the most startling news of all: Grand Admiral Thrawn-- believed to be dead for ten years--is reported alive. The most cunning and ruthless warlord in Imperial history has seemingly returned to lead the Empire to triumph.
As Han and Leia try to prevent the unraveling of the New Republic in the face of this fearful and enexplicable threat from the past, Luke sets out to track down the rogue pirate ships. To do so, he will team up with Mara Jade, with whom he will share his growing mastery of the Force and the ever-present threat of the dark side. All the while, lurking is the enigmatic Major Tierce, a disciple of Emperor Palpatine, sharing his long-dead master's lust for power schooled in the devious strategems of Thrawn himself, and armed with his own dark plans for the New Republic and the Empire.
Excerpt
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 comm
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."
"Well, then, we just have to go back to mark zero,"
Ardiff said. "Come up with something else. There have to be
practical uses for this cloaking shield device."
"Of course there are," Pellaeon agreed heavily.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn devised three of them himself. But
there's no one left in the Empire with his military genius."
He sighed. "No, Captain. It's over. It's all over. And we've
lost."
For a long moment the low murmur of background conversation was
the only sound on the bridge. "You can't mean that,
Admiral," Ardiff said at last. "And if I may say so,
sir, this is not the sort of thing the Supreme Commander of
Imperial forces should be talking about."
"Why not?" Pellaeon countered. "It's obvious to
everyone else."
"It most certainly is not, sir," Ardiff said stiffly.
"We still hold eight sectors -- over a thousand inhabited
systems. We have the Fleet, nearly two hundred Star Destroyers
strong. We're still very much a force to be reckoned with."