Lords of the Sith: Star Wars by Paul S. Kemp

Author:Paul S. Kemp
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group - Del Rey Spectra
Published: 2015-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE COMMUNICATIONS CENTER BUZZED WITH THE SOUND OF ORders, but behind them was the low background murmur of collective disbelief. The air smelled of sweat, of distress.

“What is happening up there?” a lieutenant asked.

“Status on the Moff’s shuttle?” asked another.

“Tri-fighters, now? How many?”

Belkor moved from station to station through the tumult, taking in facts, issuing orders, and doing his best to look as if he were trying to rescue the men he actually wanted dead, and in control of events that had long ago outrun him. He had no confirmation that the Moff’s ship had been destroyed, only that it had disappeared from scans. The same was true of the Emperor’s shuttle. Both were hopeful signs, but he dared not actually hope.

He realized he was breathing fast. His uniform felt too tight, the walls seemed too close, the ceiling too low.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“What? Of course, yes. Yes. Carry on, Lieutenant.”

But he wasn’t all right. He wouldn’t be all right until he knew the Emperor, Vader, and Mors were dead.

“Escape pods are landing all over the western hemisphere of the planet and the near moon, sir,” said another lieutenant. “We’re getting thousands of distress signals. Search and rescue is prioritizing rescue grids but, sir, this is overwhelming. They don’t have enough personnel. They’ll be at this for days.”

“Disposition of the Emperor’s shuttle or the Moff’s ship?”

“Nothing yet, sir.”

Belkor nodded, at once relieved and terrified. If he had somehow succeeded, his next challenge would be to concoct a believable enough cover story to exculpate himself.

But first he needed to ensure that the Emperor and Vader and the Moff were dead.

Isval heard someone screaming.

“Isval! Eshgo! One of you get up! I need help!”

It was Faylin’s voice. Isval opened her eyes, groggy. She blinked, breathed deep through a throat that felt raw, and …

Ryloth filled the screen, huge and fulgent, and then it was gone, replaced by black, and then it was back, and then gone. They were spinning, bow over stern. Isval squeezed her eyes shut to quell a bout of nausea. She was muzzy-headed, but realized they were going to hit the atmosphere while the ship was spinning. They’d break up and burn all the way down.

“Faylin?” she said, her throat scratchy and pained. “Eshgo?”

Eshgo was slumped in his chair beside her, his chin on his chest. Faylin was blanketed awkwardly over him, trying to operate the shuttle’s controls.

“He’s dead, Isval!” she said. “And Crost and Drim are unconscious! I can’t straighten the ship! I’ve flown sims, but …”

“Dead?” Isval repeated, her thoughts coming slow, but grief bubbling up through the sludge.

“Isval! You’re a better pilot than me! You need to fly this ship or we’ll be joining him! Grieve later! Isval!”

Faylin’s tone helped her focus. She sat forward in the chair and tried to clear her head.

“First the spinning,” Isval said, taking the stick in her hand. “Give me control.”

“I don’t know how to give you control!” Faylin said.

“Yes, you do,” Isval said, finding the calm she always relied on in a crisis.

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