Part 1 (1/2)

Star Wars Lost Tribe of the Sith.

by John Jackson Miller.

Chapter One.

5,000 years BBY.

”Lohjoy! Give me something!” Scrambling to his feet in the darkness, Commander Korsin craned his neck to find the hologram. ”Thrusters, att.i.tude control-I'll take parking jets parking jets!”

A stars.h.i.+p is a weapon, but it's the crew that makes it deadly. An old s.p.a.cer's line: trite, but weighty enough to lend a little authority. Korsin had used it himself on occasion. But not today. His s.h.i.+p was being deadly all on its own-and his crew was just along for the ride. An old s.p.a.cer's line: trite, but weighty enough to lend a little authority. Korsin had used it himself on occasion. But not today. His s.h.i.+p was being deadly all on its own-and his crew was just along for the ride.

”We've got nothing, Commander!” The serpent-haired engineer flickered before him, off-kilter and out of focus. Korsin knew things belowdecks must be bad if his upright, uptight Ho'Din genius was off-balance. ”Reactors are down! And we've got structural failures in the hull, both aft and-”

Lohjoy shrieked in agony, her tendrils bursting into a mane of fire that sent her reeling out of view. Korsin barely suppressed a startled laugh. In calmer times-half a standard hour ago-he'd joked that Ho'Din were half tree. But that was hardly appropriate when the whole engineering deck was going up. The hull had ruptured. Again.

The hologram expired-and all around the stocky commander, warning lights danced, winked, and went out. Korsin plopped down again, clutching at the armrests. Well, the chair still works. Well, the chair still works. ”Anything? Anybody?” ”Anything? Anybody?”

Silence-and the remote grinding of metal.

”Just give me something to shoot at.” It was Gloyd, Korsin's gunnery officer, teeth s.h.i.+ning in the shadows. The half smirk was a memento from a Jedi lightsaber swipe years earlier that just missed taking the Houk's head off. In response, Gloyd had cultivated the only wit aboard as acidic as the commander's own-but the gunner wasn't finding much funny today. Korsin read it in the brute's tiny eyes: One close call is all. One close call is all.

Korsin didn't bother to look at the other other side of the bridge. Icy glares there could be taken as a given. Even now, when side of the bridge. Icy glares there could be taken as a given. Even now, when Omen Omen was crippled and plummeting out of control. was crippled and plummeting out of control.

”Anybody?”

Even now. Korsin's bushy eyebrows flared into a black V. What was Korsin's bushy eyebrows flared into a black V. What was wrong wrong with them? The adage was right. A s.h.i.+p needed a crew united in purpose-only the purpose of being Sith was the exaltation of self. Every ensign an emperor. Every rival's misstep, an opportunity. with them? The adage was right. A s.h.i.+p needed a crew united in purpose-only the purpose of being Sith was the exaltation of self. Every ensign an emperor. Every rival's misstep, an opportunity. Well, here's an opportunity Well, here's an opportunity, he thought. Solve this, someone, and you can flat-out have the blasted comfy chair. Solve this, someone, and you can flat-out have the blasted comfy chair.

Sith power games. They didn't mean much now-not against the insistent gravity below. Korsin looked up again at the forward viewport. The vast azure orb visible earlier was gone, replaced by light, gas, and grit raining upward. The latter two, he knew, came from the guts of his own s.h.i.+p, losing the fight against the alien atmosphere. Whatever it was, the planet had Omen Omen now. A jolt, and more screams. This wouldn't last long. now. A jolt, and more screams. This wouldn't last long.

”Remember,” he yelled, looking at them for the first time since it had started. ”You wanted wanted to be here!” to be here!”

And they had-most of them, anyway. Omen Omen had been the s.h.i.+p to get when the Sith mining flotilla gathered at Primus Goluud. The Ma.s.sa.s.si shock troops in the hold didn't care where they went-who knew what the Ma.s.sa.s.si even had been the s.h.i.+p to get when the Sith mining flotilla gathered at Primus Goluud. The Ma.s.sa.s.si shock troops in the hold didn't care where they went-who knew what the Ma.s.sa.s.si even thought thought half the time, presuming they did at all. But many sentients who had a choice in the matter picked half the time, presuming they did at all. But many sentients who had a choice in the matter picked Omen Omen.

Saes, captain of the Harbinger Harbinger, was a fallen Jedi: an unknown quant.i.ty. You couldn't trust someone the Jedi couldn't trust, and they would trust just about anyone. Yaru Korsin, the crewmembers knew. A Sith captain owning a smile was rare enough, and always suspect. But Korsin had been at it for twenty standard years, long enough for those who'd served under him to spread the word. A Korsin s.h.i.+p was an easy ride.

Just not today. Fully loaded with Lignan crystals, Harbinger Harbinger and and Omen Omen had readied to leave Phaegon III for the front when a Jedi starfighter tested the mining fleet's defenses. While the crescent-shaped Blades tangled with the intruder, Korsin's crew made preparations to jump to hypers.p.a.ce. Protecting the cargo was paramount-and if they managed to make their delivery before the Jedi turncoat made had readied to leave Phaegon III for the front when a Jedi starfighter tested the mining fleet's defenses. While the crescent-shaped Blades tangled with the intruder, Korsin's crew made preparations to jump to hypers.p.a.ce. Protecting the cargo was paramount-and if they managed to make their delivery before the Jedi turncoat made his his, well, that was just a bonus. The Blade pilots could hitch back on Harbinger Harbinger.

Only something had gone wrong. A shock to the Harbinger Harbinger, and then another. Sensor readings of the sister s.h.i.+p went nonsensical-and Harbinger Harbinger yawed dangerously toward yawed dangerously toward Omen Omen. Before the collision warning could sound, Korsin's navigator reflexively engaged the hyperdrive. It had been in the nick of time ...

... or maybe not. Not the way Omen Omen was giving up its vitals now. was giving up its vitals now. They did hit us They did hit us, Korsin knew. The telemetry might have told them, had they had any. The s.h.i.+p had been knocked off-course by an astronomical hair-but it was enough.

Commander Korsin had never felt an encounter with a gravity well in hypers.p.a.ce, and neither had any of his crew. Stories required survivors. But it felt as though s.p.a.ce itself had yawned open near the pa.s.sing Omen Omen, kneading at the s.h.i.+p's alloyed superstructure like putty. It lasted but a fraction of a second, if time even existed there. The escape was worse than the contact. A sickly snap, and s.h.i.+elding failed. Bulkheads gave. And then, the armory.

The armory had exploded. That was easy enough to know from the gaping hole in the underside of the s.h.i.+p. That it had exploded in hypers.p.a.ce was a matter of inference: they were still alive. Grenades, bombs, and all the other pleasantries his secondary cargo, the Ma.s.sa.s.si, were taking to Kirrek would have gone up in a theatrical flourish, taking the s.h.i.+p with it. But instead the armory had simply vanished-along with an impressive chunk of Omen Omen's quarterdeck. The physics in hypers.p.a.ce were unpredictable by definition; instead of exploding outward, the breached deck simply left the s.h.i.+p in a seismic tug. Korsin could imagine the erupting munitions dropping out of hypers.p.a.ce light-years behind the Omen Omen, wherever it was. That would mean a bad day for someone!

Oh, wait. It's already my turn.

Omen had shuddered into reals.p.a.ce, decelerating madly-and taking dead aim at a blister of blue hanging before a vibrant star. Was that the source of the ma.s.s shadow that had interrupted their trip? Who cared? It was about to end it. Captured, had shuddered into reals.p.a.ce, decelerating madly-and taking dead aim at a blister of blue hanging before a vibrant star. Was that the source of the ma.s.s shadow that had interrupted their trip? Who cared? It was about to end it. Captured, Omen Omen had skipped and bounced across the crystal ocean of air until the descent began in earnest. It had claimed his engineer-probably all his engineers-but the command deck still held. Tapani craftsmans.h.i.+p, Korsin marveled. They were falling, but for the moment they were still alive. had skipped and bounced across the crystal ocean of air until the descent began in earnest. It had claimed his engineer-probably all his engineers-but the command deck still held. Tapani craftsmans.h.i.+p, Korsin marveled. They were falling, but for the moment they were still alive.

”Why isn't he dead?” Half mesmerized by the streamers of fire erupting outside-at least the Omen Omen was belly-down for this bounce-Korsin only vaguely grew aware of harsh words to his left. ”You shouldn't have made the jump!” stabbed the young voice. ”Why isn't he was belly-down for this bounce-Korsin only vaguely grew aware of harsh words to his left. ”You shouldn't have made the jump!” stabbed the young voice. ”Why isn't he dead dead?”

Commander Korsin straightened and gave his half brother an incredulous stare. ”I know know you're not talking to me.” you're not talking to me.”

Devore Korsin jabbed a gloved finger past the commander to a frail man, still jabbing futilely at his control panel and looking very alone. ”That navigator of yours! Why isn't he dead dead?”

”Maybe he's on the wrong deck?”

”Yaru!”

It wasn't a joke, of course. Boyle Marcom had been guiding Sith s.h.i.+ps through the weirdness of hypers.p.a.ce since the middle of Marka Ragnos's rule. Boyle hadn't been at his best in years, but Yaru Korsin knew a former helmsman of his father's was always worth having. Not today, though. Whatever had happened back there, it would rightfully be laid at the navigator's feet.

But a.s.signing blame in the middle of a firestorm? That was Devore all over.

”We'll do this later,” the elder Korsin said from the command chair. ”If there is a later.” Anger flashed in Devore's eyes. Yaru couldn't remember ever seeing anything else there. The pale and lanky Devore little resembled his own ruddy, squat frame-also the shape of their father. But those eyes, and that look? Those could have been a direct transplant.

Their father. He'd never had a day like this. The old s.p.a.cer had never lost a s.h.i.+p for the Sith Lords. Learning at his side, the teenage Yaru had staked out his own future-until the day he became less enamored of his father's footsteps. The day when Devore arrived. Half Yaru's age, son to a mother from another port on another planet-and embraced by the old admiral without a second thought. Rather than find out how many more children his father had out there to vie for stations on the bridge, Cadet Korsin appealed to the Sith Lords for another a.s.signment. That had not been a mistake. In five years, he made captain. In ten, he won command of the newly christened He'd never had a day like this. The old s.p.a.cer had never lost a s.h.i.+p for the Sith Lords. Learning at his side, the teenage Yaru had staked out his own future-until the day he became less enamored of his father's footsteps. The day when Devore arrived. Half Yaru's age, son to a mother from another port on another planet-and embraced by the old admiral without a second thought. Rather than find out how many more children his father had out there to vie for stations on the bridge, Cadet Korsin appealed to the Sith Lords for another a.s.signment. That had not been a mistake. In five years, he made captain. In ten, he won command of the newly christened Omen Omen over a captain many years his senior. over a captain many years his senior.

His father hadn't liked that. He'd never lost a s.h.i.+p for the Sith Lords. But he'd lost one to his son.

But now losing the Omen Omen was looking like a family tradition. The whole bridge crew-even the outsider Devore-exhaled audibly when rivulets of moisture replaced the flames outside the viewport. was looking like a family tradition. The whole bridge crew-even the outsider Devore-exhaled audibly when rivulets of moisture replaced the flames outside the viewport. Omen Omen had found the stratosphere without incinerating, and now the s.h.i.+p was in a lazy saucer spin through clouds heavy with rain. Korsin's eyes narrowed. Water? had found the stratosphere without incinerating, and now the s.h.i.+p was in a lazy saucer spin through clouds heavy with rain. Korsin's eyes narrowed. Water?

Is there even a ground?

The terrifying thought rippled through the minds of the seven on the bridge at once, as they watched the transparisteel viewport bulge and warp: Gas giant! Gas giant! It took a long time to crash from orbit, presuming you survived reentry. How much longer, if there was no surface? Korsin fumbled aimlessly for the controls set in his armrest. It took a long time to crash from orbit, presuming you survived reentry. How much longer, if there was no surface? Korsin fumbled aimlessly for the controls set in his armrest. Omen Omen would crack and rupture, smothered under a mountain of vapors. They shared the thought-and almost in response, the straining portal darkened. ”All of you,” he said, ”heads down! And grab something ... would crack and rupture, smothered under a mountain of vapors. They shared the thought-and almost in response, the straining portal darkened. ”All of you,” he said, ”heads down! And grab something ... now now!”

This time, they did as told. He knew: Tie it to self-preservation, and a Sith would do anything. Even this bunch. Korsin clawed at the chair, his eyes fixed on the forward viewport and the shadow swiftly falling across it.

A wet ma.s.s slapped against the hull. Its spindly form tumbled across the transparisteel, lingering an instant before disappearing. The commander blinked twice. It was there and gone, but it wasn't part of his s.h.i.+p.

It had wings.

Startled, Korsin sprang from his seat and lurched toward the viewport. This time, the mistake was certifiably his. Already stressed before the midair collision, the transparisteel gave way, shards weeping from the s.h.i.+p like s.h.i.+ning tears. A hush of departing air slammed Korsin to the deck plating. Old Marcom tumbled to one side, having lost hold of his station. Sirens sounded-how were they still working?-but the tumult soon subsided. Without thinking, Korsin breathed.

”Air! It's air!”

Devore regained his footing first, bracing against the wind. Their first luck. The viewport had mostly blown out, not in-and while the cabin had lost pressure, a drippy, salty wind was slowly replacing it. Unaided, Commander Korsin fought his way back to his station. Thanks for the hand, brother. Thanks for the hand, brother.

”Just a reprieve,” Gloyd said. They still couldn't see what was below. Korsin had done a suicide plunge before, but that had been in a bomber-when he'd known where the ground was. That there was was a ground. a ground.

Once-restrained doubts flooded Korsin's mind-and Devore responded. ”Enough,” the crystal hunter barked, struggling against the swaying deck to reach his sibling's command chair. ”Let me at those controls!”