John Jackson Miller - Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith #1: Precipice

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, attitude controlIll take parking jets!

A starship is a weapon, but its the crew that makes it deadly. An old spacers line: trite, but weighty enough to lend a little authority. Korsin had used it himself on occasion. But not today. His ship was being deadly all on its ownand his crew was just along for the ride.

Weve 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 HoDin genius was off-balance. Reactors are down! And weve 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 timeshalf a standard hour agohed joked that HoDin were half tree. But that was hardly appropriate when the whole engineering deck was going up. The hull had ruptured. Again.

The hologram expiredand 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. Anything? Anybody?

Silenceand the remote grinding of metal.

Just give me something to shoot at. It was Gloyd, Korsins gunnery officer, teeth shining in the shadows. The half smirk was a memento from a Jedi lightsaber swipe years earlier that just missed taking the Houks head off. In response, Gloyd had cultivated the only wit aboard as acidic as the commanders ownbut the gunner wasnt finding much funny today. Korsin read it in the brutes tiny eyes: One close call is all.

Korsin didnt bother to look at the other side of the bridge. Icy glares there could be taken as a given. Even now, when Omen was crippled and plummeting out of control.

Anybody?

Even now. Korsins bushy eyebrows flared into a black V. What was wrong with them? The adage was right. A ship needed a crew united in purposeonly the purpose of being Sith was the exaltation of self. Every ensign an emperor. Every rivals misstep, an opportunity. Well, heres an opportunity, he thought. Solve this, someone, and you can flat-out have the blasted comfy chair.

Sith power games. They didnt mean much nownot 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 ship, losing the fight against the alien atmosphere. Whatever it was, the planet had Omen now. A jolt, and more screams. This wouldnt last long.

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

* * *

And they hadmost of them, anyway. Omen had been the ship to get when the Sith mining flotilla gathered at Primus Goluud. The Massassi shock troops in the hold didnt care where they wentwho knew what the Massassi even thought half the time, presuming they did at all. But many sentients who had a choice in the matter picked Omen.

Saes, captain of the Harbinger, was a fallen Jedi: an unknown quantity. You couldnt trust someone the Jedi couldnt 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 whod served under him to spread the word. A Korsin ship was an easy ride.

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

Only something had gone wrong. A shock to the Harbinger, and then another. Sensor readings of the sister ship went nonsensicaland Harbinger yawed dangerously toward Omen. Before the collision warning could sound, Korsins navigator reflexively engaged the hyperdrive. It had been in the nick of time

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

Commander Korsin had never felt an encounter with a gravity well in hyperspace, and neither had any of his crew. Stories required survivors. But it felt as though space itself had yawned open near the passing Omen, kneading at the ships 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 shielding 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 ship. That it had exploded in hyperspace was a matter of inference: they were still alive. Grenades, bombs, and all the other pleasantries his secondary cargo, the Massassi, were taking to Kirrek would have gone up in a theatrical flourish, taking the ship with it. But instead the armory had simply vanishedalong with an impressive chunk of Omens quarterdeck. The physics in hyperspace were unpredictable by definition; instead of exploding outward, the breached deck simply left the ship in a seismic tug. Korsin could imagine the erupting munitions dropping out of hyperspace light-years behind the Omen, wherever it was. That would mean a bad day for someone!

Oh, wait. Its already my turn.

Omen had shuddered into realspace, decelerating madlyand taking dead aim at a blister of blue hanging before a vibrant star. Was that the source of the mass shadow that had interrupted their trip? Who cared? It was about to end it. Captured, Omen had skipped and bounced across the crystal ocean of air until the descent began in earnest. It had claimed his engineerprobably all his engineersbut the command deck still held. Tapani craftsmanship, Korsin marveled. They were falling, but for the moment they were still alive.

Why isnt he dead? Half mesmerized by the streamers of fire erupting outsideat least the Omen was belly-down for this bounceKorsin only vaguely grew aware of harsh words to his left. You shouldnt have made the jump! stabbed the young voice. Why isnt he dead?

Commander Korsin straightened and gave his half brother an incredulous stare. I know youre 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 isnt he dead?

Maybe hes on the wrong deck?

Yaru!

It wasnt a joke, of course. Boyle Marcom had been guiding Sith ships through the weirdness of hyperspace since the middle of Marka Ragnoss rule. Boyle hadnt been at his best in years, but Yaru Korsin knew a former helmsman of his fathers was always worth having. Not today, though. Whatever had happened back there, it would rightfully be laid at the navigators feet.