Aftermath: Star Wars
Star Wars: Aftermath is a workof fiction. Names, places, andincidents either are products ofthe author’s imagination or areused fictitiously. Anyresemblance to actual events,locales, or persons, living ordead, is entirely coincidental.Copyright 2015 by LucasfilmLtd. & TM where indicated.All rights reserved.Excerpt from Star Wars:Battlefront: Twilight Company
by Alexander Freed copyright 2015 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & TMwhere indicated. All rightsreserved.Published in the United Statesby Del Rey, an imprint ofRandom House, a division ofPenguin Random House LLC,New York.DEL REY and the HOUSEcolophon are registeredtrademarks of Penguin RandomHouse LLC.
This book contains an excerptfrom Star Wars: Battlefront:Twilight Company byAlexander Freed. This excerpthas been set for this editiononly and may not reflect thefinal content of the forthcomingedition.ISBN 9780345511621eBook ISBN 9780804177665randomhousebooks.comBook design by Christopher M.
Zucker, adapted for eBookCover art and design: Scott Bielv4.1ep
ContentsCoverTitle PageCopyrightEpigraphProloguePreludeCoruscant
Part OneChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeInterlude: ChandrilaChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixInterlude: SaleucamiChapter SevenChapter Eight
Chapter NineInterlude: NaalolChapter TenChapter ElevenPart TwoChapter TwelveInterlude: UyterChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter Fifteen
Interlude: ChandrilaChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenInterlude: Coronet City,CorelliaChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneInterlude: Sevarcos
Part ThreeChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourInterlude: TarisChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixInterlude: HyperspaceChapter Twenty-SevenInterlude: CoruscantChapter Twenty-Eight
Interlude: Theed, NabooChapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-OneInterlude: TatooineChapter Thirty-TwoChapter Thirty-ThreeChapter Thirty-FourInterlude: Bespin CloudCityChapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-SixChapter Thirty-SevenInterlude: JakkuPart FourChapter Thirty-EightInterlude: ChandrilaEpilogueDedicationAcknowledgments
By Chuck WendigAbout the AuthorExcerpt from Star Wars:Battlefront: TwilightCompany
A long time ago in agalaxy far, faraway .
The second Death Star isdestroyed. The Emperorandhispowerfulenforcer, Darth Vader,are rumored to be dead.The Galactic Empire is inchaos.Across the galaxy,some systems celebrate,while in others Imperialfactions tighten theirgrip. Optimism and fear
reign side by side.And while the RebelAlliance engages thefractured forces of theEmpire, a lone rebelscout uncovers a secretImperial meeting .
PRELUDE:Today is a day ofcelebration. We havetriumphedovervillainyandoppression and havegiven our Alliance—andthegalaxybeyond it—a chance tobreathe and cheer for
theprogressinreclaimingourfreedomfromanEmpire that robbed usof it. We have reportsfromCommanderSkywalkerthatEmperor Palpatine isdead,andhisenforcer,DarthVader, with him.But though we maycelebrate, we should
not consider this ourtime to rest. We strucka major blow againstthe Empire, and nowwill be the time toseize on the openingwe have created. TheEmpire’s weapon maybe destroyed, but theEmpire itself lives on.Its oppressive handcloses around thethroats of good, free-
thinking people acrossthe galaxy, from theCoruscant Core to thefarthest systems in theOuter Rim. We mustremember that ourfight continues. Ourrebellion is over. Butthe war the war isjust beginning.—ADMIRALACKBAR
Then:Monument Plaza.Chains rattle as they lashthe neck of EmperorPalpatine. Ropes followsuit—lassosloopingaround the statue’s middle.The mad cheers of the
crowd as they pull, andpull,andpull.Disappointed groans as thestone fixture refuses tobudge. But then someonewhips the chains aroundthe back ends of a coupleof heavy-gauge speeders,and then engines warbleand hum to life—thespeeders gun it and againthe crowd pulls—The sound like a giant
bone breaking.A fracture appears at thebase of the statue.More cheering. Yelling.And—Applause as it comescrashing down.The head of the statuesnaps off, goes rolling andcrashing into a fountain.Dark water splashes. Thecrowd laughs.
And then: The whoopingof klaxons. Red lightsstrobe. Three airspeedersswoop down from thetrafficlanesabove—Imperial police. Red-andblack helmets. The glow oftheir lights reflected backin their helmets.Therecomesnowarning. No demand tostand down.The laser cannons at the
fore of each airspeederopen fire. Red bolts searthe air. The crowd is cutapart. Bodies dropped andstitched with fire.But still, those gatheredare not cowed. They are nolonger a crowd. Now theyare a mob. They startpicking up hunks of thePalpatinestatueandlobbing them up at theairspeeders. One of the
speeders swings to the sideto avoid an incomingchunk of stone—and itbumps another speeder,interruptingitsfire.Coruscanti citizens climbup the stone spire behindboth speeders—a spire onwhich are written theImperial values of order,control, and the rule of law—and begin jumping ontothe police cruisers. One
helmeted cop is flung fromhis vehicle. The othercrawls out onto the hood ofhis speeder, opening firewith a pair of blasters—justas a hunk of stone crackshiminthehelmet,knocking him to theground.Theothertwoairspeeders lift higher andkeep firing.Screams and fire and
smoke.Two of those gathered—a father and son, RorakandJak—quick-duckbehindthecollapsedstatue. The sounds of thebattle unfolding right herein Monument Plaza don’tend. In the distance, thesound of more fighting, aplume of flames, flashes ofblaster fire. A billboardhigh up in the sky among
the traffic lanes suddenlygoes to static.The boy is young, onlytwelve standard years, notold enough to fight. Notyet. He looks to his fatherwith pleading eyes. Overthe din he yells: “But thebattlestationwasdestroyed, Dad! The battleis over!” They just watchedit only an hour before. Thesupposed end of the
Empire. The start ofsomething better.The confusion in theboy’s shining eyes is clear:He doesn’t understandwhat’s happening.But Rorak does. He’sheard tales of the CloneWars—tales spoken by hisown father. He knows howwar goes. It’s not manywars, but just one, drawnout again and again, cut up
into slices so it seems moremanageable.For a long time he’s toldhis son not the truth butthe idealized hope: Oneday the Empire will falland things will be differentfor when you havechildren. And that may stillcome to pass. But now astronger, sharper truth isrequired: “Jak—the battleisn’t over. The battle is just
starting.”He holds his son close.Then he puts a hunk ofstatue in the boy’s hand.And he picks one uphimself.
Now:Starlines streak acrossthe bright black.A ship drops out of
hyperspace:alittleStarhopper. A one-personship. Favored by many ofthe less desirable factionsout here in the Outer Rim—the pirates, the bookies,the bounty hunters andthose with bounties ontheir heads to hunt. Thisparticular ship has seenaction: plasma scarringacross the wings and up itstail fins; a crumpled dent
in the front end as if it waskicked by an Imperialwalker. All the better forthe ship to blend in.Ahead: the planet Akiva.A small planet—from here,striations of brown andgreen. Thick white cloudsswirling over its surface.Thepilot,WedgeAntilles, once Red Leaderandnow—well,nowsomething else, a role
without a formal title, asyet, because things are sonew, so different, so wildlyup in the air—sits thereand takes a moment.It’s nice up here. Quiet.No TIE fighters. Noblasts across the bow of hisX-wing. No X-wing, in fact,and though he loves flyingone, it’s nice to be out. NoDeath Star—and here,Wedge shudders, because
he helped take down two ofthose things. Some daysthat fills him with pride.Other days it’s somethingelse, something worse.Like he’s drawn back to it.The fight still going on allaround him. But that isn’ttoday.Today, it’s quiet.Wedge likes the quiet.He pulls up his datapad.
Scrolls through the listwith a tap of the button onthe side. (He has to hit it afew extra times just to getit to go—if there’s onething he looks forward towhen all this is over, it’sthat maybe they’ll start toget new tech. Somehow,this datapad had actualsand in it, and that’s whythe buttons stick.) The listof planets clicks past.
He’s been to, let’s see,five so far. Florrum.Ryloth. Hinari. Abafar.Raydonia. This planet,Akiva, is the sixth on thelist of many, too many.It was his idea, this run.Somehow, the remainingfactions of the Empire arestill fueling their war efforteven months after thedestruction of their secondbattle station. Wedge had
the notion that theymust’ve moved out to theOuter Rim—study yourhistory and it’s easy to seethat the seeds of theEmpire grew first out here,away from the Coresystems, away from thepryingeyesoftheRepublic.Wedge told Ackbar, MonMothma: “Could be that’swhere they are again.
Hiding out there.” Ackbarsaid that it made somesense. After all, didn’tMustafarholdsomeimportance to the Imperialleadership? Rumors saidthat’s where Vader tooksome of the Jedi long ago.Torturingthemforinformation before theirexecution.And now Vader’s gone.Palpatine, too.
Almost there, Wedgethinks—once they find thesupply lines that arebolstering the Imperials,he’ll feel a whole lot better.He pulls up the comm.Tries to open a channel tocommand and—Nothing.Maybe it’s broken. It’s anold ship.Wedge fidgets at his
side, pulls up the personalcomm relay that hangsthere at his belt—he tapsthe side of it, tries to get asignal.Once more: nothing.His heart drops into hisbelly. Feels a moment likehe’s falling. Because whatall of this adds up to is:The signal’s blocked.Some of the criminal
syndicates still operatingout here have technologyto do that locally—but inthe space above the planet,no, no way. Only one grouphas that tech.His jaw tightens. Thebad feeling in the well ofhis gut is swiftly justified,as ahead a Star Destroyerpunctures space like aknife-tip as it drops out ofhyperspace. Wedge fires up
the engines. I have to getout of here.A second Star Destroyerslides in next to the first.The panels across theStarhopper’s dash beginblinking red.They see him. What todo?What did Han alwayssay? Just fly casual. Theship is disguised as it is for
a reason: It looks like itcould belong to any two-bitsmuggler out here on thefringe. Akiva’s a hotbed ofcriminal activity. Corruptsatrap governors. Varioussyndicates competing forresourcesandopportunities. A wellknown black market—once, decades ago, theTrade Federation had adroidmanufacturing
facility here. Which means,if you want some off-thebooks droid, you can comehere to buy one. The RebelAlliance procured many ofits droids right here, as amatter of fact.New dilemma, though:What now?Fly down to the planet todo aerial recon, as was theoriginal plan—or plot acourse back to Chandrila?
Something’s up. Two StarDestroyers appearing outofnowhere?Blockedcomms?That’snotnothing. It means I’vefound what I’m lookingfor.Maybe even somethingmuch better.That means: Time toplot a course out of here.That’ll take a few
minutes, though—headinginward from the Outer Rimisn’t as easy as taking along stride from here tothere. It’s a dangerousjump. Endless variablesawait:nebulaclouds,asteroid fields, floatingbands of star-junk fromvarious skirmishes andbattles. Last thing Wedgewants to do is pilot aroundthe edge of a black hole or
through the center of a stargoing supernova.The comm crackles.They’re hailing him.A crisp Imperial voicecomes across the channel.“ThisistheStarDestroyer Vigilance. Youhave entered Imperialspace.” To which Wedgethinks: This isn’t Imperialspace. What’s going on
here? “Identify yourself.”Fear lances through him,sharp and bright as anelectric shock. This isn’t hisrealm. Talking. Lying. Ascoundrel like Solo couldconvince a Jawa to buy abag of sand. Wedge is apilot. But it’s not like theydidn’t plan for this.Calrissian worked on thestory. He clears his throat,hits the button—
“This is Gev Hessan.PilotinganHH-87Starhopper: the Rover.”He transmits his datacard.“Sending over credentials.”A pause. “Identify thenature of your visit.”“Light cargo.”“What cargo?”The stock answer is:droid components. Butthat may not fly here. He
thinks quickly—Akiva. Hot.Wet.Mostlyjungle.“Dehumidifier parts.”Pause. An excruciatingone.The nav computer runsthrough its calculations.Almost there A different voice comesthrough the tinny speaker.A woman’s voice. Got somesteel in it. Less crisp.
Nothing lilting. This issomeonewithsomeauthority—or, at least,someone who thinks shepossesses it.She says, “Gev Hessan.Pilotnumber45236.Devaronian. Yes?”Thatchecksout.Calrissian knows sinessman”—did work
smuggling goods to helpLando build Cloud City.AndheisindeedDevaronian.“You got it,” Wedge says.Another pause.The computer is almostdone with its calculations.Another ten seconds atmost. Numbers crunching,flickering on the screen “Funny,” the woman
says. “Our records indicatethat Gev Hessan died inImperial custody. Pleaselet us correct our tions.He pushes the thrusterforward with the heel of hishand—But the ship onlyshudders.Thenthe
Starhopper trembles again,and begins to drift forward.Toward the pair of StarDestroyers.Itmeansthey’ve engaged the tractorbeams.He turns to the weaponcontrols.If he’s going to get out ofthis, it’s now or never.—
Admiral Rae Sloane staresdown at the console andout the window. The blackvoid. The white stars. Likepinpricks in a blanket. Andout there, like a child’s toyon the blanket: a littlelong-range fighter.“Scan them,” she says.Lieutenant Nils Tothwinlooks up, offers her anobsequious smile.“Of course,” he says, his
jaundiced face tight withthat grin. Tothwin is anemblem of what’s wrongwith the Imperial forcesnow: Many of their best aregone. What’s left is, in part,the dregs. The leaves andtwigs at the bottom of acup of spice tea. Still, hedoes what he’s told, whichissomething—Sloanewonders when the Empirewill truly begin to fracture.
Forces doing what theywant, when they want it.Chaos and anarchy. Themoment that happens, themoment someone of someprominence breaks fromthe fold to go his own way,they are all truly doomed.TothwinscanstheStarhopper as the tractorbeam brings it slowly, butinevitably, closer. Thescreenbeneathhim
glimmers,andaholographic image of theship rises before him,constructed as if byinvisible hands. The imageflashes red along thebottom. Nils, panic in hisvoice, says: “Hessan ischarginghisweaponssystems.”She scowls. “Calm down,Lieutenant. The weaponson a Starhopper aren’t
enough to—” Wait. Shesquints. “Is that what Ithink it is?”“What?” Tothwin asks.“I don’t—”Her finger drifts to thefront end of the holograph—circling the fighter’sbroad, curved nose. “Here.Ordnance launcher. Protontorpedo.”“But the Starhopper
wouldn’t be equipped—oh.Oh.”“Someone has comeprepared for a fight.” Shereaches down, flips on thecomm again. “This isAdmiral Rae Sloane. I seeyou there, little pilot.Readyingapairoftorpedoes. Let me guess:You think a proton torpedowill disrupt our tractorbeam long enough to
afford you your escape.That may be accurate. Butlet me also remind you thatwe have enough ordnanceon the Vigilance to turnyou not only to scrap butrather, to a fine particulatematter. Like dust, castacross the dark. The timingdoesn’t work. You’ll fireyour torpedo. We’ll fireours. Even if by the timeyour weapons strike us our
beam is disengaged ” Sheclucks her tongue. “Well. Ifyou feel you must try, thentry.”She tells Nils to targetthe Starhopper.Just in case.But she hopes the pilot iswise. Not some fool.Probably some rebel scout,some spy, which is foolishon its own—though less
foolish now, with the newlybuilt second Death Stardestroyedlikeitspredecessor.All the more reason forher to remain vigilant, asthe name of this shipsuggests. The meeting onAkiva cannot misfire. Itmust take place. It musthave a result. Everythingfeels on the edge, the entireEmpire standing on the lip
of the pit, the ledgecrumbling away to screeand stone.The pressure is on. Analmost literal pressure—like a fist pressing againsther back, pushing the airout of her lungs.Her chance to excel.Her chance to changeImperial fortune.Forget the old way.
Indeed.—Wedge winces, heart racingin his chest like an ionpulse. He knows she’sright. The timing doesn’tfavor him. He’s a goodpilot, maybe one of thebest, but he doesn’t havethe Force on his side. IfWedge launches those two
torpedoes, they’ll give himeverything they have. Andthen it won’t matter if hebreaks free from thetractor beam. He won’thave but a second to getawayfromwhateverfusillade they send his way.Something is happening.Here, in the space aboveAkiva. Or maybe downthere on the planet’ssurface.
If he dies here—nobodywill know what it is.Which means he has toplay this right.He powers down thetorpedoes.He has another idea.—Docking Bay 42.Rae Sloane stands in theglass-encasedbalcony,
overlooking the gatheredbattalion of stormtroopers.This lot, like Nils, areimperfect.Thosewhoreceived top marks at theAcademy went on to serveon the Death Star, or onVader’s command ship, theExecutor. Half of themdidn’t even complete theAcademy—theywerepulled out of training early.These will do, though.
For now. Ahead is theStarhopper—driftinginthrough the void of space,cradled by the invisiblegrip of the tractor beam.Down past the lineup ofTIE fighters (half of whatthey need, a third of whatshe’dprefer),driftingslowly toward the gatheredstormtroopers.They have the numbers.The Starhopper will have
one pilot, most likely.Perhaps a second or thirdcrewmember.It drifts closer andcloser.She wonders: Who areyou? Who is inside thatlittle tin can?Then: A bright flash anda shudder—the Starhoppersuddenly glows blue fromthe nose end forward.
It explodes in a rain offire and scrap.—“Whoeveritwas,”Lieutenant Tothwin says,“they did not wish to bediscovered. I suppose theyfavored a quick way out.”Sloane stands amid thesmoldering wreckage ofthe long-range fighter. It
stinks of ozone and fire. Apair of gleaming blackastromechs whir, firingextinguishing foam to putout the last of the flames.They have to navigatearound the half dozen or sostormtrooper bodies thatlie about, still. ttered and broken.“Don’t be a naïve calf,”
she says, scowling. “No, thepilot didn’t want to bediscovered. But he’s stillhere. If he didn’t want usto blast him out of the skyout there, you really thinkhe’d be eager to die inhere?”“Could be a suicideattack.Maximizethedamage—”“No. He’s here. And hecan’t be far. Find him.”
Nils gives a sharp,nervousnod.“Yes,Admiral. Right away.”
“We have to turn around,”Norra says. “Plot anothercourse—”“Whoa,whoa,no,”
Owerto says, half laughing.He looks up at her—onehalf of his dark face burnedunderneath a mottledcarpet of scars, scars heclaims to have earned witha different story each timehe tells it: lava, wampa,blaster fire, got blitzed onCorellian rum and felldown on a hot campingstove. “Miss Susser—”“Now that I’m home, I’m
going by my married nameagain. Wexley.”“Norra. You paid me toget you onto the surface ofthat planet.” He points outthe window. There: home.Or was, once. The planetAkiva. Clouds swirling inlazy spirals over thejungles and mountains.Aboveit:TwoStarDestroyers hang there likeswords above the surface.
“More important, you ain’tthe only cargo I’m bringingin. I’m finishing this job.”“They told us to turnaround. This is a blockade—”“And smugglers like meare very good at gettingaround those.”“We need to get back totheAlliance—”Shecorrects herself. That’s old
thinking.“TheNewRepublic. They need toknow.”A third Star Destroyersuddenly cuts throughspace, appearing in linewith the others.“You got family downth
This book contains an excerpt from Star Wars: Battlefront: Twilight Company by Alexander Freed. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition. ISBN 9780345511621 eBook ISBN 9780804177665 randomhousebooks.com Book design by Christopher M.
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LIFE DEBT: AFTERMATH (STAR WARS) Chuck Wendig Sequel to the New York Times bestselling Star Wars: Aftermath. Setting: The Star Wars Galaxy Author Residence: Quakertown, PA 978-1-101-96695-2 9.99/ 13.50C Ctn: 48 Del Rey Fiction - Science Fiction - Space Opera 512 pp 4 3 16 x 7 1 2 Publishing History: Del Rey Hardcover (978-1-101 .
