Victory's Price (Star Wars) Read online

  Star Wars: Victory’s Price is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Circle colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Freed, Alexander, author.

  Title: Victory’s price / Alexander Freed.

  Other titles: At head of title: Star Wars

  Description: New York: Del Rey Books, [2021] | Series: An Alphabet Squadron novel

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020048136 (print) | LCCN 2020048137 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984820075 (hardcover; acid-free paper) | ISBN 9780593356890 (international edition) | ISBN 9781984820082 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Star Wars fiction. | GSAFD: Science fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3606.R43747 V53 2021 (print) | LCC PS3606.R43747 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2020048136

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2020048137

  Ebook ISBN 9781984820082

  randomhousebooks.com

  Book design by Elizabeth A. D. Eno, adapted for ebook

  Cover art: Jeff Langevin

  Cover design: Jeff Langevin and Scott Biel

  ep_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Star Wars Novels Timeline

  Epigraph

  Part One: Indigenous Songs of Lost Civilizations

  Chapter 1: Naval Hymns of the Old Republic

  Chapter 2: “Silt Sea Threnody” (Nacronis Burial Song)

  Chapter 3: “The Khuntavaryan Fall” (Ballad, Unknown Provenance)

  Chapter 4: Love Songs of the Kortatka River Lands

  Chapter 5: Night Vigils of the Polis Massa Religious Caste

  Chapter 6: The Seven Algorithmic Études of Vardos

  Chapter 7: The Royal Anthem of Alderaan

  Chapter 8: “Glory of the Empire” (The Imperial March)

  Part Two: Elements of a Malevolent Equation

  Chapter 9: Amoral Prioritization of Objectives

  Chapter 10: Elimination of Inconvenient Variables

  Chapter 11: Refactoring of Parameters

  Chapter 12: Unflinching Acceptance of Logical Conclusions

  Chapter 13: Assignment of Identifiable Weaknesses

  Chapter 14: Negation of Ideological Choices

  Chapter 15: Obfuscation of Undesirable Results

  Chapter 16: Denial of Unacceptable Truths

  Part Three: Stages of a Trial by Ordeal

  Chapter 17: Augury and Signs

  Chapter 18: Call to the Place of Judgment

  Chapter 19: Revelation of the Accused

  Chapter 20: Unveiling of the Tools of Ordeal

  Chapter 21: Confessions Under Duress

  Chapter 22: The Endless Night

  Chapter 23: The Breaking of the Guilty

  Chapter 24: The Celebration of Innocence

  Part Four: Victory’s Price

  Chapter 25: Enduring Scars of Flesh and Spirit

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Alexander Freed

  About the Author

  A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….

  PART ONE

  INDIGENOUS SONGS OF LOST CIVILIZATIONS

  CHAPTER 1

  NAVAL HYMNS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC

  I

  “This war is over,” the admiral said. “We know it, and soon the Empire will, too.”

  General Hera Syndulla almost believed him, but reminded herself: Only rebellions thrive on hope. Republics need sturdier foundations.

  The assembly room smelled of ozone and glittered like the interior of a sapphire, each facet a hologram flashing and wavering as transmission streams threaded the galaxy and manifested in the New Republic’s military leadership. Eleven months prior—following the Battle of Endor, when the war had first been declared over—such a gathering would have been unthinkable. Now, thanks to the twin miracles of a newly reclaimed hyperspace comm network and the massive receiver systems of the ex–Star Destroyer Deliverance, the architects of the Rebellion’s victory exchanged reports like conquerors dividing spoils.

  “The core of the enemy force has retreated,” Gial Ackbar went on, and flapped a holographic hand at an unseen assistant. A star map sprang up at the center of the amphitheater, and ghostly heads—along with the heads of the flesh-and-blood attendees near Hera—refocused their attention. “Coruscant remains under Imperial control, but the fleeing loyalist armadas have ceded the rest of their territory to us. That leaves the warlords and opportunists isolated; eliminating the last of them will take time, but few remain a serious threat. Our battle groups are even now removing the holdouts’ fleet-building and transport capabilities.”

  Red blotches flashed onto the map, stains of Imperial presence on the galaxy. Blue arrows, each indicating an allied force, encircled the red. Hera recognized the larger occupied territories—the Anoat sector, the Faultheen sector, the Chrenthoan Abyss. Coruscant, where the Imperial regent controlled a single blockaded planet and trillions of lives, glowed softly in the map’s center. A faint mark like a blood drop represented all that was left of the Imperial presence in the Nythlide Array, where the Deliverance had spent the past week smashing blockades.

  It was, at a glance, a simple map with a clear message of New Republic supremacy. Yet fainter lines suggested a more complicated story: Trails from a dozen points led into a region where individual stars became a haze of fog in the poorly charted Western Reaches. What was left of the true Empire’s military—what the admiral had called the loyalist forces—was secreted there, on the edge of the Unknown Regions.

  Hera squared her shoulders and spoke in a voice that offered no challenge, no skepticism. Ackbar viewed the war in ways foreign to her, focusing on the ebb and flow of fleets like tides rather than the struggles of mortals on the ground. But she had come to recognize the artistry of his designs, even when she disputed their wisdom. “How close are we to finding the enemy’s hidden base?” she asked.

  The admiral smiled broadly and bowed his bulbous head. “We’re launching probe droids as swiftly as Troithe and Metalorn can manufacture them. Chief of Intelligence Cracken will speak to other leads under investigation. Shall we begin with the division reports…?”

  The conference took on a familiar shape, and though Hera listened to what was said—filed away every word in the whirring part of her brain that cross-referenced tactical updates and coordinates for strategic significance—she found her attention less on the briefs and more on the emotional tenor of the room. Airen Cracken spoke of the Empire’s efforts to remain hidden, cited rumors of a harsh world occupied by legions of stormtroopers, and there was a predator’s excitement beneath the frost-bitten surface. General Ria appeared exhausted, but her mouth curled into a smile as she spoke of the campaign to drive the
Imperial-Royalist coalition off Xagobah. Admiral Ho’ror’te’s snuffling and grunting was harder to parse, but Hera thought she recognized a weary resolve as he spoke of the sacrifices of the Unerring and its escorts to destroy a conspiracy orchestrated by one of Palpatine’s mad viziers.

  Hera began shifting focus to her staff—felt discomfort behind her through a hint of human pheromones or movement in the air—when Ackbar called her name. “And your battle group, General? Nythlide is secure?”

  “Under control, at least,” she replied. “Two carriers under Major Jaun will stay to support the local militia. Now that the battle group has punched through the blockade, the Deliverance is returning to its primary objective.”

  “Back to the hunt?” Ho’ror’te growled, the bass entangled in static.

  “Back to the hunt,” Hera agreed. “We’re continuing to work with New Republic Intelligence—” She cast a nod toward Cracken, neither expecting nor receiving acknowledgment. “—to locate the 204th Imperial Fighter Wing. Since that unit’s departure from Cerberon, we’ve confirmed only a handful of sightings but remain confident we’re on the right trail. Nythlide slowed us down. From here on out, though—”

  “Your last report suggested the 204th—Shadow Wing—is working with the loyalists.”

  This interruption came in a voice Hera didn’t recognize. A dark-haired man in civilian dress stood six meters to the right of Ackbar, alone on his holographic dais. Codes scrolled beneath his feet indicating his transmission’s point of origin: Chandrila.

  The temporary New Republic capital. Chancellor Mothma had been unable to attend the conference, but she was making her presence known.

  “We believe they’ve made contact, yes,” Hera said. “That’s based on comm tracing—General Cracken can provide specifics.”

  “Then shouldn’t the 204th be in hiding with the other loyalist units? Your pursuit is taking you far from the Western Reaches.”

  Hera swallowed her immediate dislike of the man’s tone. It wasn’t an unreasonable query. “We aren’t certain what the 204th is doing in this part of the galaxy. However, I’m confident that whatever the particulars, Shadow Wing represents a real threat. Since the Battle of Endor they’ve been responsible for numerous military setbacks and lost lives, not the least of which were the genocide on Nacronis and the Cerberon uprising. The unit has proven its capacity, time and again, to inflict unexpected harm. We shouldn’t doubt such harm is ongoing.”

  She was surprised by her own passion—nearly as surprised as Chancellor Mothma’s aide, who had stiffened and retreated almost out of view of his holocam.

  You’re among friends, she reminded herself. Maybe you should act like it? She smiled with what she hoped was humility before continuing.

  “That said, I am equally confident this operation will be over soon. Shadow Wing has nowhere to run, and despite some recent losses there’s no one in the galaxy better equipped than Alphabet—than our Intelligence working group—to find and neutralize this foe.”

  Again she had the sense of discomfort from someone behind her. She suspected she knew the source, but she had one more point to make. “If by chance the Empire’s fleet is located before we can find the 204th, the Deliverance retains the flexibility to disengage and support an engagement elsewhere. But I’m not worried about choosing one over the other. Shadow Wing can be defeated. The Empire as a whole can, too.”

  Mothma’s aide nodded swiftly. The military leaders were less attentive, though Hera knew better than to feel slighted—each had come to the conference with their own concerns, and each had worked with the others long enough to have a measure of trust. If Hera told them the 204th was a threat, they would believe her; if she told them she would end that threat, they would believe that, too.

  The conference moved to other reports from other regions of the galaxy and ended with inspirational words from Ackbar that Hera largely neglected to hear. Afterward the holograms vanished with a flash of light and a popping noise; when they were gone, Hera blinked away spots and heard the humming of the Deliverance’s reactor. The voices of her staff rose and she issued swift orders as they all moved toward the door.

  She was proposing a comm array adjustment to Stornvein when a young man made as if to break away. Without interrupting herself, without turning her head, she placed a hand lightly on the man’s shoulder and pushed her fingertips into the fabric of his flight suit. He stopped. She felt the tension in his muscles.

  He was olive-skinned and wore his brown hair neat, contrasting with his unshaven cheeks and chin. His frame was slender and taut, like that of a jungle cat seemingly too thin for the size of its prey. When Hera finished dispensing commands and was left alone with the youth, she faced him fully and asked, “You’re not going to make a liar out of me, are you?”

  “General?” Wyl Lark said.

  “Is your unit ready for the 204th?” She kept her tone matter-of-fact—Wyl would take her seriously regardless, so better not to unduly pressure him. “Are the squadrons up to the fight?”

  She’d been monitoring Wyl since he’d taken command of the Deliverance’s starfighter wing. She’d spent an hour each week conferring with him—less time than she’d have liked, more than her aides approved of—and nearly as much time speaking to the individual squadron commanders about his leadership. She knew the status of the pilots and she knew that Wyl, despite his inexperience, was making fine choices regarding training and deployment.

  She wanted to know what he knew, however. He frowned, and she waited for an answer.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “They are. We needed the time—reconfiguring the squadrons came with a cost—but they’re working together now. The pilots who haven’t faced Shadow Wing are doing their research. The ones who have…they want another shot, and they won’t get more ready sitting in the hangar.”

  “Can they win?” Hera asked.

  “In a fair fight?” Wyl smiled wanly, looking too tired for his age. “I think—maybe. But going at Shadow Wing head-to-head hasn’t ever gone well before.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to give us an edge,” Hera said. “If it comes to it, though, we may have to strike in less-than-ideal circumstances.” She saw resistance on Wyl’s face and pushed on. “If Shadow Wing really is one of the only loyalist units operating outside Coruscant or the Western Reaches, that makes them one of few wild cards the Empire has left to play. That makes them—”

  “—valuable.”

  You’re learning, she thought, and felt a twinge of sadness. She tried to sound encouraging anyway. “Exactly. I don’t want them still operating when it’s time for the last battle.”

  They stepped together out of the assembly room and into the corridors of the Deliverance. Hera ignored a chill at the burnished black floor paneling, the pale lighting grids and geometric doorways. The crimson emergency indicators had been disabled, but the New Republic refit had proceeded too quickly to make the vessel feel like anything other than an Imperial Star Destroyer.

  Somewhere in a distant star system, Hera mused, Commodore Agate was on the bridge of a newly built Nadiri Starhawk—the pride of the New Republic fleet, symbol of everything righteous, built from dismantled Star Destroyers into something more powerful yet. If things had gone differently—if the Lodestar hadn’t been obliterated over Troithe and a replacement required immediately—Hera might have been aboard a Starhawk herself instead of a hastily overhauled death machine.

  She didn’t begrudge Agate her command. But it was hard to walk the Deliverance without bad memories.

  Wyl matched her pace. “The last battle,” he echoed. “You believe what the admiral was saying?”

  “You have doubts?”

  “I just remember what we heard after Endor. It’s all been ‘close to ending’ for a year now.” There was no bitterness in his voice. “I don’t blam
e anyone for being wrong. But I trust your judgment more than most.”

  She’d been as guilty as anyone in believing the war would end after the Emperor’s death. She’d known better, and still she’d believed. She’d longed for a return to her family, and she fought through that yearning now to answer Wyl as honestly as she could.

  “I believe it,” she said. “I keep telling myself it’s optimism, but the facts add up. The Empire can’t keep fighting.”

  Wyl smiled thinly. Hera wasn’t sure if he wasn’t satisfied with her answer or if something else troubled him. She didn’t have a chance to inquire before he said: “We should hear from the others soon. Last word was ‘sometime within six hours.’ ”

  “Good. We’ll talk as soon as anything comes in.”

  Wyl seemed to take the statement as a dismissal, and Hera let him go. That had been her chance to ask what was bothering him, and she suspected she’d berate herself later for missing it; but she had battle plans to concoct and drills to run and a chief engineer who needed replacing. There was far, far too much to do to bring about the Empire’s end, and though Wyl’s troubles were as real and vital as anyone’s, all of her problems were urgent—Shadow Wing most of all.

  Because in truth, she’d held back during the war conference. She didn’t know what the 204th was doing, but the rumors escaping isolated systems were chilling—too horrifying, too unlikely, and too poorly sourced to discuss in the open.

  Very soon—“within six hours,” perhaps—Hera would know if her nightmares had become reality.