Star Wars - [Black Fleet Crisis 02] - Shield of Lies (by Michael P Kube-McDowell)

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The Black Fleet Crisis [049-5.0]

Book Two

SHIELD OF LIES

Michael P. Kube-McDowell

Synopsis

In the blockbuster bestselling tradition of Heir to the Empire comes

this thrilling addition to the Star Wars saga, as peace gives way to a

dire new threat...

BANTAM BOOKS NEW YORK TORONTO LONDON SYDNEY AUCKLAND

Dedication

For Matt, Amanda, and Gwen, in gratitude for their love, support, and

understanding.

And for all the twelve-year-olds everywhere and any when who, like me,

believed they would journey into space someday--most especially for

those who really did, and for those who still believe.

Acknowledgments

The STAR WARS universe has been so greatly expanded and enriched in the

years since Return of the Jedi appeared that even the best-intentioned

of us can hardly hope to master all its details unaided.

I'm therefore grateful for the assistance of the many writers and fans

in the extended STAR WARS community online---on Genie, CompuServe, and

the Internet--who took the time to answer (and even undertook to

research) my questions. In particular, Kevin J. Anderson, Roger

MacBride Allen, Matt Hart, Robert A. Cash-man, Laurie Burns, Jim

Fisher, Cathy Bowden, Tim O'Brien, Wm. Paul Sudlow, and Steve Ozmanski

each added at least one page of helpful facts to my reference binder

this time around.

Other invaluable references included Bill Slavicsek's A Guide to the

Star Wars Universe, Shane Johnson's Star Wars Technical Journal, Dan

Wallace's planet research, and the various time lines, lexicons, and

concordances provided me by Sue Rostoni of Lucasfilm, Ltd., and Tom

Dupree at Bantam.

Once again, I owe a great debt of thanks to my family and first

readers, all of whom made sacrifices so that I could devote my time and

attention to this project.

Without Gwen, Matt, Amanda, Arlyn, and Rod aiding and abetting the

effort, this book would still be a wc in progress, and my editor and

agent would have even more gray hair than I've already given them.

Finally, I remain grateful to George Lucas for givi me a chance to add

a few pages to the continuing saga the STAR WARS universe. It's been a

pleasure and privilege to serve as a de facto historian for the

maturing New Republic and biographer for some of its legendary

figures.

--Michael Paul McDowel; February 6, 1996

Okemos, Michigan

Dramatis Personae

On Coruscant, capital of the New Republic

Princess Leia Organa Solo, president of the Senate and chief of state

of the New Republic

Alole, aide to Leia

General Han Solo, on detached duty

Admiral Hiram Drayson, chief of Alpha Blue

General Carlist Rieekan, head of New Republic Intelligence

First Administrator Nanaod Engh, administrative director of the New

Republic

Senator Behn-Kihl-Nahm, chairman of the Defense Council and friend and

mentor to Leia

Senator Tolik Yar of Oolidi

Senator Tig Peramis of Walalla

Senator Cion Marook of Hrasskis

Ayddar Nylykerka, chief analyst for the Asset Tracking Office, Fleet

Intelligence

Plat Mallar, sole survivor of the Yevethan raid on Polneye

Belezaboth Ourn, extraordinary consul of the Paqwepori

With the Fifth Battle Group of the New Republic Defense Fleet, in

Farlax Sector

General Etahn A'baht, Fleet commander

Captain Morano, commander of the Fifth Fleet flagship Intrepid

Esege "Tuke" Tuketu, K-wing bomber pilot

With the Teljkon Task Force

General Lando Calrissian, Fleet liaison to the expedition

Lobot, chief administrator of Cloud City, on vacation

See-Threepio, protocol droid

Artoo-Detoo, astromech droid

Colonel Pakkpekatt, expedition commander, New Republic Intelligence

Captain Bijo Hammax, foray commander

On N'zotb, spawnworld of the Yevetha, in the Koor-nacbt Cluster, Farlax

Sector

Nil Spaar, viceroy of the Yevethan Protectorate

Eri Palle, aide to Nil Spaar Vor Duull, proctor of information science

for the viceroy Outbound from Lucazec in the skiff Mud Sloth

Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Master

Akanah, an adept of the White Current On Kashyyyk, homeworld of the

Wookiees

Chewbacca, attending coming-of-age ceremonies for his son Lumpawarump

Lando

Chapter 1

The Teljkon vagabond was on the run once more.

But this time, there were hitchhikers aboard.

"Hyperspace?" See-Threepio echoed in a dismayed tone as he struggled

to free himself. The droid's limbs were tangled up with Lobot, R2-D2,

and the equipment sled in one corner of the vagabond's air-lock--a

chamber that had suddenly become a spacegoing prison. "You must be

mistaken, Master Lobot."

"I am not mistaken," said Lobot, pushing a flailing golden leg away

from his faceplate. "All my data links terminated at the same moment,

in exactly the same manner I associate with a hyperspace jump."

"There was a course change, too, during the acceleration," Lando said

from the opposite corner of the lock.

He flexed his ungloved right hand, trying to drive the bone-chilling

cold from his aching fingers.

"Master Lando!" See-Threepio cried in his most plaintive voice.

"Can't you make it stop?"

"I didn't make it start, Threepio," Lando snapped.

"With all respect, Master Lando, you most certainly did," Threepio said

huffily. "Now, you just reach back in that hole and undo whatever you

did, and quickly, too. Colonel Pakkpekatt will be most upset with us

for running off with his starship."

"Colonel Pakkpekatt is probably inventing new words in Hortek right

now," said Lando. "But at least he's on a ship that he can boss.

We're not. Any damage over there? Lobot? Artoo-Detoo?"

The little astromech droid emerged from the jumble of bodies and

chirped once.

"Artoo-Detoo reports that all his systems are operational," said

Threepio.

"I'm uninjured, Lando," said Lobot. "My suit took the impact of the

equipment sled. But my data links are still all down, and I am finding

it disorienting."

Lando nodded. "Artoo, can you help Lobot out?"

Rotating in midair with the aid of its microthrust-ers, the droid

chittered disagreeably.

"Don't be rude," Threepio chided.

"What's going on?"

"Master Lando, Artoo says that he prefers to keep his systems

private."

"Yeah, well, I don't like telepaths, either, Artoo," said Lando. "But

I'd sure like to be able to think at the colonel right now. Give Lobot

a link to your event log.

There might be something in there we can use to figure out what

happened. Does anyone see my right glove?"

Lobot was clinging with one hand to the equipment sled. "I think your

glove blew out the airlock in the decompression."

"Just perfect." Lando looked at his purpled hand, then at the inflated

wrist cuff that was keeping his suit sealed. "What's the pressure in

here now?"

"Six hundred forty millibars," said Lobot. "Repressurization began

after the entry sealed."

"Repressurization? That's interesting. From where?" Lando craned his

head and looked at the seamless, featureless bulkheads. "Artoo, see if

you can find the vents."

The droid acknowledged the order with a beep and rose to begin cruising

along the bulkheads at close range.

"All right--here's the way it looks to me," said Lando. "We're no

longer invited guests and welcome visitors.

She shook off Lady Luck and tried to spit us out.

Probably would have succeeded if she hadn't been trying to run away

from the task force at the same time."

"Which raises a question," said Lobot. "Why didn't she know?"

"I'm listening."

"It appears to be a misjudgment. Two defense routines were activated

without consideration of their combined effect. The repressurization

of this compartment appears to be another inconsistency."

"Do you have an explanation?"

"These events suggest to me that the ship is either under the control

of systems with limited intelligence, or under the control of beings

with limited intelligence."

When he saw Lando's expression, Lobot added, "At this point, it's not

possible to distinguish between those possibilities."

"Maybe if we figure that out, we'll know something that can help us get

on top here," said Lando. "I'm sure of this much--that lock closed

because of the jump, not as any favor to us. We're not wanted here.

And if we're not clear of this compartment by the time the vagabond

leaves hyperspace, I don't think too much of our chances."

"Master Lando, I am certain Colonel Pakkpekatt and the armada are

pursuing us," said Threepio. "The sooner we leave hyperspace, the

sooner they can rescue US."

"Yeah, they're going to be looking for us," said Lando. "But finding

us--we could pop out five light-years from where we were, or fifty, or

five hundred. And normal evasive tactics would call for an immediate

course change, then another jump. Once that happens, you might as well

be playing hide-and-seek with the Ewoks on Endor."

"But, Master Lando---there must be some way they can rescue us. Surely

they wouldn't abandon us. If they do not come for us, we are all

doomed to perish as prisoners, lost in space--" "Threepio, we can't

afford to wait for them."

Lando tapped his faceplate to remind the droid why.

"The chrono's already moving. Lobot and I could be dead before this

ship even decides to leave hyperspace.

That's why we have to act now. We can't count on any help from the

armada, unless we can figure out some way to give them some help

finding us first. Until then, we're on our own."

Threepio raised his arms and his voice together.

"We apologize," he called to the ship. "Please, believe me, I never

meant to harm anyone--" "Shut up, Threepio."

"Yes, sir."

"Lando," said Lobot.

"What?"

"It couldn't hurt," said Lobot. "Someone might be listening."

Lando frowned. "As far as this ship is concerned, we're pirates,

burglars, tomb-robbers, or worse. Not too likely they'll forget that

ju st because we suddenly develop better manners after breaking down the

front door."

"The probability of success may be low," said Lobot. "But diplomatic

words are the tool Threepio is best equipped to wield. And perhaps an

apology will prove to be the key that will open the next door."

Sighing, Lando waved his gloved hand toward See-Threepio.

"All right. But, Threepio, a little dignity, please."

"Of course, Master Lando," the droid said, a hint of defensiveness in

his tone. "I am programmed to conduct myself in a dignified manner at

all times. Why, it's one of the fundamental principles of etiquette

and protocol--" "Right," Lando said, cutting him short. "Just get to

it. We have no idea how much time we have. Use the secondary comm

channel so Lobot and I can still hear each other."

"Very well, Master Lando," Threepio said, then seemingly fell silent.

"Lobot, you have access to Attoo's event log?"

"Yes, Lando."

"See if you can figure out our new heading from his gyro and

accelerometer readings leading up to the jump.

Maybe that, plus Artoo's astrographic database, can tell us something

about how much time we have--" New Republic ferret IX-26 came out of

hyperspace close enough to its destination for the planet to fill most

of the forward viewscreen.

"Check the coordinates," Kroddok Stopa ordered, frowning. "Absolute

reference."

"The astrogator says forty-four, one-niner-six, two-one-oh."

The pilot spun the index wheel on the ship's log with a swipe of his

palm. "Yeah, that's what you gave me."

"Those numbers came directly from the Third General Survey." Stopa

pointed at the astrogation display.

"But if I'm reading your board correctly, it says that this planet is

Maltha Obex. That's a Tobek name."

The pilot cocked his head toward the astrogator.

"Maltha Obex, that's right."

Stopa, expedition chief for the Obroan Institute's mission to Qella,

shook his head as he studied the data coming in from IX-26's sensors.

"My stars. What happened here?"

Glancing up at the viewscreen, the pilot said, "Why, what d'ya mean?

Looks just like ten thousand other iceballs."

Josala Krenn, the other half of the Obroan expedition, moved forward

from her station. "That's just it.

The Three-GS survey mission reported this as a temperate world. It had

a population of seven million and a primary ecosystem rated

provisionally at complexity two."

Shaking his head, the pilot said dryly, "We must have missed the summer

season."

"That was expected," Stopa said. "When the Three-GS contact mission

came here, they found a third of the landmass glaciated." He left

unspoken that the contact team had found the planet dead, the Qella

civilization in ruins.

"When the Tobek came, they must have thought this world was theirs for

the taking, and gave it a claiming name," said Josala.

"What difference does the name make? This is where you wanted to be,

right? What am I missing?"

"The last Three-GS contact was a hundred and fifty-eight years ago,"

Stopa said. "The planet should have begun its recovery by now."

"I still don't see the problem."

"Yes, you do," Josala said. "The problem's all we can see. The

problem is the ice."

"Try me again."

Josala sighed. "Where'd you pick us up?"

"Babali," the pilot said. "Wait--you don't have ice drills? Snow

shelter? Cold suits?"

"Babali's a tropical dig. For some reason, ice drills weren't on the

equipment list," said Josala wryly. "Our rover isn't even rated for

this kind of weather."

The pilot whistled sympathetically. "Now I see the problem. But why'd

they send you, then?"

"We were the best solution to a two-variable equation," said Josala.

"The nearest bioarchaeologist and the fastest available

transportation."

"It is not all bad," Stopa said thoughtfully. "We were sent here to

recover biological samples. The glacia tion virtually ensures that

good samples still exist to be recovered."

"Unless what triggered this climatic episode was a dirty war--with

incendiaries, or surface-burst weapons," Josala pointed out.

"Not much atmosphere left, but I can drop a probe to take a sniff,"

said the pilot. "We ought to be able to settle that question pretty

quickly."

"No," said Stopa. "Put us in a mapping orbit. Let's have a look at

the other side. We only need one landing site--a few grams of

material. There could be a geothermal field, or some other sort of hot

spot--a warm current from a deep vent, perhaps, that kept a portion of

some seacoast ice-free. If so, surely the Qella would have fled there

before the end."

"You don't expect to find anyone alive, do you?

Look at the surface temperature readings."

"No, not alive," Stopa said. "But I would be grateful for a single

corpse that is not buried under three hundred meters of ice."

"Mapping orbit it is," said the pilot, reaching for the controls.

"Maltha Obex, here we come."

"Qella," Josala amended quietly. "If at least a little bit of this

planet doesn't still belong to the Qella, we're going to be a big

disappointment to the folks who sent us here."

From the close vantage of a standard mapping orbit, Qella's face proved

no more inviting. The land was blanketed in ice to a depth of up to a

kilometer, while the shrunken oceans, too salty to freeze, were thick

with bergs and growlers.

"That's it," said Stopa, studying the data from the final pass. "Some

of the Qella might have tried to live on the ice--we might get lucky

and find their remains only fifty or a hundred meters down. It's

something we can work on while we're waiting for reinforcements. But

we have to assume the worst, and call for help."

"Maybe we can get Dr. Eckels's team," said Josala.

"They were supposed to be finished with the Hoth excavation by now."

"We can try. Open a hypercomm link to the Obroan Institute," Stopa

said.

"Ready," said the pilot.

"This is Dr. Kroddok Stopa, verification code

al-pha-eager-four-four-two.

I want Supply and Dispatch in on this call."

"Done. Go ahead, Doctor."

"I have an urgent requisition for additional equipment and staff for my

current assignment." Stopa quickly rattled off the detailed list he

had composed.

"Have all that?"

"Supply here--I have it. We'll get working on it right away."

"We also need a crack cold*site team out here. Is Dr. Eckels's Hoth

crew available?"

"They reported back yesterday. I don't know what their status is,"

said the dispatcher. "But I'll send this up to the committee right

away, and get you an answer pronto."

"Assuming that they are available, what's your best estimate of when we

see them and the gear out here?"

"If we can push the turnaround on Penga Rift and get the team and gear

aboard by midnight--you are looking at sixteen standard days. Add on

hour-for-hour for any delays getting off."

"Is anything faster than Penga Rift available?"

"Not under institute registry--sorry."

"Explore other options," Stopa said shortly. "This has the highest

priority. Stopa out." He signaled the pilot to end the link. "Now

you'd better get me Krenjsh at New Republic Intelligence. They need to

know there'll be a delay getting them what they asked for."

There was little talking among the quartet trapped in the vagabond's

airlock. Everyone had a job to do.

Artoo searched for the inflow vents, while Threepio made entreaties to

the vagabond's masters. Lobot analyzed the acceleration and

astrographic data while he inventoried the equipment on the equipment

sled. And Lando returned to the control handle in the corner of the

compartment to see if it would respond to him.

The handle proved immovable, and Lando's touch alone elicited no

detectable response from the ship. But through his efforts, he

realized that his bare hand was puffy, stiff, and aching--the pressure

from the wrist collar was compounding the damage done by the

decompression.

"Do we have any sample bags?" Lando asked, returning to where Lobot

and the equipment sled floated.

"Yes. Six small, six large, and two capsules of freeform sheet gel."

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TheBlackFleetCrisis[049-5.0]BookTwoSHIELDOFLIESMichaelP.Kube-McDowellSynopsisIntheblockbusterbestsellingtraditionofHeirtotheEmpirecomesthisthrillingadditiontotheStarWarssaga,aspeacegiveswaytoadirenewthreat...BANTAMBOOKSNEWYORKTORONTOLONDONSYDNEYAUCKLANDDedicationForMatt,Amanda,andGwen,ingratitudefor...

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