Triple Zero: Star Wars Legends (Republic Commando) (Star Wars: Republic Commando - Legends, Band 2) - Softcover

Buch 2 von 4: Star Wars: Republic Commando - Legends

Traviss, Karen

 
9780593722169: Triple Zero: Star Wars Legends (Republic Commando) (Star Wars: Republic Commando - Legends, Band 2)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593722167 ISBN 13: 9780593722169
Verlag: Random House Worlds, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

Dive into the epic series featuring the brave warriors of Omega Squad—an elite team of clone commandos fighting to protect the Galactic Republic.

Following the eruption of the bloody Clone Wars at the battle of Geonosis, both sides remain deadlocked in a stalemate that can be broken only by elite warrior teams like Omega Squad, clone commandos with terrifying combat skills and a lethal arsenal.

For Omega Squad, deployed deep behind enemy lines, it’s the same old special ops grind: sabotage, espionage, ambush, and assassination. But when Omega Squad is rushed to Coruscant, the war’s most dangerous new hotspot, the commandos discover they’re not the only ones penetrating the heart of the enemy. 

A surge in Separatist attacks has been traced to a network of cells in the Republic’s capital, masterminded by a mole in Command Headquarters. To identify and destroy a Separatist spy and terror network in a city full of civilians will require special talents and skills. Not even the leadership of Jedi generals, along with the assistance of Delta Squad and a certain notorious ARC trooper, can even the odds against the Republic Commandos. And while success may not bring victory in the Clone Wars, failure means certain defeat.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Karen Traviss is a novelist, screenwriter, comics writer, and the author of five Star Wars: Republic Commando novels (Hard Contact, Triple Zero, True Colors, Order 66, and Imperial Commando: 501st); three Star Wars: Legacy of the Force novels (Bloodlines, Revelation, and Sacrifice): two Star Wars: The Clone Wars novels (The Clone Wars and No Prisoners); five Gears of War novels (Aspho Fields, Jacinto’s Remnant, Anvil Gate, Coalition’s End, and The Slab); the award-nominated Wess’har Wars series (City of Pearl, Crossing the Line, The World Before, Matriarch, Ally, and Judge); and four Halo novels. She was also the lead writer on the third Gears of War game. A former defense correspondent and TV and newspaper journalist, Traviss lives in Wiltshire, England.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Find Skirata. He’s the only one who can talk these men down. And no, I’m not going to obliterate a whole barracks block just to neutralize six ARCs. So get me Skirata: he can’t have traveled very far. —General Iri Camas, Director of Special Forces, to Coruscant Security Force, from Siege Incident Control, Special Operations Brigade HQ Barracks, Coruscant, five days after the Battle of Geonosis Tipoca City, Kamino, eight years before Geonosis Kal Skirata had committed the biggest mistake of his life, and he’d made some pretty big ones in his time.

Kamino was damp. And damp didn’t help his shattered ankle one little bit. No, it was more than damp: it was nothing but storm-whipped sea from pole to pole, and he wished that he’d worked that out before he responded to Jango Fett’s offer of a lucrative long-term deployment in a location that his old comrade hadn’t exactly specified.

But that was the least of his worries now.

The air smelled more like a hospital than a military base. The place didn’t look like barracks, either. Skirata leaned on the polished rail that was all that separated him from a forty-meter fall into a chamber large enough to swallow a battle cruiser and lose it.

Above him, the vaulted illuminated ceiling stretched as far as the abyss did below. The prospect of the fall didn’t worry him half as much as not understanding what he was now seeing.

The cavern—surgically clean, polished durasteel and permaglass—was filled with structures that seemed almost like fractals. At first glance they looked like giant toroids stacked on pillars; then, as he stared, the toroids resolved into smaller rings of permaglass containers, with containers within them, and inside those—

No, this wasn’t happening.

Inside the transparent tubes there was fluid, and within it there was movement.

It took him several minutes of staring and refocusing on one of the tubes to realize there was a body in there, and it was alive. In fact, there was a body in every tube: row upon row of tiny bodies, children’s bodies. Babies.

“Fierfek,” he said aloud.

He thought he’d come to this Force-forsaken hole to train commandos. Now he knew he’d stepped into a nightmare. He heard boots behind him on the walkway of the gantry and turned sharply to see Jango coming slowly toward him, chin lowered as if in reproach.

“If you’re thinking of leaving, Kal, you knew the deal,” said Jango, and leaned on the rail beside him.

“You said—”

“I said you’d be training special forces troops, and you will be. They just happen to be growing them.”

“What?”

“Clones.”

“How the fierfek did you ever get involved with that?”

“A straight five million and a few extras for donating my genes. And don’t look shocked. You’d have done the same.”

The pieces fell into place for Skirata and he let himself be shocked anyway. War was one thing. Weird science was another issue entirely.

“Well, I’m keeping my end of the deal.” Skirata adjusted the fifteen-centimeter, three-sided blade that he always kept sheathed in his jacket sleeve. Two Kaminoan technicians walked serenely across the floor of the facility beneath him. Nobody had searched him and he felt better for having a few weapons located for easy use, including the small hold-out blaster tucked in the cuff of his boot.

And all those little kids in tanks . . .

The Kaminoans disappeared from sight. “What do those things want with an army anyway?”

“They don’t. And you don’t need to know all this right now.” Jango beckoned him to follow. “Besides, you’re already dead, remember?”

“Feels like it,” said Skirata. He was the Cuy’val Dar— literally, “those who no longer exist,” a hundred expert soldiers with a dozen specialties who’d answered Jango’s secret summons in exchange for a lot of credits . . . as long as they were prepared to disappear from the galaxy completely.

He trailed Jango down corridors of unbroken white duraplast, passing the occasional Kaminoan with its long gray neck and snake-like head. He’d been here for four standard days now, staring out the window of his quarters onto the endless ocean and catching an occasional glimpse of the aiwhas soaring up out of the waves and flapping into the air. The thunder was totally silenced by the soundproofing, but the lightning had become an annoyingly irregular pulse in the corner of his eye.

Skirata knew from day one that he wouldn’t like Kaminoans.

Their cold yellow eyes troubled him, and he didn’t care for their arrogance, either. They stared at his limping gait and asked if he minded being defective.

The window-lined corridor seemed to run the length of the city. Outside, it was hard to see where the horizon ended and the rain clouds began.

Jango looked back to see if he was keeping up. “Don’t worry, Kal. I’m told it’s clear weather in the summer—for a few days.”

Right. The dreariest planet in the galaxy, and he was stuck on it. And his ankle was playing up. He really should have invested in getting it fixed surgically. When—if—he got out of here, he’d have the assets to get the best surgeon that credits could buy.

Jango slowed down tactfully. “So, Ilippi threw you out?”

“Yeah.” His wife wasn’t Mandalorian. He’d hoped she would embrace the culture, but she didn’t: she always hated seeing her old man go off to someone else’s war. The fights began when he wanted to take their two sons into battle with him. They were eight years old, old enough to start learning their trade; but she refused, and soon Ilippi and the boys and his daughter were no longer waiting when he returned from the latest war. Ilippi divorced him the Mando way, same as they’d married, on a brief, solemn, private vow. A contract was a contract, written or not. “Just as well I’ve got another assignment to occupy me.”

“You should have married a Mando girl. Aruetiise don’t understand a mercenary’s life.” Jango paused as if waiting for argument, but Kal wasn’t giving him one. “Don’t your sons talk to you any longer?”

“Not often.” So I failed as a father. Don’t rub it in. “Obviously they don’t share the Mando outlook on life any more than their mother does.”

“Well, they won’t be speaking to you at all now. Not here. Ever.”

Nobody seemed to care if he had disappeared anyway. Yes, he was as good as dead. Jango said nothing more, and they walked in silence until they reached a large circular lobby with rooms leading off it like the spokes of a wheel.

“Ko Sai said something wasn’t quite right with the first test batch of clones,” said Jango, ushering Skirata ahead of him into another room. “They’ve tested them and they don’t think these are going to make the grade. I told Orun Wa that we’d give him the benefit of our military experience and take a look.”

Skirata was used to evaluating fighting men—and women, come to that. He knew what it took to make a soldier. He was good at it; soldiering was his life, as it was for all...

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Verlag
Random House Worlds
Erscheinungsdatum
2023
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593722167
ISBN 13 
9780593722169
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
496
Kontakt zum Hersteller
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Purmerul LTD
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