Free Star Wars - Lost Tribe of the Sith 01 - Precipice by John Jackson Miller Page B

their father. But those eyes, and that look? Those could have been a direct transplant.
    Their father.
He’d never had a day like this. The old spacer had never lost a ship for the Sith Lords. Learning at his side, the teenage Yaru had staked out his ownfuture—until the day he became less enamored of his father’s footsteps. The day when Devore arrived. Half Yaru’s age, son to a mother from another port on another planet—and embraced by the old admiral without a second thought. Rather than find out how many more children his father had out there to vie for stations on the bridge, Cadet Korsin appealed to the Sith Lords for another assignment. That had not been a mistake. In five years, he made captain. In ten, he won command of the newly christened
Omen
over a captain many years his senior.
    His father hadn’t liked that. He’d never lost a ship for the Sith Lords. But he’d lost one to his son.
    But now losing the
Omen
was looking like a family tradition. The whole bridge crew—even the outsider Devore—exhaled audibly when rivulets of moisture replaced the flames outside the viewport.
Omen
had found the stratosphere without incinerating, and now the ship was in a lazy saucer spin through clouds heavy with rain. Korsin’s eyes narrowed. Water?
    Is there even a ground?
    The terrifying thought rippled through the minds of the seven on the bridge at once, as they watched the transparisteel viewport bulge and warp:
Gas giant!
It took a long time to crash from orbit, presuming you survived reentry. How much longer, if there was no surface? Korsin fumbled aimlessly for the controls set in his armrest.
Omen
would crack and rupture, smothered under a mountain of vapors. They shared the thought—and almost in response, the straining portal darkened. “All of you,” he said, “heads down! And grab something …
now
!”
    This time, they did as told. He knew: Tie it to self-preservation, and a Sith would do anything. Even this bunch. Korsin clawed at the chair, his eyes fixed on the forward viewport and the shadow swiftly falling across it.
    A wet mass slapped against the hull. Its spindly form tumbled across the transparisteel, lingering an instant before disappearing. The commander blinked twice. It was there and gone, but it wasn’t part of his ship.
    It had wings.
    Startled, Korsin sprang from his seat and lurched toward the viewport. This time, the mistake was certifiably his. Already stressed before the midair collision, the transparisteel gave way, shards weeping from the ship like shining tears. A hush of departing air slammed Korsin to the deck plating. Old Marcom tumbled to one side, having lost hold of his station. Sirens sounded—how were they still working?—but the tumult soon subsided. Without thinking, Korsin breathed.
    “Air! It’s air!”
    Devore regained his footing first, bracing against the wind. Their first luck. The viewport had mostly blown out, not in—and while the cabin had lost pressure, a drippy, salty wind was slowly replacing it. Unaided, Commander Korsin fought his way back to his station.
Thanks for the hand, brother.
    “Just a reprieve,” Gloyd said. They still couldn’t see what was below. Korsin had done a suicide plunge before, but that had been in a bomber—when he’d known where the ground was. That there
was
a ground.
    Once-restrained doubts flooded Korsin’s mind—and Devore responded. “Enough,” the crystal hunter barked, struggling against the swaying deck to reach his sibling’s command chair. “Let me at those controls!”
    “They’re as dead for you as they are for me!”
    “We’ll see about that!” Devore reached for the armrest, only to be blocked by Korsin’s beefy wrist. The commander’s teeth clenched.
Don’t do this. Not now.
    A baby screamed. Korsin looked quizzically at Devore for a moment before turning to see Seelah in the doorway, clutching a small crimson-wrapped bundle. The child wailed.
    Darker-skinned than either of them, Seelah was