Star Wars serie #1

The Rise of the Empire

Name: The Rise of the Empire
Brand: Luceno, James
SKU: PR-9781101965030
Price: 99.0 EUR
Availability: OutOfStock
Rating: 1.0 (1 reviews)

1.0

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Le Pitch

Présentation de l'éditeur Witness the rise of the Empire with these two thrilling Star Wars novels—plus exclusive short stories by Melissa Scott, John Jackson Miller, and Jason Fry! TARKIN “Compelling . . . The villains of Star Wars are as much fun as the good guys.”—New York Daily News Under Governor Wilhuff Tarkin’s guidance, an ultimate weapon of unparalleled destruction—the so-called Death Star—moves ever closer to becoming a terrifying reality. Until then, insurgency remains a genuine threat. Guerrilla attacks by an elusive band of freedom fighters must be countered with swift and brutal action—a mission the Emperor entrusts to his most formidable agents: Darth Vader, the fearsome new Sith enforcer, and Tarkin, whose tactical cunning and cold-blooded efficiency will pave the way for the Empire’s supremacy—and its enemies’ extinction. A NEW DAWN Foreword by Dave Filoni “A story with pacing and dialogue that feels like classic Star Wars.”—Nerdist Ever since the Jedi were marked for death, Kanan Jarrus has devoted himself to staying alive rather than serving the Force. So when he discovers a conflict brewing between Imperial forces and desperate revolutionaries, he’s not about to get caught in the crossfire. Then the brutal death of a friend forces him to choose between bowing down to fear or standing up to fight. But Jarrus won’t be fighting alone. Soon he is joined by Hera Syndulla—a mysterious agent provocateur with motives of her own—in challenging the Empire for the sake of a world and its people. Extrait chapter 2 Blows Against the Empire The door to Tarkin’s quarters whooshed open, disappearing into the partition, and out he marched, dressed in worn trousers and ill-fitting boots, with a lightweight gray-green duster draped over his shoulders. As the adjutant hurried to keep pace with the taller man’s determined steps, the strident voice of the protocol droid slithered through the opening before the door resealed itself. “But, sir, the fitting!” Originally a cramped garrison base deployed from a Victory-class Star Destroyer, Sentinel now sprawled in all directions as a result of prefabricated modules that had since been delivered or assembled on site. The heart of the facility was a warren of corridors linking one module to the next, their ceilings lost behind banks of harsh illuminators, forced-air ducts, fire-suppression pipes, and bundled strands of snaking wires. Everything had an improvised look, but as this was Moff Wilhuff Tarkin’s domain, the radiantly heated walkways and walls were spotless, and the pipes and feeds were meticulously organized and labeled with alphanumerics. Overworked scrubbers purged staleness and the smell of ozone from the recycled air. The corridors were crowded not only with specialists and junior officers, but also with droids of all sizes and shapes, twittering, beeping, and chirping to one another as their optical sensors assessed the speed and momentum of Tarkin’s forward march and propelling themselves out of harm’s way at the last possible instant, on treads, casters, repulsors, and ungainly metal legs. Between the blare of distant alarms and the warble of announcements ordering personnel to muster stations, it was difficult enough to hear oneself think, and yet Tarkin was receiving updates through an ear bead as well as communicating continually with Sentinel’s command center through a speck of a microphone adhered to his voice box. He wedged the audio bead deeper into his ear as he strode through a domed module whose skylight wells revealed that the storm had struck with full force and was shaking Sentinel for all it was worth. Exiting the dome and moving against a tide of staff and droids, he right-angled through two short stretches of corridor, doors flying open at his approach and additional personnel joining him at each juncture—senior officers, navy troopers, communications technicians, some of them young and shorn, most of them Afficher moinsAfficher plus

Star Wars serie #1

The Rise of the Empire

1.0

(1)

Indisponible

Le Pitch

Présentation de l'éditeur Witness the rise of the Empire with these two thrilling Star Wars novels—plus exclusive short stories by Melissa Scott, John Jackson Miller, and Jason Fry! TARKIN “Compelling . . . The villains of Star Wars are as much fun as the good guys.”—New York Daily News Under Governor Wilhuff Tarkin’s guidance, an ultimate weapon of unparalleled destruction—the so-called Death Star—moves ever closer to becoming a terrifying reality. Until then, insurgency remains a genuine threat. Guerrilla attacks by an elusive band of freedom fighters must be countered with swift and brutal action—a mission the Emperor entrusts to his most formidable agents: Darth Vader, the fearsome new Sith enforcer, and Tarkin, whose tactical cunning and cold-blooded efficiency will pave the way for the Empire’s supremacy—and its enemies’ extinction. A NEW DAWN Foreword by Dave Filoni “A story with pacing and dialogue that feels like classic Star Wars.”—Nerdist Ever since the Jedi were marked for death, Kanan Jarrus has devoted himself to staying alive rather than serving the Force. So when he discovers a conflict brewing between Imperial forces and desperate revolutionaries, he’s not about to get caught in the crossfire. Then the brutal death of a friend forces him to choose between bowing down to fear or standing up to fight. But Jarrus won’t be fighting alone. Soon he is joined by Hera Syndulla—a mysterious agent provocateur with motives of her own—in challenging the Empire for the sake of a world and its people. Extrait chapter 2 Blows Against the Empire The door to Tarkin’s quarters whooshed open, disappearing into the partition, and out he marched, dressed in worn trousers and ill-fitting boots, with a lightweight gray-green duster draped over his shoulders. As the adjutant hurried to keep pace with the taller man’s determined steps, the strident voice of the protocol droid slithered through the opening before the door resealed itself. “But, sir, the fitting!” Originally a cramped garrison base deployed from a Victory-class Star Destroyer, Sentinel now sprawled in all directions as a result of prefabricated modules that had since been delivered or assembled on site. The heart of the facility was a warren of corridors linking one module to the next, their ceilings lost behind banks of harsh illuminators, forced-air ducts, fire-suppression pipes, and bundled strands of snaking wires. Everything had an improvised look, but as this was Moff Wilhuff Tarkin’s domain, the radiantly heated walkways and walls were spotless, and the pipes and feeds were meticulously organized and labeled with alphanumerics. Overworked scrubbers purged staleness and the smell of ozone from the recycled air. The corridors were crowded not only with specialists and junior officers, but also with droids of all sizes and shapes, twittering, beeping, and chirping to one another as their optical sensors assessed the speed and momentum of Tarkin’s forward march and propelling themselves out of harm’s way at the last possible instant, on treads, casters, repulsors, and ungainly metal legs. Between the blare of distant alarms and the warble of announcements ordering personnel to muster stations, it was difficult enough to hear oneself think, and yet Tarkin was receiving updates through an ear bead as well as communicating continually with Sentinel’s command center through a speck of a microphone adhered to his voice box. He wedged the audio bead deeper into his ear as he strode through a domed module whose skylight wells revealed that the storm had struck with full force and was shaking Sentinel for all it was worth. Exiting the dome and moving against a tide of staff and droids, he right-angled through two short stretches of corridor, doors flying open at his approach and additional personnel joining him at each juncture—senior officers, navy troopers, communications technicians, some of them young and shorn, most of them Afficher moinsAfficher plus