From Rebels to Andor, we’ve met different types of people that make up the Empire’s sinister intelligence forces in the Imperial Security Bureau. We’ve seen agents like Kallus realize the extent of their role in the Empire’s evil, and agents like Dedra Meero consumed by the system they created. Now, in the latest Star Wars novel, we’re going to meet an agent learning a very difficult lesson: the long arm of Imperial law doesn’t apply to some people, whether they like it or not.
That’s the trouble facing ISB agent Sendril Crane in Lamar Giles’ new Star Wars novel out this week, Sanctuary. A brand new tale starring Clone Force 99—better known as the ragtag heroes of The Bad Batch—Sanctuary is set during the events of the Clone Wars continuation’s second season, after the Batch has found a new secretive home on the island world of Pabu.
Tasked with a series of risky new missions by their ally, the treasure hunter Phee Genoa, the Batch find themselves immediately leaving the safe haven of their new home for a chance for money and potential exposure to agents of the Empire they all long to avoid. After things start going wrong and pressure mounts, Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Omega find themselves weighing the odds of their mercenary life when they’re tasked with ferrying a young couple to safe harbor—as the shadow of the ISB stalks them all, threatening to bring not just the Bad Batch’s passengers but all of Pabu into the spotlight at the worst possible time.
You can get to know Crane a little in our exclusive excerpt from Sanctuary below, as he investigates the aftermath of one of the Batch’s louder missions with Phee… only to discover that, for all the terror the ISB strikes in people at the heart of the Imperial regime, in some corners of the galaxy, a certain name dropped at a certain time can still count for an awful lot… especially when that name is Sheev Palpatine’s.
“Parlin, Parlin! Is that the authorities? Thank goodness. I didn’t expect them to get here so fast.” The woman, her luxurious gown sullied with dust and muck, her hair mussed, her hands shaking, emerged from the shadows of the entrance. Her eyes were wide with relief, but the look shifted to confusion. “You aren’t the local police. You’re ISB.”
“Cellia Moten, I presume.” Crane kept his voice light. He wanted her to trust him. Easier to catch her in a lie that way. Under Imperial statutes, lying to an ISB agent was punishable by up to ninety days of detention.
“I am.” She extended her hand daintily, fingers down, the back toward the sky. Crane associated this gesture with royalty, beings who were accustomed to people grasping those fingers before kneeling or kissing rings. He remained upright while squeezing her fingers. It looked as awkward as it felt.
Cellia retracted her hand, unfazed. “Did the Dallow police send you?”
“No,” Crane said, his original line of questioning lost in his own confusion. “Why would they?”
“Because I’ve been robbed!”
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