Science Fiction
![Joe Schreiber - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_joe_schreiber.jpg)
Death Troopers: Star Wars Legends
The chilling tale of the undead in a galaxy far, far away.
"This is the Star Wars of every horror fan's dreams-gory, funny, and brimming with a blood-spattered cast of swashbucklers and space-zombies."-Seth Grahame-Smith, author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
When the Imperial prison barge Purge-temporary home to five hundred of the galaxy's most ruthless killers, Rebels, scoundrels, and thieves-breaks down in a distant part of space, its only hope appears to lie with a Star Destroyer found drifting and seemingly abandoned. But when a boarding party from the Purge is sent to scavenge for parts, only half of them come back-bringing with them a horrific disease so lethal that within hours, nearly all aboard the Purge die in ways too hideous to imagine.
And death is only the beginning.
The Purge's half-dozen survivors will do whatever it takes to stay alive. But nothing can prepare them for what lies waiting aboard the Star Destroyer. For the dead are rising: soulless, unstoppable, and unspeakably hungry.
"This is the Star Wars of every horror fan's dreams-gory, funny, and brimming with a blood-spattered cast of swashbucklers and space-zombies."-Seth Grahame-Smith, author of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
When the Imperial prison barge Purge-temporary home to five hundred of the galaxy's most ruthless killers, Rebels, scoundrels, and thieves-breaks down in a distant part of space, its only hope appears to lie with a Star Destroyer found drifting and seemingly abandoned. But when a boarding party from the Purge is sent to scavenge for parts, only half of them come back-bringing with them a horrific disease so lethal that within hours, nearly all aboard the Purge die in ways too hideous to imagine.
And death is only the beginning.
The Purge's half-dozen survivors will do whatever it takes to stay alive. But nothing can prepare them for what lies waiting aboard the Star Destroyer. For the dead are rising: soulless, unstoppable, and unspeakably hungry.
Editorial Reviews
"Brilliant . . . This book combines two of my favorite things on earth: the Star Wars universe and the undead."-Tommy Wirkola, director of Dead Snow
Readers Top Reviews
AlexDJFBen Butt
By far one of the best reads. has some great visuals and descriptions. nice to see what J Q citizen was like in star wars.
My nephew asked for this book, he is a teenager. Was happy with the book
JR Hammack Al
I enjoyed this book, as it was probably my first time reading a Legends book. It is definitely not a typical Star Wars story, but it shines in the slow build and threaded plot points throughout.
Roman85 (My sweet
There isn't much I can say that others haven't already said about this one, set maybe a year before the events of "A New Hope", I can say this, this one had a neat premise, it is not hard to believe that the Empire would conduct a biological experiment that could go horribly wrong cuasing a virus that kills Imperial officers & Stormtroopers & then turns them into zombies, as a nearby prison barge is caught in a desolute Star Destroyer's tractor beam, members of the barge board the isolated Star Destroyer only to bring back the virus that kills all but six, two of the six being Han Solo & Chewbacca, at first I was concerned about this conflicting with the "Han Solo trilogy books(Paradise Snare, The Hutt Gambit, Rebel Dawn), however in "Rebel Dawn" Han & Chewbacca are notably absent for 5 to 6 chapters, so with that being said, this one does not conflict with continuity as some have suggested, this is where they were in terms of their absence, the first half is a bit slow, however when the six survivors board the Star Destroyer, that is where the scary fun begins, as Han, Chewie, pretty doc Zahara, two brothers & prison captain Jareth encounters the walking dead in the dark corridors, Han's swagger is ever so present especially when him & Chewie make their way to the command bridge & Han's notice of the pretty doctor, Jareth's redemption & zombies everywhere, again there isn't much I can say that hasn't already been said, all I can say is that if you like a good scary read & are a SW fan, this is a must have.
Ryan MansfieldRom
The story was a little slow to start up but once it did the pace was great and very little page space was used on filler content. The author manages to mix sci-fi and horror in a way that is unique. The fact that the author mostly uses an unknown cast and still makes us care about them says a lot about his ability to write characters. Without going into spoilers, the ending did seem a little forced but it is far from the worst ending I've seen in a Star Wars book
Short Excerpt Teaser
Purge
The nights were the worst.
Even before his father's death, Trig Longo had come to dread the long hours after lockdown, the shadows and sounds and the chronically unstable gulf of silence that drew out in between them. Night after night he lay still on his bunk and stared up at the dripping durasteel ceiling of the cell in search of sleep or some acceptable substitute. Sometimes he would actually start to drift off, floating away in that comforting sensation of weightlessness, only to be rattled awake-heart pounding, throat tight, stomach muscles sprung and fluttering-by some shout or a cry, an inmate having a nightmare.
There was no shortage of nightmares aboard the Imperial Prison Barge Purge.
Trig didn't know exactly how many prisoners the Purge was currently carrying. He guessed maybe five hundred, human and otherwise, scraped from every corner of the galaxy, just as he and his family had been picked up eight standard weeks before. Sometimes the incoming shuttles returned almost empty; on other occasions they came packed with squabbling alien life-forms and alleged Rebel sympathizers of every stripe and species. There were assassins for hire and sociopaths the likes of which Trig had never seen, thin-lipped things that cackled and sneered in seditious languages that, to Trig's ears, were little more than clicks and hisses.
Every one of them seemed to harbor its own obscure appetites and personal grudges, personal histories blighted with shameful secrets and obscure vendettas. Being cautious became harder; soon you needed eyes in the back of your head-which some of them actually possessed. Two weeks earlier in the mess hall, Trig had noticed a tall, silent inmate sitting with its back to him but watching him nonetheless with a single raw-red eye in the back of its skull. Every day the red-eyed thing seemed to be sitting a little nearer. Then one day, without explanation, it was gone.
Except from his dreams.
Sighing, Trig levered himself up on his elbows and looked through the bars onto the corridor. Gen Pop had cycled down to minimum power for the night, edging the long gangway in permanent gray twilight. The Rodians in the cell across from his had gone to sleep or were feigning it. He forced himself to sit there, regulating his breathing, listening to the faint echoes of the convicts' uneasy groans and murmurs. Every so often a mouse droid or low-level maintenance unit, one of hundreds occupying the barge, would scramble by on some preprogrammed errand or another. And of course, below it all-low and not quite beneath the scope of hearing-was the omnipresent thrum of the barge's turbines gnashing endlessly through space.
For as long as they'd been aboard, Trig still hadn't gotten used to that last sound, the way it shook the Purge to its framework, rising up through his legs and rattling his bones and nerves. There was no escaping it, the way it undermined every moment of life, as familiar as his own pulse.
Trig thought back to sitting in the infirmary just two weeks earlier, watching his father draw one last shaky breath, and the silence afterward as the medical droids disconnected the biomonitors from the old man's ruined body and prepared to haul it away. As the last of the monitors fell silent, he'd heard that low steady thunder of the engines, one more unnecessary reminder of where he was and where he was going. He remembered how that noise had made him feel lost and small and inescapably sad-some special form of artificial gravity that seemed to work directly against his heart.
He had known then, as he knew now, that it really only meant one thing, the ruthlessly grinding effort of the Empire consolidating its power.
Forget politics, his father had always said. Just give 'em something they need, or they'll eat you alive. And now they'd been eaten alive anyway, despite the fact that they'd never been sympathizers, no more than low-level grifters scooped up on a routine Imperial sweep. The engines of tyranny ground on, bearing them forward across the galaxy toward some remote penal moon. Trig sensed that noise would continue, would carry on indefinitely, echoing right up until-
"Trig?"
It was Kale's voice behind him, unexpected, and Trig flinched a little at the sound of it. He looked back and saw his older brother gazing back at him, Kale's handsomely rumpled, sleep-slackened face just a ghostly three-quarter profile suspended in the cell's gloom. Kale looked like he was still only partly awake and unsure whether ...
The nights were the worst.
Even before his father's death, Trig Longo had come to dread the long hours after lockdown, the shadows and sounds and the chronically unstable gulf of silence that drew out in between them. Night after night he lay still on his bunk and stared up at the dripping durasteel ceiling of the cell in search of sleep or some acceptable substitute. Sometimes he would actually start to drift off, floating away in that comforting sensation of weightlessness, only to be rattled awake-heart pounding, throat tight, stomach muscles sprung and fluttering-by some shout or a cry, an inmate having a nightmare.
There was no shortage of nightmares aboard the Imperial Prison Barge Purge.
Trig didn't know exactly how many prisoners the Purge was currently carrying. He guessed maybe five hundred, human and otherwise, scraped from every corner of the galaxy, just as he and his family had been picked up eight standard weeks before. Sometimes the incoming shuttles returned almost empty; on other occasions they came packed with squabbling alien life-forms and alleged Rebel sympathizers of every stripe and species. There were assassins for hire and sociopaths the likes of which Trig had never seen, thin-lipped things that cackled and sneered in seditious languages that, to Trig's ears, were little more than clicks and hisses.
Every one of them seemed to harbor its own obscure appetites and personal grudges, personal histories blighted with shameful secrets and obscure vendettas. Being cautious became harder; soon you needed eyes in the back of your head-which some of them actually possessed. Two weeks earlier in the mess hall, Trig had noticed a tall, silent inmate sitting with its back to him but watching him nonetheless with a single raw-red eye in the back of its skull. Every day the red-eyed thing seemed to be sitting a little nearer. Then one day, without explanation, it was gone.
Except from his dreams.
Sighing, Trig levered himself up on his elbows and looked through the bars onto the corridor. Gen Pop had cycled down to minimum power for the night, edging the long gangway in permanent gray twilight. The Rodians in the cell across from his had gone to sleep or were feigning it. He forced himself to sit there, regulating his breathing, listening to the faint echoes of the convicts' uneasy groans and murmurs. Every so often a mouse droid or low-level maintenance unit, one of hundreds occupying the barge, would scramble by on some preprogrammed errand or another. And of course, below it all-low and not quite beneath the scope of hearing-was the omnipresent thrum of the barge's turbines gnashing endlessly through space.
For as long as they'd been aboard, Trig still hadn't gotten used to that last sound, the way it shook the Purge to its framework, rising up through his legs and rattling his bones and nerves. There was no escaping it, the way it undermined every moment of life, as familiar as his own pulse.
Trig thought back to sitting in the infirmary just two weeks earlier, watching his father draw one last shaky breath, and the silence afterward as the medical droids disconnected the biomonitors from the old man's ruined body and prepared to haul it away. As the last of the monitors fell silent, he'd heard that low steady thunder of the engines, one more unnecessary reminder of where he was and where he was going. He remembered how that noise had made him feel lost and small and inescapably sad-some special form of artificial gravity that seemed to work directly against his heart.
He had known then, as he knew now, that it really only meant one thing, the ruthlessly grinding effort of the Empire consolidating its power.
Forget politics, his father had always said. Just give 'em something they need, or they'll eat you alive. And now they'd been eaten alive anyway, despite the fact that they'd never been sympathizers, no more than low-level grifters scooped up on a routine Imperial sweep. The engines of tyranny ground on, bearing them forward across the galaxy toward some remote penal moon. Trig sensed that noise would continue, would carry on indefinitely, echoing right up until-
"Trig?"
It was Kale's voice behind him, unexpected, and Trig flinched a little at the sound of it. He looked back and saw his older brother gazing back at him, Kale's handsomely rumpled, sleep-slackened face just a ghostly three-quarter profile suspended in the cell's gloom. Kale looked like he was still only partly awake and unsure whether ...
