by James Luceno
Dofine turned to the navigator. "Enable defense systems!" "Central
control computer reports continued blasterfire in the starboard hangar. Eight
security droids destroyed." "Destroyed?" "Defense system has the Nebula Front
starfighters in target lock. Deflector shields are raised--was "Starfighters
firing!" Intense light exploded behind the rectangular viewports and shook the
bridge hard enough to rattle a droid off its feet.
"Turbolasers responding!" Dofine swung to the viewports in time to see
hyphens of pulsed, red light streak from the freighter's equatorially mounted
batteries.
"Where is our closest reinforcement?" "One star system distant," the
navigator said.
"The Acquisitor.
More heavily armed than the Revenue." "Send a distress call!" "Is that
wise, Commander?" Dofine understood the implication. Rescue was always a
belittling event. But Dofine was certain that he could offset the humiliation
by protecting the Revenue's cargo.
"Just do as I say," he told the navigator.
"Starfighter elements are forming up for a second run," the Sullustan
updated.
"Where are the starfighters? Why aren't they moving in to engage?" "You
recalled them, Commander," the navigator reminded.
Dofine gestured wildly. "Well, relaunch them, relaunch them!" "Central
control computer requests permission to isolate zone two of starboard hangar."
"Seal it!" Dofine sputtered. "Seal it now!" The masked group that had
infiltrated the Revenue were a diverse lot--as varied as the starfighters that
were flying support- - humans and nonhumans, male and female, stocky and
slender. Protected by camouflage suits and matte-black armorply, and sporting
gripsole deckboots and combat goggles, they emerged from behind the battering
ram that had afforded them an element of surprise, firing state-of-the-art
assault rifles and shoulder-slung field disrupters.
The handful of security droids that were still standing collapsed to the
deck, limbs splayed or hopelessly entwined.
The human OLR-4 had nearly gotten the drop on strode fearlessly to the
center of the yawning hangar, checked a readout on his wrist comm, and tugged
the rebreather and goggles from his face.
The firefight had left a vagrant tang in the air, the smell of ozone and
scorched alloy.
"Atmosphere is ena4," he told the rest of his band. "But oxygen levels
are equivalent to what you'd find at four thousand meters. Off your masks, but
keep them handy--especially you t'bac addicts." With some muffled laughter,
the team complied.
Beneath the apparatus, the human's dark-complexioned face was still a
mask thickly bearded with coarse black hair, and rashed from temple to temple
with small diamond-shaped tattoos. His violet eyes surveyed the damage with
obvious dispassion.
There wasn't a security droid in sight, but the deck was littered with
their remains. Labor droids of several varieties continued to route a few pods
to berthing spaces.
A human member of the team kicked aside the severed arm of a security
droid. "These things could be dangerous if they ever learn to think straight."
"Shoot straight," the bearded man amended.
"Tell that to Rasper, Captain Cohl," another said--Boiny, a Rodian. "It
was a droid that sent Rasper on his way." A green - skinned and round-eyed
male, Boiny had a tapered snout and a crest of pliant yellow spines.
"A lucky droid, a luckier shot," a Rodian female remarked.
"That doesn't mean we treat this like an exercise," Cohl warned, eyeing
everyone. "The central control computer will be deploying backup units soon
enough, and we've got a kilometer to go before we hit the centersphere." The
infiltrators glanced down the curved hangar toward a bulkhead that loomed in
the distance. High overhead were massive box girders and I-beams, cranes,
maintenance gantries, and hoists, a puzzle of atmosphere and vectoring ducts.
A human female--the only among them--whichistled softly. "Stars' end, you
could hide an invasion force in here." As dark-complexioned as Cohl, she had
short brown hair and an elegantly angular face. Even the mimetic suit could
not camouflage her shapeliness.
"That would mean spending some of the profits, Rella," a male human said.
"And the Neimoidians don't do that unless they can spend it on new robes."
Boiny loosed a high-pitched laugh. "You grow up a half - starved Neimoidian
grub, that's what happens." Cohl raised his bearded chin to two of his band.
"Stay with the pod. We'll make contact when we have the bridge." He swung
to the others. "Team one, take the outer rim corridor. The rest of you are
with me." The Revenue shuddered slightly. Muted explosions could be heard in
the distance.
Cohl cocked an ear. "That'll be our ships." Sirens began to blare
throughout the hangar. The labor droids stopped in their tracks, as a basso
rumble gathered underfoot.
Rella gazed at the far-off bulkhead. "They're sealing off the hangar."
Cohl waved a gesture to the first team. "Move out.
We'll rendezvous at the starboard turbolifts.
Set your suits to pulse--that ought to confuse the droids--and use the
concussion grenades sparingly. And remember to monitor your oxygen levels." He
took a few steps, then stopped. "One more thing You get blasted by a droid,
bacta rehabilitation comes out of your pay." Daultay Dofine stood rigidly on
the bridge's walkway, watching in arrant horror as the Nebula Front showed his
ship no mercy.
The motley starfighters fell on the Revenue in full force, pick ing away
at the freighter's fat arms and triple-thrustered hindquarters like ravenous
birds of prey. Many of the unshielded droid ships were annihilated as soon as
they emerged from the vessel's protective force field.
Emboldened by their effortless mastery, the enemy craft violated the
embrace the hangar arms threw about the centersphere by strafing the command
tower at close quarter. Ion cannon fire from the gunship sent waves of
aggravation through the Revenue's deflector shield. Violent light washed
against the bridge viewports.
It was all Define could do to keep himself rooted on the walkway, as he
cursed the terrorists under his breath.
In return for having been awarded what amounted to exclusive rights to
trade in the outlying star systems, the Trade Federation had pledged to the
Galactic Senate on Coruscant that it would content itself with remaining a
mercantile power, and refrain from becoming a naval power through the
accumulation of war machines. However, the further the giant ships traveled
from the Core, the more often they fell victim to attacks by pirates,
privateers, and terrorist groups like the Nebula Front, whose broad membership
had grievances not only with the Trade Federation, but also with distant
Coruscant itself.
As a result, the senate had granted permission for the freighters to be
equipped with weapons of defense, to safeguard them in the unpoliced systems
strewn between the major trade routes and hyperlanes. But that had only forced
the raiders to upgrade their armamen
ts and, in turn, prepared the way for
periodic strengthenings of Trade Federation defenses.
Skirmishes in the Mid and Outer Rims--throughout the so - called free
trade zones--had since become commonplace. But Coruscant was a long way off,
even by lightspeed, and it was not always easy to ascertain who was at fault
and who had fired first. By the time matters reached the courts, it often came
down to the word of one party against the word of another, without resolution.
Things might have gone differently for the Trade Federation but for the
Neimoidians, who were as penurious as they were avaricious. When it had come
to fortifying the giant ships, they had sought out the most cut-rate
suppliers, and they had insisted that protecting the cargo was their paramount
concern.
Against all sound judgment, it was the Neimoidians who had dictated the
placement of quad laser batteries around the outer wall of the hangar arms.
While the equatorial arrangement was adequate for repelling lateral
attacks, it proved completely ineffective for countering attacks launched from
above or below, where nearly all the freighters' crucial systems were located
tractor beam and deflector shield generators, hyperdrive reactors, and the
central control computer.
Thus the Trade Federation had been forced to invest in bigger and better
shield generators, thicker armor plating, and, ultimately, in squadrons of
starfighters. But starfighter allotments were subject to senate sanction, and
freighters like the Revenue frequently found themselves defenseless against
fighter craft piloted by seasoned raiders.
Well aware of these shortcomings, Daultay Dofine saw the ship and its
cargo of precious lommite rapidly slipping from his grasp.
"Shields holding at fifty percent," the Gran reported from across the
bridge, "but we are imperiled. A few more strikes and we'll be disa4." "Where
is the Acquisitor?" Dofine whined. "It should have arrived by now!" A volley
from the Nebula Front's gunship--Captain Gobi's personal gunship--rocked the
bridge. As Dofine had learned in previous engagements, sheer size was no
guarantee of protection, much less victory, and the freighter's three-
kilometer diameter only made it a target that couldn't be missed.
"Shields marginal at forty percent." "Quad lasers one through six are not
responding," the Sullustan added. "The starfighters are concentrating fire on
the deflector shield generator and drive reactors." Dofine firmed his fleshy
lips in anger.
"Instruct the central control computer to activate all droids, all ship
defenses, and prepare to repel boarders," he brayed. "Over my dead body will
Captain Cohl set foot on this bridge." In the starboard hangar arm, Cohl's
team had barely made it through the bulkhead door when every device in zone
three conspired to prevent them from getting one meter closer to the
acceleration compensator shaft that connected the centersphere to its
embracing arms.
Overhead cranes threw grappling claws at them; towering derricks toppled
in their path; binary loadlifters dogged them like mechanical nightmares; and
oxygen levels plummeted. Even worker droids joined the fray, brandishing
fusioncutters and power calibrators as if they were flame projectors and
vibroblades.
"Central control's turned the entire ship against us," Cohl yelled.
Rella squeezed off bolts at a posse of hydrospanner-wielding PK droids.
"What did you expect, Cohl--the royal welcome?" Cohl gestured Boiny,
Rella, and the rest of his team toward the final bulkhead that stood between
them and the centersphere turbolifts. Sirens shrieked and howled in the thin
air. Crisscrossing and ricocheting blaster bolts created a pyrotechnic display
worthy of a Republic Day parade on Coruscant.
Cohl fired on the run, losing count of how many droids he had dropped and
how many blaster gas cartridges his weapon had expended. Two of his band were
pinned down by droid fire, but there was little he or anyone else could do to
help them. With luck they would get to the rendezvous point, even if they had
to drag themselves there.
Pursued by three binary loadlifters, the team raced through the final
bulkhead door and fought their way to the closest bank of turbolifts.
The hatch that accessed the transfer tubes was locked down.
"Boiny!" Cohl shouted.
The Rodian holstered his blaster and hurried forward, eyeing the hatch up
and down, then moved to the control panel set into the wall. Preparing to
slice the code, he rubbed his palms together and cracked his long, suction-
tip-equipped fingers. Before he could lay a hand on the panel keys, Cohl
slapped him in the back of the head.
"What is this, amateur night?" Cohl asked with a menacing scowl. "Blow
the thing." Define was pacing the walkway when the bridge hatch blew inward,
loosing a brief storm of paralyzing heat that tumbled him to the deck.
Cohl's band of six hurried in behind a roiling cloud of smoke, their
mimetic suits allowing them to blend even with the burnished bulkheads of the
bridge.
Quickly and efficiently, they disarmed the Gran and shot restraining
bolts onto the chest plastrons of the droids.
Cohl waved one of his men towar d the communications station.
"Contact the Hawk-Bat.
Tell them we've secured the bridge. Have the starfighters deploy for
defense, and stand by to cover our exfiltration." He waved another of his
cohorts toward the Gran's duty station. "Order the central control computer to
stand down. Have it open all bulkheads in the hangar arms." The human nodded
and dropped down below the walkway.
Cohl tapped a code into his wrist comlink and raised it to his mouth.
"Base team, we have the bridge. Move the pod into zone three and set it down
as close as possible to the inner wall hangar portal. We'll be here soon
enough." Cohl zeroed the comlink. His eyes roamed over the faces of his five
living captives, settling finally on Dofine. Then he drew his blaster.
Spreading his arms wide in a gesture of surrender, Dofine took two
backward steps as Cohl approached.
"You would shoot an unarmed individual, Captain Cohl?" Cohl pressed the
barrel of the weapon to Dofine's ribcage. "I'd shoot an unarmed Neimoidian -
comand I'd sleep better for it." He glared at Dofine for a long moment, then
holstered the blaster and turned to the Rodian member of his band.
"Boiny, get to work. And be quick about it." Cohl swung back to Dofine.
"Where's the rest of your crew, Commander?" Dofine swallowed and found
his voice. "Returning by shuttle from Dorvalla." Cohl nodded. "Good, that'll
simplify things." Repeatedly poking Dofine in the chest with his forefinger,
Cohl moved him backwards along the walkway until they reached the navigator's
chair. A final poke sent Define off the walkway and into the seat.
Cohl jumped down to face him. "We need to discuss your cargo, Commander."
"The cargo?" Dofine stammered. "Lommite--destined for SluisVan." "To the
depths with the ore," Cohl snarled. "I'm talking about the aurodium." Dofine
tried to keep his red eyes from bulging
. His nictitating membranes spasmed,
and he blinked half a dozen times. "Aurodium?" Cohl leaned toward him. "You're
carrying two billion in aurodium ingots." Dofine stiffened under Cohl's gaze.
"You--you must be mistaken, Captain. The Revenue is carrying ore." Cohl raised
himself to his considerable height.
"I'll say it once more. You're carrying aurodium ingots--butribes
proffered by Outer Rim worlds to ensure the continued blessing of the Trade
Federation." Dofine sneered, in spite of himself. "So it is currency you seek.
I had always heard that the notorious Captain Cohl was an idealist. Now I see
that he is a simple thief." Cohl almost grinned. "We can't all be licensed
thieves like you and the rest of your bunch." "The Trade Federation does not
deal in violence and death, Captain." Cohl grabbed two fistfuls of Dofine's
rich raiment and yanked him halfway out of the chair. "Not yet you don't." He
pushed Dofine back into the seat. "But we'll save that for another day. What
matters now is the aurodium." "And should I refuse to submit?" Without taking
his eyes from Dofine, Cohl pointed to his Rodian comrade. "Boiny, there, is
affixing a thermal detonator to the Revenue's fuel-driver control system. As I
understand it, the device will trigger an explosion large enough to destroy
your ship in... Boiny?" "Sixty minutes, Captain," Boiny shouted, holding aloft
a metallic sphere the size of a stinkmelon.
Cohl pulled an object from the thigh pouch pocket of his mimetic suit and
slapped it against the back of Dofine's left hand. Dofine saw that it was a
timer, already counting down from sixty minutes. He raised his eyes to Cohl's
steadfast gaze.
"About the ingots," Cohl said.
Dofine nodded. "Yes, all right--if you promise to spare the ship." Cohl
laughed shortly. "The Revenue is history. But you have my word I'll spare your
life if you do as you're told." Again, Dofine nodded. "That way I'll at least
live to see you executed." Cohl shrugged. "You never know, Commander." He
straightened and grinned at Rella. "What did I tell you? Easy as--was
"Captain," Cohls man at the communications station cut him off. "Vessel
emerging from hyperspace.
Authenticators paint her as the TradeFed freighter Acquisitor." Rella
made a plosive sound. "You were saying, Cohl?" The look Cohl directed at
Dofine was one of genuine surprise. "Maybe you're not as thick-skulled as you
