An Imperial clerk was sitting behind a spacious desk as they were brought into the building. “Hold please,” he snarled, never bothering to glance up. Drawn into a long frown, his gnarled, haggard face wore the unpleasant expression of overwork and general dislike for the public.
Safely eclipsed by Nikaede’s shadow, Drake leaned against Ancher, whispering, “Did my dad get off the dock?”
Cautiously, Ancher hummed impatiently, nodding positively to acknowledge his request, while effectively getting the Imperial clerk’s attention.
“What can I do for you?” the agent asked in a low nasal tone.
“These people need to register an exotic animal,” the stormtrooper replied, shoving Ancher toward the desk.
“Type of animal?”
“A Wookiee,” Ancher growled.
“How will the animal be used?” the clerk continued, punching the necessary codes into the datapad. “Concubine. Laborer. House servant. Hunting. Breeding stock.”
“Chumani.” Drake replied.
The Imperial agent looked up, managing to glare down his protracted, irregular nose. “A chumani?”
Ancher curbed his temper and whispered. “A companion.” Then glaring at Drake, he added, “A child’s companion.”
The clerk rolled his eyes, exasperated, then scanned the datapad before him. “That will be 1,000 credits for a temporary offworld permit. Vaccinations, physical examinations, and temperament adjustments are extras. Do you wish to …”
“No.”
“Then that will be an additional 500 credits.”
“But I don’t want the vaccinations or …”
“The fee is not for any of those services. It’s a calamity insurance surcharge.” The adjutant began formatting the temporary registration, officially notarizing the documents with the Imperial seal. “If the animal should get loose and injure someone, you’ll be partially covered.”
“If the animal gets loose, you won’t have to worry about injury!” Ancher snapped. “You’ll be dead, along with anybody else fool enough to get in a Wookiee’s way.”
“Ancher,” Drake cautioned him.
The Corellian relented, retrieving the credit chit from his pocket.
“Thumb imprint here, please,” the clerk directed, handing the datapad to the irascible tourist.
Drake stifled a protest, recognizing the personal identification unit. Designed to tap into a galactic reservoir of information, the mechanism granted access to background data, criminal records, or military status. Though Ancher’s reputation among peers was a topic of envy, worthy of emulation by would-be smugglers, his record as a galactic felon was, without exception, on the verge of legendary proportions. The young Socorran felt faint with the realization that one imprint would lead authorities and bounty hunters right to the Corellian.
Casually reaching up to scratch his ear. Ancher pressed his thumb against the sensor pad, throwing Drake a mischievous grin. Almost immediately, the machine bleeped in protest, unable to register the print. “That’s the third time today!” the clerk hissed, snatching the datapad from the civilian. “We’ll have to do it manually! Get their names,” he snapped at the nearest office aide.
“No need,” another officer cooed in an even baritone. Approaching from the rear, an Imperial official entered the front room, followed by an entourage of stormtroopers. Obedient to the snapping of his fingers, all the stormtroopers raised their rifles, targeting the subjects at the desk.
“Colonel Veesle!” the clerk gushed, finding himself in the line of fire.
“Talk about being put on a hurt vector,” Ancher hissed through a half smile.
The Imperial straightened, his tall, thin figure framed by broad shoulders. Sparse insignia, pinned with meticulous regard, betrayed an insidious nature. “His name? Karl Mathieu Ancher. Homeworld? Corellia. Age? Oh, I’d say 57 years. Occupation? Illegal trafficking of controlled commodities.” Thoughtfully, Veesle slapped a leather thong against the polished sheen of his boots. “The data from his criminal record could disable or destroy the processing systems of a Victory-class Star Destroyer.”
“Colonel Weasel!” Ancher grinned, purposely mispronouncing the name. “After all these years, you still remember me. Boy, meet an old friend of mine, Colonel Weasel.” He winked, “By the way, Weasel, how’s that pretty wife of yours?”
Still indignant with the Corellian’s illicit affair with his then newlywed bride, Veesle balled his fist, striking the smuggler in the mouth. Stunned by the officer’s sudden violence, the stormtroopers were slow to react, closing to restrain Drake and the Wookiee.
Temper in check. Ancher recovered, rubbing his bruised jaw. “Well,” he spat blood on the polished floors, “still meaner than a rancor with a bad tooth.”
“Lt. Criss,” Veesle addressed the clerk, “every purebred hound has fleas. I want you to meet one of mine.” Arrogantly, he took the identification pad from the agent’s slack hands and rubbed the sensor face against Ancher’s coat. “Watch very carefully Lieutenant.” he warned. “You’re about to learn a very important lesson; a critical lesson every successful smuggler inherits from his mentor.” Veesle snapped his fingers, waving his hand toward the Corellian. Two of his stormtroopers shouldered their weapons and grasped Ancher’s arms, restraining the smuggler between them. “When processing any type of background information, never take your eye off the suspect. Never let them touch their eyes,” he wiped at his narrow eyes, “their ears,” he scratched inside his ears, “or behind their ears. Don’t even let them touch their mouths or noses.” Rubbing the thin layer of ear wax and grease across the surface of his thumb, he pressed it against the sensor pad. Immediately, the machine bleeped inconclusive results. “Any type of oil or waxy residue will disable the scanner and without knowing it, you could give important documents to a known galactic felon.”
“I had no idea,” Criss groveled, fearing repercussions.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Veesle replied snidely, wiping the grease from the disabled scanner. He pressed Ancher’s thumb against the clean surface. “I spent the whole of my junior grade tracking down this and other scoundrels, learning the tricks they employed.” Gloating, the haughty officer whispered, “There’s a terrible price to be paid by the hunter who, in order to be successful, becomes very much like his prey.”
The ID sensor blinked erratically, correlating the processed information. Criss examined the garbled muddle of codes and the returning message. “This could take some time,” he whispered. “We’ve been experiencing some interference with the signal. If there’s any information, it should arrive by morning.”
Veesle’s face darkened. “Until then,” he hissed, “I want him held.
“And the boy?”
“I’m staying with you, Ancher.” Drake whispered, glaring at the Imperial officer. “Nikaede?”
The Wookiee bawled, delivering a scathing insult to the stormtroopers as they cautiously moved toward her.
“If only a third of the Emperor’s citizens would show the loyalty found among these criminals, the Rebellion would have been crushed years ago. Take them to the holding cells,” Veesle directed. “I’ll return in the morning for Karl Ancher. As for the boy and the Wookiee, you may deal with them in any way you wish.”
Veesle and his armed entourage retreated into an adjacent section of the Bureau. Wary, the Bureau security guards herded Drake, Ancher, and Nikaede into a separate passage, leveling their weapons primarily at the Wookiee. “Well ain’t that a heinous thing to say to me?” Ancher grumbled. Avoiding the low bulkhead, he walked into the darkened cell. “I’ve been called many things in my time, but never a flea.”
A glow rod ignited in the cell. “That’s ’cause everyone knows, it’s the old fleas that make you scratch the worst.” There was laughter from the dark rim beyond the light.
Ancher spun slowly, shielding Drake behind him. “I know that cocky snicker.” Throwing a restraining hand against the defensive Wookiee, he whispered. “Tai
t? Tait Ransom?”
“None other,” the smuggler said slowly, offering his hand to the Corellian. “Bad to see you, Ancher. Never figured you to do time in an Imperial lockup.”
“Drake, come over here,” Ancher beamed, moving into the light. “This here is the best damned smuggler I’ve ever had the chance to cheat.” The aging Corellian winked playfully, elbowing the boy in the chest. “The only man with guts enough to even rival your pop.”
Drake shook the stranger’s hand, marvelling at the raven black hair that flowed in thick waves around the handsome face. Dark skin framed even darker eyes, casting an odd, swarthy aura over a lean, powerful figure. He was older than Drake, perhaps a bit younger than his father, surrounded by the ageless atmosphere of a man used to living on the edge. “This is Nikaede,” he introduced the Wookiee.
“What are you doing here?” Ancher demanded.
“I just got nominated to a hard-time academy. The blackheads caught me lifting some there special gear. Armor. Weapons. The expensive stuff.” Ransom shrugged nervously. “They’re shipping me off to Vizcarra.”
“The Imperial prison planet?”
“Yep,” Ransom whispered. “And here I sit, picking my nose hairs, with half of my crew docked across the street, waiting for me. By dawn, my co-pilot will figure I got snuffed on the job and will jump planet.”
“Tait,” Ancher scolded, “ain’t like you to be caught without a plan. What happened?”
“This happened.” Ransom replied. He threw a cylindrical object toward him. “Or rather it didn’t happen.” Ancher deftly caught the personal transponder in his hand. “When the Imperial armory alarms went off, that transponder was supposed to alert my back-up team.” Frustrated, he whispered. “Somehow it got busted in the shakedown and without the signal, the Boys in White tracked us down faster than old Jabba could lay claim to a debt. No backup, no chance, no way out.”
“Where are they?” Drake asked timidly, staring around at the empty cells. “The other half of your crew?”
Ransom pursed his thick lips together, handsome, even the midst of a frown. “Permanently retired, kid. Since I was the leader, they kept me alive to make an example.”
“Can’t you fix it?” Ancher questioned, examining the unit.
“If it were a ship’s transponder, I could fix it, change it, make it sing the Republic anthem.” Ransom shook his head, as a few dark strands fell into his eyes. “That thing? I haven’t got a clue.”
“Can I see that transponder?” Drake took the unit from Ancher, handing it to the Wookiee. “Can you fix it?”
“Hold on now,” Ransom protested.
Drake silenced him with a dismissive gesture. Holding the glow rod over a nearby cot, he watched Nikaede pull the delicate leads through the top section. Yowling to herself, the Wookiee began to inspect each wire, sniffing out the defective cord. She carefully disconnected a stray cable, making a rough assessment of the damage, then promptly set about wrapping the wire around the lead heads, continuing to peel the housing apart. “Tait,” the Socorran boy whispered, “you better help her. I don’t know much about transponder codes. She’s afraid she might alter the signal.”
Moving beside Ancher, Drake leaned against the scuffed plasti-shield enclosure. The cell wall was constructed of a clear plastic fiber, reinforced with antiquated steel bars that had been welded against the structure. The old smuggler’s eyes were distant and stony, seeing nothing beyond the darkness. “Whatcha thinking, Ancher?”
The Corellian sniffed, a smile playing across his lips. “I was just thinking of all the stupid stunts I’ve pulled in my lifetime. All the suicidal runs, the friends I made … and enemies,” he growled, frowning suddenly. Then the characteristic smirk returned. “And of course the ladies.” Ancher sighed nostalgically. “You know, when that report comes in tomorrow, there could be enough warrants against me to total 300,000 credits.” He hesitated. “I used to think that was a mark of distinction.”
“What changed your mind?”
“The value of life, Drake. The value of my life.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “And the few people I care about.”
“Is that why you and my dad argued today? You’re worried about him?”
“Drake, I don’t agree with what your father is doing. He’s asking for too much trouble, bad trouble.” He averted his gaze. “The same kind of trouble that started this bad blood between me and that Imperial stiff. Somebody tried to warn me, telling me it wasn’t worth it, not for one night with a pretty gal.” He shrugged, eyes clouding with the memory. “But at the time,” he whispered, conjuring a mental image of the young woman, “it certainly seemed worth it.”
“He only wants to help those people, Ancher.”
“What will he prove? What will he have when it’s over, if he survives.”
“He won’t know that until it’s done.” Drake hesitated, hearing his father’s bitter tone in his own voice. “Ancher, you’ve been living on Socorro all these years and you still don’t understand. Maybe a Corellian smuggler could look the other way, but a Socorran smuggler can’t. It goes against our nature.”
“That’s what your father said!”
“Because there’s a difference, Ancher. You call it pride. I call it honor.” Drake took a shuddering breath. “Why do you think bounty hunters avoid Socorro? Because you and others like you are protected by Socorran tradition, a tradition that kneels to no government, no authority, no law.”
Subdued, the Corellian moved away, shielding the pride behind his eyes. “Damned if you’re not just like him.”
Grinning, Drake replied, “Why should that surprise you?” Behind them, he heard Nikaede’s low voice, miserably yowling defeat.
“You did your best, Wook.” Ransom consoled, needing no translation to define her surrender. “Damn it!” he spat, roughly brushing his hands through thick, black hair. “There’s got to be another way!”
“Ancher,” Drake whispered. He leaned his head against the smuggler’s chest. “We can’t stay here.”
“We’re not, Drake,” Ancher soothed, cradling the boy against him. “Tait, we don’t need that damned thing. Risking a few lumps, we could ditch this place and get to the starport.”
“We’ll take more than few lumps,” Ransom chuckled. “They keep at least six armed security men and two stormtroopers overnight.”
Staring up at the Wookiee, Ancher grinned. “The odds sound right about even.” Challenging Nikaede, he whispered, “Why don’t you go over there to them bunks and show us how you feel about the Imperials taking over your homeworld.”
Nikaede humphed inquisitively, inclining her head to one side.
“We need a distraction, Nikaede,” Drake explained. “Go on, show them how you feel about being locked up in here.”
Howling a maniacal war cry, Nikaede threw a side kick, high and wide, smashing the exterior window and bending the bars beyond the building. Retractable climbing claws sprang forward, slicing walls and ripping through bedding. Demolishing the small cell, she snatched at the bunks, easily ripping the bottom tier from the wall. For a moment, Drake thought the Wookiee had really berserked, watching pensively as she swung the cot over her head.
Ancher grabbed the young Socorran, pulling him into a safe corner. “Help!” he started shouting. “Somebody help!”
“The shag’s gone bloody!” Tait screamed, slapping his hands against the cell wall. “You plastic heads get me out of here!” He flinched visibly as Nikaede grasped the top bunk tier and yanked, shattering plaster and cement as she ripped the bolts from the floor. Summoned by the alarmed voices, four guards and a stormtrooper burst into the cellblock, brandishing weapons.
“She’s berserk,” Ancher said calmly. “It happens when they get penned up like this.”
“You idiots put her in here!” Ransom screamed. “Get her out before she comes after me next!”
“10-33, Code Blue,” the stormtrooper reported over the comlink. “Get them out!” he snapped to the securit
y team.
Accessing the keypad, the sentry opened the door, pulling Drake and Ancher out of the cell. As the other stormtrooper and the remaining sentries rushed to the scene, another guard grabbed Ransom by the sleeve, forcing the smuggler behind the security team and out of danger. Storming the deranged Wookiee, the first stormtrooper secured his rifle and fired a quick burst.
“No!” Drake screamed and lunged at the guard beside him. Swinging his fists in wide, controlled arcs, he managed to dislodge the rifle. The result was a wild ricochet that bounced off the corner wall before striking the Wookiee. Nikaede howled in pain as the bolt struck her shoulder and arm.
Dodging the stormtrooper, Ancher reached for the blaster rifle. But before he could accomplish his goal, the raging Wookiee snatched the rifle from thestormtrooper’s frantic hands, breaking the weapon over his head. Shrugging off the singed burns, Nikaede roared, charging the door with the wrecked rifle locked in her grip.
Ransom leaped against the plasti-shield wall, unexpectedly rebounding onto the astonished guards. Beneath his flailing fists and elbows, two men fell to the floor unconscious. “Drake!” Negotiating a spinning back kick, he knocked the second stormtrooper into the wall. Unfortunately, as the stormtrooper fell, he took three of the other guards and Drake to the floor with him. Wrestling through a tangle of legs and arms. Ransom quickly grasped the stormtrooper by the head and twisted sharply, effectively breaking the Imperial’s neck and removing the combat helmet.
Alarmed by the sight of Drake being held and beaten by the remaining guards, Ancher grabbed one of them from the floor, slamming his fist into the man’s jaw and smashing his knee against another sentry’s mouth. Nikaede swarmed through the guards with unmitigated violence, fracturing skulls beneath her fingers.
Star Wars - When the Domino Falls Page 2
