"Long-range monitors report a cluster of small ships advancing all speed on our position," the droid answered in a metallic monotone.

"What? What did you say?" The Sullustan elaborated.

"Authenticators identify the ships as CloakShapes and one Tempest-class gunship." Dofine's jaw dropped. "An attack?" "Commander," the droid intoned, "the ships are continuing to advance." Dofine gestured wildly to the outsize display screen. "I want to see them!" He had started for the screen when another worrisome tone sounded, this time from the station of the systems officer, which was also set below the walkway.

"The central control computer is reporting a disturbance in zone two of the starboard hangar arm." Dofine gaped at the Gran. "What sort of disturbance?" "The droids are firing on one of the cargo pods." "Those brainless machines! If they ruin any of the cargo-was "Commander, starfighters are onscreen," the Sullustan reported.

"It could be nothing more than a glitch," the Gran went on.

Dofine's blinking red orbs darted from one alien to the other in mounting concern.

"Starfighters changing vector. Breaking into two elements." The Sullustan turned to Dofine.

"Flying the imprint of the Nebula Front." "The Nebula Front!" Dofine rushed to the display screen, then raised his long, fat forefinger to indicate the jet-black gunship. "That ship-was "The Hawk-Bat" the Sullustan said in a rush. "The ship of Captain Cohl." "Impossible!" Dofine snapped. "Cohl was reported to be at Malastare only yesterday." Jowls quivering slightly, the Sullustan regarded the screen. "But that is his ship. And where the Hawk-Bat ventures, Cohl is not far behind!" "Starfighters are forming up for attack,"

the droid updated.

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."