Star Wars - Shifting Gears - Unpublished (2 page)

BOOK: Star Wars - Shifting Gears - Unpublished
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There were also medical droids, mining droids, power droids, companion droids, exploration droids, scout droids, geo-survey droids, and more. One, which looked like a refitted interrogation droid, was busy dusting the place. Behind the counter were shelves upon shelves filled with metal legs, arms, wheels, treads, spools of wire, circuits, chips, and hundreds of small tools.

“I kinda like that silver one,” the pilot said after looking everything over. “Haven’t had a silver one before. Is it on sale?”

Amalk nodded. “Yes, he’s on sale.”

“How much?”

“Trade in this droid, which I’ll repair when I get the locomotor shipment, and throw in seven hundred credits. The sliver droid’s yours.”

“Six.”

“Six-fifty.”

“Deal.” The pilot fumbled in his pocket for a credstick. “Got a restraining bolt for it? Notice none of your droids here got ’em attached.”

“Haven’t had need for them.” Amalk reached under the counter and fumbled around. “This’ll serve.” He passed it to the pilot, and the transaction was concluded.

“Uh, thanks,” the pilot said as he exited the shop. “Wouldn’t be able ta get my business done properly without one of these droids.” The silver protocol unit cast a last glance at Amalk, uttered a string of rushed sentences in a program language, and followed his new owner.

“Is the pilot gone?” This from an outmoded geo-survey droid.

“The ignoramus,” a partially-repaired chef droid retorted. “I’ve known smarter remotes.”

“He’s crossing the street,” a gold protocol droid said. He was craning his shiny neck as far as it would go and leaning away from the wall for a better view of the departing customer. “There. Out of sight. Headed with C3-LD8 toward the hangar. Poor Eldee.”

The other protocol droids moved away from the wall and started chatting to themselves and Amalk. The R5 units chirped and hooted. And the chef droid ran through the ingredients it needed for Amalk’s dinner.

“Good riddance to that customer,” the gold protocol added. “Tatooine will be better for his departure. At least he’s the type Amalk likes to sell to.”

“Thank the Maker I am rid of him!” the sand-pitted protocol droid said. “I had quite my fill of working for that boorish man. Occasional dealings with Imperials, he claims! Hah! He works for them all the time, is leaving now for a rendezvous with an Imperial captain. They use him, though he doesn’t realize it. Hire him to make runs into neutral territory or to Alliance-held worlds. He is not very bright for an organic, does not see how they manipulate him so. Does not see how truly evil they are. And might I interject that there is nothing wrong with my locomotor.”

“I know,” Amalk said.

“Then why…”

“Because I
am
very bright for an organic,” he returned. “It’s a long story, my new friend. You see…”

“Company!” the scout droid announced. The gold protocol droid leaned back against the wall and his fellows quickly joined him. They pretended to shut themselves off. The R5 units fell silent.

A soft buzz cut through the air as the door opened. Amalk watched a pair of Jawas trundle inside. They were leading a quartet of battle-damaged astromechs, one of which was pulling a one-legged protocol droid.


Snizniber lr’tzt,
” the taller of the two hooded figures began. “
R’trastnitatat duratzat. Elrzer tanna dint a minz! Rzdez.

The sand-pitted droid began translating, a deal was struck, and Amalk passed over a bag filled with hard credit chits. The Jawas left quickly, cutting toward the cantina.

“Looks like blaster fire. On all five of them.” It was the deep voice of the scout droid. He stepped close to Amalk’s new acquisitions, and his shoulders moved in the approximation of a shudder. Jawas always made the scout droid more than a little edgy.

“Perhaps. But the scoring looks like a vibroweapon of some sort,” added one of the medical droids. “Note the cut along right wheel-mount. And that is likely what sheered off the leg of the protocol unit. I have witnessed…”

“I agree,” interjected the gold protocol droid. “Why, when I served on a mining ship in orbit about Tibrin there was a Gamorrean who…”

“No. Definitely blasters,” the scout argued. “Rifles likely.”

“Blaster fire!” the lieutenant yelled. “Rifles! It’s a trap! Fall back to the ship!”

The high-pitched whines of blaster rifles cut through the air. Dirt showered up where the bolts missed the Rebels and instead hit at their feet. Where the bolts didn’t miss, the Rebels fell, clutching their legs and chests. The scent of burned cloth and flesh was heavy in the air. A dozen men were on the ground, dead or dying in the space of a heartbeat.

“Fall back! Now!” The lieutenant pressed himself against the side of the hill. He cursed himself for cutting through the gap. It was a perfect site for an ambush, he realized. Only thing was, the Imperials weren’t supposed to know company was coming. They weren’t supposed to be lying in wait. And there weren’t supposed to be so damn many of them.

He craned his neck forward, straining to look at the top of the hill across from him, eyes stinging from the dust that was flying everywhere. There! Prone, a few dozen stormtroopers. He saw the moonlight glinting off their white helmets.
All armed with blaster rifles, looks like,
he thought. Probably pistols for close-in fighting— though he knew his men wouldn’t be able to scramble up the hillsides quick enough to get close. Must be an equal number of stormtroopers on the hill above him. A whole lot more than the Alliance intelligence report said would be here.

“Can’t fall back!” came a cry from somewhere behind the lieutenant. “Coming in the gap behind us, boxing us in like Roon mogos!”

“How many?” the lieutenant shouted.

“Twenty, thirty!” came the hoarse reply. “Hard to tell. The dust’s so thick!”

A decision
, the lieutenant thought.
Have to make a decision now
.

“Swarming us from the base up ahead! Coming at us on speeders!” The lieutenant recognized that voice. It was Arvee, his second. “I’d say your informer was wrong. El-T. I’d say we’re the zilg-dicody, and the Imps are gonna feast on us!”

“No!” the lieutenant screamed. “We’re not going down tonight!” He darted away from the slope and hit the ground, rolling and dodging blaster fire. He paused only to take a couple of shots at the white helmet peering over the hilltop, then he kept rolling, not bothering to see if he had hit the stormtrooper.
Have to get a look at the other side of the hill, he thought. Just to be sure. Maybe my guess is wrong, maybe there’s not a few dozen stormtroopers up there. Maybe we could charge up that hill, circle round, get back to the shuttle. Maybe…
The keen whine of a tripod-mounted repeating blaster cut through the din. A knifing pain shot up the lieutenant’s right leg and into his stomach. Then the lieutenant felt nothing, couldn’t move.
Dying
, he thought,
probably lasered my leg off. Can’t feel, can’t hardly swallow. So cold
. “Arvee! Your command now! Get the men out of here!”

He didn’t hear the toadlike quadruped’s reply. The lieutenant was beyond hearing anything.

“Fall back!” Arvee hollered. “Might be fewer in front of us, but it’s suicide heading toward the base.” He slung his blaster rifle over his back and scuttled toward the bulk of his men, moving faster without having to hold onto his weapon. He leapt over the body of a Devaronian, registered that at least a third of his fellow Rebels were littering the dusty ground.
Should have brought more men, more shuttles. But this was supposed to be a small operation, he thought. Where did all the Imps come from? Must’ve been monitoring our descent. Waited till we were easy pickings.

Just ahead to his left, three Corellians were squeezed together in a niche under a rocky overhang. They were taking turns poking their heads out and shooting at the white helmets on the opposite ridge.

“Too many of them!” Arvee called as he scampered toward the trio. “Fighting retreat!” He paused when he reached the overhang, slung his blaster rifle off his back again and took aim at a stormtrooper descending the opposite slope. His webbed finger pumped the trigger, sending light-blue bolts of energy
kzinging
off the dirt and rocks, finally finding a mark on the trooper’s torso. The stormtrooper fell. But there were more coming over the ridge now. “Leave me one of your rifles!” he barked. One of the Corellians complied, then the three took off running.

“Fall back!” Arvee shouted at more Rebel soldiers as he wedged himself into the niche vacated by the three Corellians. He hunkered as close to the ground as he could, and his webbed fingers flew over his own blaster rifle, tugging at the stock, opening the compartment where the packs that powered the rifle were held, yanking the packs out. He grabbed his spare packs from his belt and held them all together. Then he fumbled with the rifle strap, used it to bind the packs tight. He grimaced when he saw a half-dozen more of his fellows fall to blaster fire.

“See how you like this,” he cursed softly. He heaved the bundled blaster packs toward the slope the stormtroopers were climbing down, picked up the borrowed rifle, and fired at the bundle.

The explosion rocked the gap. Dirt and gravel showered the stormtroopers and Arvee. Barely over the rumble, the toadlike quadruped heard the screams of dying Imperials. He hoisted the rifle and waited, intending to shoot at the first glint of white he could spot when the dust settled.

“Settled in for the evening, sir?” the scout droid flipped up the “closed” sign on Amalk’s shop and glanced around to make sure everything was secure. The only light inside was over a worktable where several tools were carefully laid out. Most of the droids had shut themselves down. A few were in the back room taking an oil bath and watching the R2 units gather around the hologameboard.

“No. I’m going to work late tonight.”

“On the Jawas’ astromechs?”

Amalk shook his head. “Tomorrow for them. I’m more interested in the one-legged protocol droid.”

“A sleek design, sir. Nothing I’ve seen before, and I’ve seen quite a few come through your shop. Either a very new model or a one-of-a-kind design specially commissioned. Mmmm. I suppose it might also be a very old one, an antique that has been kept in good shape.” The scout cocked his head. “Except for the missing leg, of course.”

BOOK: Star Wars - Shifting Gears - Unpublished
2.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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