Star Wars_ Cloak of Deception - James Luceno [6]
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 armaments 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 light-speed, 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 disabled.”
“Where is the Acquisitor?” Dofine whined. “It should have arrived by now!”
A volley from the Nebula Front’s gunship—Captain Cohl’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