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He looked around. He was lying with his feet toward the bow; by craning his neck—an action that set off an ion grenade in the back of his skull—he could just see the bridge compartment. It was small, with seating for the pilot and copilot. The chairs were high-backed, so he couldn’t see who was sitting in them. From the way the chairs moved, however, it was obvious that both were occupied.

He relaxed, letting himself slump back to the deck; even that small action had left him dizzy and nauseated. Judging from the size and layout of the corridors that branched off the bridge, Nick decided he was on board a light cargo or transport vessel. It definitely wasn’t a military vehicle—way too untidy for that. Clones had been programmed for neatness from the start, and the military, whether Imperial or Republic, had a longstanding tradition of keeping the decks clean enough to eat from.

This ship, if what he could see was any indication, was a mess. The bulkheads had the greasy handprints of several different species on them, and the mud of various worlds had been tracked around and no doubt under where he lay. Moreover, the place smelled odd. Not the stink of too many unwashed life-forms in too close proximity for too long, just … odd.

All of this was interesting, but it wasn’t giving him much in the way of explanation. He decided that, since there was no way he could conjure himself free of the forcecuffs, they might as well know he was awake.

“Hey!” he yelled.

The pilot’s chair swiveled partway around, and from it arose a nightmarish creature. It stood nearly two meters tall and had gray, leathery skin as well as seven or eight long braids of hair hanging from an otherwise bald head. It was wearing a short tunic, maroon in color, with boots the same shade. It looked mean enough to rip Nick’s arm off and beat him to death with it. In fact, it looked mean enough to rip its own arm off and beat Nick to death with it.

After the initial shock, his mind clicked back into gear and he recognized the being as a Weequay. Nick didn’t know much about them, save that they were fierce warriors. They’d served as mercenaries on both sides during the Clone Wars, and many of them now pursued such morally dubious occupations as bounty hunters, Black Sun enforcers, smugglers, and the like.

In short, not generally a pleasant species to be kidnapped by.

The Weequay hunkered down beside him. His rugose face showed no expression. Black eyes glittered.

“Uh … can I get a beverage on this flight?” Nick asked.

The Weequay didn’t answer; garrulity didn’t seem to be an overall hallmark of the species. He grabbed Nick and hauled him to his feet, setting off more explosions in the Korunnai’s head. Nick fought the urge to vomit, then thought, Hey, it’s not my ship, and upchucked spectacularly. It went mostly on the deck, but the Weequay’s boots received their share as well.

The Weequay looked down in shock. “My … boots!” he snarled, the words grating with difficulty from his throat. He glared at Nick, who could offer only a sickly smile and a shrug in response. The Weequay shifted his grip to one hand holding the front of Nick’s shirt. He balled the other into a fist that looked as big and hard as an asteroid, drew his arm back, and—

“Mok! Stop!”

The killer asteroid aimed at Nick’s nose hesitated.

“Let him go.” The voice was human, Nick realized. Then Mok let go of him; he staggered back and half sat, half collapsed on the deck plates.

“Go clean yourself up,” the human said. “And get a droid up here to take care of this mess.” As he spoke, he swiveled the astrogator’s seat around, giving Nick a good look at him.

Nick had already assumed that he was on board a smuggler’s ship, and the appearance of the man he was looking at seemed to confirm his suspicion. He was short and stocky, with at least a week’s worth of undepilated stubble and an unrevised scar across his left cheek that drew his upper lip into a constant sneer. The pink scar tissue contrasted vividly with the umber of his natural tan. He wore trousers, an ill-fitting blouse, and a pocketed