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It smelled odd, sweet.

Instinctively, he threw it from him, to his feet. “Abort, abort.”

The hatch, moving into closed position on its hinges above his head, did not hesitate or reverse direction.

From his boot holster, Jag drew a small, powerful blaster, something like the type referred to as a hold-out or throwdown weapon, but much more expensive, much more reliable. He fired once at each hinge. Blaster bolts flashed against the machinery, some of the energy ricocheting away; the rest imparted hundreds of degrees of heat, blowing away sections of metal, superheating the rest. The air in the enclosed space of the simulator became much warmer. The hatch stopped in a half-closed position.

The face mask began hissing. Jag scrambled to his feet and launched himself up through the narrowed exit, careful not to come in contact with the superheated portion of the hatch, and made it atop the simulator.

He dropped to the floor on the side away from the ladder. As he did so, the door into the chamber shot up and open. Jag peered around the circumference of the simulator to see a stormtrooper in full white armor step into the chamber. The man, unaware of Jag’s location, raised his blaster rifle, aiming it up toward the hatch.

Jag leaned out far enough to aim and opened fire. His first shot hit the trooper in the center of the chest plate, sending the man staggering back. His second hit the same spot; his third, the helmet. The trooper fell with a clatter of armor. “Lock open,” Jag said, and there was an obedient clunk from the door mechanism.

Jag had to think, and had little or no time with which to do so.

Gas in his simulator, probably sleep gas. The enemy goal, then, was to capture him, but whether this was for ransom or just to kill him later was unknown. It probably meant the trooper’s blaster rifle was set to stun. Small comfort, that.

This was an inside job. Neither his outer door nor the door into the simulator chamber was forced, and no alarms had been triggered. It was reasonable to suppose that the entire sensor and alarm setup for his suite was disabled, meaning that he could shout forever without being heard. No help would come.

More kidnappers would, though. They’d want more than one conspirator to carry him out of his quarters. So …

He glanced up at the ceiling. He didn’t know what was situated directly above this room, but he was about to find out. He aimed at the ceiling and began pulling the trigger.

As shot after blaster shot hit the ceiling, one spot blackened, deformed, and gave way completely. Jag watched the energy meter on the blaster’s butt count down as he fired, but before the charge was quite depleted he was rewarded with the faint sounds of a shriek and a curse from overhead. Then the wail of an alarm filled the air.

Another stormtrooper appeared in the doorway, already aiming at Jag. Jag pulled back, putting the body of the simulator between himself and the newcomer, and the stun bolt, a wavering flash of blue, hit the side of the machine. Jag felt a tingle as the simulator’s skin conducted some of the energy into him, but only a fraction of the charge reached him.

The simulator, like the cockpit ball of a TIE fighter, was spherical, and Jag had something that no armored stormtrooper did: flexibility. He went flat on the permacrete floor, peering under the curve of the simulator hull, and had a clear view of the trooper’s legs up to the knees.

He fired once into each kneecap. With a howl, the trooper turned and fell flat on his face. Jag couldn’t hear whether there were more enemies coming—deafened by blaster shots and by the alarm, he wouldn’t have heard if an entire regiment of troopers was marching toward him. So it was a risk, but Jag scrambled forward under the curve of the simulator, reaching the downed trooper, and set his near-empty hold-out blaster down. He grabbed the man’s rifle and swung it around, aiming out through the door where he could now see about a quarter of his antechamber and the first