• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Madhi fell silent as Rhal’s speaker-enhanced voice cracked across the circle, splitting the Song of Sorrow like a thunderclap. “I won’t ask you again, slave.”

Rhal pointed his blaster at the injured Octusi.

The Elder folded his knees beneath him and dropped to the ground, then looked Rhal straight in the eye. “No.”

“The courage of the Octusi is legendary in the Albanin sector,” Madhi continued. “And yet, they are described as the gentlest of species. In their own culture, they engage in nothing more violent than the aptly named Shove-Dances, which young males perform during mating season.”

Her last two words were drowned out by the shriek of a blaster bolt. A smoking hole appeared in the center of the second victim’s chest, and the Elder collapsed forward onto the ground, his great, dark eyes still staring up at Rhal.

“We have just witnessed a second cold-blooded murder by the Mandalorian commander in charge of this company,” Madhi reported. “It is difficult to understand the reasoning behind this excessive use of force. However, lawless actions are common out here on the galactic edge. Pirates plague the region, as do crime rings and bounty hunters. Perhaps Sextuna Mining Corporation feels justified in employing beings such as Belok Rhal to protect their fleets.”

As Madhi spoke, a tremendous thrumming filled the circle, overwhelming the parabolic mike she was holding and filling her head with a painful boom that left her ears ringing. In the next instant the Octusi sprang into flight, rushing for the alleys and streets that the Mandalorians had blocked with their assault sleds. Rhal reached up to activate his throat mike, and Madhi barely managed to swing the dish back in time to capture what he was saying.

“Commence Operation—”

The last part of the command was lost to the ear-piercing wail of a blaster cannon barrage. The circle below erupted into a blinding meshwork of colored bolts and flashes, and the outer ring of Octusi fell almost as one.

“The Mandalorians have opened fire!” Madhi yelled, unconcerned about being heard above the roar and screech of so much blasterfire. “A massacre of unbelievable magnitude has begun before our very eyes here on Blaudu Sextus. And this reporter, on assignment for the Perre Needmo Newshour, must conclude that it was the Mandalorian commander’s intention all along to provoke a stampede as justification for the cold-blooded atrocities that you are now witnessing. Hundreds of Octusi lie dead or dying already, and still the Mandalorians continue to fire …”

As Madhi spoke, the gunner’s hatch on Rhal’s QuickStryke flew open, and out popped the head of a female Mandalorian with short-cropped brown hair and a small, button-ended nose. She said something about being borked, then pointed up toward the window where Tyl’s right-angle lens lay recording the massacre in the circle.

Rhal glanced up, and Madhi’s parabolic mike captured his static-filled voice asking, “Live?”

The female nodded and said something that Madhi’s parabolic mike did pick up: “You stupid idiot.”

Rhal ignored her and grabbed the swivel-mounted heavy blaster in front of his hatch, then swung the barrel toward the droid-repair shop where Madhi and her crew were hiding.

Madhi dropped to take cover, but continued to report. “It appears the Mandalorians have discovered our presence. They are not pleased to have their actions—”

A flurry of blaster bolts came shrieking through the window, filling the stockroom with the stone shards, smoke, and flying droid parts.

“—brought to light for you to see.” The quaver that had come to Madhi’s voice was unprofessional, she knew, but there was nothing she could do to disguise it. “We are under direct fire here, so please be patient while—”

The deafening crack of a cannon bolt shook the repair shop, spraying hand-sized stones across the room and filling the air with so much smoke that Madhi could no longer see Shohta waiting by the door. She glanced across at Tyl and found him holding