• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

From his post in a rented viewroom in Port Tower One, Covis was supposed to alert his cadre commander if any unusual ship traffic entered the vicinity. It was a boring job. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Covis’s attention was operating at about thirty percent.

Then it hit him: The sheathing’s all wrong. The cargo doors are too small. The cooling towers are in the wrong place. I’ve never seen freighters configured like those.

Covis grabbed his comlink and yelled. “Stardog One, this is Dewback!”

“Go ahead, Dewback, what’s the problem?”

“Watch your tail, Stardog. Two rancors in the house!”

“Got it, Dewback.”

Twenty Rebel commandos had already taken up positions inside the warehouse, their surveillance sensors scanning the street, when the camouflaged Gammas rumbled into view.

In the rear of the cavernous building, other SpecForce infantry loaded the hold of a massive Z-10 transport, clearing the warehouse of as much ordnance as they could before the firefight began.

In the very center of the warehouse, behind a heavy blast shield, a C4-CZN ion field gun was rolled into position.

The element of surprise the Imperials hoped for was gone.

The firefight on Level 88 was very fierce and it happened very fast.

Greedo’s mother Neela heard a shuddering roar and ran to the window of the reconstructed ventilation flue where she and her sons lived, in the warren of structures crammed into one end of the warehouse district.

At that moment one of the Gamma Assault Shuttles transformed into flaming vapor, becoming a sphere of light and energy that expanded in a flash, igniting both sides of the street. The green fireball seared Neela’s large eyes, and she turned and bolted screaming into the back of the apartment.

The other Gamma unleashed twin turbos, and the front of the Rebel warehouse shattered and split. The shuttle crew ramps came down. Imperial shocktroops emerged blasting.

Another round from the C4 ion gun, and the second Gamma was history. A rain of blaster shots were exchanged, sixty shocktroops went down, and the fight was over. The rest surrendered.

Greedo was hanging around with Goa and Dyyz and a bunch of other bounty hunters on Level 92. The hunters had news that a wanted list had been released by a top Hutt ganglord. The Hutt was assigning collection jobs on a first-come basis, complete with signed contracts.

Suddenly emergency sirens began to blare and Greedo saw Corellian firefighting scows plunging down the flight shaft, red strobes flashing.

“Looks like the Imps got our message,” said Warhog, giving Greedo a knowing wink.

Greedo tried to sound nonchalant. “Yeah—maybe so. Could be just another fire started by the Gloom Dwellers.” Then smoke began to pour up the shaft and Greedo started to worry.

It hadn’t occurred to Greedo until after he’d told Goa and Dyyz about the Rebel gunrunners that there might be danger for his people. The Rodian refugees lived and worked on Level 88—they’d be in the path of any attack by Imperial stormtroopers.

“Uh … guess I’ll … uh, see ya later, Warhog. You too, Dyyz. Got some business to take care of.”

Goa raised an eyebrow. “Sure, kid. Me and Dyyz are most likely jumpin’ to Tatooine tonight—so if I don’t see ya, good luck!”

Tatooine! The Hutt contracts! Greedo walked away feeling angry and betrayed that Goa hadn’t invited him to go with them. So far Goa had given him very little training. And he took my share of the reward.

Greedo started to turn back, to beg Warhog and Dyyz to take him to Tatooine. Then his mother’s screaming face suddenly flooded his mind. Instead of turning back, Greedo began to run for the nearest repulsor lift.

Greedo stepped into the lift and hit the stud marked “88.” The lift dropped like a stone, stopping smoothly a few seconds later at Level 88. An alarm sounded and the lift door refused to open. Automatic sensors had locked out the lift at this level.

Looking through the transparent door, Greedo saw why—the street was a mass of smoke and flame. The Corellian