"But what are they firing at?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Cohl's pilots must have destroyed the Revenue's starfighters by now." "I suspect we'll know soon enough, Padawan.
In the meantime, stay focused on the matter at hand." Obi-Wan bristled slightly at the mild reprimand, but it was deserved. He had a habit of looking forward, as opposed to staying in the moment, as Qui-Gon preferred-of attending to what the Jedi called the living Force.
Well above the bald crown of the centersphere and the boxy scanners that topped the freighter's command tower, Cohl's pod was gathering speed and, with bold maneuvers, was emerging from the cloud of pods within which it had hidden. In danger of falling too far behind, Obi-Wan called on the drives for added power.
By the time they were coming around the top curve of the centersphere, Obi-Wan had greatly reduced the distance between the two pods. He was preparing to follow Cohl into space when another starfighter-a modified Z-95 Headhunter-flashed into view on the display screens and exploded.
"The battle continues," Qui-Gon said.
Emerged from the embrace of the arms, the two Jedi saw the source of the return fire. Floating like a ring above Dorvalla's nightside was a second freighter, engulfed in blossoms of fire sown by the Nebula Front ships.
"Trade Federation reinforcements," Obi-Wan said.
"That freighter could complicate matters," Qui-Gon mused.
"But surely we have Cohl this time." "Cohl is a sly one, Obi-Wan. He would have anticipated this. He doesn't make a move without a contingency plan." "But, Master, without his support ships-was "Expect nothing," Qui-Gon interrupted.
"Simply stay your course." Inside the equally cramped quarters of the terrorists' pod, Cohl's band of eight carried out their preassigned tasks.
"Outer and inner hatches sealed, Captain," Boiny reported from his wedge of space at the curved instrument console. "All systems nominal." "Prepare to convert from repulsorlift to fusial propulsion," Cohl said, snugging his seat harness.
"Preparing to convert," Rella relayed.
"Comm is ena4," another said. "Switching to priority frequency." "Clear space, Captain. Passing the thousand-meter mark from the centersphere." "Easy does it," Cohl said, aware of a certain tension in the recirculating air.
"We'll maintain a low profile until ten thousand meters. Then we go for broke.
" Rella cast him an approving glance. "Plan precisely; perform faultlessly- was "And avoid detection-before, during, and after," Boiny completed.
"Set course for one-one-seven, freighter's bow," Cohl told them.
"Accelerate to point five.
Fusial thrust on standby." He reclined his chair and switched on the starboard display. The Hawk-Bat and the support ships had managed to hold the Acquisitor at bay. But the TradeFed's starfighters were all over the arena, harried by Nebula Front pilots and confounded by the torrents of cargo gushing from the Revenue's hangar bays.
Still, it was just a matter of rendezvousing with the Hawk-Bat and putting a couple of parsecs between the gunship and the Acquisitor.
Rella leaned toward him to whisper. "Cohl, if we survive this, I forgive you for saying yes to this operation to begin with." Cohl had his mouth open to respond when Boiny said, "Captain, something peculiar. Could be a fluke, but we've got one cargo pod hanging dead on our six." "Show me," Cohl said, cutting his violet eyes to the screen.
"Smack in the center. The one with the pointed snout." Cohl fell silent for a moment, then said, "Alter our course to one-one-nine." Rella set herself to the task.
Boiny squeaked a nervous laugh. "The pod's changing course to one-one- nine." "Some kind of gravity drag?" one of the others asked — coma human named Jalan.
"Gravity drag?" Rella said in obvious derision. "What in the moons of Bodgen is gravity drag?" "It's what keeps Jalan from thinking straight," Boiny muttered.
"Fasten it, the bunch of you," Cohl said, stroking his bearded jaw in thought. "Can we scan that pod?" "We can try." Cohl forced a breath and folded his arms across his chest. "Let's play this safe. Steer us back into the thick of things." "Master, they're scanning us," Obi-Wan said.
"They're altering course, as well." "They're planning to hide in that cluster of cargo pods," Qui-Gon said, mostly to himself. "It's time we give them something else to worry about, Obi-Wan.
Activate the thermal detonator as soon as they're a bit farther from the freighter." Cohl gripped the armrests of his narrow seat as the terrorists'
pod took a buffeting from its neighbors in the throng that was pouring into the space between the two Trade Federation freighters.
"We can't take much more of this," Boiny warned, his sucker — fingered hands gripped on the instrument console.
"Cohl," Rella said harshly. "Unless we get out now, we're going to end up in the middle of a starfighter engagement." Cohl kept his eyes glued to the overhead display screen. "What's the pod doing?" "Matching our every maneuver.
" One of the humans cursed under his breath. "What's in that thing?" "Or who?"
another put in.
"Something's not right," Cohl said, shaking his head.
"I smell a womp rat." Boiny glanced at him. "Never met one that could pilot a pod like that, Captain." Cohl slapped the armrests in a gesture of finality. "No more wasting time. Engage the primary fusials." "Now you're talking," Rella remarked, carrying out the command.
Without warning, Boiny all but shot from his seat, gesticulating madly at one of the console sensors and tripping over his own words.
"Boiny!" Cohl shouted, as if to break whatever spell the Rodian was under. "Out with it!" Boiny swung about, his black orbs radiating incredulity.
"Captain, we've got a thermal detonator affixed to the pod's drive core!" Cohl stared at him in similar disbelief. "How long to detonation?" "Five minutes and counting!" W ith its sterile surfaces, sunken control stations, and circular plasma screens that shone like aquariums, the bridge of the Acquisitor was identical to that of her sister ship, save that it held a full complement of bridge officers, and all eight were Neimoidians.
Commander Nap Lagard gazed out the forward viewports at the distant Revenue.
At this remove, the bulbous-nosed pods and barges flooding from her cargo holds were mere specks glinting in the sunlight, but magnified views had revealed hundreds of burst pods-the result of collisions and of starfighter laser bolts- their payloads of lommite surrendered to space. A heartrending sight to behold; but Lagard had already decided that he would retrieve as much of the cargo as possible-assuming that the terrorists could be chased off.