that you said the same thing the last time we were here.' Dofine exhaled theatrically and gestured to a large circular screen at the rear of the bridge.
'Display her.' The magnified image of a red-haired, freckle-faced human woman was resolving on the screen by the time Dofine reached it.
'I am not aware of any missing credits,' he said without preamble.
The woman's blue eyes flashed. 'Don't lie to me, Dofine. First it was twenty thousand, then fifty, now one hundred. How much will we have to forfeit the next time the Trade Federation graces Dorvalla with a visit?' Dofine glanced knowingly at the Ishi Tib, who returned a faint grin. 'Your world is far removed from normal space lanes,' he said calmly toward the screen. 'As far from the Rimma Trade Route as from the Corellian Trade Spine. Your situation, therefore, demands additional expenditures.
Of course, if you are displeased, you could always do business with some other concern.' The woman snorted a rueful laugh. 'Other concern? The Trade Federation has put everyone else under.' Dofine spread his large hands. 'Then what is a hundred thousand credits, more or less?' 'Extortion is what it is.'
The sour expression Dofine adopted came naturally to his slack features. 'I suggest you file a complaint with the Trade Commission on Coruscant.' The woman fumed; her nostrils flared and her cheeks reddened. 'You haven't heard the last of this, Dofine.' Dofine's mouth approximated a smile. 'Ah, once again, you are mistaken.' Abruptly, he ended the transmission, then swung back to face his fellow Neimoidian. 'Inform me when the loading process is concluded.' Deep in the hangar arms, droids supervised the disposition of the cargo pods from traffic stations located high above the deck. Humpbacked craft with bulbous noses that gave them an animated appearance, the pods entered through the hangars' magcon orifices on repulsorlift power and were routed according to contents and destination, as designated by codes stenciled on the hulls. Each hangar arm was divided into three zones, partitioned by sliding bulkhead doors, twenty stories high.
Normally, zone three, closest to the centersphere, was filled first. But pods containing goods bound for destinations other than Coruscant or other Core worlds were directed to berthing bays in zones one or two, regardless of when they were brought aboard.
Scattered throughout the hangars were security automata toting modified BlasTech combat rifles, some with dispersal tips. Where the worker droids might be hollow-bodied asps, limber — necked PK'S, boxy GNK'S, or flat- footed binary loadlifters, the security droids appeared to have been inspired by the skeletal structure of any number of the galaxy's bipedal Life forms.
Lacking both the rounded head and alloy musculature of its near cousin, the protocol droid, the security droid had a narrow, half-cylindrical head that tapered forward to a speech processor and, at the opposite end, curved down over a stiff, backwardly canted neck. What distinguished the droid, however, was its signal boost backpack and the retractable antennae that sprouted from it.
The majority of the droids that comprised the Revenue's security force were simply appendages of the freighter's central control computer, but a few had been equipped with a small measure of intelligence.
The foreheads and chest plastrons of these lanky commanders were emblazoned with yellow markings similar to military unit flashes, though less for the sake of other droids than for the flesh and bloods to whom the commanders ultimately answered.
OLR-4 was one such commander.
Blaster rifle gripped in both hands and angled across his chest, the droid stood in zone two of the ship's starboard hangar arm, halfway between the bulkheads that defined the immense space.
OLR-4 was aware of the activity around him-the current of cargo pods moving toward zone three, the noise of other pods settling to the deck, the incessant whirrs and clicks of machines in motion — comb only in a vague way.
Rather, OLR-4 had been tasked by the central control computer to watch for anything out of the ordinary-for any event that fell outside performance parameters denned by the computer itself.
The resounding thud that accompanied the roosting of a nearby cargo pod was, given the size of the craft, well within those parameters. So, too, were the sounds emanating from inside the pod, which could be ascribed to a shifting of whatever cargo the pod contained. But the same couldn't be said for the hissing of pressure relief valves or the metallic clanks and stridencies that prefaced the slow rise of the pod's uncommonly large, circular forward hatch.
OLR-4'S long head pivoted and his oblique optical sensors fixed on the pod.
Magnified and sharpened, the captured image was transmitted to the central control computer, which instantly compared it to a catalog of similar images.
Discrepancies were noted.
Even as OLR-4'S photoreceptors were scrutinizing the rising hatch, additional security droids were already hurrying to assume positions on all sides of the suspect pod. OLR-4 planted his bootlike feet in a combat stance and leveled his blaster rifle.
The open hatch should have revealed the interior of the pod, but instead it exposed what seemed to be yet another hatch, sealed shut. OLR-4 did succeed in identifying the composition of the inner hatch, but the droid's puny processor was not up to the task of making sense of what it was seeing. That was the province of the central control computer, which was quick to solve the puzzle-though not quick enough.
Before OLR-4 could move, the inner hatch had telescoped from the pod with enough force to launch two security droids and three worker droids halfway across the hangar. Immediately, OLR-4 and three others opened fire on the battering ram and the cargo pod itself, but the blaster bolts were deflected and sent ricocheting through the hold.
A pair of droids leapt onto the wide-bodied pod, hoping to attack the striking device from behind, but their efforts were in vain. Blaster bolts found them first, quartering one, and all but obliterating the other.
It was only then that OLR-4 realized, in his limited capacity, that there were unfrlies behind the battering ram. And judging by the precision of the bolts, the intruders were flesh and bloods.
With cargo pods gliding overhead and a hundred labor droids continuing to tend to their tasks, oblivious to the firefight occurring in their midst, OLR- 4 rushed to one side, firing steadily and intent on gaining a better vantage on the intruders. Bolts sought him as he moved, sizzling past his head and shoulders, and streaking between his pumping legs.
