spasmed, and he blinked half a dozen times. 'Aurodium?' Cohl leaned toward him. 'You're carrying two billion in aurodium ingots.' Dofine stiffened under Cohl's gaze.
'You-you must be mistaken, Captain. The Revenue is carrying ore.' Cohl raised himself to his considerable height.
'I'll say it once more. You're carrying aurodium ingots-butribes proffered by Outer Rim worlds to ensure the continued blessing of the Trade Federation.' Dofine sneered, in spite of himself. 'So it is currency you seek.
I had always heard that the notorious Captain Cohl was an idealist. Now I see that he is a simple thief.' Cohl almost grinned. 'We can't all be licensed thieves like you and the rest of your bunch.' 'The Trade Federation does not deal in violence and death, Captain.' Cohl grabbed two fistfuls of Dofine's rich raiment and yanked him halfway out of the chair. 'Not yet you don't.' He pushed Dofine back into the seat. 'But we'll save that for another day. What matters now is the aurodium.' 'And should I refuse to submit?' Without taking his eyes from Dofine, Cohl pointed to his Rodian comrade. 'Boiny, there, is affixing a thermal detonator to the Revenue's fuel-driver control system. As I understand it, the device will trigger an explosion large enough to destroy your ship in… Boiny?' 'Sixty minutes, Captain,' Boiny shouted, holding aloft a metallic sphere the size of a stinkmelon.
Cohl pulled an object from the thigh pouch pocket of his mimetic suit and slapped it against the back of Dofine's left hand. Dofine saw that it was a timer, already counting down from sixty minutes. He raised his eyes to Cohl's steadfast gaze.
'About the ingots,' Cohl said.
Dofine nodded. 'Yes, all right-if you promise to spare the ship.' Cohl laughed shortly. 'The Revenue is history. But you have my word I'll spare your life if you do as you're told.' Again, Dofine nodded. 'That way I'll at least live to see you executed.' Cohl shrugged. 'You never know, Commander.' He straightened and grinned at Rella. 'What did I tell you? Easy as-was 'Captain,' Cohls man at the communications station cut him off. 'Vessel emerging from hyperspace.
Authenticators paint her as the TradeFed freighter Acquisitor.' Rella made a plosive sound. 'You were saying, Cohl?' The look Cohl directed at Dofine was one of genuine surprise. 'Maybe you're not as thick-skulled as you look.' He leapt up onto the walkway and turned to the viewport array.
Rella joined him.
'The scenario has changed,' Cohl announced to everyone. 'The Acquisitor will launch starfighters as soon as it's within range.
Order the Hawk-Bat to take the fight to the freighter.' Dofine allowed a smile of satisfaction. 'Perhaps you will have to forgo your treasure, after all, Captain Cohl.' Cohl shot him a withering glance. 'I'm not leaving without it, Commander-and neither are you.' He reached for Dofine's right wrist to regard the countdown timer.
'Fifty-five minutes.' 'Cohl,' Rella said leadingly.
He looked at her askance. 'Without the aurodium, we don't get paid, sweetheart.' She took her lower lip between her perfect teeth.
'Yes, but we have to be alive to spend it.' He shook his head. 'Death's not in the cards-at least not in this hand.' Close to the bridge, a Nebula Front starfighter, chased down by packets of lethal energy, vanished in a nimbus of white-hot gas and debris.
'Fire from the Acquisitor' one of the mercenaries reported.
Sudden disquiet tugged at Rella's features.
Cohl ignored the look she sent him. Plucking Dofine from the command chair and standing him on the walkway, Cohl shoved him toward the bridge's ruined hatch.
'Double time, Commander. Our departure window has just narrowed.' I n the chaotic gloom of the starboard hangar arm, a final pod moving on repulsorlift toward a zone three docking bay didn't draw much attention.
Somewhat turnip shaped, it was larger than most of the pods that had been routed into zone three, though not as large as the one the Nebula Front had infiltrated, and nowhere near the size of some of the ore barges. More, the pod gave no hint that, like the terrorists' craft, it carried a living cargo.
Strapped into back-to-back seats were two human males who, in dress, were the polar opposite of Daultay Dofine. Their light-colored tunics and trousers were loose fitting and unadorned, their knee-high boots were made of nerf hide, and they affected neither headpieces nor jewelry.
Their modest garments only made their obvious guile all the more mysterious.
The fraudulent cargo pod lacked viewports of any sort, but vidcams concealed in the hull transmitted assorted views of the hangar to display screens inside the craft.
On observing the disorder Cohl's band had left in its wake, the young man in the forward seat remarked in a nasal voice, 'Captain Cohl has left us an easy trail to follow, Master.' 'He has indeed, Padawan. But the trail you take into the forest may not be the one you wish to follow when leaving. Stretch out with your feelings, Obi-Wan.' Fairly squeezed into the aft seat, the older man was also the larger of the pair. His broad face was fully bearded, and his thick mane of graying hair was pulled back from a gently sloping, noble brow.
His eyes were a sharp blue, and the bridge of his strong nose was flattened, as if it had been broken beyond the repair of bacta treatments.
His name was Qui-Gon Jinn.
His counterpart at the controls of the pod, Obi-Wan Kenobi, had a youthful, clean-shaven face, a cleft chin, and a high, straight forehead. His brown hair was cropped short, save for a short tail at the rear of his head, and a single, thin plait that fell behind his ear to his right shoulder, a sign of his Padawan rank. Peculiar to the order to which Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan belonged, the word meant apprentice or protege.
That order was known as the Jedi Knights.
'Master, do you see any sign of their craft?' Obi-Wan asked over his shoulder.
Qui-Gon turned in his seat to indicate an open pod at the lower left of Obi-Wan's heads-up display screen.
'That one. They must be planning to launch from the inner rim hangar portal. Set us down nearby, with our
