Джеймс Лучено: Cloak Of Deception

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.

In front of him two security droids lost their heads to well — placed shots. A third droid remained intact, but dropped to the deck nevertheless, hopelessly dazzled by untamed, coruscating electrical charges.

OLR-4'S internal monitors told him that his blaster was overheating and close to depletion.

Though obviously aware of the droid's predicament, the central control computer did not countermand its orders; so OLR-4 kept firing while he attempted to angle behind the battering ram.

Off to his right another droid was blasted from the top of the pod, its torso sent twirling in clumsy circles as it flew off into the hangar, only to collide with a settling cargo pod. A droid with a missing leg hopped as it shot, until its sound leg was blown out from under it, and it fell, skidding across the deck, sparks flying from its vocoder chin.

OLR-4 shifted left and right, dodging blaster bolts. He had almost reached the pod when a bolt caught him in the left shoulder, spinning him through a complete circle. He staggered, but somehow managed to remain upright, until a second bolt struck him in the opposite shoulder. Spun through another circle, he landed on his back, with his legs wedged beneath the pod.

Looking up, he had a glimpse of the armed force that had infiltrated the freighter: a dozen or so bipedal flesh and bloods, sheathed in mimetic suits and black body armor, their faces hidden behind rebreather masks, whose oxygen recyclers resembled fangs.

OLR-4'S photoreceptors focused on a human with long black hair that fell in thick coils to his broad shoulders. The servomotors of the droid's right hand tightened on the blaster's trigger bar, but the fatigued and overheated weapon's only response was a mournful whirr, as it powered down and shut off.

"Uh-oh," OLR-4 said.

Glimpsing him, the long-haired human swung and fired.

OLR-4'S heat sensors redlined and his overloaded systems wailed. Circuits melting, he relayed a final image to the central control computer, then winked out of existence.

The reassuring hum of machines on the Revenue's bridge was interrupted by a grating tone from the scanner array. Gliding across the command walkway, Daultay Dofine queried the droid stationed at the scanner.

"Long-range monitors report a cluster of small ships advancing all speed on our position," the droid answered in a metallic monotone.

"What? What did you say?" The Sullustan elaborated.

"Authenticators identify the ships as CloakShapes and one Tempest-class gunship." Dofine's jaw dropped. "An attack?" "Commander," the droid intoned, "the ships are continuing to advance." Dofine gestured wildly to the outsize display screen. "I want to see them!" He had started for the screen when another worrisome tone sounded, this time from the station of the systems officer, which was also set below the walkway.

"The central control computer is reporting a disturbance in zone two of the starboard hangar arm." Dofine gaped at the Gran. "What sort of disturbance?" "The droids are firing on one of the cargo pods." "Those brainless machines! If they ruin any of the cargo-was "Commander, starfighters are onscreen," the Sullustan reported.

"It could be nothing more than a glitch," the Gran went on.

Dofine's blinking red orbs darted from one alien to the other in mounting concern.

"Starfighters changing vector. Breaking into two elements." The Sullustan turned to Dofine.

"Flying the imprint of the Nebula Front." "The Nebula Front!" Dofine rushed to the display screen, then raised his long, fat forefinger to indicate the jet-black gunship. "That ship-was "The Hawk-Bat" the Sullustan said in a rush. "The ship of Captain Cohl." "Impossible!" Dofine snapped. "Cohl was reported to be at Malastare only yesterday." Jowls quivering slightly, the Sullustan regarded the screen. "But that is his ship. And where the Hawk-Bat ventures, Cohl is not far behind!" "Starfighters are forming up for attack,"