Star Wars - Credit Denied - Unpublished by George R. Strayton Read Free Book Online

to him. that didn’t sound as promising as he would have liked.

    Nopul swiveled the cockpit chair one more time. That made six hundred and twenty-eight revolutions, and he’d still not heard a word from Rendra.
    He’d set the ship’s comm system to the METOSP channel after she’d left. According to the updates, all of Sriluur had erupted into chaos. No vessels were being allowed to lift off until flight control could determine whether the threat had passed.
    Threat? Nopul thought. Trust me, there’s no longer a threat.
    He glanced over at the exterior ocular sensor display for a quick look—and then stopped to stare at the squad of armed security guards marching straight for the Zoda .
    This was it. The end. All his hopes and aspirations dashed over the course of a few hours. Well, for what it was worth, he wasn’t going to let it end so neatly.
    With his last embers of vigor, he sprang from the chair and pulled a blaster rifle out of the cockpit weapons locker. He checked the charge and found it three-quarters full. He gave a nervous chuckle: the weapon would probably last longer than he would.
    With a stride infused with the power of imminent death, he headed for the airlock. Before he hit the release, he took a deep breath, guesstimating the time it would take for the patrol to reach the ship but before they were in a readied position.
    He exhaled quickly and—before he let his common sense inform him of his insanity—jammed the airlock control with his elbow. As the door hissed open, he hefted the blaster rifle and took up an offensive stance. He began to ease the blaster’s trigger, just enough so that he knew he’d get off the first shot.
    When the airlock had fully opened to reveal the open-air bay to the starboard of the Zoda , he was alarmed at what he saw.
    Nothing. Where had they gone? Around to the other side of the ship? Were they laying in wait for him to poke out his head so they could blast him into a million pieces without exposing themselves?
    When no one appeared to answer his questions, he eased forward down the ramp, careful not to break the plane of the hull. To test the waters, he shoved the muzzle of the rifle outside.
    No response.
    Which didn’t do much to settle his nerves. Maybe they were smarter than he was. No, he didn’t like this one bit.
    Realizing he had no other option—the ocular sensor unit was fixed on an aft view—he poked his head out and glanced in both directions, fully expecting not to live long enough to perceive the information his eyes absorbed.
    So he was completely surprised to find himself unharmed in the next moment, the squad of security guards getting smaller as they headed for another ship a few dozen meters away.
    Nopul took in a sweet breath. The adrenaline, though now unneeded, still coursed though him, making his hands—and in turn, the blaster rifle—shake. The movement woke him out of his respite and he scuttled back up the ramp and hit the locking mechanism. He left the airlock to shut by itself as he headed to the cockpit.
    When he got there he saw the incoming message light blinking. That was the signal. He grabbed his slicer tools, thought twice about leaving the blaster rifle behind, and finally headed off without it. He had a lot to do. Rendra, Oro, and Vakir were counting on him. He couldn’t take the risk of carrying a lethal weapon. If he were arrested or even detained for a few moments, all of them, including himself, would lose their lives. And that would definitely not make his day.

    Sriluur’s yellow sun blazed down on Rendra from its position just to the morning side of the sky’s zenith. She’d been too busy to notice how bright it was yesterday, but now, chained to a makeshift pillar on the dais in the center of the Coliseum floor, she didn’t have the option of missing out on that bit of information.
    Next to her, Oro, Vakir and some other alien she didn’t recognize—apparently caught up in the same political