Star Wars - Credit Denied - Unpublished Read Free Page B

glanced to the door… and then down to the control pad. Oh yeah, she realized, it’s coded. Let’s see what we can do about that…
    She raised her weapon to fire again, but rather than targeting her opponent, she tracked across the room to the door release.
    The Nimbanel smiled at her obvious mistake, and took an extra moment to aim at her head.
    Rendra fired, but the alien paid the shot no attention as he sighted her through the targeting guides. He squeezed the trigger—
    And then a barrage of blaster fire lanced across the bay from the open doorway and knocked him halfway across the room toward her ship, where he crashed to the floor and lay motionless.

    Rendra looked back to the bay entrance as Nopul and the mercenaries walked in with weapons still readied for any further trouble.
    “So,” Nopul said, looking innocent. “You need any help in here?”
    She smirked. “Exactly what was your plan? Wait ’til I come up with one and then get involved?”
    “Well, if I knew that was going to be your attitude…”
    Rendra noticed that Vakir had walked up to the Nimbanel’s body and was searching through his belongings. After grabbing a few small items, he put the muzzle of his blaster pistol against the Nimbanel’s temple.
    “Hey!” Rendra shouted, startling everyone including herself. “What’re you doing?” She marched over to the Nikto and pulled his blaster away from the Nimbanel’s head. “If he’s still alive, let him be. He had a job to do—I don’t take it personally. Besides, we’ll be long gone by the time he wakes up.”
    Vakir looked down at the Nimbanel, shrugged, and then walked away.
    A thought suddenly crossed Rendra’s mind, and she scanned the bay for the espionage droid. “Anyone see a little annoying droid flying around?”
    Her companions searched the bay, but came up empty.
    “Well,” she said, heading for the ship, “I guess it doesn’t matter much now. All right, everyone, let’s go. We’ve got a lot of work to do and not much time to do it in.”

    Rendra wandered back into the Zoda’s —now the Runaround’s —roughly circular recreation area to find the Nikto, the Dresselian, and Nopul engaged in a multiround sabacc hand, judging by the number of credits in the pot.
    “Who’s winning?” she asked as she plopped herself down onto a nearby couch.
    “Oro,” Nopul said without letting his eyes stray from his card-chips. “For now.”
    The Dresselian laughed—a staccato shushing sound that made Rendra wonder for a moment whether the alien was actually having trouble breathing. But when Vakir threw him a hard look and Oro suddenly shut up, she knew she didn’t have to worry.
    She watched as Vakir pulled a card-chip out of his hand and then looked to his two opponents, apparently searching for some hint of their reaction. Whether he had learned anything or not Rendra had no way of knowing, but he slipped the card back into his hand, selected another, and promptly shoved the new choice into the interference field in front of him.
    For a moment, no one said a word, Oro and Nopul staring at Vakir as he regarded his pile of credits while clicking his sharp nails against the table.
    “You bet or no bet?” Oro demanded.
    Vakir slowly raised his gaze toward his fellow alien—and then suddenly reached across the table and grabbed the Dresselian by the throat.
    “Okay, okay,” Oro managed to gag out, “take as much time as need.”
    Satisfied, Vakir released his death grip. He watched his credits as he mulled something over in his mind, and then apparently came to a conclusion as he tossed the rest of his credits into the pot. “Twenty,” he said, although the word could have been just a grunt as far as Rendra was concerned.
    The other two matched the bet, and then turned over the card-chips in the interference field in front of each of them.
    “Looks like Oro wins again,” Nopul said, pushing himself back from the table. “Deal me out.”
    As Oro gleefully pulled