Star Wars - Shifting Gears - Unpublished Read Free Page B

hip, oiled the joints, then connected the power unit.
    The black droid’s eyes glowed white against the inky sockets.

    Arvee stared up at the stars, white pinpricks against the black sky. Most of the dust had settled, revealing that his makeshift bomb had taken out quite a few stormtroopers. Their armor-clad bodies were scattered among the downed Rebels, arms and legs at odd angles like broken dolls. So many bodies.
    The toadlike quadruped swallowed hard. He’d been in firefights, but not in any with this many casualties. “Back to the shuttle!” he called to the remaining Rebels. “Move your feet or none of us will be making it off this dirtball!”
    There were still several dozen stormtroopers to contend with— easily three times as many as there were Rebels still standing. But Arvee trusted that his men were better than the Imps. He cocked his wide head and picked up what sounded like an incessant wail. The speeder bikes had reached the far end of the gap. They’d be here in the space of a few heartbeats. The noise was loud and of varying pitches. Arvee swore under his breath. There were more speeder bikes than he had first guessed.
    “Be quick!” he hollered to his men. He squatted amid the bodies between the two hills, hoping his coloration would help hide him. Arvee intended to cover the retreating Rebels, even though he suspected his heroism would cost him his life. He would take a lot of stormtroopers with him, he knew, and prayed enough Rebels would make it back to the shuttle to man the craft and report the Vengler incident.
    Behind him the sound of blaster rifles continued. Both sides were firing, he surmised, as the Imps’ rifles had a higher tone to them. There was another explosion in the distance. Arvee could tell one of his men had fashioned a makeshift bomb out of blaster packs. Faintly, he heard a victory cry. The voice was Sullustan. He allowed himself a weak smile.
    “Maybe the two-leggers can make it out of here after all,” he whispered. Then the speeder bikes were practically on top of him, and he made out the forms of stormtroopers running behind them. “Where did all of these Imps come from?” He swiveled his borrowed rifle and began thumbing the trigger. He aimed for the lead bikes’ engines, netting two before the scout troopers realized what was happening. The bikes sparked and sputtered and took their hapless riders careening along what was left of the hillside. “Two down, ten to go,” he grumbled as he dodged a blast from a bike cannon and saw another bike headed straight toward him. “Ah, womp rats. That one spotted me.”
    Arvee darted to his right as a speeder bike cannon blasted the spot he’d been occupying only a moment before. He spun about on his rear legs, raised his rifle, and felt himself flying forward. A scout on another bike had passed behind him, ramming the stock of his blaster soundly against the quadruped’s skull.
    “Gather the prisoners.” Arvee faintly heard the stormtrooper’s voice as he was drifting toward unconsciousness. “We’ve plenty of room for them on the ship.”
    Arvee woke in the cargo hold, his legs shackled to the wall. His head hurt and his lungs burned from inhaling all the dust and the blaster fire-tinged air. He squinted through the dim light and focused on his fellow Rebels. He counted 20, all shackled like himself. That meant 130 had died in the ambush. Perhaps, if the Force was with them, some had escaped.
    He shook his head. “Wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he muttered.
    “Certainly it was.” The voice was clipped and laced with arrogance, coming from a shadowed doorway.
    Arvee peered into the darkness, his eyes separating the shadows until he found the lanky body of an Imperial captain. The captain smiled and took a few steps closer.
    “Your information was wrong,” the captain said smugly. “Your droid spy was fed false reports, made to believe there was only a small outpost near the mine.”
    “The