Star Wars The Old Republic Fatal Allianc - By Sean Williams Page 0,1

spilled around him, the smaller the chance it would be his, one day.

“What are we going to tell our former bosses when we haul in empty?”

“That’s not my problem,” gloated Shinqo. “On flimsi, you’re still captain of the Auriga Fire. It’s your job to come up with an excuse the Republic will believe. I’ll be long gone before then, with the credits.”

True to form, then, the Rodian was planning to stiff Jet at both ends of the deal. That changed everything. Jet glanced at Clunker, who was standing innocently in front of the entrance to the cockpit. No one would get in past him, if push came to shove. More important, no one would get out …

Barely had the Auriga Fire closed half the distance between the two ships when Jet’s misgivings about the cruiser were violently justified. A scattering of red lights danced across the instrument panels; a buzzer harshly sounded. Jet studied the display for a split second, making absolutely certain of what he was seeing, before raising every shield to full and punching the sublights to maximum.

The Auriga Fire rolled edge-on to the cruiser and Shinqo staggered backward. Clunker caught him, deftly twisting the blaster out of the Rodian’s grasp as he did so. At that moment the star cruiser that should have been their prize exploded, sending a blast of pure white light through every viewport, screen, and shield.

Jet had done more than just back the ship away. He had covered his eyes, and now he peered warily through his fingers at instruments gone completely haywire. There was barely anything left where the Cinzia had been. Thuds and clangs registered on the hull as bits of the star cruiser rocketed by.

Shinqo was barking into his communicator again, quick on the uptake, but not quick enough by half. “Who fired? Who ordered you to fire?”

“No one did,” Jet said. “The ship blew itself up—and if I hadn’t caught the neutrino spike from the drives before they went, we’d have been toasted, too.”

Shinqo rounded on him as though he’d planned this all along. “I should shoot you right here.”

“With what, mate?” Jet nodded at Clunker, who pointed the Rodian’s own blaster into his chest. Jet enjoyed the confusion nakedly displayed on his mate’s green, leathery face. “Let’s start this again, shall we? We work for the Hutts now. I get that. One master’s as good as any other, provided the cut’s the same. But we all get equal shares in that cut, right? Or I tell the crew, who will be spoiling for the fight they just missed. They won’t be happy that you were about to rob some of them. And I tell Clunker here, who badly needs another oil bath, to tighten his grip on that trigger and send you after the crew of that ship, whatever dim part of creation they inhabit now. Get it?”

Acceptance replaced anxiety on Shinqo’s face. His hands came up.

“Here, now, Captain, there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

“Perhaps you’d like to clarify, then.”

“Sure, sure. You’ll get your share. We all will. I never intended it otherwise.”

“And the Republic?”

“We’ll sort them out—together, like. It wouldn’t be fair to leave it all up to you.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, lad.” Jet nodded at Clunker, who flipped the blaster over and handed it back to its owner. “While I’m captain of this ship, as written on flimsiplast, Barabel hide, or whatever, I expect a certain degree of civility and common purpose. So long as I have that, we’re all going to get along fine.”

He swiveled around to face the instruments, confident that Clunker would stop anything untoward happening behind him. And confident also that the Rodian was smart enough to recognize a compromise when he saw one. Jet didn’t mind who paid him, just like the Hutts didn’t care who handed them their treasure, so long as it was theirs. It all came out in the wash, for those left standing.

“Let’s see what remains of our sorry friend out there …”

The debris field was expanding fast. Sensors tracked the largest chunks, many of which were human-sized or even bigger. That surprised him. A drive blowout usually left only slag and dust.

“That looks like part of the forward section,” said Shinqo, leaning over Jet to point at a screen.

“No life signs.”

“No witnesses,” said the Rodian with satisfaction.

“That’s normally our job,” said Jet, although he had never killed a single person he’d robbed in all his years of pirating—not after he’d robbed them, anyway. Broken a