"That would mean spending some of the profits, Rella," a male human said.

"And the Neimoidians don't do that unless they can spend it on new robes."

Boiny loosed a high-pitched laugh. "You grow up a half — starved Neimoidian grub, that's what happens." Cohl raised his bearded chin to two of his band.

"Stay with the pod. We'll make contact when we have the bridge." He swung to the others. "Team one, take the outer rim corridor. The rest of you are with me." The Revenue shuddered slightly. Muted explosions could be heard in the distance.

Cohl cocked an ear. "That'll be our ships." Sirens began to blare throughout the hangar. The labor droids stopped in their tracks, as a basso rumble gathered underfoot.

Rella gazed at the far-off bulkhead. "They're sealing off the hangar."

Cohl waved a gesture to the first team. "Move out.

We'll rendezvous at the starboard turbolifts.

Set your suits to pulse-that ought to confuse the droids-and use the concussion grenades sparingly. And remember to monitor your oxygen levels." He took a few steps, then stopped. "One more thing: You get blasted by a droid, bacta rehabilitation comes out of your pay." Daultay Dofine stood rigidly on the bridge's walkway, watching in arrant horror as the Nebula Front showed his ship no mercy.

The motley starfighters fell on the Revenue in full force, pick ing away at the freighter's fat arms and triple-thrustered hindquarters like ravenous birds of prey. Many of the unshielded droid ships were annihilated as soon as they emerged from the vessel's protective force field.

Emboldened by their effortless mastery, the enemy craft violated the embrace the hangar arms threw about the centersphere by strafing the command tower at close quarter. Ion cannon fire from the gunship sent waves of aggravation through the Revenue's deflector shield. Violent light washed against the bridge viewports.