[Han Solo] - 03(62)

Minutes later, the prize crew reported that they were ready for the restart. Bria watched tensely, heard a whine, then, suddenly, full illumination replaced the emergency lighting on the bridge. The tactical screens glowed, the navicomputer chirred softly to itself.

Bria left her troops to deal with the vermin and walked out to the turbolift. She keyed her comlink. “Hyx … you there?”

“I’m here aboard Retribution, Commander,” the medical officer reported.

“The wounded have been transported over, and everything is looking good.

Except for Caronil … he didn’t make it. Sorry. The medic and I did everything we could ….”

Bria swallowed. “I know that. Are you still needed there, Hyx?”

“Not really. The med droids have things under control here. I’m taking the shuttle back to the Shackle.”

“Good. I’m going to need you soon. Come straight to the Security Hold.

That’s where the slaves are locked up. I’ll meet you there.”

Bria took the turbolift down two decks, then started aft. She was nearly to the locked portal when the scuff of a foot behind her made her whirl around, sidearm in hand. Behind her, brandishing a blaster, was one of the slavers who’d somehow escaped capture.

The woman’s eyes were glittery, her pupils dilated, her hair a greasy halo around her face. “Stop right there or I’ll shoot!” she bellowed, holding the blaster in two trembling hands.

Bria stopped. Trembling with fear? Maybe … but that’s not all…. “Drop your weapon!” the woman howled. “Or I’ll kill you!”

“I don’t think so,” Bria said, calmly, letting her blaster hang down in her hand, muzzle pointed at the deck. “If I’m dead, I’m no use to you as a hostage.”

The woman frowned, obviously trying to puzzle out her captive’s words.

Finally, she elected to ignore them. “I want a shuttle? she cried.

“A shuttle, and some slaves to take with me! You can have the rest! I just want my fair cut, that’s all!”

“Not a chance,” Bria said, steel underlying her quiet tone. “I’m not a slaver. I’m here to free these people.”

The woman appeared completely baffled by this. She cocked her head.

“You don’t wanna sell ‘em?” she asked, skeptically.

“No,” Bria said. “I’m here to free them.”

“Free ‘em?” Bria might as well have been speaking Huttese for all the slaver understood her. “They’re worth couple thousand credits apiece, some of ‘em.”

“I don’t care,” Bria said.

The slaver’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because slavery is wrong,” Bria said. “You’re wasting my time, vermin.

Kill me or let me go—but you’ll get nothing from me.”

The woman pondered Bria’s words, obviously taken aback by the commander’s response. It was plain to Bria that the slaver was under the influence of some powerful stimulant. Carsunum, probably. The woman was shaking all over. The muzzle of the gun was practically vibrating in mid-air. Bria’s eyes narrowed as she watched the muzzle of the weapon waver, waver . .

then drop fractionally as the drugged woman struggled to comprehend a being who cared nothing for personal profit.

Bria’s hand moved in a blur as she brought her weapon up, at the same time throwing herself to the side. The slaver fired, but she was shaking so violently that the bolt didn’t even singe Bria. The Rebel commander’s shot struck the slaver just below her chest. The woman went down with a scream and a gurgle.

Bria walked over to her, kicked away the blaster from the outflung arm and limp fingers, and looked down at the slaver. There was a gaping, charred hole in her abdomen. The woman stared back up at her, panting shallowly. Bria aimed her sidearm at the slayer’s forehead.

“Want me to?”

The woman shook her head, side to side, then struggled to speak.

“N-no …” She wheezed in agony. “I—I want … to … live …. ” Bria shrugged. “Fine by me. You’ve got maybe five minutes, I figure.”

With her sidearm in her hand, Bria stepped over the slaver and continued down to the hold.

She had to use her blaster on the lock. Inside, she heard screams of panic. The portal swung open.

The stench hit the Corellian the moment she stepped through the door.

Human and alien, the effluvia rolled out, almost visible, it was so thick.

Bria looked over the crowd of wailing, moaning, wretched Pilgrims who were cowering away from her, even as they held out their skinny, talon-like hands, pleading, “Bring a priest! Need the priests! Take us home!”