Republic Commando 01: Hard Contact by Karen Traviss

Author:Karen Traviss
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Space Opera, Star Wars Fiction, General, Space Warfare, Fantasy, Imaginary wars and battles, Adventure, English, Fiction, Media Tie-In, Good and Evil
ISBN: 9780345478276
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2004-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

The building was only ten meters wide. Atin knelt at the door and studied the single lock.

“Pretty insubstantial if this is where they store the explosives,” he said.

“Let’s take a look.”

Atin stood up slowly and placed a scope on the door to listen for movement. He shook his head at Niner. Then he slid a flimsi-thin flat endoscope around the jamb, working it back and forth, slowly and carefully. “Now that’s a tight fit,” he said. “Can’t get it in.”

“We could always just walk in there.”

“Remember, we’re probably heading into a store full of explosives. If I could get a probe through it could at least get a sniff of the air and test for chemicals.”

“Okay, let’s walk in carefully, then.”

There was no handle. Niner stood to the hinge side, Deece in one hand, and pressed silently on the single plate that made up the door. It didn’t yield.

Atin nodded. He took out the handheld ram, ten kilos that had seemed like dead, useless weight in their packs until now. He squared it up to the lock.

Niner raised one finger. “Three. . . two. . .”

It applied a force of two metric tons.

“Go.”

The door fell open, and they both leapt back as a stream of blasterfire shot out. It stopped suddenly. They squatted on either side of the entrance. Usually this was simple: if someone inside didn’t want to leave, a grenade coaxed them out, one way or another. But with a high chance of explosives being inside, that method was a little too emphatic. Niner shook his head.

Atin moved the endoscope carefully, getting a glimpse of the building’s interior. Then he edged the probe into the doorway, drawing another stream of blasterfire.

“Two moving around,” he said. “Light’s out. But the probe got a sniff of explosives.”

“Spot-lamp and rush them, then?”

Atin shook his head. He took out a grenade and locked it

in the safety position. “How nervous would you be if you were sitting on enough stuff to put this quarry into orbit?”

“Drink-spilling nervous, I’d say.”

“Yeah.” Atin hefted the grenade a few times. “That’s what I thought.”

He bowled the disabled grenade into the doorway and jerked back. Three seconds later, two Weequays rushed out. Niner and Atin fired simultaneously; one Weequay dropped instantly, and the other’s momentum carried him on a few meters farther, until he fell in the path at the top of the ramp. The quarry droids trundled on, oblivious. If the shot hadn’t killed him, the advancing droid did.

“Sarge, you need some help down there?”

Niner motioned Atin inside. “No, Fi, we’re set here. Keep an eye out in case we get company.”

The building reeked of cooking and unwashed Weequay. A small droid, lights blinking on standby and caked in dried mud, stood by a console. The rest of the space—three rooms— was taken up by explosives, detonators, and various spare parts and stenciled crates.

“There’s your demolitions man,” Atin said, tapping the droid on its head, and retrieved his grenade. He wiped it with his glove and put it back in his belt pack.

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