Star Wars Absolute Best Story

Tteel Kkak directed one of the younger clan members to demonstrate his prowess by slicing into the main bridge computer to download the registry number and owner of the vessel, just in case there might be some large bounty, a reward for simply reporting the whereabouts of the hulk--after they had stripped it of all valuables, of course. The young clan member Tteel Kkak's third sister's fifth son by her primary mate pulled out a scuffed, flatscreen reader with stripped raw wires dangling from the end. He used his rodentlike claws to peel back the access plate of the bridge panel and squealed as sparks flew when he connected the wires. He jammed the leads into other pickups, tapped into the dying energy in the ship's backup batteries, and called up the information in flickering green phosphor letters across the screen. The captain of the ship had been a humanoid named Grizzid, and Tteel Kkak's fantasies diminished.

He had hoped for some well-known dignitary or VIP passenger. This Grizzid person had departed from the Tarsunt system, another place Tteel Kkak had never heard of. Dismissing that, he directed his young assistant to find more important information--the cargo manifest. When new letters scrolled up on the screen, the device flickered, and his young assistant had to slap it several times before it functioned again. The flat-screen scrolled up a dismayingly short list of contents. Tteel Kkak's thumping heart sank. One item, marked only as "special cargo," had been placed aboard by a Bothan trader named Grendu, a dealer in "rare antiquities," who requested that extreme precautions be taken. A heavily reinforced duranium cage filled most of the ship's cargo hold.
Tteel Kkak let pheromones of disappointment waft into the air, strong enough to overcome even the acrid burning smells. Unless that cage had been immensely strong indeed, this precious special cargo, whatever it was, had certainly been killed in the crash.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, though, he heard squeals of terror and pain--and a rumbling growl from within the wreck, basso and bone-jarring, deep enough to make the remnants of the ship vibrate. Over half the Jawas wisely bolted through the opening in the hull, fleeing back to the safety of the sandcrawler; but Tteel Kkak was pilot and clan representative, and he was responsible for salvage. Though it seemed the smartest thing to do, he could not simply run from a loud, scary sound. He wanted to find out what this thing was. The "special cargo" might be valuable, after all. He grabbed the arm of his young assistant, who sent up an unpleasant aroma of dark, ice-metal terror. As they charged down the sloping corridors, they were nearly bowled over by seven shrieking, retreating Jawas who squealed an incomprehensible mixture of words and an impossible-tread scent that conveyed nothing more than nauseating fear. Tteel Kkak saw long streaks of blood along the corridor, huge red-smeared footprints. The lights had burned out farther down the corridor, and the ship still clicked and settled as the fires cooled and the desert sun baked the outside. The loud, reverberating growl came again.

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Retired Marines SGT. Star Wars Maniac. Can be found at http://www.r2d2interactive.com

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Star Wars Absolute Best Story