Star Wars - Shifting Gears - Unpublished by Jean Rabe

“Lovely planet they sent us to, El-Tee. Positively rustic. I might even go so far as to call it quaint”
    “Quit complaining, Arvee. Vengler’s just a little primitive, that’s all.”
    “Primitive? We landed on a plateau, not in a spaceport. No amenities. Not a cantina in sight. Why not call the place what it really is, sir? A dirtball.”
    The Rebel lieutenant scowled at the toadlike quadruped, his second-in-command, then pointed toward the darkening hills. “A little dirt never hurt anyone. ’Sides, we won’t be here long. We cut through that gap and surprise the Imperials on the other side. There’s not many. A couple dozen stormtroopers, support staff. Should be able to take them without much of a fight. We’ve got plenty of room on the shuttle for prisoners.”
    “Prisoners?”
    “Yeah, prisoners. This’ll be easy, Arvee. Piece of Mundlop zilg-dicody.”
    “Easy,” Arvee repeated. “Too bad I’m allergic to zilg.”
    “We free the miners,” the lieutenant continued, “then it’s leave time for all of us on a big Ithorian herd ship.”
    The lieutenant had to admit he shared Arvee’s view of the backwater world. Vengler was largely uncivilized, particularly this continent, and being on the fringe made it easy pickings for the small Imperial unit that was reported to have moved in and taken over the quendek mine. If it hadn’t been for an Alliance spy planted in the complement of a passing merchant frigate, the Imperial presence on Vengler probably would have gone unnoticed for years. Better to bring in a detachment now and shut it down right away, the lieutenant thought—before the Imperials have a chance to build weapon emplacements and set up a base.

    “Easy. Phfhffftt!” Arvee squatted on his rear legs, scratched at a wart, and reached for the blaster rifle slung over his mottled back. “Right, El-Tee. Easy for you humans.” He scrunched his lips into the approximation of a pout and eyed the rest of the Rebel force—nearly all of the 150 were Corellian recruits. There were a few Devaronians and a couple of Sullustans in the mix, but he was the only one who walked on all fours. “Easy ’cause all this dust doesn’t bother you two-leggers much. At least this beats resting in my bunk and watching the stars go by,” Arvee huffed. “One small outpost. Too bad there aren’t two or three. I really like to shoot stormtroopers. I’m good at it, too.” Arvee hunkered down, his brown bumpy hide helping him blend in with the rough landscape. A hint of a smile crossed his bulbous lips. “Hey, El-Tee, can I take point?”
    The lieutenant nodded, and the toadlike scout scuttled quickly ahead. The rest of the Rebels trailed behind him. As the stars began to wink into view, they quietly made their way through the gap in the hills.
    Arvee sneezed. “I really hate all this dust,” he cursed under his breath, as he ran a webbed digit across the blaster rifle’s trigger. “Good thing we won’t be here long.” He reached the far end of the gap and glanced across an uneven arid field. “Why, I could take them all out without a bother. Fast. All by my scaly lonesome. Forget prisoners. And then…” His raspy breath caught in his throat and his legs locked in place as he spotted something at the edge of his vision—several Imperial system patrol craft. There was a building behind the ships. “That isn’t one outpost,” he whispered in as soft a voice as he could manage. “Or two or three. It’s an Imperial base. With lots of weapon emplacements.” The dust swirled around his hind legs as his comrades caught up with him.

    “It’s all this dust!” the freighter pilot groaned. “Dust ’n sand. Every time I stay in Mos Eisley for more ’n a few days the stuff gets in my droid’s joints. Makes it act up or shut down. Can ya do somethin’ about it?”
    Amalk Wulqpark eyed the sand-pitted protocol droid the pilot had roughly ushered into his shop. “You shouldn’t leave him outside