Star Wars - When the Domino Falls by Patricia A. Jackson Page B

ever gone so far as to merit insult. Frustrated, Drake thrust his hands into his pockets, powerless to stand between them and their dominant personalities. Not even the familiar silhouette of the Miss Chance , docked beyond them, could comfort the immeasurable sense of foreboding that threatened to consume the anxious boy.
    Sullen, Drake moved out of the hangar arena, stepping up to the port entrance where the guard house was situated. Barely large enough to contain a full complement of staff, the small, one-room structure offered a quiet place for the port guards to rest between shifts. Drake approached the group of armed men gathered outside. “I’m looking for Seth,” he whispered.
    “That’ll be me,” huffed a portly, Human man. He stared into Drake’s face with focal intensity. “Aren’t you Kaine Paulsen’s boy?” The security director grinned astutely, sweeping his gaze from side to side. “Do I need to ask? You look just like him. Do you understand Wookiee?”
    Drake shrugged absently, catching a quick glimpse of his father and Ancher still arguing by the Miss Chance . Though the dock was barely 10 meters away, the continual echo of blast rockets and welding equipment drowned out their voices.
    “Come on in and whatever you do, don’t spook.” Seth cautioned, moving his stout body through the narrow bulkhead that framed the blast door. “Stay calm and move slow.”
    Before Drake could question the peculiar directives, he felt a blast of hot air escaping from the small compound. With horror, he realized that it was not a breeze, but a voice, booming from the back of the room. Dodging several projectiles, the young Socorran backtracked, falling into Seth’s waiting arms. “Now steady on there!” Seth scolded, shielding the boy against the wall.
    Perplexed, Drake realized that Seth was not speaking to him directly, but to the figure standing only meters away from the blast door. A formidable 2.4 meters tall, muscles twitching beneath a deep layer of black fur, the territorial Wookiee dropped to one knee. As the muzzle leveled off at chest level, Drake could see that the bowcaster was set and fully charged.
    “Tell him to put the gun down!” Drake cried.
    “He’s a she, young Paulsen,” Seth laughed. “And besides, you’re the expert. You tell her to put the gun down.”
    Drake straightened his coat, moving away from the guardsman’s support. “She should understand Basic,” he whispered nervously. “Don’t you?”
    The Wookiee bawled insufferably. It was a sound that Drake could only translate as intense loneliness and abandonment. “She’s scared.” The reaction to his translation was immediate; relieved to be understood by someone, she propped the bowcaster against the chair, openly explaining her desperate situation. “And she’s hungry.”
    Seth scoffed, “What does one feed a Wookiee?”
    Drake approached her cautiously, reaching into his pocket for his last protein bar. “Easy,” he soothed, offering it to her. “It’s not much; but we can get you more.”
    Her face brightened, silver highlights showing at her brow and nobly set cheekbones. Framed by a mixture of black and silver fur, her opaque blue eyes were cloudy with exhaustion and sorrow. She took the bar, gingerly sniffing at the contents. Drake delighted in the momentarily contact, feeling the smooth warmth of her shaggy mane against his hand. Bawling in a sedate voice, the Wookiee moaned and returned the dehydrated bar.
    “No, you can have it,” he assured her, nervously taking that moment to ruffle the fine, black fur beneath his inquisitive fingers. Intrigued, the boy stared up at her, admiring the silver accents that swept through her neck and arms, down across her broad shoulders and over her back. “Where’d she come from?”
    “Space tramp dropped her off here.” Seth replied, settling his heavy frame into a chair by the door. “Tells me to find transport for her. He emphasized safe transport and hauls