The escape from Dock 9 - a mediocre tale

The command center answers with a long metal groan. Thermal cutters bite the blast doors, and the seam floods with white sparks. The chirping at the hatch stops. On the display, the second watcher signal steadies into a hard lock.

The doors split wide. An Imperial Sweep Team stands there in perfect formation, rifles up, visors gleaming. They are not here by chance. They are here because the station called them.

The Inquisitor goes pale, his posture going rigid as the room finally makes sense to him. Mara tightens her grip on the datapad. Zoey has a service vent above the relay rack, half-open and barely wide enough for a squeeze.

The sweep team fans out toward the console bank, while the Inquisitor snaps his head toward the vent line and the side hatch, weighing which exit dies last. The room locks into a single brutal choice, fight, or vanish into the ducts.

She snaps out from the console bank in a quick burst, fires a tight, improvised burst at the nearest visor line, then ducks back before the return fire can settle. The shots skate the edge of a rifle shield and spray the wall with bright slag.

Mara flinches hard but keeps the datapad hugged to her chest, edging toward cover. The Inquisitor recoils from the crossfire, staring at Zoey as the sweep team pivots to track her angle instead of the console.

Zoey tries again, another fast pop from a different angle, but the team has already learned the rhythm. Blue bolts stitch the console lip where her head was a breath ago, and the room fills with the harsh crack of disciplined return fire.

Her line of attack dies in the glare. The sweep team tightens into a disciplined wedge, cutting off the open floor between the console and the vent, while the industrial relay above the freight spine pulses faintly on the display.

The only clear movement left is upward or sideways. One trooper levels a rifle past the Inquisitor and barks, cold and clipped, "Hands where we can see them. Now."

Zoey snaps a quick burst toward the nearest rifle shield, then yanks back behind the console edge as the team answers with disciplined fire.

The shot clips nothing vital. It only forces the wedge to flinch, and the closest trooper shifts his weight to cover the service vent and the relay rack at once.

Mara ducks lower with the datapad locked to her chest, using the console bank as a shield while the Inquisitor stares at the closing angles in alarm.

Zoey catches it, the floor wedge has to commit either to the vent or the console, not both. The industrial relay above the freight spine pulses on the display, marking a thin gap in their coverage.

A trooper barks, "Hands where we can see them. Now." Blue fire hammers the console lip, and the opening narrows as the sweep team squares up for a push.

Zoey leans out, fires a tight burst, and dives back as blue bolts stitch the console edge where her head was a second ago.

The nearest trooper jerks sideways, but the wedge barely breaks. Two rifles swing past the vent and lock onto the relay rack instead.

Mara flattens herself lower, the datapad clamped to her ribs, while the Inquisitor watches the opening shrink with a thin, startled gasp.

Zoey pops up again, aiming for the left seam, but her shot sparks off armor plating and throws no one off the line.

Still, the missed shot forces one trooper to brace hard against the relay rack, and the service vent cover shudders half an inch under the pressure.

Zoey leans out again, huffs a sharp breath, and snaps off a moving burst toward the wedge. The shot skates wide, but it forces the lead trooper to flinch off the relay rack and open his shoulder for a heartbeat.

Blue fire licks the console lip, then dies to a smear of smoke. The near miss buys Zoey a sliver of motion, and the service vent cover jumps higher under the pressure, now visibly warping.

The sweep team answers at once. Two rifles rake the console bank, driving Mara flatter behind cover, and the Inquisitor recoils as sparks spray across the floor at his feet.

Zoey catches the opening she makes, not in the troopers, but in their pattern. Their wedge keeps favoring the relay rack over the vent, leaving the power conduit along the floor briefly exposed.

Mara clamps the datapad tighter and shifts one elbow, revealing the edge of the crawlspace access panel beside her knee. It is almost hidden, but it is clear now where the escape route actually begins.

Zoey shifts off the console lip and fires again, a tight moving burst that walks the lead trooper backward. The wedge breaks for half a second, and the exposed corridor line goes hot with return fire.

One rifleman drops to a knee to avoid the spray, and that gap costs the sweep team their clean angle. Mara ducks lower with the datapad, then shoves the crawlspace panel fully open with her heel.

The Inquisitor stumbles into the opening by the breached doorway instead of the suppressive lane, pressed there by the redirected fire. The service vent above them bucks once, then hangs wider, bent past useful.

Zoey keeps the pressure on, forcing the nearest trooper to drag his aim across the floor instead of the room. The blue scorch on the console lip spreads into smoke, and the second watcher signal continues to pulse on the main display.

Mara snaps a look into the crawlspace, then points with a sharp jerk of her chin. The way down is open now, but the command center is still live with gunfire and closing boots.