Leave her alone!” Dewell Bronk’s entreaty was barely more than a whisper, and it was no surprise that the toughs didn’t hear him. He looked urgently across the aisle of the transport at the delinquents, a pair of young, horn-headed Devaronians. They’d been hassling the poor old Twi’lek woman since she’d boarded. When they had first yanked at her satchel, she had resisted briefly, but now she looked on meekly as the youths pawed through her belongings. Dewell wanted to tell them to stop. Louder, this time. He could: he had an authoritative voice, one he was famous for. But that was in a different world, one where his small stature meant very little. No one was going to listen to a meter-tall, pudgy Kedorzhan in the lower hold of a passenger transport. He looked around in desperation. The Tallaan Clipper had no security personnel on this level, just the frightening-looking first officer that Dewell never wanted to talk to again.
