Project Boussh: Lower Volume Equals Higher Temperature
by Brad Corletti

"I'll see if this works."

Brad rubbed his hands together and wrapped them firmly around the handle of 
the makeshift crowbar. He pulled against it with all his strength, but it 
did not budge. The turbolift door remained firmly closed.

Brad cursed. "I'd rather be stranded in the Outback with fifteen other 
survivors."

Dorset shot him an irritated glance. "If you don't mind, we have a problem 
here."

"What, I'm supposed to just wave a magic wand and fix it? I shouldn't have 
sent Drake ahead. He could have..." Brad sighed in irritation and drew his 
blaster. "Of course," he muttered.

"And don't mention magnetic bloody shielding," he said as he checked his 
powerpack. "There's no way they'd have `magnetically' shielded the inside 
of a goddamned turbolift. And even if they had, there's no power."

"I didn't mention any shielding!"

"Good!"

"And now you're going to blow a hole in the door, are you?" Dorset asked, 
twisting the question into an accusation.

"Do you have a better idea?!" Brad shot back.

"Not getting turned into paste is a good idea! Turbolift shafts contain 
vacuum!"

Brad reluctantly lowered the blaster. "There's always *something*, isn't 
there. 'We don't know where he lives', 'We don't trust you', 'Ion cannons 
ignore shields', 'She needs bacta treatment', 'Time to beat up the 
prisoner', 'You'll get us all killed you crazy maniac', 'I can't breath 
vacuum'. All of this discretion is making me mad. I just want to blow shit up."

"You'll get us both blown up if you don't get a grip!"

"I have a perfectly good grip! It's the world that's out of whack!"

"Oh, so it's the world at fault, is it? Try moving to a different world you 
small-minded hick!"

"I suppose this little lift must be just like home, eh?"

"It's a lot better than that dirtball you call home!"

"It's my dirtball and I'm proud of it. Okay, maybe not. But it's my 
dirtball, dammit. At least until I can buy a new one."

"You can probably pick another one up just like this for two, maybe three 
hundred cred."

"So you think it costs more than you do?"

There was an angry silence. "What did you say?" she asked, her words laced 
with venom.

"What did you do with yourself before you joined the New Republic, anyway?" 
he continued. "Coruscant underworld?"

She grabbed him by the neck. "I asked you a question, Terran!"

He stared her down. "So did I. Get much sun way down there in the cesspits?"

She kneed him once. Twice. His face scrunched up from the pain as he threw 
a clumsy right-hander at her. She intercepted it with one hand and thumped 
him with the other.

Brad threw his hands up in a mute gesture of surrender. She backed up 
slightly. Brad smiled. "Sore spot?"

Dorset swore. "I had to wind up with an asshole like you."

Brad glared. "No gratitude."

"Gratitude?!" Dorset was angry now. "You shot me down! You put me onboard 
an Imperial Star Destroyer!"

"Imperator," Brad muttered quietly.

"I should have left you here!"

"I should have left you there!"

They heard something. The lighting returned to normal and the pod began 
moving again.

Brad and Dorset readied their blasters. Time had run out.