"Michael Stackpole "The Bacta War"" - читать интересную книгу автора

higher-ups in the Rebellion, no one does. The Empire devoted resources to trying
to find and take it, diverting them from pursuing us."
"Finding a miracle ship is not our only hope, people." Wedge held a hand up.
"One of the things Winter has done for the Rebellion is locate old Imperial
supply dumps. Most of them have been thoroughly stripped, but not everything is
accounted for. We're going to go back over some of those sites and see what we
can find. In fact, we have one mission that will be heading off tomorrow. Mirax
will be taking Cor-ran and you, Gavin, to Tatooine. One of the arms caches we
found a couple of years ago had been plundered by Biggs Darklighter's father."
Gavin raised an eyebrow. "Uncle Huff?"
"The same. He said at the time he used some of the cache to arm his own security
force then sold the rest off. But I don't buy it for a moment. There is no way
he would have gotten rid of everything." Wedge smiled. "So, you're going to go
home, Gavin, and talk your uncle into sharing the wealth with us."
"I don't know if he'll listen to me."
"That's why we're sending Corran, too. Your uncle has secrets to hide, and I
expect Corran can ferret them out. That will help."
Gavin's face froze for a moment, then he began to smile. "I can get behind this.
Serves him right for always seating me at the children's table at family
gatherings."
"Gavin, he did that because you were a kid. Big, but a kid." Corran scruffed up
Gavin's blond hair, then looked at Wedge. "While we're on the world that water
abandoned, what are the rest of you going to be doing?"
"We're moving to our new home." Wedge held his hands up to calm the sudden buzz
of voices. "This move is a covert op, so we'll be taking a lot of precautions to
get there. There's no chance we can keep the location secret from our enemies
forever, but as much time as we can get up to that point is what we want. Pack
your things and get ready to move. The Bacta War is about to begin."
6
Corran Horn sneezed violently, initiating a wave of dust rip-pling across the
cantina table toward Mirax. "How can any-one live on this infernal world? Even
the dust has dust."
Mirax stretched languidly. "It's really not that bad, Cor-ran, as worlds go. On
Talasea things would mildew from plate to mouth."
"Sure, but there you had ovens to bake things, not a whole world to do it."
Corran swiped a hand across his fore-head, then shook the perspiration from it
in a spray that spat-tered a pair of hooded Jawas, who themselves stank of ronto
sweat. "I hate this."
She looked at him over the lip of her Corellian whisky glass. "At least it's a
dry heat."
"So's a blast furnace, but that doesn't make it any less hot." Corran arched an
eyebrow and tapped the stained and patch-welded top of the round table where
they sat. "And why are we here? This table has seen more combat than most of the
squadron's X-wings. The patrons here make this place look like a maximum
security compound at Akrit'tar."
"Keeping up appearances, dear heart." Mirax shifted to the left to give her a
full view of the t'bac-smoke-choked bar.
"Chalmun's cantina is known as the place that hotshot pilots hang out. I
certainly qualify on that count, as do you. Right now I don't need work, but it
could be that some of these folks need cargoes hauled, and those cargoes might