"Steve Perry - Battle Surgeons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

As if to confirm this, the sound of the explosion crashed down, vibrating the bones of those who had
skeletons. Den felt his teeth chatter in response to the low-frequency waves.
A nearby clone trooperтАФa lieutenant, according to his blue chevronsтАФwhistled in awe. "Yow. Their field
must've gone critical. Probably slipped a superconduc-tor coupling."
"No way," an Ishi Tib tech engineerтАФDen recog-nized him as the one dancing in the cantina during the
rain on his first day planetsideтАФsaid. "My crew went over the housing this morning," he continued.
"Checked the seals three timesтАФthose vacuum bubbles were tight. A greased neutrino couldn't have
squeezed between the plates."
The trooper shrugged. "Whatever. How many aboard?"
"Two loaders," a human, whom Den didn't recog-nize, said. "And the pilot."
The trooper shook his head and turned away. "Freak-ing shame."
You could call it that. Den glanced around. The open compound was full of onlookers now, all squinting
up-ward even though there was nothing more to see. "What about debris?" a Caamasi nurse asked
nervously.
"Debris?" the tech engineer snorted. "Only 'debris' from this gonna be gamma rays." He waved one arm
overhead, indicating the sky just above the base. "Don't worryтАФenergy shield over the whole place,
remember?"
Others began to weigh in with their opinions on what had caused the transport's destruction. Den walked
away, thinking.
One thing was for sureтАФFilba was going to have his own meltdown over this, if he hadn't already. Den
pursed his lips thoughtfully, then changed his direction.
Den approached the Ops building, which housed the supplies and the comm station, with a little
trepida-tion. Though he'd only been on Drongar for a few days, he knew Filba of old; they'd first crossed
each other's paths on the rainy world of Jabiim, during one of the Republic army's last stands. Den had
been re-porting on the battle, and Filba had been a requisitions officer who was dabbling in the weapons
black mar-ket. The Hutt was, like so many others of his kind, willing to use anybody's back as a vibroblade
sheath, and had nearly gotten Den killed trying to curry favor with the rebel Alto Stratus.
Den's dewflaps tightened at the memory of it. Filba was a craven opportunist, with dreams of being a
crim-inal overlord, just like his hero, Jabba. Perhaps ulti-mately even a Black Sun vigo, from the few slurred
hints he'd dropped now and then when in his cups. Den's opinion was that the Hutt didn't have much
chance of being a big noise in the underworld. All Hutts were in-vertebrates, but in Filba's case a backbone
was sorely needed. Despite all his bluster, Filba was the first one under the table when "Incoming!" was
heardтАФAnd, given his size, usually the only one who fits, Den thought.
Filba's primary assignment was as quartermaster. As such, he was responsible for ordering and keeping
track of any and all medical equipment, drugs, munitions and materiel, wetware, cybernetics, droids, sensors
and communications gear, transport parts, food, and what-ever latest spore-fighting chemicals the Republic
think-tanks had come up withтАФand these were just the tasks Den knew about. The Hutt also monitored
the holo-comm station, sending and receiving orders and mes-sages, usually between Admiral Bleyd and
Colonel
Vaetes, but occasionally combat instructions from the fleet admiral to clone troop commanders. These jobs
would seem to be more than enough for any six beings, but apparently the Hutt insisted on keeping track of
the bota harvesting and shipments as well. Den wondered when Filba found time to sleep.
If I know Filba, the reporter thoughtтАФand, Mother help me, I doтАФhis interest in the bota is more
than just a job.
Filba's office was about what the reporter had ex-pected: neat and organized, but also crammed to the
ceiling struts with shelves, receptacles, and cabinets. These in turn were crammed with all manner of
things, but mostly held various media for data storage. Den saw racks of holocubes, flatscreens, plastisheet
files, and so on ... it made his head itch just to look at all that information.
The Hutt was facing a holoproj, conversing with someone in the reception field. That was all Den saw
be-fore a trooper stepped in front of him, his blaster rifle at port arms. "State your name and business," he