"The New Rebellion (Kristine Rusch)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

case of needles made specifically for an Imperial interrogator droid.
But no credits, no jewels, and no spice.
Either Jarril had been involved in something sinister, or he had stumbled
on something.
Lando liked to believe Jarril had been in the wrong place at the wrong
time.
But what Lando wanted to believe and what was true were probably two
different things.
So he almost decided to take the Spicy Lady back into space and set her
free. Lando was halfway back to his ship when he remembered Jarril's laugh.
It had been a hearty, deep, almost choking laugh. Lando had thought
Jarril was going to laugh himself to death the day he smuggled Lando out of
Smuggler's Run. Right under Nandreeson's nose.
/ owe you, Lando had said.
Jarril grinned. / know, pal. And someday I'll collect. Big.
But he never had. And now it was too late. Ever since he'd seen Han Solo
slide into the carbon freeze in Cloud City, Lando had placed a higher priority
on old debts and friendship.
The old Lando would have walked away, sent the Spicy Lady back where he
had found her, and forgotten the whole thing.
The new Lando sighed, bypassed the main hatch, and walked to the cockpit.
The cockpit on the Spicy Lady was an exact replica of the Millennium
Falcon's. It comfortably fit four humanoids, and was tall enough to
accommodate a Wookiee. Blaster scars had left rips in the seats and had
charred one of the viewports. When Lando turned on life support, Jarril's body
had fallen between the pilot's seat and the wall, crumpling like discarded
clothing.
Lando bent over the body. Blaster at close range, just as he had thought.
Jarril's eyes were open, and filled with terror. Lando gently closed them. Too
many times he had been afraid he would die that way, alone, attacked in space
by someone he'd crossed. Or someone he hadn't.
"Let's see what we can do for you, Jarril," Lando said. He sat in the
copilot's chair, as far from Jarril's body as he could get. Then he logged on
to the Spicy Lady's computer. This part of the computer was not tied to the
slave system.
When Lando logged on, a cargo manifest floated on the screen. It had been
left there by whoever had gone before. The manifest was dated for a week
before-and it was empty.
It had clearly been erased.
Lando searched the backups, but whoever had erased the manifest had been
thorough. There were no backups of any of the manifests. In fact, all he could
find were the ghosts of the files: the names and the dates of issue.
Jarril's cargo had been so secret, he hadn't even kept personal records
of it.
Lando left the cargo manifests and went to the address files. The hailing
codes for all of Jarril's contacts had to be here. With a few keystrokes,
Lando opened the files.
He recognized all the names as smuggling contacts except for three. One
was on Fwatna and hadn't been used in more than three years. Another was on
Dathomir, and the third was on Almania. He looked up the Fwatna address first.