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

that and face criminal charges."
Corran looked down as he accepted the card back, refus-ing to meet the man's
eyes. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir. You have been most kind, sir."
"Yes, well, be gone. Next."
Corran shuffled on past and into the spaceport's main
building. Its long, low shape, with softened edges and decora-tive elements
clustered in groups of six suggested to him that the insectoid Vratix had
designed and created the rectangular spaceport. The whole structure looked as if
it had been worked around and between existing trees, with the roof be-ing open
to let some of them grow up through it. While clearly artificial, the two-story
building showcased the natu-ral beauty of what had been there before it had been
created instead of trying to supplant and surpass the beauty of the native
plants.
Inside the spaceport itself, Corran rejoined Mirax. Ahead he saw Elscol and
Sixtus, off to the left he saw Iella. Their Ashern contact was supposed to meet
them in the spaceport building, but no one appeared to be paying any of them any
attention. There were backup contingencies in case contact could not be made for
some reason, but Corran hoped they didn't have to fall back on them because they
involved a lot of waiting and, in an emergency situation, sitting around waiting
meant disaster.
Seeing that nothing was happening immediately, Corran guided Mirax over to a row
of seats set beneath an overhead walkway servicing offices on the second level
of the space-port. The seats were also located fairly near a refresher sta-tion
of which he wanted to make use. "Watch my stuff for me?"
Mirax nodded and sat while Corran piled his satchel and tool belt in the empty
seat beside her. He started to step away toward the refresher station when its
door opened and a stormtrooper with a blaster carbine slung at his right hip
came walking out. In that armor, how can they . . . ? Cor-ran realized he was
staring, then turned away quickly. He realized that looked suspicious as could
be, so he leaned down and smiled at Mirax. "What did you say, dear?"
The look of fear in Mirax's widening eyes and the reflec-tion of a
stormtrooper's helmet eclipsing her brown irises told Corran his attempt to look
inconspicuous had failed utterly and completely. He felt a heavy hand land on
his shoulder, straightening him up and turning him around. Belly to belly
with the stormtrooper, he looked up into the black eye lenses and tried to
smile. "Is there something I can do for you?" "I know you. Identification card."
Corran's mind reeled. It had to be impossible for the stormtrooper to actually
know him, then he realized the man may have been on the Lusankya and might have
seen him there. Then again I could just look like someone else.
Anxiety began to build in Corran as he handed over his identification card.
Think, quick, what to do? He forced him-self to breathe normally. First thing is
to avoid panic. The identification is good and solid. It will hold up.
The stormtrooper held it up and examined it forward and back. "It seems fine,
but you're familiar, and I don't know anyone named Eamon. Come with me so I can
check you out."
Fighting the urge to panic, Corran flashed on one of the Jedi stories. He
settled a simple grin on his face and stared intently into the black recesses of
the helmet. "I don't need to go with you."
"You don't need to go with me?"
Corran's grin grew. Hey, it's working. I'm influencing his mind. "I can go about