Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [155]
Memah said, “Not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll tag along, try to find another cantina to run. Girl’s got to eat, after all, and I’m guessing the Rebels don’t mind lifting a glass now and then.”
“I wouldn’t worry about having to work if I were you,” Ratua said to her.
“No offense, Green-Eyes, but as much fun as you are, I don’t want to be a smuggler’s woman. I’m done with the adventurous life for a while.”
“Well, I was thinking of getting out of the smuggling business,” he said. “Into legal ventures.”
“Uh-huh.”
Ratua grinned. “Probably should have mentioned that my family is, um, well fixed. I think they’d like to meet you. They always hoped I’d find a good woman and settle down, get into the family business.”
“Which is?”
“They manage real estate. Own a few properties, here and there. Places like the Netaluma Tower on Imperial Center.”
“Coruscant,” Uli corrected him. He realized it was a measure of just how tired he was that Ratua’s admission of wealth was hardly even surprising.
“My mistake. Anyway, my share of that alone would mean you wouldn’t have to work if you didn’t want to.”
“Your share? And how much would that be?”
“Well …” He hesitated.
“Speak, or I’ll twist your head off.”
“Half a billion credits, give or take a couple of million.”
She stared at him. “What? You’re rich? Why’d you become a smuggler?”
Ratua shrugged. “I thought property management was boring. I was young and rebellious, and I wanted to do something more interesting. But I’m thinking maybe I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Memah said. “No, maybe I’ll wait until after I meet your family. They’ll probably want to help.”
Teela looked at Uli. “What about you, Doc?”
What, indeed? Uli opened his mouth, fully intending to tell them that he planned to head for the farthest stars, to find a world somewhere way out in the Reach and open up a practice there. Someplace where neither the Empire nor the Alliance was known. He’d been working in unwilling servitude for just about all of his adult life, after all. Freedom—the ability to choose where he wanted to work, for how long, and for whom, if anyone, was a powerful lure.
But what he heard himself say was, “I’m with Vil. If the Rebellion will have me, I’ll throw in my lot with theirs. I’m a pretty good battle surgeon—at least, I’ve had a lot of practice. And the Empire has to be stopped.”
“Somebody made a pretty good start on that today,” Memah said.
“So,” Vil said, “since we’re all in agreement, let’s go see how the other half lives, shall we?”
75
TIE X1, INTERPLANETARY SPACE, YAVIN SYSTEM
Darth Vader had been safely out of danger when the Death Star had blown up. His ship was damaged, but still spaceworthy enough that, with a couple of careful jumps, he could reach a hidden Imperial naval base a few light-years away.
Despite the direness of the situation, he couldn’t help another painful smile. The Death Star, with all its troops and weapons, the superlaser that could by itself destroy entire planets, trillions of credits’ worth of labor and material—all of it was gone to incandescent dust in an instant.
He didn’t know exactly how it had happened, but he knew it had something to do with the pilot of that tiny, insignificant X-wing. Somehow, he alone had taken out the battle station. Vader didn’t need the dark side to tell him that, or that the pilot had survived the explosion.
One man had done what a fleet could not have managed.
The Force was indeed strong in this one.
Who was he? Not a Jedi—Vader was certain. He had felt no sense of the control that a Jedi would possess. In the final analysis, however, it really didn’t matter. Be the mysterious stranger a Jedi or not, Vader knew that he and this other who was so permeated with the Force would