Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [40]
She turned away from what had been her reason to get up every day and blinked at him. The ash-laden air made her eyes watery. It seemed important that she understand what Rodo was trying to tell her, but, though he was speaking in Basic, the words didn’t seem to make sense. “Which means … what?”
“Think about it. A block of the underground goes up in flames. The suppressors, which passed inspection less than two months ago, suddenly don’t work. The fire crews get here late, and the next morning a man who sets fires for a living is found dead of ‘natural causes’ in his cube. Plus all those deliveries that didn’t get made? It doesn’t take a construction engineer to put it together.”
Memah stared at him. “Kark,” she said.
“Yeah. Somebody is collecting a fat insurance voucher. What d’you want to bet that construction’s gonna crank up on a new row of shiny new businesses that are gonna be owned by some uplevel bosses who just happen to be bureaucrats responsible for the firefighters and automatic suppressors?”
“And we can’t do anything about it,” she said.
“Not if the fix was in. You had it covered?” He nodded at the ashes. “Insured?”
“No. I never saw the need, what with the suppressors and all.”
Rodo nodded. She was grateful for the lack of rebuke in his face and voice. “What are you gonna do?”
Memah shook her head. “No idea.”
There were others wandering through the ruins, humans and aliens, looking at what had been their shops, the repositories of their hopes and dreams. And gawkers, fire-control droids still checking hot spots, local police … the strangely silent crowd, moving in and out of the smoky mist like revenants, made it all seem quite surreal.
A man in black coveralls approached them. His gaze took in the pile of smoldering cinders, and he shook his head. “Sorry for your loss, Memah Roothes.”
Again, she understood the words, but they meant nothing. “Do I know you?”
“No. I’m Neet Alamant, a recruiter for Civilian Adjunct to the Imperial Navy.”
“Yeah—so?”
“I have an offer you might find interesting.”
Memah gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Unless you’re looking for plant fertilizer”—she gestured at the ruins—“I don’t have a lot for sale right about now.”
“I understand. Perhaps we might speak of this later? Here is my contact information. Please comm me when you have a free moment.”
He handed her an info button, flashed a patently false smile, and walked across the street toward several people standing in front of what had been a bakery.
Memah stared at the button on her palm. A free moment? Sure, no problem. She’d have plenty of those upcoming. She’d be sitting in her room on the dole with nothing to do, remembering the good old days when she ran a pub.
She looked at Rodo. He shrugged.
Memah looked back at the ruin of her cantina. What was she going to do now?
MEDCENTER, SECTOR N-ONE, DEATH STAR
Uli passed his hands under the UV sterilizer, then wiped them on a clean towel. The orderly droid floated the patient out and toward post-op. They were caught up, no more patients scheduled for surgery or follow-ups until rounds that evening. A break at long last.
“You should come see this, Doc,” Zam Stenza, one of the orderlies, said.
Curious, Uli followed the orderly through the staging area and down a half-finished passage that was more catwalk than corridor. His boots thumped upon the cheap expanded metal grate that was the temporary floor of the corridor, and the sound echoed hollowly along the hallway. This section was supposed to be finished, but it looked only half done; less, in places. There was enough air, but there were construction droids crawling like metal spiders on the inside of the hull, welding studs and connectors and adding insulation. Uli saw unsealed gaps in the interior walls. Sure hope they don’t pop a seam somewhere, he thought nervously. He was fairly certain