Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [93]
Her viewscreen blossomed with the image of Vil Dance. He tossed her a jaunty salute, two fingers off his brow. “Good shift, Lady Teela?”
She smiled. “Not too bad so far, Lieutenant. I hope your own is going well.”
“It just improved a thousand percent.”
Smooth, she thought. As smooth as the surface of a neutron star. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”
“Ah, well, as it happens, I know somebody who knows somebody who is a friend of the cook in the new Melahnese restaurant that just opened on the Rec Deck food court. You fancy fodu in green fire sauce?”
“One of my favorites.”
“I thought maybe you’d like spicy food. I can get us a table, swing shift. My treat.”
“How can a lieutenant afford such exotic cuisine? I hear it’s very expensive to eat there.”
He gave her a disarming shrug. “Not a lot to burn credits on out here,” he said. “And since at any moment I might be leaving on a mission from which I won’t return, I figure might as well spend the money on something—someone—worthwhile.”
She laughed. “How long are you going to milk that particular routine?”
“I can see I’ll have to try something else, since you are a coldhearted fem unaffected by the prospect of my possible demise. So—dinner?”
She could see her conscience in her mind’s eye, shaking its head. You’ll be sorry …
Space it, she told her inner self. “Well, I do have to eat,” she said aloud. “What time?”
He flashed her that gigawatt smile. “Nineteen hundred?”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Just made my day, Teela.”
“We do what we can to keep the troops happy.”
After they disconnected, she leaned back in her chair, feeling somewhat bemused with herself.
Nothing would come of any liaison between them, not in the long term. He was a pilot and—despite his ironic bravado—likely to get blown out of the vacuum sooner or later. And she was a prisoner who might get some consideration after the station was built, but there were no guarantees there, either.
Still, there was a war going on, and you had to take your joys where you could find them. When built, this battle station would be weapon-proof, and she might be allowed to stay on assignment after the basic design was finished—perhaps even after this thing was ready to roll out and over any resistance in its way. There would still be changes, both in design and construction, taking place. The fact that she was working for the enemy still troubled her occasionally, but she’d rationalized it away, for the most part. And anyway, a job and a place to sleep weren’t the only considerations in a woman’s life. It was better, in the present circumstances, to take it one day at a time and enjoy each as best she could.
And Lieutenant Vil Dance sounded like he knew how to make life enjoyable.
MAIN CORRIDOR OUTSIDE THE HARD HEART CANTINA, DECK 69, DEATH STAR
This new deal he had in mind, if he pulled it off, would leave Ratua sitting very pretty indeed. It was technically illegal—which was moot because, given his situation, everything he did was technically illegal—but in this case, nobody would come to any harm. The Empire was pouring credits into this project like water onto a forest fire; a few buckets here and there wouldn’t be missed, and what was beneath their notice would fix things so he wouldn’t have to work for a while.
He was feeling pretty good, all in all, as he walked confidently down the gently curving corridor toward the recreation area. He mulled over his plans on his way to see Memah Roothes, the most beautiful and interesting female he had run across in, well … forever. The cantina was just ahead, up the corridor a hundred meters or so, when the bouncer, Rodo, emerged. Ratua started to call out and wave, but then, half a step behind Rodo, a second man exited the cantina. It took him a second to place the second fellow, the context and surroundings being utterly different from where Ratua had last encountered him. When he did, a chill washed over him like a splash of liquid nitrogen.
It