Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [121]
“Sounds like our stuff,” Kell said. “Now all we have to do is get some.”
“I’m going to keep at the records for a while yet, in case there’s something better. But, yes, this is encouraging.”
The Howler turned out to be something less than a drinking establishment where local people vied for the affection of tourists who might have the interest and capital necessary to carry them offworld. It was, in fact, a dive. Its dim lights concealed the fact that the floors and tables were not cleaned as rigorously as they should be and that the locals offering themselves up for inspection weren’t all as appealing as they hoped they were.
The place had flickering holoprojectors on all the walls, cycling between views of Storinal’s gorgeous landscapes and cities, but the style of dress of the tourists in those views suggested they’d been recorded when most of the Wraiths were still unborn.
The Howler had one important advantage, however. On an Imperial-controlled world like Storinal, where nonhumans were second-class citizens on the occasions they were allowed any freedom at all, the Howler made no distinction between human and nonhuman clientele. Its operators obviously wanted every cred they could earn.
Falynn and Piggy were already at a back table, shrouded in shadow and occasional gouts of smoke from the establish merit’s kitchen, when Wedge and Kell arrived. Falynn looked at Wedge’s garish costume and burst out in laughter.
“Don’t blame me,” Wedge said, “it’s Face’s fault.” He laid his hat on the table and sat. “Have you swept?”
Piggy nodded. “All clean.” His volume control was turned so low the others could barely make out the mechanical Basic words underneath his grunts.
“This place needs more than a sweeping,” Kell said. “Sand-scouring, perhaps. A good laser vaporization of the top five millimeters of every exposed surface.”
“I meant, swept for listening devices.”
“I know.”
Wedge took a last look around, but after Falynn’s laughter had ceased drawing eyes, no one seemed to be paying them attention. “All right. Yokel Group has luck to report. First, we got some leads on the sources of the supplies Hawkbat carries around; we’ll pass that information on to Intelligence. Second, we were thinking of hosting some sort of going-away feast for the Hawkbat crew and infecting them there, but we found out that the crew transits back and forth between the ship in two ship’s shuttles. If we could put the disease agent on those shuttles, we’ll probably infect a third of the crew. I think it would be easiest if it were some sort of airborne agent. We could put it in the air supply.”
“Airborne.” Kell frowned, concentrating, then pulled out his datapad. “I don’t remember if Phanan said this Bee Ess Dee stuff is airborne … Ah. Yes, it is.”
Falynn grimaced. “Bunkurd Sewer Disorder?”
Wedge said, “You’ve seen it?”
“I’ve had it. The few parts of Mos Eisley that actually have a sewer recycler use a Bunkurd Reclamation System. An old one. An old, broken-down, and occasionally leaky one. I was sick as a womp rat for a week.” She shuddered.
Wedge said, “All of which means Plague Group has a contender.”
Kell nodded. “We really want Grinder for the intrusion, though. I was hoping to be able to take him back to Scohar with me.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Wedge said. “Your landing pad is officially cleared, correct? If you go there to do a little mechanical work today and leave in the company of a Bothan tourist …”
“Assuming we can both get back through security.”
“Grinder will find a way. It’s a matter of professional pride with him. Joyride Group?”
Falynn straightened. “Well, first, I know where your Hawkbat shuttles are. Bunker Twenty-two Aleph. I marked their location in case Kell wanted to blow them up or something.”
“I don’t have to blow up everything I see. I just like to.”
“And there are TIE fighters all over. But if you want a site where you can count on TIEs being, and being hot, ready to fly, the spaceport keeps