Яппаньки вам,уважаем(ый)(ая)(ое)!

looked at Wedge. "While we're on the world that water abandoned, what are the rest of you going to be doing?"

"We're moving to our new home." Wedge held his hands up to calm the sudden buzz of voices. "This move is a covert op, so we'll be taking a lot of precautions to get there. There's no chance we can keep the location secret from our enemies forever, but as much time as we can get up to that point is what we want. Pack your things and get ready to move. The Bacta War is about to begin."


Corran Horn sneezed violently, initiating a wave of dust rippling across the cantina table toward Mirax. "How can anyone live on this infernal world? Even the dust has dust."

Mirax stretched languidly. "It's really not that bad, Corran, as worlds go. On Talasea things would mildew from plate to mouth."

"Sure, but there you had ovens to bake things, not a whole world to do it." Corran swiped a hand across his forehead, then shook the perspiration from it in a spray that spattered a pair of hooded Jawas, who themselves stank of ronto sweat. "I hate this."

She looked at him over the lip of her Corellian whisky glass. "At least it's a dry heat."

"So's a blast furnace, but that doesn't make it any less hot." Corran arched an eyebrow and tapped the stained and patch-welded top of the round table where they sat. "And why are we here? This table has seen more combat than most of the squadron's X-wings. The patrons here make this place look like a maximum security compound at Akrit'tar."

"Keeping up appearances, dear heart." Mirax shifted to the left to give her a full view of the t'bac-smoke-choked bar.

"Chalmun's cantina is known as the place that hotshot pilots hang out. I certainly qualify on that count, as do you. Right now I don't need work, but it could be
Предыдущая Следующая 

Supported By US NAVY