Smuggler's Run by Greg Rucka

Author:Greg Rucka
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Book Group

DELIA LEIGHTON knew trouble when she saw it, a necessary skill as a starship captain and arguably more important as a bartender.

Trouble was on the cargo ramp right now, in the form of four individuals—one droid and three humanoids—arguing with her partner, copilot, and bouncer, Curtis. She reached under her side of the bar top, beside the sink, and put her hand on the grip of the sawed-off Scattermaster she kept hidden there.

“Let them in, Curtis,” she called.

The Shistavanen looked at her unhappily, lips curling back along the sides of his muzzle, baring his teeth. She smiled. She always smiled when she could manage it. She’d learned the trick back before she’d acquired the ship, while working as a barmaid in a cantina on Lothal. That had been a rough crowd: spacers and smugglers and pirates, all the different species the galaxy seemed to have to offer coming through at one point or another, including one old Duro who always drank by himself in the corner and told her stories when things got quiet. She’d learned the smile, the friendly demeanor, how to spend hours on her feet—and how to deal with trouble, how to know when it was time to stand your ground, time to hide behind a table, and time to run.

Miss Fortune had been that Duro’s ship. He’d left it to her in his will, much to her surprise. Its original name, in Durese, translated to “serendipity,” but since Delia could hardly pronounce the Durese and nobody else could pronounce it at all, she’d rechristened it. Suddenly a captain and still a barmaid, she’d combined the two professions. It let her travel, and it let her meet people. Curtis had joined her early. Curtis, who had more sympathy than sense when it came to things like the Rebellion against the Empire. Curtis, who convinced Delia to sometimes let Miss Fortune be used to pass messages between rebel cells.

The group made their way up the ramp, the droid leading. They had weapons in hand, though not raised. The few patrons at the tables carefully picked up their drinks and moved out of the way. The WA-7, Bobbie, swiveled in place, tray perfectly balanced on her hand, and watched them pass.

“Get you fellas a drink?” Bobbie asked, voice modulator flashing as she spoke.

The four ignored her and approached the bar.

“I’m afraid we’re not equipped to serve droids,” Delia said. She was still smiling.

The droid rotated in place, its head, then torso spinning twice quickly to take in the bar before stopping as quickly as it had begun. One of its optical sensors came to life, glowing blue, and an instant later a beam of the same color lanced out, scanning Delia from head to toe.

“That’s a little rude,” Delia said. Her smile never faltered.

“There was a Wookiee here,” the droid said. “Analysis of the local atmosphere detects dander. Optical analysis detects the presence of three Wookiee hairs on your clothes. You had close contact with him.”

She tightened her grip on the shotgun beneath the bar, but kept the smile in place.

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