The interior of the cantina looked as black as night to Scrooge McDuck, his eyes still burning from the bright twin suns of the Tatooine day, Tatoo I & Tatoo II. McDuck knew the patrons liked it that way. It gave them a chance to eye newcomers before the newcomers could recognize a face. And there were a lot of faces in there that didn't want to be recognized. And, as McDuck kept fighting to make himself forget, a lot of brains two inches behind (or two feet below, depending on the species) those faces that wouldn't give a second thought to blasting off his face, if he made the wrong move.
"Why do I drag myself along on these fool adventures?" Scrooge pondered. And this was a prescient point to ponder, indeed, for Mr. McDuck had just about everything there is to have. He had friends and family. He had property rights to half the buildings in Duckburg. He had one multiplujillion, nine obsquatumatillion, six hundred twenty-three dollars and sixty-two cents. But there was one thing that Scrooge McDuck did not have:
The ship that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.