by A. C. Crispin
Muftak whiffed the chilly, moist air with his short, tubular proboscis, testing it, trying to determine whether it was safe. As he sniffed, the huge four-eye searched the street for infrared afterimages with his night-eyes, the larger, lower pair in his furry visage. Here, in the older part of Mos Eisley spaceport, the darkness was nearly absolute, only lightened by the tiny gray half-moon scuttling overhead.
Gesturing to his small companion, Kabe, to stay behind him, the shaggy giant crept forward to a better vantage point behind a large garbage receptacle. As he scanned, his four black ball-bearing eyes gleamed in the darkness of his face. Automatically, his olfactory organ filtered out the stench of the rotting garbage, the rankness of unwashed bodies, both alien and human, and the sharp, musky scent of his Chadra-Fan friend and accomplice.
No one here recently. He waved a massive, fur-covered paw at his companion. “Come on,” he rumbled, “the sandtroopers are gone.”
Kabe scampered out, her fanlike ears and little snout twitching indignantly. “I could have told you that long ago!” she scolded, in her squeaky, double-time voice. “You are so cursed slow, Muftak! Slower than a bantha, that’s for sure. We’ll never reach home before daybreak! And I’m tired.”
Muftak gazed down at her, patiently enduring her tirade. Kabe, despite all her streetwise sophistication, was still a child. He’d adopted her when he’d found the baby Chadra-Fan wandering the streets. “We must be extra cautious,” he reminded her. “Imperial troops are everywhere. The sooner we reach home, the safer we’ll be. Let’s go.”
Kabe subsided sulkily, and started after him. “Why’re they here, that’s what I’d like to know. Do you know, Muftak?” She didn’t wait for a reply, and the four-eye held his peace. Muftak knew a great deal about the comings and goings in Mos Eisley, but generally, he only divulged what he knew for a price. “Ships landing all night!” she complained. “What the hell is going on, anyway? The Hutt’s hiring them, that’s what it is. He’s going to cut us out completely. And if he won’t take us back, we’ll have to beg!”
Muftak emitted an exasperated buzzing sound. “The Bloated One isn’t part of this. This is Imperial business.”
Kabe’s sharp little face blazed in Muftak’s infrared vision, and he saw her expression change. “Can’t we go to the cantina today?” she demanded, changing the subject. “Spacers go there, drunk spacers with fat pockets. Last time we were there we ate for a week on what I lifted. Please, Muftak?”
“Kabe.” Muftak sighed, a faint humming noise in the stillness. “I’m not so stupid as all that. I know you never miss a good pocket, but the real reason you want to go to the cantina is for juri juice.” Absently, the four-eye inspected the twisty alleyways that opened onto the street. “Two cups and I’ll have to carry you home … the way I always do.”
Kabe’s only response to this truism was an audible sniff.
Dawn came rapidly on Tatooine, and the desert sky was already taking on the faint silver sheen that presaged the rising of the suns. Muftak lengthened his strides, tempted to pick Kabe up bodily and really hurry. It was his fault they were so late.
Expert thieves though they were, neither Kabe’s skill with electronics nor Muftak’s great strength had prevailed against the new time-lock devices that all the Imperial hangars now bore. Worse, one of the sandtroopers had spotted them … but humans had very poor night vision, and, to them, all exotic aliens tended to run together. In the dark, Muftak hoped, he could’ve been mistaken for a Wookiee or one of the other large bipeds. Kabe was about the same size as a Jawa.
Stealing Imperial property was extremely risky—but these days, there was little else they could do. Any payoff would have justified their effort, given them the wherewithal to buy back their burglary franchise (lost due to an ill-advised bit of pickpocketry by Kabe) from the Hutt. Everything of value that didn’t belong to the Empire either belonged to or had been declared off-limits by Jabba—and nobody was crazy enough to cross the Hutt crime lord.
In order to reach “home”—a tiny cubicle in a section of abandoned tunnels beneath Docking Bay 83—they had to pass through the marketplace. Risky, but they had no choice.
Kabe bounced as she walked, half skipping, her restless energy undepleted despite their night’s labors. Muftak shuffled rapidly, though he felt almost too weary to place one huge, padded foot before the other. Suddenly, the tops of the whitewashed domes gleamed; moments later, everything was splashed with gold. The first sun was rising. Muftak instinctively switched over to his day-eyes, obscuring some details, revealing others. They passed a street vendor setting up for the day, then another.
Mos Eisley was a hellhole at best, and recent changes made survival even more uncertain. The increasing Imperial presence added an unpleasant new dimension to Jabba’s corrupt regime. Muftak’s and Kabe’s lives had never been easy; the two of them had scrabbled for years to eke out a living. Now, with the Senate’s inaction, things were growing worse. Previously, the four-eye had shared his little friend’s indifference to politics, not caring who was in power, as long as they let him alone.
But the sandtroopers were even worse than the Hutt’s thugs. Cold, cruel, brutal, they were like killing droids. Hundreds—maybe thousands—had been arriving during the last two days to enforce the will of that ancient, rotting Emperor who lived far, far away. Tightening the Empire’s grip on my world …
Bzzzzz. Muftak’s remote laughter echoed in his head like a dancing bee. My world? Ridiculous! Bzzzzz …
Since there were no other creatures on Tatooine even remotely like him, Muftak knew only too well that this was not his home world. When he’d awakened that day long ago, standing beside his shredded cocoon, he’d figured that his people had originated on another world—which one, he had no idea. He’d spent a lifetime searching for information about himself, and, in the process, had learned much about Tatooine, its deserts so different from the lush paradise of his dreams. Knowledge, the four-eye found, was power, of sorts. Denizens of Mos Eisley knew that if you wanted information about almost any activity or person on Tatooine, you went to see Muftak.
Since he’d “adopted” Kabe, an orphan like himself, the big alien’s hazy dream-memories had receded into the background. For all practical purposes, Tatooine was his world.
The second sun was rising as they made their way through the main square of the marketplace. It was already getting hot, and Muftak felt his dew-wet, diaphanous fur drying out. Reaching the main street, the pair turned west, toward their little burrow, trying to hurry without looking suspicious. The fences were setting up quickly and efficiently, displaying freshly stolen booty. Muftak glanced nervously at several blasters, priced well beyond his means, trying to look as though he had nothing better in the world to do than shop. Kabe skittered about, muttering to herself, whiffing the air, then squinching up her muzzle with disdain. “Look at that trash.” She snorted. “If you’d let me rob Jabba’s town house, I’d give them some real stuff to fence. It’d be a snap, and we’d be set up for life.”
This was such an old argument Muftak didn’t bother to reply. The Hutt was currently occupying his desert palace, but his residence in Mos Eisley was still fully guarded. The four-eye lengthened his stride. Sanctuary lay just ahead …
Suddenly a mechanical-sounding voice barked, “You there, Talz, halt!” The voice belonged to an Imperial soldier.
Hastily, Muftak obeyed, then turned, slowly and ponderously, to face the sentry. As he did so, he was careful to conceal Kabe’s small form with his huge body. Knowing the plan, she darted off and ducked behind a public dew collector. Signaling to her behind his back to stay out of sight, Muftak faced the white-armored human.
Only then did it strike him … the word the trooper had used. “Talz.” What was a Talz? Slowly he felt the truth sink in, like moisture in the desert. The Imperial trooper must have recognized his species! The word “Talz” reverberated through Muftak’s mind, his heart. Talz … yes! It was part of the meaningless vocabulary he had found in his brain after his “birth.” Talz means me. I am a Talz!
Muftak shook his head, pushing this revelation to the back of his mind. There was a more immediate dilemma to face. The sandtrooper, blaster drawn, was staring at him, waiting. Muftak let the air filter out slowly from his proboscis, humming a little. “Yes, Officer. What can I do for you?”
“We are looking for two droids, one bipedal and the other wheeled, traveling unaccompanied. Have you seen them?”
Not looking for us, no, by the Force, not looking for us. Looking for those two droids, like all the others … “No, sir. I haven’t seen any droids this morning. But if I do, Officer, I’ll let you know.”
“See that you do. All right, Talz, on your way.” As the trooper began to turn away, curiosity overcame Muftak’s caution. “Excuse me, sir,” he began, scratching his head nervously. “I noticed that you seem to recognize—”
There was a whooshing sound and an aircar appeared from around a corner. As it approached, Muftak saw two Imperial troopers, one dressed in the blue uniform and short-billed cap of an officer. The Talz took a cautious step back, but resisted the urge to run.
The sentry snapped to attention as the aircar stopped.
The officer, a pale, sagging man with a supercilious air, inclined his head briefly and commanded, “Your report, Trooper Felth.” His words sounded lifeless, barely different from the mechanically filtered voice of Felth.
“Nothing to report, Lieutenant Alima. It’s been very quiet, sir.” Muftak tensed. He recognized that name. His friend Momaw Nadon had told him about a Captain Alima, the butcher who’d decimated the hammerhead’s home world. Could this be the same man? His rank was different, but …
“Interrogate everyone you see, Felth. Don’t take any chance with this local scum … and keep your blaster ready. These bastards will as soon kill you as look at you.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
“What about that one?” Alima drew his pistol and pointed it at Muftak. “An ugly bug … has he seen the droids?”
“No, sir.”
Muftak gathered his courage. Things were becoming very interesting. Worth a little risk. “Sir, respected representative of our beloved Empire, I am well connected in the more … shall we say, obscure … sections of Mos Eisley. It would be my pleasure to uncover this information for you, if I can.”
The officer’s eyes were very dark as he stared hard at the Talz. “See that you do, four-eyes. Now get on about your business. Don’t dawdle … off with you!”
Kabe was only a little distance away, still hiding behind the dew collector, and Muftak walked in that direction without looking back. As he passed, the little one joined him, chattering happily. “They let you go! I thought they had us, didn’t you? What happened?”
“They weren’t looking for us, Kabe. Just two unlucky droids. But something very … important happened. A chance encounter. That trooper knew who … what … I am. I am a Talz! Kabe … this may be the clue I’ve been looking for.”
The Chadra-Fan looked up at Muftak, squinting her little eyes against the morning sun. “But, but … you’re not going away, now, are you? You can’t go. We need each other. We’re partners, aren’t we?”
Muftak gazed down at his friend, feeling a strange emotion, a distant tugging that he had never felt before. Gigantic hanging purple flowers filled his mind’s eye. He scraped a claw across his domed forehead. “Don’t worry, little one. I’d never leave you alone. Right now, we’re going back to get some sleep. Then I have some inquiries to make … and before evening, I must go to Momaw Nadon’s house, find out if he knows anything about the race called the Talz. And perhaps … give him some information in return.”
“But what about the cantina?” Kabe wailed. “You promised, Muftak!”
The Talz ignored this palpable untruth. “You will get your wish, little one. We’ll go tomorrow.”
Chalmun’s cantina was, as always, bursting with disreputable life. Momaw Nadon was already at their usual spot, and Muftak took the seat opposite, against the wall. The hammerhead pushed a drink across the table. “Welcome, my friend.” From the position of his eyestalks and the tone of his grayish skin, Muftak deduced that the Ithorian was glad to see him, but also apprehensive—not unexpected, in view of their meeting yesterday.
The Talz picked up his drink, a polaris ale appropriately tepid, and thrust his proboscis into the liquid, drawing deep. “Things are going well, Momaw. Last evening I planted the seed that you desired. Alima now thinks you know the whereabouts of the droids.”
“Planted the seed.” Momaw Nadon blinked slowly. With his eyes squinched shut, all semblance of a face vanished. “A good way to express it. If all goes as planned, the ‘seed’ will come to fruition before this day is over.” One eyestalk swiveled. “Did Alima pay well?”
Muftak buzzed with amusement. “Five hundred. The Imperial chit he issued proved worthless, of course.”
“Not surprising,” Nadon said.
Muftak ran a claw through his hair, scratching nervously. “Momaw … what will become of you? Alima is ruthless. Now he’s looking for you.”
“He has found me,” Nadon admitted, his dual voice a harsh whisper. “Do not worry, my friend. All is unfolding as it must.”
The Talz took another sip of ale, reluctant to pursue this depressing subject.
“No matter what happens today,” the Hammerhead continued, “things here in Mos Eisley are changing. Yesterday you learned the name of your species. Soon you will discover the name of your world, and where it is located. Then … what? Will you go home?”
Muftak let out a tiny buzz, rising in pitch. “Home. It is such a simple word. In my native language, the word is ‘p’zil.’ ” He paused, unwilling to reveal such intimate details even to a friend. “If I have dreamed truly, it is a cool, wet world, with wide, rich jungles beneath a deep indigo sky. My dreams are full of huge flowers shaped like giant bells, all colors, hanging high in the lush foliage. I climb to those flowers, treading along a strong ridged petal. Deep in the center darkness lies a rich reservoir of nectar. I drink, marvelous rippling flavors …” He sighed. “This ale is only a pale reflection.”
The Ithorian bobbed his eyestalks in understanding. “Those dreams are true, my friend. Racial memories, no doubt, to guide you when you emerge from your cocoon. Just as you were born with a knowledge of your native language. I have never heard of such a people as the Talz, but they are obviously unique and of great value. You must return and join your essence with that of your people. It is the Law of Life.”
“I haven’t thought that far, I’m afraid,” said Muftak. “I don’t have the credits to pay for such a trip. And … what about Kabe? The galaxy is in turmoil. Even if I could obtain safe passage for us, I can’t trust her. She only thinks of herself. How can I take her with me?”
Momaw Nadon closed his eyes for a long moment. “I may not live out the day, so I cannot help you. But you will think of something. Let us drink—”
Suddenly Kabe bobbed up at Muftak’s side. “He won’t serve me again!” she sputtered angrily. “Damn that Wuher. And damn Chalmun! I’ll feed the Sarlacc with them both. They won’t sell me any juice, Muftak. My credits are good, damn it! Damn them all! You know that I—”
Muftak interrupted her with a loud buzz. “Calm down, little one. What did Wuher say?”
“He said he wanted no tipsy Ranats robbing his customers. Me, a Ranat! Muftak, can you go talk to him? Please?”
Muftak stroked his proboscis slowly, thinking. “His reaction isn’t surprising, considering what happened last time we were here, Kabe. But … I’ll speak to him.” He raised his glass to Momaw Nadon. “After all, this is a celebration … of sorts.”
Kabe’s ears twitched with distaste as Figrin D’an’s sextet swung into yet another off-key, off-tempo number. The little Chadra-Fan’s hearing was as sensitive as Muftak’s sense of smell, and this “music” was particularly jarring. But Chalmun’s cantina was the cheapest source of juri juice around, so she endured it. She guzzled the dregs from her cup, feeling the pleasant rush of the liquor.
Licking the last drops from her whiskers, she held up her tumbler. “More, Wuher. More juri juice! I’m thirsty!” The bartender glanced across the room at Muftak, muttered something under his breath, then grudgingly took the glass and refilled it with the ruby brew. Kabe grabbed it eagerly.
Suddenly, the bartender straightened, scowling angrily. Was he getting ready to summon the bouncer? Kabe stood poised, ready to run to Muftak, but all Wuher did was order some moisture boy to get his two droids out of the cantina.
Relaxing, Kabe studied the customers closest to her, scanning expertly for pockets to pick. With a little juri juice in her, she was twice as fast and twice as clever. No one was safe.
The identity of the two customers on either side of her gave her pause; Dr. Evazan and Ponda Baba weren’t good prospects. It was one of Kabe’s secret prides that she’d once managed to pick both their pockets, dropping a few trinkets from the good doctor’s purse into Baba’s pocket at the same time—but they’d been very juiced then … which they weren’t at the moment. High, perhaps, but not enough to tempt her. The risk wasn’t worth it.
The two prospects beyond Evazan were definitely more promising. The grungy moisture boy who’d been dumb enough to bring the droids in was standing on her immediate right. The man he’d entered with was an old fellow with a beard the color of Muftak’s fur, wealing a coarse brown cloak with a hood—no doubt made by a Jawa tailor, Kabe thought, amused. She recognized neither of them, which meant they weren’t from Mos Eisley. Good! Wide-eyed desert dwellers usually presented easy pickings. Beyond them was the contraband runner Chewbacca, but she dismissed him without a second thought: Not only did he not possess pockets to pick, but everyone knew it wasn’t wise to upset a Wookiee.
Muftak was still in deep conversation with Momaw Nadon. Damn him, too. Suppose he finds his home world, what then? He’ll probably want to go there … and then, by the Force, where’ll that leave me? Kabe had a brief vision of herself, stuck in Mos Eisley, with no one to make Wuher serve her juri juice … no one to protect her from outraged victims when her fingers weren’t quick enough …
She’d be all alone. Kabe took a deep draft of juice, thinking of her small, secret hoard—so secret that even Muftak didn’t know about it. It wouldn’t last long … a tenday, maybe. And then what? No doubt about it, trouble was coming, unless she found a way to distract the Talz.
A tall, thin humanoid down the bar was puffing away on a hookah. Expertly, she located his credit pouch. Easily accessible … but something, she wasn’t sure what, held her back. Ears twitching, she strained to pick up his vibrations. For some reason she couldn’t define, he sounded wrong. When his gaze brushed hers. the fur on the back of her neck crawled suddenly, as if someone had draped something limp and dead across her shoulders.
Not him, Kabe thought, shuddering. Definitely not him.
The boy, she decided. He was obviously nervous, but not really alert. And then the old man. There was something about the old man that betokened a quiet competence, despite his shabby clothes. She’d have to be extra careful with that one.
Suddenly Kabe sensed movement on her left from Ponda Baba. She ducked back, barely in time to avoid a vicious elbow as he deliberately shoved the boy. “Out of my way, human excrement!” he bellowed in Aqualish. Oh no, she thought, here we go again. Whiskers twitching, Kabe scurried behind the old desert dweller, then peeked cautiously out, carefully putting her half-empty glass on the bar.
The boy obviously didn’t understand the big alien’s language. He glanced up, startied, then silently moved away and went back to his drink. Kabe poised herself for action; when Evazan and Ponda Baba’s newest victim lay charred and smoking, she’d have only a moment to snag his purse before he was dragged away.
Maybe, she thought, now would be a good time to do the old one. His attention was fixed on Ponda Baba. Perfect. Now, if she could only find his purse … “I have the death sentence on twelve systems!” Evazan’s loud voice hurt her ears. Hmm. That was a promising little bulge. Just a little closer …
The old man stepped forward—and his pocket slid away from her fingers. Cautiously, Kabe followed. There was a sudden exodus away from the bar, and Kabe realized the fight was about to start—but she was determined to snatch the credits before she too retreated.
“This little one isn’t worth the effort,” the old human was saying, his soft, pleasant voice carrying an undercurrent of true authority. “Come, let me buy you something.”
Ponda Baba roared in inarticulate rage, Evazan let out a bellow, and the young human flew past her, landing in an ignominious heap beneath a nearby table.
“No blasters! No blasters!” screamed Wuher.
There was a sound like tearing silk, and Kabe shrank closer to the old desert dweller, cowering until she was almost covered by his cloak. Ponda Baba shrieked, Evazan howled with pain, and something dropped to the floor with an ominous thud.
Kabe peered out, to see that the thing on the floor was Ponda Baba’s arm, fingers still twitching as they tried without success to fire the blaster again. The old man stepped back gracefully, and the searing blade of light that was his weapon (a weapon Kabe had never seen before) flicked out. Abandoning all thought of robbery, she scampered back. As the old man helped the youngster up, the boy staggered, staring in disbelief at the still-twitching arm … and his heel crunched down on Kabe’s toes.
She squeaked shrilly at the sharp pain. Damn! Humans are heavy! Whimpering, limping, Kabe retreated into the darker recesses of the room, waiting for them to clean up. Luckily, they hadn’t spilled her juri juice …
“You mean you’ll help me?” Kabe stared up at her friend, amazed.
Muftak nodded. “There’ll never be a better time to take the town house. The Hutt is away at his palace and the city is in chaos.”
The little Chadra-Fan gazed at him goggle-eyed, the aftereffects of juice slowing her thoughts. Suddenly, she dropped her half-eaten falotil fruit to the dusty floor of their lair, jigging ecstatically. “I knew you had it in you, Muftak!”
He nodded, wishing he were as confident. The Hutt’s vengeance would be terrible indeed if they were caught, but the store of treasures in Jabba’s town house, deliberately displayed to tempt the greedy, would be easy pickings if Kabe’s “secret” entrance panned out. The Talz had made his decision on the way home from the cantina, carrying the unconscious Kabe in the crook of his arm.
Muftak looked around the dwelling they’d shared for almost five years. Kabe’s little nest, his sleeping perch, a trunk holding their few possessions. Nothing, really. And the future would only be worse.
“We’ll be able to leave this dump,” said Kabe, as if she’d read his thoughts. “Maybe buy our own cantina. Live in real style.” Disdainfully, she scratched a crumbling wall, sending a little avalanche of dirt onto the floor. “The credits will be worth a little risk, you’ll see.”
The Talz scratched his head, buzzing softly. “There’s no sense in waiting. Tonight.”
Kabe nodded happily.
Nighttime. Muftak, surprisingly agile for his size, pulled himself over the lip of the roof, until he was crouched on the main dome of Jabba’s town house. Cautious as always, he drew his ancient blaster, scanning the rooftop for signs of life. The moon was heading down, losing its luster among distant clouds, leaving them in near-total darkness.
Ahead of him, Kabe was already halfway up the dome, moving quickly. She stopped suddenly, and Muftak made out a large, crescent-shaped orifice just below the dew-collector array. Replacing the weapon in the sling across his back, he climbed, claws scrabbling, up the rough pourstone surface.
“See, Muftak,” the Chadra-Fan whispered, knotting the climbing rope she’d carried to the dew-collector base, “it’s just like I said. It hasn’t changed since I discovered it. Just the standard security net. Hear that? Air currents singing along the edges of the metal door. One good shove, and it’ll give.”
Muftak crouched beside the portal. “Hard to believe,” he said. “Can you hear anyone inside?”
Kabe listened, ears twitching. “Just snores on another floor. No one moving around.”
“Then here goes.” The Talz got a good hold on the sill and pushed. The access portal slowly gave, bending inward, then the hinges broke and the metal fell away. A muffled clank sounded from somewhere below.
“The vibrations haven’t changed,” Kabe exulted. “What’d I tell you, Muftak? This’ll be a cinch for sure!”
Before Muftak could stop her, Kabe swung herself over and down into the darkness. The Talz heard her chittering quietly as she climbed, and knew she was listening for echoes. “Nothing unusual so far,” she reported. “I’m almost dow—” Hearing her break off, Muftak flung himself down, head through the hole, straining his night-eyes. Below him, Kabe dangled, spinning slowly, a paw’s length from the floor.
“Kabe, what’s happening? Why’d you stop?” Muftak demanded.
“Shhh.” As he watched, Kabe changed position, turning upside down, then lowering her head until her ear was just above the carpet. She chittered again. “Oh, bantha dung …” he heard her mutter.
“What is it?”
“A noise, below the floor … something down there. The air has to go around it, and it hums … metal, probably.” Suddenly she let out a terrified little squeak. “Don’t come down yet! It’s some kind of trap! There’s a spring actuator …”
Muftak watched as she clicked, trying to gauge the structures below the floor. “Standard joists over here …” she muttered, a few seconds later. With a couple of vigorous wiggles, she swung back and forth, then dropped her pry bar as a test.
“No change!” she cried, then leaped off herself. “Just land right here …”
When Muftak was down, they left the dome room, and crept down the dark stairway. At the bottom, Kabe heard the distinctive electronic hum of an alarm.
Quickly, the little Chadra-Fan located and deactivated it.
To their right, an archway led into a large room, a lounge of some sort, outfitted with luxurious, plush furniture. One wall held an open curio cabinet filled with small golden statues and bejeweled antique weapons. Muftak gasped softly … the plunder of a hundred worlds—theirs for the taking!
Cautiously, they entered. Working with feverish haste, they began stuffing valuables into the sacks they’d brought.
“We’ll be out of here before you know it,” Kabe whispered, sliding a particularly ornate pipestand into her bag. “Now aren’t you sorry you didn’t—”
Two lights winked on in the lounge’s anteroom. A droid, turning itself on. Kabe froze in terror. Muftak drew his blaster.
“Oh, forgive me for interrupting you,” said the droid in a melodious tone. “I’ve been waiting for … by the way”—its tone changed—“what are you doing here at this time of night? I know that Master Jabba’s friends are a little … unusual, but …”
Muftak took a step toward the machine. “We belong here. Your illustrious master asked us to fetch some of his possessions to transport to his palace.”
The droid took a few mincing steps into the room. “That explains it then. Bzavazh-ne pentirs o ple-urith feez?”
Muftak did a double take. His language. “Where did you learn that?”
The droid tilted its head, and its illuminated eyes seemed full of satisfaction. “Oh, friend Talz, I am conversant in the languages and customs of your planet, Alzoc Three, and four thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight other worlds. I am Master Jabba’s protocol droid, Kay-eight Ellarr. Master Jabba couldn’t do without me. Admittedly, I’ve never had a chance to use my Talz module before. I’ll just check with Master Fortuna to see if you are telling the truth.”
Kabe, under control now, was moving slowly toward the droid, trying to look pleasant. She uncoiled her climbing rope. “We’re telling the truth, droid. You don’t have to check.”
“Oh, but I do, friend Chadra-Fan, k’sweksni-nyiptsik. You have no idea what trouble I’d get into if I didn’t—” Suddenly Kabe sprang and wrapped the rope around its limbs. “The restraining bolt, Muftak!”
“My friends, please don’t—” K8LR was moaning like a Jawa street beggar. “Oh! Master Jabba will punish you—” It began to fight, but the Talz loped forward, and with a single motion collared it and grabbed the bolt affixed to its chest. K8LR was struggling, trying to free itself of the ropes around its body, but Muftak was desperate. With a quick wrench, he ripped the bolt free.
When the bolt came off, the droid stopped struggling.
“Oh, thank you,” it said. “You have no idea how much better that feels. I never liked working here. Never. That Jabba … so uncouth! And the rogues that work for him! Things I’ve seen would curl your proboscis, friend Talz. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be leaving. Could you untie me?”
“Be quiet, droid!” Kabe pricked up her ears, listening intently. When she detected nothing, they began gathering loot again. K-8LR, still half trussed, followed them about, complimenting them on their selections in a metallic whisper.
“Kay-eight Ellarr,” Muftak said, stuffing a tiny figurine carved from living ice into his furry abdominal pouch, “if you really are grateful, tell us where the Hutt keeps his most valuable treasures.”
The droid stopped, appearing to think. “There are Corellian artifacts on the walls of his audience chamber that are beyond price, if my memory banks are correct. And a shapework from the earliest days of human civilization.”
“Take us there!”
• • •
As Muftak and the droid headed for the door, talking in low voices about the location of Alzoc III, Kabe hastily pried a large fire-gem from the eye of a sculpture. She stuffed it into one of the myriad pockets of her robe, joining the other small valuables she’d secreted about her person. I’ll never have to pick pockets again, she thought.
They followed the droid back into the hall and to the right. As they tiptoed along, Kabe’s ears twitched at a noise so soft no one else could have heard it. Breathing. Agonized, rasping … and aware. She halted before the third door. “Who is in this room?” she demanded of K-8LR. “Whoever is in here is awake.”
K-8LR stopped. “It is one of my former master’s victims, I’m afraid. A human courier. They have been torturing him for days with a nerve disruptor.”
Muftak motioned her on, but Kabe hesitated. “Do you know how much Valarian would pay for a nerve disruptor?” she whispered to the Talz. “Droid, can you open it?”
“Certainly, madam.” K-8LR interfaced with the lock and the door swung open.
Muftak shifted nervously, scratching his head. “Kabe, let’s not get involved with this. It stinks in there.”
The Chadra-Fan ignored her friend, marching into the room. Reluctantly, Muftak followed.
A naked, frail, sallow man with an air of infinite sadness lay strapped onto a bunk, moaning. As they entered, his eyes fastened on them. The nerve disruptor, a small black box mounted on a tall tripod, stood by the bed. Kabe went over and, resolutely ignoring the human, began to disconnect it.
“Water,” the man pleaded in a ghastly husk of a voice. “Water … please.”
“Be quiet,” Kabe snapped. Even as her fingers moved, deftly unscrewing little components, she remembered the days before Muftak had found her, when she’d wandered the streets of Mos Eisley, hungry … and nearly crazed with thirst. Unable to stop herself, she looked up at the human. Their eyes met.
“Water,” rasped the man. “Please …”
Kabe’s fingers slowed, then, cursing under her breath, she pulled a small flask from her belt and held it out. “Here’s water. Now leave me alone.” With his arms restrained, the human could only gaze at the flask longingly.
“I’ll give it to you, sir,” said K-8LR, coming forward. He raised the human’s head, and held the water to his lips.
The nerve disruptor was finally detached. Kabe stuffed it in her sack. “This alone will buy us enough juice for a lifetime!” she said triumphantly.
The human finished the water and licked his cracked, impossibly rough lips. He eyed them carefully. “You two … are interested in credits. How’d you like to earn thirty thousand, quick, without risk?”
Muftak, restless, was keeping a lookout on the hall. Kabe, already turning to leave, halted. She regarded the man suspiciously. “What d’you mean, human?”
“My name is Barid Mesoriaam. Remember that name, because it will be your password. If you deliver a datadot to a certain Mon Calamari who will be in Mos Eisley for the next few days, the credits are yours.”
Kabe considered. “A datadot. Thirty thousand? But where’ll you get it? How do we know—”
“You’ll just have to trust me. As to the location of the dot …” Mesoriaam closed his mouth and worked his tongue against his teeth. When he opened it, there was a tiny black circle visible on the tip of his tongue. Kabe plucked the datadot off.
Muftak, who’d returned to the bedside in time to hear most of the exchange, stared wide-eyed at the man. “What is on this dot that is of such value?” he asked.
Mesoriaam tried to raise himself, but he was too weak. “That is not for you to know. Tell the Mon Calamari it is for General Dodonna’s eyes only.”
“Barid Mesoriaam is a participant in the Rebellion against the Empire,” said K-8LR smugly. “They wish to restore power to the Senate, as I understand it. No doubt the datadot has something to do with Rebel plans.”
The Talz stroked his proboscis, thinking. “Here, Muftak, put this in your pouch,” Kabe ordered, holding out the datadot.
Muftak complied. “Rebels,” he repeated meditatively. “Kay-eight, what was Jabba trying to get out of him? Was he under Imperial order to do this?”
“My former master does not play favorites,” replied the droid. “He sells to the highest bidder. Unfortunately for him, no matter how Mesoriaam was tortured, he revealed nothing.”
“Since you know what I am and what this dot contains,” said Mesoriaam, “there is nothing to stop you from selling the information to the Prefect. But, if you do, remember that there is no place for nonhumans in the Empire. In the proud days of the Republic, all beings had equal status. Look around you and tell me if that is still the case.”
Kabe scowled impatiently. “If your friend’ll give us thirty thousand, I don’t care what he—” She whirled around abruptly. “What was that?”
Lights came on in the hall. “Oh, no,” said K-8LR. “This doesn’t seem to be a very promising turn of events.”
Muftak drew his blaster. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”
The Talz held his breath as he reached the hallway, brandishing his blaster, but no one was in sight. Kabe followed, trying to fit one more prize in her already full bag. “Jabba’s audience chamber, Muftak. That shapework must be worth millions!”
Muftak gaped at her, incredulous. “Kabe, are you crazy? We’ve got to—”
From out of the lounge sprang two burly, porcine Gamorreans brandishing axes, grunting obscenely. Muftak shoved Kabe behind him, and they backed away from the newcomers. The Talz triggered his blaster—but nothing happened. “Shoot them, Muftak!” Kabe shrilled.
Muftak emitted a frustrated hum. “I’m trying!”
Encumbered by his sack, he examined the weapon as best he could, backpedaling all the while. The Gamorreans squealed at each other, evidently making plans. Desperately, Muftak wiggled the power supply into better contact, saw the ignition coil begin to glow hot. Got it. Aiming, he fired at the nearest guard. The weapon spat, and the bolt of energy caromed off the guard’s axhead, which it was using as a shield. The Gamorleans dived for cover, just as a tiny Jawa appeared from another door, firing its blaster. Muftak coaxed out a few more shots, sending the Jawa scurrying back into hiding.
“This way!” Kabe was heading past the main entrance, a reinforced blast door big enough to admit the enormous Hutt. One glance told Muftak it was electronically locked.
The Chadra-Fan scurried in the direction of the audience room. “There’s another exit in here—hold them off while I get it open!”
“Hold them off?” Muftak cried. “How?” He followed Kabe, and they dashed into the huge, circular audience chamber. Dominating the far end of the room was the Hutt’s ornate wooden dais; over it hung a gigantic tapestry depicting a grotesque scene of Hutt family life.
Just as Kabe had promised, there was another, smaller door—but it too bore an electronic bolt. “Now what?” Muftak gasped. “We’re trapped!”
“Maybe I can get it open …” Kabe said uncertainly. “But I’ll need time …” Pulling out the nerve disruptor, she set it on the floor, pointing at the doorway, then turned it on. “I’ll use this to block the entrance!”
Time was against them—they’d only gotten halfway across the chamber before more Gamorreans charged through the door, howling like Tusken Raiders. One was armed with a blaster. Lethal bolts ricocheted behind them as Muftak grabbed Kabe and dashed across the chamber, taking cover behind Jabba’s audience dais.
The blaster bolts halted abruptly, and the two thieves peered out to see the four Gamorreans staggering in the entranceway, yowling with pain and fury. Sighting carefully, Muftak cut three of them down with well-placed shots. The fourth escaped back into the hall.
Kabe started crawling for the door. “I’ll open—”
All hell broke loose. Ten guards of various species appeared at the doorway, each of them loosing a barrage of blaster fire. Kabe’s disruptor held them back for the moment, but the two friends were pinned down behind the dais.
“We can’t hold out much longer like this.” Muftak grunted, sighting and firing into the gaggle of guards jammed into the entrance. “Sooner or later one of their shots will hit the disruptor—and then they’ll be in here.”
Kabe’s only response was a terrified squeal. Muftak peered over the dais, searching for a good target, and glimpsed chalky-white albino features at the back of the crowd. Bib Fortuna … Jabba’s Twi’lek majordomo, who was doubtless directing the battle from the safety of the hallway. A whistling snarl from overhead attracted his attention, and he glanced up to see a huge net hanging from the ceiling, large enough to cover the entire middle of the audience chamber. Word had it that the net contained kayven whistlers, flying carnivores with appetites as large and sharp as their teeth. Jabba used the kayven to “influence” recalcitrant business associates into deals favorable to the Hutt.
Aiming at a hulking Abyssin’s torso, Muftak squeezed off another shot, and was rewarded when the being went down with a scream. “Muftak, what are we going to do?” Kabe bleated. He glanced down at her, saw her huddled, quivering, against his side.
“If we could only get that door open,” the Talz muttered, half to himself. But it was too far away …
Another blaster shot sizzled overhead, so close that Muftak threw himself over Kabe, almost mashing her flat. A crackling filled the air; the tapestry behind them was now burning in one spot and smoldering in several others. That’s it … we’ll never get out of here alive, he thought. I’ll never get off this sandy hell, never see Alzoc III … never taste the nectar of those flowers—
“Get off me!” Kabe squeaked beneath him. Muftak levered himself up, gasping and gagging on smoke. Kabe stared at the fire round-eyed. “Muf-tak …” she wailed.
The Talz squinted against the smoke tendrils, trying to aim. He fired at a Gamorrean, but blurred vision made him miss. Return fire caromed off the furniture. One blaster bolt struck the nerve disruptor, shattering it.
Now they’ll be all over us! Muftak thought, but the guards still held back. Evidently they hadn’t realized that the entrance was now clear—either that, or the smoke deterred them. Maybe Bib Fortuna ordered them to stay back, figuring the fire will get us, he thought. That way he doesn’t risk losing any more guards.
Without warning, the exit door swung open.
Fresh night air rushed in, fanning the flames, sending the smoke eddying in billows. Muftak grabbed the two sacks of loot, shoving them into Kabe’s hands. “Run for it!” he ordered. “I’ll cover you!”
The Chadran-Fan hesitated. “But what about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you!” he lied. Someone as small and quick as Kabe might be able to make it out the door, under the cover of his fire, but Muftak, with his lumbering bulk, didn’t have a chance. But at least Kabe would live. With the wealth in those sacks, she’d be set for life …
“Go!” he cried, literally booting her out from behind the dais. He fired at the guards, catching a glimpse of her scuttling through the smoke out of the corners of his left eyes.
A hail of fire forced him down again, but not before Muftak was rewarded by the sight of Kabe vanishing through the door. Thank the Force for that. He settled back, his blaster scorching his paw as he prepared to sell his life dearly …
Gasping, choking, Kabe staggered out the exit and into the night. The heavy sacks of loot weighed her down, but she’d sooner have cut off her arm than lose them. Ducking through a gate and into a walled garden, she sagged against a life-size sculpture of Jabba, gulping air. Behind her she could hear blaster bolts whining. Where was Muftak?
Peeking through the gate at the exit from the audience chamber, the Chadra-Fan watched as clouds of smoke billowed. With each passing second, the pain in her pounding heart and straining lungs eased. Still no Muftak. Kabe glanced up the street, hearing the distant sounds of firefighters and water sellers converging on the Hutt’s town house from all directions.
Where in the name of the Force was Muftak?
Kabe winced at the sounds of more blaster fire from the audience chamber. Smoke darkened the night, obscuring the stars. The entire room must be ablaze … Muftak!
Grimly, the little Chadra-Fan realized that her friend had never intended to follow her. He’d given her the chance to escape at the price of his own life. Slowly, she picked up the two laden sacks. She’d be crazy to throw away the Talz’s last gift to her … Muftak wanted her to get away—with the loot.
Kabe took a step toward the gate on the other side of the garden, heading for the alley. Images flashed before her eyes, of herself, starving, whimpering in alleys, too weak to run, almost too weak to walk. Muftak had picked her up, tucked her under his arm, and carried her home to his den … had bought water for her, and food …
Kabe took another step …
The sacks slipped from the Chadra-Fan’s fingers, thudded to the sandy ground near the sculpture’s stone tail. Kabe kicked them viciously, knowing they wouldn’t last two seconds out here, no matter how she tried to conceal them. “Damn you, Muftak!” she squealed—
—and, turning, raced back into the audience chamber.
Chittering loudly, Kabe could pick up Muftak’s presence by his vibrations, even through the engulfing smoke. The Talz was still where she’d left him, but the room was now filled with advancing guards. Muftak was returning fire, but the power pak in his blaster was clearly running low—the beam flickered as she scuttled across the floor of the audience chamber.
Eyes watering, coughing as she tried to sense vibrations, Kabe picked up a shape in front of her. A Rodian. She leaped, fastening her sharp teeth in the guard’s leg. He shrieked, dropped his blaster and turned, trying to club her away with his fist. The Chadra-Fan let go, grabbed the blaster, and shot the guard at point-blank range. “Muftak!” she shrilled. “Come on! I’ll cover you!”
Somehow, despite the melee, he heard her. Kabe chittered wildly amid the chaos of smoke, flame, and scuttling bodies, and was rewarded with the sound of the Talz crawling out from behind the dais.
Crouching down, she made herself as small a target as possible, all the while firing wildly at anything moving. She could see Muftak; he was lumbering toward her, knocking aside guards as though they were children, using his enormous bulk to flatten anything in his path.
“Over here!” Kabe called. “The door!”
Muftak headed toward her—only to be confronted by two Gamorreans, grunting and squealing threats. Kabe took careful aim, and shot one in the back. His partner whirled toward her, and Muftak kicked him aside.
Suddenly a new voice called out. “Friend Talz! Friend Talz—stand away from the center of the room, please!”
Kabe glanced up, through the smoke, to see K-8LR leaning out of a window halfway up the wall of the dome. Muftak obeyed, changing the direction of his charge just in time to avoid a huge net that tumbled down from the apex of the dome, engulfing most of the guards.
Shrieks and squeals from the guards mingled with the savage hootings of kayven whistlers. The net heaved wildly.
One long stride later, Muftak reached the Chadra-Fan, scooped her up without pausing, then raced out the open door.
“Put me down!” Kabe squeaked, the moment they were clear of the town house. Quickly, she hurried over to the shadow of the statue, but, of course, the sacks were gone.
The Chadra-Fan’s shoulders sagged. “Bantha dung!”
“Kabe … you came back …”
It was Muftak, and he was regarding her incredulously, his eyes still clouded with smoke. “I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”
Kabe kicked the crumbling garden wall disgustedly. “Muftak, you’re so cursed stupid! Of course I couldn’t leave you in there, when you’re too dumb to get out of there by yourself. You’d have been bantha fodder for sure!”
The Talz regarded her quizzically, then, suddenly, he buzzed with soft amusement. “Kabe … you saved my life. You and Kay-eight. You came back to save me.”
The Chadra-Fan put both hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well, of course I did, you idiot! We’re partners, aren’t we?”
Muftak nodded. “That’s for sure, Kabe. Partners. Come, let’s get out of here.”
The two began skulking along, automatically moving in shadows, avoiding passersby. Behind them, the blaze was spreading. “The walls won’t burn,” Muftak observed, “but the interior is going to be gutted, at this rate.”
“Jabba’s so rich he’ll fix it up, no problem,” Kabe said truthfully. “Muftak … one thing puzzles me. Who opened the door?”
“It must have been the droid,” the Talz replied. “I only hope that Bib Fortuna didn’t see it helping us out. If he did, there’s no hope for Kay-eight Ellarr.”
“Where will we go now?” Kabe, ever-practical, asked.
“Momaw Nadon’s house. He’ll hide us … if he’s alive. And there were no reports of his death, so he must have managed to outmaneuver Alima somehow.”
“But we can’t stay here …” Kabe wailed. “Our lives won’t be worth Sarlacc spit if Jabba finds out who messed up his house!”
Muftak gave her a long look. “You’re right … we can’t stay here. We’re getting out of Mos Eisley and off Tatooine before anyone can inform on us.”
“How, Muftak? We lost almost all of our loot!” Which wasn’t quite true … Kabe could feel the small bulges of half a dozen gems in her robe.
“Have you forgotten the datadot?” Smugly, the Talz patted his furry belly.
Kabe stared at him, wide-eyed, then began to chatter happily to herself. “Thirty thousand! And it will all be ours! And you didn’t even want to go into that room … I practically had to drag you! I told you you’d never regret this night, Muftak, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
Silently, the big Talz nodded agreement.
Two nights later, in the secret hiding place beneath the roots of the Ithorian’s carnivorous vesuvague tree, Muftak faced the Mon Calamari that Momaw Nadon had conducted there to meet him. “Barid Mesoriaam said this was to be for General Dodonna’s eyes only,” the Talz said.
“I understand,” the fish-being said, holding out a finned hand. “The datadot, please?”
“First, our payment,” Kabe piped up. “Do you think we’re stupid?”
Silently, the Mon Calamari produced credits from a pouch that made the Chadra-Fan’s eyes gleam avidly. Muftak hastily counted it. “There is only fifteen thousand here,” he complained. “We were promised thirty.”
“I have something better than credits, to make the rest of the payment,” promised the Rebel contact, reaching into his pocket.
“What could be better than credits?” scoffed Kabe, openly contemptuous.
“These—” the spy said, holding up two official-looking stamped and sealed documents. “Two letters of transit, signed by Grand Moff Tarkin himself. With these, you can go anywhere!”
Muftak stared at the documents, all four eyes huge. Letters of transit! With these they’d be able to reach Alzoc III—and then, perhaps, Chadra, Kabe’s world of origin.
“But obtaining passage out of Mos Eisley is still no easy task …” Muftak said, taking the precious documents and stowing them, along with the credits, in his pouch. Gravely, he handed over the datadot.
“Passage has been arranged, my friend,” Momaw Nadon said, stepping out of the shadows. “You leave tonight. Perhaps, now that you have those …”—the Ithorian cocked one eyestalk in the direction of the letters of transit—“you will one day be able to aid the Rebellion again.”
“Don’t count on it, Momaw,” Kabe squeaked. “We’re in this for ourselves, not for any Rebellion, right, Muftak?”
The Talz scratched his head, and didn’t answer.
Kabe craned her neck to peer out the porthole of the small freighter, gazing down at the golden world below them, turning lazily in the light of its double suns. “I never thought I’d see Tatooine from here,” she chirped, a little uneasily. “I could use a drink, Muftak.”
“Not while we’re in space, little one,” the Talz said. “We don’t want you getting sick. But on Alzoc … ah, there is the finest of nectar to sip!”
“What about juri juice?” she demanded, taken aback. “Don’t tell me they don’t have any juri juice, Muftak!”
Muftak hummed softly. “I have no idea, little one,” he said gently. Every time the Talz moved, he could feel the letters of transit in their place of concealment. First Alzoc III, he thought. Then, perhaps, Chadra … and from there? Who knows? The Rebellion has been far more charitable to us than the Empire ever was or would be … perhaps, after we have seen our home worlds, it will be time to think once again of the Rebellion.
Kabe was still gazing out the porthole, muttering disgustedly to herself about the lack of juri juice. But suddenly she glanced up at her large friend, her little eyes twinkling. “I’ve just thought of one more reason I’m glad to leave Mos Eisley, Muftak.”
“What is that, little one?”
“At least I’ll never have to listen to that … that noise Figrin D’an makes again! Especially his rendition of The Sequential Passage of Chronological Intervals.’ That one really hurt my ears …”
Muftak stroked his proboscis, buzzing softly with amusement.