The sand was shaking the transport’s hull by the time Shada finished double-checking the Hammertong’s restraints and made it back up to the bridge. “We all set?” she asked Karoly as she strapped herself in.
“Yes. Riij get off all right?”
Shada nodded. “Looks as if just in time, too.”
Karoly threw her a sideways look. “I’m not sure it was such a good idea to let him go.”
“If we start killing anyone who gets in our way, we’re no better than any other mercenaries,” Shada said. “Besides, he doesn’t like the Empire any more than we do.”
The comm pinged. “I’m ready,” Cai’s voice came.
“Same here,” Shada told her. “Is Deefour all settled in?”
“Deefour?” Cai echoed. “Didn’t Karoly take him?”
“I thought you had him,” Karoly said.
For a long moment she and Shada just stared at each other. Then, with a muttered curse, Shada jabbed at the comm panel. “Riij? Riij, come in.”
There was a hiss of sand-driven static; and then the other’s voice came faintly over the speaker. “This is Riij,” he said. “Thanks for the loan of your droid. I’ll leave him with the Bothan shipping company on Piroket; you can have him back when you return the freighter.”
Another crackle of static and he was gone. “You want me to go after him?” Cai asked.
Deefour, with a complete technical readout on the Hammertong … “No,” Shada told her, smiling in spite of herself at Riij’s ingenuity. “No, it’s all right. We owe him that much. And if he’s right, he and his friends are going to need all the help and information they can get.”
Her smile faded. “D.S. Mark 2” the plate on the Hammertong had said. Death Star, Mark 2, perhaps? A second generation of this thing Riij was so afraid of?
It could be. And if so, the Mistryl might have to seriously consider that offer to join up with the Rebel Alliance.
And if not all of the Mistryl, perhaps Shada would do so on her own. Maybe there she would find something she could truly believe in.
But in the meantime, she had a package to deliver. “Fire up the repulsorlifts,” she told the others. “Let’s go home.”
Play It Again,
Figrin D’An:
The Tale of
Muftak and Kabe
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 da
y 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 pi
tch. “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.”
Tales from Mos Eisley Cantina Page 11
