“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.
The Sand Tender:
The Hammerhead’s Tale
by Dave Wolverton
The cantina was crowded now that the afternoon suns beat down on Tatooine, yet even sitting with his friend in the crowded cantina, Momaw Nadon felt somehow alone. Perhaps it was because Nadon was the only Ithorian—or Hammerhead—on the planet. Or perhaps it was the news that his longtime friend Muftak bore.
Muftak the hairy white four-eye drank a cup of fermented nectar, slurping with his long proboscis, and said with palpable excitement, “Talz is the name of my species—at least that is what the stormtrooper called me, and as soon as he said it, I recognized the word. Have you heard of the Talz?”
Tales from the Mos Eisley Cantina Page 13
