Star Wars: Tales from Mos Eisley Cantina

by Kevin J. Anderson

  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 c
rouched 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.”