Star Wars: Tales from Mos Eisley Cantina

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir.” Davin excitedly dug into the ground with his blaster butt … only to unearth a large rock.

  Captain Terrik appeared over the ridge just as Davin made his discovery. “Ten twenty-three, what are you doing!”

  “Sorry, sir.” Discouraged, he trudged back up the small hill and joined the rest of his squad continuing the search.

  After arriving from Mos Eisley, a giant lizardlike dewback was assigned to each squad. Davin was not given the opportunity to ride the monstrous reptilian beast, but that suited him fine. Every step the scaly animal took reverberated in the sand.

  The search seemed to last forever. Davin lost count of the breaks he took, and per Imperial orders, they were forced to stay in their suits and drink the distilled water flown in from Mos Eisley with the dewback.

  Setting out to cover another part of the quadrant, Davin spotted a glint out of the corner of his eye. There … whatever it was just caught the light from Tatooine’s second sun.

  He almost cried out, but clamped his mouth shut. Clutching his blaster, he bounded for the glint of light. Slowly, the object took shape. Half-buried in the sand, the object looked scorched. As he drew near, he made out the faint red and blue markings of an escape pod.

  There was no doubt in his mind now. “Captain Terrik, ten twenty-three reporting. I’ve found the escape pod!”

  “If this is another one of your daydreams, ten twenty-three—!”

  “I’m positive, sir. It may not be what we’re looking for, but it has Imperial markings.”

  Minutes later Captain Terrik joined Davin by the object. A stormtrooper riding a dewback appeared over the crest of a rise, waiting for a signal that it was the right pod.

  Captain Terrik surveyed the site. “Someone was in the pod. The tracks go off in this direction.”

  Davin fished a mechanism from inside the escape pod. There was only one thing that used such a device —an R2 unit. He held it up so all could see. “Look, sir, droids!”

  “All right. Form up. I’ll inform Lord Vader the pod wasn’t destroyed. Now we’ve really got to move.”

  “Ten twenty-three reporting. They’re not in the repair bay, sir,” said Davin Felth. He stood in the middle of a bay full of droids, deep in the bowels of a Jawa sandcrawler. Cables drooped across the ceiling; tables with disassembled equipment were strewn across the floor.

  “You’ve all searched the entire sandcrawler?”

  “Affirmative,” answered each stormtrooper, calling off their trooper numbers one by one.

  “Form up outside.”

  Davin stepped across a Roche J9 worker droid lying on the metal floor. Two Jawas stood just outside of the repair bay and muttered between themselves, obviously displeased that the stormtroopers would search their ship. Davin scanned the room one last time before he left and counted off an Arakyd BT-16 perimeter droid, a demolition droid, an R4 agromech droid, a WED15 treadwell droid, and an EG-6 power droid—but there was no R2, or even a protocol unit that was often paired with an R2 droid.

  A gaggle of Jawas followed him outside the cruiser. All Davin could see of the little aliens were their bright eyes, looking out of their flowing hooded brown robes. The rest of Zeta squad stood waiting for him, their blaster rifles held loosely by their sides. The stormtroopers kept their backs to one another, watching all sides for any possible attack.

  As he joined the squad, Davin overheard Captain Terrik conversing with the head Jawa on the officer’s suit speaker. “You are certain that the droids were sold to a moisture farmer at your last stop?” After a series of high-pitched chatters came from the Jawa, Captain Terrik turned and waved his arm back to Zeta squad; he switched to the secure stormtrooper frequency. “Form up with the rest of the detachment.”

  Zeta squad double-timed in the sand away from the Jawa sandcrawler to join the remainder of the stormtroopers. They kept guard over the sandcrawler on a rise just to the south. Three enormous hairy banthas airlifted in from somewhere, two converted GoCorp Arunskin 32 cargo skiffs, and a Ubrikkian HAVr A9 floating fortress with two heavy blaster cannons waited on the other side of the rise.

  The Jawas yelled and shook their fists at the stormtroopers as they left. The little brown-robed aliens then scurried around the sandcrawler, preparing to continue their journey.

  Captain Terrik’s voice came over Davin’s helmet. “Floating fortress—fire when ready upon the Jawa sandcrawler. When it is destroyed, ride those banthas up to the wreckage and leave that material we confiscated from the Sand People. We want people to think the Sand People attacked the sandcrawler. The rest of you, load up the cargo skiffs—we will find those droids at that moisture farmer’s.”

  The floating fortress immediately wheeled off the ground, rising above the ridge in a banking turn. Climbing on board the bulky cargo skiff, Davin saw two bolts of blaster energy burst out of the floating fortress.

  Over the whoops of joy from the other stormtroopers, Davin remained quiet. His thoughts were on the little Jawas, and how they were no more.

  Davin lingered behind the rest, staying just far enough behind the other stormtroopers so that he didn’t draw attention to himself. Zeta squad raced through the lower levels of the moisture farmer’s house, overturning tables, ripping doors off cabinets, smashing metal lockers with their blaster rifles until the containers popped open. One by one the stormtroopers checked in with Captain Terrik: “No sign of the droids, sir.”

  Davin watched the stormtrooper in front of him kick over a vat of oil before heading to the upper level. The moisture farmer’s house was a shambles.

  “Zeta squad check in and form up,” said Captain Terrik, his words clipped and precise in Davin’s helmet.

  “Ten twenty-three,” said Davin. He tried to control his breathing, but the thought of what was going to happen next nearly overwhelmed his senses. He trotted into the bright Tatooine double-sunshine and stood at attention with the rest of his squad. Captain Terrik stood in front of the moisture farmer and his wife, just outside of the house. The moisture farmer’s face was bright red with anger; the woman cried, her head down. Davin flicked his outside audio sensor on with his chin and listened to the exchange.

  “… you men are nothing but criminals! I told you I haven’t seen those droids since last night. And look what you’ve done to my house! The governor will pay for this.”

  “This nephew of yours,” said Captain Terrik, his voice modulated by the speaker in his battlesuit, “one more time: Where did he take the Artoo unit?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” The moisture farmer shook a fist in the air. “I don’t know—and now I would not tell you even if I did know! You Imperial thugs are worse than I imagined.” He stepped up to Captain Terrik’s helmeted face and spat; spittle ran down the officer’s helmet.

  Captain Terrik made no attempt to remove the spittle. “Where is the boy?”

  “I never did care much for the Rebel movement; but now I hope they find every one of you bantha slime and grill your carcasses!”

  The moisture farmer turned and put an arm around his wife, drawing her near. The two turned away, back toward their home.

  Without emotion, Captain Terrik nodded toward the stormtroopers. His voice came over the secure link. “There’s only one place the boy could have taken the droids—into Mos Eisley, to escape offplanet. Zeta squad, load up. Floating fortress, this house needs to be left as a reminder of what happens when quarter is given to Rebels. Fire when ready.”

  Turning quickly for the cargo skiff, Davin Felth pushed aboard and kept his eyes averted from the blast on the house. A sour taste clawed up his throat. First they executed the Jawas, and now these humans. And over what—a couple of lousy droids? What could be so important that it deserved executing these people?

  On his home planet, joining the military had seemed all fun and games, his chest swelling with pride as he had boarded the ship to transport him to Carida. But now, this was reality. People were dyin
g, being indiscriminately killed.

  The cargo skiff lifted off the ground, giving Davin a view of the carnage below. Smoke drifted up from the house. He could see the charred remains of two bodies lying in the scorched sand. As the skiff wheeled toward the desert city of Mos Eisley, Davin didn’t know what he would do if he was ordered to kill.

  Landing on the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the stormtroopers marched off the cargo skiff. They spent hours digging through the databases at the port authority, interrogating charter-ship owners, and searching repair shops before Captain Terrik gave up in disgust and ordered a methodical search of the streets.

  The smells of the rich food, dirty bodies, and fuel permeated even their battle suits as they gathered around Captain Terrik. “All right, listen up,” he said. “Alvien squad, set up checkpoints on every road coming into the city. You’ll supplement the detachment already there. Drax and Zeta squads, run a patrol through the city, check door-to-door for those droids. There’s only one way for those droids and that kid to get offplanet, and it’s got to be through this hellhole of a city. Move out.”

  Davin joined the rest of the squad as they double-timed away from the detachment. Mos Eisley yawned open in front of them, a collection of dusty, low-slung brown buildings that looked as if they had been scattered by a juri-juice addict. Creatures in long flowing robes moved quietly through the dirt streets; Davin hadn’t seen this many aliens in one place since the galactic Olympics on the holovid.

  Every door was sealed tight, supposedly closed against the sand, but Davin suspected it was to ensure the privacy of the unsavory characters he saw stepping back into the shadows.

  They marched into the heart of the city, passing Lup’s general store, the marketplace, Gap’s grill, and the spaceport express. A potpourri of jabbering sounds and sharp smells invaded Davin’s senses, mixed together with the ever-present sand. After his initial exposure to Tatooine by being dumped in the middle of the desert with his detachment, Davin realized that he really hadn’t had a chance to sit back and savor this strange new world to which he had been assigned. But then again, he bitterly realized it might be a long time before he ever got offplanet.

  His thoughts were shattered by a scream, then several shouts coming from an old blockhouse. Davin remembered the briefings on the landing craft—several buildings had been originally designed as a shelter against Tusken Raiders. This certainly looked like one of them.

  No one else in Zeta squad seemed to hear the commotion.

  Looking for a chance to get away from the craziness for a while, Davin clicked on his comlink. “Ten twenty-three, checking out a disturbance at a blockhouse.”

  “Permission granted,” said Captain Terrik. “Ten forty-seven, back him up.”

  Davin gripped his rifle and peeled off from the squad. Creatures in every form of dress moved aside for Davin and his backup. A nondescript sign with faint lettering read: Mos Eisley Cantina.

  A 2.8-meter-high green insectoid crawled from the cantina as they arrived. It sported bulbous eyes atop a slender stalk, with four legs supporting a slender thorax and abdomen. It chattered at Davin.

  “I am taking my spice trade elsewhere if I cannot be assured of my own safety!”

  Davin turned to his backup, 1047. “Sounds like trouble.”

  “These places don’t serve droids,” said 1047. “We’re needed elsewhere.”

  Wanting to keep away from the droid hunt, Davin ignored him and pushed on inside the dark cantina. Davin’s solid-state visor immediately compensated for the low light level. He stood on an elevated entranceway, just inside the door. It looked like a place where smugglers, bounty hunters, and other low-class types would hang out.

  Davin spotted two people in the back, a boy and an old man, get up from a booth and walk quickly toward a back hallway. He ignored them and stepped up to the bartender.

  Davin clicked on his outside speaker. “I understand there’s been some trouble here.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” said the bartender, nodding to the rear of his establishment. “Just having a little fun. You can look around if you like.”

  “All right—we’ll check it out.”

  Davin kept a grip on his rifle and walked slowly through the cantina. He passed two slender human women and a sharp-smelling Rodian standing by the bar; a horned Devaronian nodded curtly and stepped back, out of the way. Reaching the booth where Davin had spotted the boy and old man heading for the back hallway, he found an athletic-looking human who stared sullenly at the table, ignoring him.

  Davin turned to 1047, his backup. “You’re right—there’s nothing here.”

  “Let’s join the others.”

  Davin merely grunted. He was in no hurry to witness another senseless killing. But what else could he do?

  They stepped into the brilliant Tatooine sunlight, leaving the shady cantina behind. Davin started to suggest they continue the search for the missing droids on their own instead of joining the rest of the detachment, when the rest of Zeta squad marched around the corner in lockstep, completing their circuit of the perimeter.

  Before Davin could say anything into his helmet microphone, he heard a shrill yell. It sounded like an outraged Jawa! How could he forget the high-pitched chatter from the little creatures that they had brutally executed?

  Davin instantly crouched into a combat position, pulling up his rifle. A long-robed Jawa leaped from a hiding place in the middle of some space wreckage crashed in the middle of the square. The Jawa struggled with an oversized blaster, the weapon dwarfing the ridiculous-looking creature.

  Finally aiming the blaster rifle at Zeta squad, the Jawa cut loose with one last shrill yell and squeezed the firing button—

  Nothing happened. The Jawa howled with anger and surprise. He kept pushing the button. Everything happened so fast that Davin didn’t react.

  Or maybe his instincts kept him from reacting, with all of the senseless killings he had witnessed …

  “Crazy Jawa,” muttered 1047. The stormtrooper pulled out his blaster and flipped off a shot at the Jawa, still struggling with the weapon. The shot’s momentum sent the Jawa flying back against the wreckage. It slid to the dirt. “One less Jawa slime to bother us,” said 1047 as he holstered his blaster.

  Davin stepped back in shock. What have we become? He had almost excused the Imperial stormtroopers for the way they indiscriminately killed the Jawas in their sandcrawler because of this so-called threat to the Emperor. But the moisture farmer, and now this latest act of violence … Davin couldn’t reconcile it. The only answer to these actions kept coming up the same, time after time: The Empire was basically evil. And he didn’t fit in.

  But I can’t resign, he thought. So what can I do?

  • • •

  He seemed to walk forever in a daze with Zeta squad, when he heard a voice in his helmet speaker. “Trouble at Docking Bay Ninety-four—we’ve located the droids! All personnel, converge and assist!”

  “Come on, Ten twenty-three!” said 1047. “Follow me!”

  Davin clutched his blaster rifle and trotted after the white-armored man. His time on Tatooine had seemed like a dream—he didn’t know how long he had been onplanet, but he had been surviving off his suit rations and supplements for longer than he imagined it would be possible.

  Captain Terrik’s voice came inside his helmet. “Capture the droids! The Rebels have them—don’t let them get away!”

  Sounds of laser blasts ricocheted down the narrow streets. A crowd had gathered outside the docking bay; several peered over the crowd and tried to get a glimpse of what was going on.

  1047 switched to his outside speaker: “Move aside—now!”

  Davin blindly followed his backup, more confused than ever. Rebels? Why would the Rebel force be so blatant and try to escape now?

  Running down the alley, they rounded a corner and came upon the firefight. A modified light freighter cruiser sat in the middle of the docking bay, its back hatch open. Davin caught a glimpse
of a boy running up the ramp into the ship. A volley of laser blasts peppered the area.

  A score of stormtroopers were scattered around, firing upon the light freighter. The air was filled with the searing sounds of laser blasts.

  Davin was stunned to see that an athletic-looking man held the stormtroopers at bay—he fought at twenty-to-one odds! Was this man one of the mysterious Rebels that dared to rise against the Emperor? It was the same man Davin had seen at the cantina! So this was the one who had kept two detachments of stormtroopers on the run!

  Mesmerized by the very thought that so few could accomplish so much, Davin felt a rush of solidarity—he felt an empathy with the Rebels, fighting against such overwhelming odds … and surviving. He hadn’t felt this much emotion since the day he left for Carida …

  The noise and confusion were overwhelming. Smoke sprang from stray laser blasts that ignited building material. Stormtroopers shouted conflicting orders.

  Directly in front of Davin, Captain Terrik knelt on one knee and took careful aim at the athletic-looking man who was still holding off the Emperor’s finest. Captain Terrik waited for the precise moment before slowly squeezing his blaster rifle to take out the Rebel—

  Davin glanced quickly around. No one was behind him … and more importantly, no one was watching him.

  Without hesitation, Davin pulled up his blaster and shot Captain Terrik in the back.

  The officer slumped to the ground, unnoticed by the others.

  The athletic-looking Rebel scrambled safely up the access ramp as it closed, sealing off the starship. An earsplitting wail came inside his helmet over the stormtrooper’s frequency: “Clear the area, the Rebel’s lifting off! Clear the area!”

  Defeated, the stormtroopers scrambled back. Anyone left in the docking bay would be irradiated by the starship’s exhaust. Someone’s voice came over the secure frequency: “Where’s Captain Terrik?”