Star Wars - Tales From The Mos Eisley Cantina
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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."
Chairman'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 juke 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, wearing
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 usu
ally 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 'II
probably want to go there ... and then, by the Force, where'tt
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 enou
gh . . .
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 Aqual-ish. 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, startled, then silently moved away and went back to
his drink. Kabe p oised herself for action; when Evazan and Ponda
Baba's newest victim lay charred and smoking, she'd have only a mo
ment 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,
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."