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 scut
tled 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
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 data dot, 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 die
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 diis 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 diought 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 Ahoc 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?"
Nadon had a perfect memory. "Unfortunately, I have never heard
of your species, my friend," Nadon answered, the words from his
twin mouths cutting through the room in stereo. "But I have
contacts on other worlds. Now that we know your species, we may be
able to learn where your home lies."
Muftak got a faraway look in his eyes as he sipped his drink.
"Home."
"These Imperial stormtroopers that questioned you," Nadon
asked, "what were they after?"
"I have heard," Muftak said, "that they are searching for two
droids who evacuated a Rebel ship and dropped into the Dune Sea.
The Imperials are conducting a door-to-door search, even now."
"Hmmm..." Nadon considered. He couldn't tell what the Imperials
were really after. Often they would visit a planet, pretend to
investigate a minor infraction as an excuse to bully the locals,
then leave a garrison of gunslingers to "ensure the peace." A
small force of stormtroopers had been onplanet for some time. Now
it looked as if the Empire were raising the stakes on Tatooine. At
this very moment, all over the planet, residents of the underworld
were scurrying to hide illegal drug shipments, forging documents.
Nadon saw worried faces in the crowded bar. There was no telling
how long the new Imperial forces might stay or what direction
their investigations might take.
Muftak laid a heavy claw on Nadon's arm in warning. "There is
something more that I must tell you, my old friend. The Imperials
that stopped us were led by a commander named Lieutenant Alima, an
older human from the planet Coruscant."
At the mention of Alima's name, Momaw Nadon's blood went cold
and the muscles of his legs tightened, preparing him to run. "It
would be a great favor," Nadon said, "if you could discover if
this man once led the Star Destroyer Conquest in its attack
against a herdship on Ithor."
"I have already begun asking around," Muftak answered. "I
noticed that the men in Alima's command did not respect him-they
looked away when he gave orders-and even his subordinates retained
a healthy distance from him."
"Which means?" Nadon asked.
"This Alima is an outcast among his own men- probably recently
demoted, on his way down in the ranks. There is a good chance that
he is the one who betrayed your people. If he is, what will you
do?"
Nadon stopped his digestive processes for a moment, sending
extra blood to his brains as he considered. Alima was a vicious
man. Contacting him would be dangerous, but Nadon knew he could
not resist confronting the man who was responsible for his exile.
"I don't know what I will do," Nadon said. "If this Alima is my
old foe, tell him that you know of an enemy to the Empire who may
be harboring the droids. Sell him my name. . . . And make sure he
pays you well." It was an ironic moment. For years now, Nadon had
spied for the Rebellion and had sought to hide this affiliation.
Now he was asking a friend to sell him out.
"One more thing," Muftak said with a note of warning. "This
Alima was brought in by Lord Vader as an interrogator. Word from
the desert is that he's already killed fifty of our citizens."
"I know the type of man I am dealing with," Nadon said heavily.
That evening, as the lavender- and rose-colored suns of
Tatooine dipped below the horizon, Nadon felt restless. His
sympathies for the Rebellion were widely known, and he did not
doubt that the Imperials would soon come to question him-probably
even torture him.
Over the years, Nadon had used his share of his family fortune
to invest in farming ventures on a hundred worlds. His investments
were paying such handsome dividends that he had gained a fortune,
and usually at this time of night he would have been hard at work,
managing his wealth. But tonight he was ill at ease.
To calm himself, Nadon decided to engage in an ancient Harvest
Ceremony, so he took his hovercar to a nameless valley in the
mountains north of Mos Eisley. There, Nadon had planted leathery,
shade-giving Cydorrian driller trees. With their far-reaching root
systems, the driller trees had quickly formed a thriving grove.
Nadon went to the healthiest specimen and pulled a series of
thin golden needles from a pouch at his belt, then inserted the
probes into the tree bark so that he could harvest gene samples.
As a part of the gene-Harvest Ceremony, he talked softly to the
tree as he worked. "With your gift, my friend," he told the tree,
"I will splice the DNA for producing your long root systems into
the native Tatooine hubba gourd. The hubba gourd serves as the
staff of life to Tatooine's wild Jawas and Sand People. And so,
because of this little pain I have inflicted, many people will be
served. For this harvest I thank you. And I thank you for the
greater harvests to come."
When he had collected his samples, Nadon lay back on the warm
sand, watched the stars burning in the night skies, and remembered
home. Nadon had a flawless memory, so he replayed incidents in his
&nbs
p; mind, and as he remembered, the sights and smells and emotions all
came to him new again so that he was lost to the present. He
relived the time that he and his wife Fandomar had planted a
small, gnarled Indyup tree to commemorate their son's conception.
For a moment in his memory, Nadon knelt beside his wife digging
beneath a sun-splattered waterfall in the steaming Ithorian
jungle, then cocked his head to listen to an arrak snake that
burst into song from the heights of a nearby cliff.
Then he recalled being a child, gently inhaling with both
mouths the sweet smell of a purple donar flower.
After the rush of memories, Nadon felt frail, wasted. Home.
Nadon could not go home. Once, he had been revered among his
people as a great High Priest, an Ithor ian renowned for his
knowledge of many agricultural ceremonies. But then Captain Alima
had come with his Star Destroyer and forced Nadon to reveal the
secrets of Ithorian technology to the Empire.
Nadon's people had banished him. As his punishment, Momaw Nadon
had chosen to live on this dreary world of Tatooine-the equivalent
of an Ithorian hell. Where once he had led his people in caring
for the vast forests of Ithor, Nadon now tended the barren sands
of Tatooine. As penance for his crimes, he struggled to develop
plants that could thrive in these deserts, hoping that someday
Tatooine would become a lush and inviting world.
Nadon replayed his first memories of Alima, captain of the
Imperial Star Destroyer Conquest. Alima had been a young man with
dark hair, a craggy face, and fierce eyes. Nadon had been newly
married, High Priest of the Tafanda Bay.
On his native Ithor, Nadon's people lived in immense floating
cities called herdships, which used repulsorlift engines to
constantly sweep over the forests and plains, and the Tafanda Bay
was the largest and finest of Ithor's planetary herdships. Inside
each herd-ship, hundreds of biospheres were painstakingly repro
duced down to the microscopic flora and fauna of the topsoils. The
Ithorians harvested plants from the biospheres of the ships, but
particularly on their huge groundships, they also harvested from
the abundant forests of Ithor-taking nourishment from fruits and
grains, creating medicines from saps and pollens, using plant
fibers to create fabrics and ultrastrong porcelains, harvesting
Star Wars - Tales From The Mos Eisley Cantina Page 15