Star Wars - Tales From The Mos Eisley Cantina

by Kevin J. Anderson

  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