But it wasn’t luck, was it? The guy knew about the Force, and by the way he talked and the way he handled a lightsaber, he was a master at it. He’d probably used its power to manipulate his way past all the obstacles. A little roadblock like this would hardly make him sweat.
Well, BoShek was sweating plenty. The stormtroopers had all turned to watch the ship blast free, but they would be bringing their attention back to him soon enough.
Go check out the docking bay, BoShek thought at them. Go bother somebody else. Whatever, just let me go.
What had the old man told him about the Force? “Beware the dark side,” he’d said. “Only the pure of heart can ever hope to wield the Force’s power with any success.” And he’d told BoShek he’d have to resolve his role here on the edge of society before he could continue his journey.
Great. Stealing the landspeeder had probably nixed whatever chance he’d ever had at using the Force.
But he hadn’t actually stolen it, now had he? He’d tossed the Arconan who’d bought it at least fifty credits, and while it was true that he’d only been hoping to keep the landspeeder dealer from raising the alarm for a few minutes, he could still take it back.
All right, he thought, directing his thoughts out into the vastness of space where he imagined the Force accumulated. I’ll take the speeder back just as soon as I get free, and I’ll quit running hot ships for smugglers and I’ll clean up the rest of my act, as long as you get me out of this mess.
He didn’t really expect it to work. The Force wasn’t some judgmental god deciding a person’s fate; like the old man had implied, the Force just was. It didn’t care what BoShek promised. The power to manipulate it came from within, and BoShek wasn’t foolish enough to believe he had reached internal harmony in the last few seconds. But maybe, just maybe, he had changed enough to make a difference.
He concentrated all his effort on the stormtroopers, willing them to let him go, and he was almost sure he felt something, a twinge of awareness directed toward them. An answering sensation came back, as if they too possessed some rudiments of the Force, or had once been exposed to it. They seemed to feel his touch; all four of them turned in unison to regard the landspeeder again.
BoShek could hardly breathe. Fog your brains, he thought at them. Forget I’m here.
“How long have you had these droids?” the stormtrooper captain asked.
“Huh?” BoShek turned his head toward the passenger seat, wondering how he could have missed seeing a droid there, but save for himself the speeder was empty.
“I—” he said, but the trooper cut him off.
“Let me see your identification.”
Here we go, BoShek thought. He reached slowly for his belt, wondering if he could grab his blaster and take out all four troopers, but the captain’s next words stopped him cold.
“We don’t need to see his identification,” he said to the others. “These aren’t the droids we’re looking for.”
Bewildered, BoShek could only say, “That’s … uh, that’s good.”
“You can go about your business,” the trooper said. He waved his arms in dismissal. “Move along.”
BoShek’s field of vision was shot full of tracers from the sudden rush of relief. He had to take a deep breath to keep from fainting, but he managed to urge the landspeeder forward and around the corner before he pulled it to a stop and collapsed back against the seat.
He had no idea what had just happened, except for one thing: The Force was real, and he had somehow manipulated the stormtroopers with it.
But not without a price. He imagined the old man, probably half a light-year away by now, still watching over him somehow, waiting to see if he would follow through on his promise.
Would he? It was hardly a question. BoShek had been given a glimpse of something vast, something at once wonderful and terrifying. Beware the dark side, the old man had told him, and BoShek knew the warning was sincere. He could use this newfound power of his for good or for evil, but once he made the choice, there would be no going back. He was standing at a crossroads, and whatever decision he made now would affect the rest of his life.
Smiling for the first time in what seemed like hours, he started the landspeeder and began driving it back to its rightful owner.
Doctor Death:
The Tale of Dr. Evazan
and Ponda Baba
by Kenneth C. Flint
The odd scraping sound could be heard even above the distant rumble of thunder.
One of the two figures seated at the dining table twisted around, cocking its head to listen.
“What’s that?” a gruff voice demanded. “Rover, go check!”
Something shifted in a shadowed corner. A mass slid forward with a wet, sucking sound, coming into the light. It was a gelatinous form, a mucuslike mass of greasily shining bile-green that humped and slithered itself over the floor as a ring of slender, bulb-tipped stalks wavered atop the rounded mass. It oozed on across the width of the long dining room toward one of the arched window openings in the far wall.
“I wouldn’t have believed a Meduza could be trained at all,” the second figure at the table remarked with some surprise.
The first man turned back to the guest seated across the dining table from him. “On the contrary, Senator. It’s quite easy to train. One of the most malleable species I’ve found, in fact. I wish there were more like it.”
The man’s face was obscured by a massive scar disfiguring the right side, leaving the right eye a slit in the sagging flesh and flattening out the nose, giving him a piggish look.
“I can unfortunately imagine what things you wish for, Dr. Evazan,” the Aqualish senator replied with a shudder of revulsion. Generally humanoid, he had walruslike features, with large, liquid black eyes and thick, incurving tusks. Short bristling whiskers lined the stubby snout that was split by a wide, thin mouth.
The senator lifted a hand to clutch the glass before him. The hand was finlike, fingerless, but with an opposable thumb. It marked him as a member of the more prominent of the two Aqualish races, and thus belonging to their ruling classes. He drank deeply of the dark green Andoan ale within the glass as he watched Rover nervously.
The gelatinous creature had by now reached one of the window openings. Heaving itself into a higher peak, it poised a moment, its bulbed stalks jerking about as if sniffing the air.
Beyond the opening, the vast sea of the water planet of Ando stretched away to a gray-black horizon. In the boiling storm clouds that hung there, spectacular lightning flickered and flared to light the towering thunderheads.
The deep boom of thunder rolled across the gale-churned waves to rebound from the sheer stone walls of the spired castle perched high upon the cliffs. Hundreds of meters below the castle window, fists of massive waves slammed themselves against the base of the rocky isle, splaying to white fingers that grabbed futilely upward.
The full magnificence of the wild scene was somewhat obscured by a shimmering scrim of light created by the energy shield that formed a screen across each opening.
The bloblike creature sank back down. Its pod-tipped stalks turned toward Evazan at once and waved to him, as if in urgent signal.
Dr. Evazan cocked the remaining eyebrow above his left eye. His half-blasted face expressed no other sign of emotion.
“You might just want to drop down under the table now,” he told his guest in a quite matter-of-fact voice.
The Aqualish senator stared in astonishment as one of Evazan’s hands appeared from under the table clutching a blaster pistol. The other hand lifted to punch one button on a small tabletop console, and then a second.
All the lights went out.
Simultaneously a sizzling sound came from beyond the windows, and the energy screens of three openings were punctured inward as three forms dived through them from outside.
The senator gave a shrill honk of terror and dived beneath the thick tabletop.
The three forms hit the floor, rol
led, and came instantly to their feet. A flicker of distant lightning illuminated three humanoid shapes as they lifted blaster rifles to fire.
Evazan was already rolling from his chair toward the shelter of a conform lounge. He fired as he went, his bolt striking one of the three forms squarely.
The attacker let out a grunt of pain as he staggered and went down. The other two dived for cover. Bolts from opposing weapons crisscrossed the dark room, cracking into stone walls and ripping through furnishings.
One of the attackers was so intent on hitting Evazan, he was not aware of something creeping up—not until a liquid sound made him whip about just as Rover lunged.
The intruder had no chance for defense as the Meduza’s stalks all shot forward, touching their pod ends to the other’s face and chest. Each pod flared brightly, and the victim’s form stiffened, shuddering as if an electric shock coursed through it, then collapsed.
Evazan’s twisted mouth lifted in a grotesque smile. “Good boy, Rover,” he muttered. But the smile vanished as he looked toward the room’s door, adding in an irked tone, “But where in hell are you, Ponda?”
He moved out from his cover, crawling about the dark room, angling for a shot at the last foe. As Evazan lifted up to take aim at the last place he had seen the other, that final invader drew a bead on the doctor’s shadowy form.
The door of the room burst inward and a new figure plunged through. A quick, well-aimed blaster bolt skewered Evazan’s attacker, barely saving the doctor from a fatal shot.
The last body thudded to the floor. Evazan climbed to his feet, brushing himself off. “About time, Ponda,” he told the new arrival, stepping to the table to switch the lights back on.
The returning illumination revealed another Aqualish male clutching a freshly fired blaster. But Ponda Baba’s left hand was the hairy, talon-fingered hand of one of the lesser Aqualish race. The right hand and the forearm to which it was fixed were artificial, and of a rather crude mechanical type, their skeletal metal frame uncovered by bioflesh.
“You’re lucky,” Ponda replied in a growl, shoving his blaster back into a holster. “I almost left you to take them all yourself.”
With that he turned and clomped out of the room.
The Andoan senator was just rising from beneath the dining table. Evazan holstered his own weapon and looked to his guest apologetically.
“Sorry. In the old days, Ponda Baba would have been in here like a shot. A real team we were then.”
“He … ah … works for you?” the senator said, still recovering from shock.
“We were partners,” the doctor tersely explained.
The senator seemed dismayed by that. “You know, he is of the lowest caste here on Ando. Its people have dubious morals and most violent habits. They are treated with so much contempt that few of them stay on our planet. They go off and often become galactic criminals.”
“Well, Ponda couldn’t have been a better pal to me,” Evazan said, pouring out stiff drinks for them both. “That is, until one day on Tatooine. Had a run-in at the Mos Eisley Cantina there. An old man with a Jedi lightsaber took off Ponda’s right arm for helping me. After that we had a kind of falling-out.”
“He’s here now,” the senator pointed out. “And it does seem he just saved your life.”
“Well, I still owe him an arm,” the doctor explained. “He’s had trouble raising enough credits for a good bionic replacement. So we’ve set up an uneasy alliance until I can help him out. I supply an arm, he works as my bodyguard … supposedly.” He took a deep draft of his ale.
“What about them?” asked the senator, looking toward the downed attackers.
“Them?” said Evazan, shrugging carelessly. “Just more bounty hunters. Must have climbed all the way up here.”
He set down his glass and walked toward one of the bodies. It was clad in a gray jumpsuit and helmet, like the other two, with an equipment belt around the waist. He rolled it over with a foot, revealing the staring, slack-jawed face of a human male, swarthy of complexion, lean and sharp of feature.
Evazan eyed a small device attached at the man’s waist.
“They used individual field disrupters to get through the screens,” he said thoughtfully. “Looks like a new type. I’ll have to boost shield power.” He looked around to the Aqualish, adding testily, “Senator, I shouldn’t have to worry about this kind of thing at all. You’re supposed to be protecting me, making sure no one can even get near here with equipment like that.”
“We can’t screen and search everyone who comes to the planet,” the senator said defensively. “The security we’ve provided for you is already very great and incredibly expensive.”
Evazan shook his head. “Still not enough. This is the third attempt on my life here. They get better every time.”
“We had rather assumed that hiding you in such a fortress on such an isolated isle would be protection enough,” the senator returned with an indignant tone. “Of course, we didn’t know then that half the galaxy was trying to hunt you down.”
Evazan stepped back toward him. “Are you saying I’m not worth it?” he demanded.
“It is that very point about which I’m here,” was the stern reply.
“All right,” the doctor assented. “We’ll talk about it.” He waved at the dining table. “Do you want to finish our meal first?”
The senator looked at their plates still filled with food. “Eat?” he said, then looked toward the bodies. “What about them?”
“Oh, Rover will take care of it,” said Evazan.
The blob had already crawled up to one of the dead men. drawing its viscous mass over the form, engulfing and hiding it. The creature began to quiver in excitement and gave forth a slurping noise.
“He cleans up all leftovers,” Evazan said. “It’s part of why I’ve been able to train him with such ease. He’s so well fed here.”
“I’m really not very hungry anymore,” the Aqualish said. He sat down and took a very deep gulp of ale. “Let’s just get on to the point of my visit, shall we? I don’t want to … I mean, I don’t have much time to stay here.”
“Fine,” said the doctor, taking a seat, too. “What’s your problem?”
“Credits,” the senator replied bluntly. “This whole project has gotten out of hand. Supplying this place and your laboratory facilities was costly enough. And now there’s security. This incident only underscores the problem. It’s costing our government a fortune!”
“And well worth one,” Evazan returned, leaning forward on the table to speak with intensity. “For decades now you’ve been all but slaves of the Empire, living by its orders. You’ve lost your pride and your identity to survive. Just how much are you willing to pay to get loose from your chains?”
Rover had finished ingesting the first body. Leaving only a man-shaped wet spot on the stone, it crawled to a second form.
“No amount would be too great to be free of the Empire,” the senator admitted, trying not to watch the creature’s grisly work. “Still, my appropriations subcommittee needs reassurance to continue your financing. Our present budget squeeze—”
“Your budget be scorched!” Evazan shouted. “When I finish my research, you’ll have a secret so valuable to the Empire that they’ll give you your freedom and anything else you’d want.”
“Yes, yes, so you assure us,” the senator replied. “But we’ve had little evidence of late to support your claims for some great medical breakthrough. Perhaps if you give me some proofs of your progress, something solid I can take back, then I can convince them to go on.”
“Fair enough,” the doctor conceded. “I’ll show you how very close to total success I am. It’s already been tested several different ways. In fact, I only need one last thing to prove my breakthrough works. I have to find a specimen of a human male—a young, strong, healthy, perfectly formed one.”
The senator’s large eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Why?”
“You’ll see for yourse
lf.” Evazan got to his feet. “I’ll take you down to the laboratory right now.”
The senator looked up at him. “To your … laboratory?” he said with clear misgivings. “Is that really necessary, Doctor? Surely some other evidence would suffice. Research data, perhaps, or—”
“I insist,” Evazan said. “You have to see what I’ve done here for yourself!”
The Aqualish sighed and, with great reluctance, got to his feet.
“This way, Senator,” said the doctor, ushering him from the room.
Behind them the Meduza noisily finished its second meal and moved on to the final course. The third dead man lay curled halfway on his side. A small comlink unit attached to his belt was partly visible. The tiny green “power on” indicator light was aglow …
Outside the castle, not far above the windows, a single figure clung to the sheer stone wall—a man of slender build and dark complexion, with hawkish features, deep brown eyes, and a black mustache. He was clad like the three dead men.
Both his feet and one hand were wedged in narrow cracks to hold him in the precarious spot, his body pressed tight to the wall against the tearing wind. His free hand held his own comlink close to one ear.
He had listened in on the conversation between Evazan and the senator. He had heard the two depart. Now he listened to the grotesque squooshing sound as the creature enveloped his last comrade.
With a crackling of shorted power the comlink channel went dead, and the man’s face tightened into a grim expression.
Hanging his comlink back on his belt, he clambered up the castle wall with great dexterity, onto a slanting section of roof. A long-range comlink unit in backpack form was fastened to the smooth slate by suction-support webbing. Cramming his body into a corner between the roof and a spire to secure himself against the wind, he pulled the comlink headset from the pack and spoke urgently into its mouthpiece.
“Hello, Mother? It’s Gurion. Do you copy?” He looked up to the clouded sky with some concern. “Are you still up there?”
Tales from the Mos Eisley Cantina Page 31