Star Wars_ Tales From Jabba's Palace - Kevin J. Anderson [87]
So much for their first gig, he thought. So much for their instruments. So much for his great contract.
“Where are we going?” he managed to ask. He looked over at Sy. She had a little comlink out.
“We have a new gig,” she said. “Working for the Lady Valarian.”
“No,” Droopy said.
“What?” Sy demanded. “For what she’s paying, we can get new instruments.”
“I’m going into the desert,” Droopy said slowly. “There are brothers out there.”
“You mean Kitonaks?” Max asked.
“Yes,” Droopy said. “They are near. I hear them.”
Max listened as hard as he could, and sure enough as the ringing in his ears and nose faded, he heard a distant wail like Kitonak pipes. But how could there be Kitonaks on Tatooine?
“It’s probably just the wind,” he said. “That sound can’t be Kitonaks. What would they be doing out here?”
“Living,” Droopy said. He set Max down, turned, and walked across the dunes without another word.
“Well,” Sy said. “I guess that makes us a duo.”
“The Max Rebo Duo,” Max said. He smiled. “It has a nice ring.”
“This time,” Sy said, “things are going to be different. I’m going to negotiate the contracts.”
“Okay,” Max said. “As long as there’s plenty of food.”
“Or plenty of money to buy food,” she said.
“Agreed!” He stuck out his hand. “Partners?”
“Partners,” she agreed. Then she activated her comlink. “Lady Valarian wants us there,” she said. “Send a landspeeder to pick us up. Who? Me and my partner, of course.” Then she laughed. “Tonight? It’s a little soon, but if you can get the instruments, we can be ready.”
“And food,” Max said. “Don’t forget the food.”
“And food,” she added. “We’ll need plenty of that.”
Of the Day’s Annoyances: Bib Fortuna’s Tale
by M. Shayne Bell
I will roll Jabba off his throne on the day of my coup, Bib Fortuna thought as he walked from Jabba’s throne room to plot with the B’omarr monks. My guards will pull him onto the grille over the rancor’s pit. I will let him lie there for a moment to watch the rancor raging below him, to hear its roars, to know that when I open the trapdoor to let him fall, the rancor will eat him, and to know, finally, that I will inherit his fortune and criminal organization and he cannot stop me!
Fortuna walked quickly down the sandy stairs spiraling in shadow to the dungeons below. Behind the stones of this stairwell lies the chute Jabba will slide down to the rancor’s pit, Fortuna thought. Jabba will watch my hand hover over the button that opens the trapdoor and know he is about to die. Fortuna smiled. He touched the stones and imagined the steep chute behind them. He had calculated the dimensions of Jabba’s bloated body and concluded that, if doused in grease, Jabba could still slide down the chute. Jabba’s dousing in grease would be wonderfully ignominious: Fortuna imagined the kitchen staff rushing up from the kitchens with pots of hot grease, their joy as they threw it on Jabba, their pleasure at ultimate revenge for their sons and daughters Jabba had used as tasters and for their colleagues thrown to the rancor when a dish failed. Fortuna had ordered Porcellus, the chief cook, and his staff to save grease in old pots: they did not know why, but they would soon.
It would be a happy day.
Fortuna walked past the prisoners’ dark cells. Some cells were quiet. Moans came from others. The sound of sobbing from one. Fortuna took stock of them all and the prisoners in them: I will set this prisoner free, Fortuna thought. This one I will execute. These others I will sell into slavery. Fortuna intended his justice to be swift and final.
The passageway wound on and became quieter, and suddenly the floor was free of sand. It had been swept clean. The monks lived past that point. Fortuna stopped, took off his sandals, and beat them against the stone wall to knock the sand out of them: a