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Landing on the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the stormtroopers marched off the cargo skiff. They spent hours digging through the databases at the port authority, interrogating charter-ship owners, and searching repair shops before Captain Terrik gave up in disgust and ordered a methodical search of the streets.

The smells of the rich food, dirty bodies, and fuel permeated even their battle suits as they gathered around Captain Terrik. “All right, listen up,” he said. “Alvien squad, set up checkpoints on every road coming into the city. You’ll supplement the detachment already there. Drax and Zeta squads, run a patrol through the city, check door-to-door for those droids. There’s only one way for those droids and that kid to get offplanet, and it’s got to be through this hellhole of a city. Move out.”

Davin joined the rest of the squad as they double-timed away from the detachment. Mos Eisley yawned open in front of them, a collection of dusty, low-slung brown buildings that looked as if they had been scattered by a juri-juice addict. Creatures in long flowing robes moved quietly through the dirt streets; Davin hadn’t seen this many aliens in one place since the galactic Olympics on the holovid.

Every door was sealed tight, supposedly closed against the sand, but Davin suspected it was to ensure the privacy of the unsavory characters he saw stepping back into the shadows.

They marched into the heart of the city, passing Lup’s general store, the marketplace, Gap’s grill, and the spaceport express. A potpourri of jabbering sounds and sharp smells invaded Davin’s senses, mixed together with the ever-present sand. After his initial exposure to Tatooine by being dumped in the middle of the desert with his detachment, Davin realized that he really hadn’t had a chance to sit back and savor this strange new world to which he had been assigned. But then again, he bitterly realized it might be a long time before he ever got offplanet.

His thoughts were shattered by a scream, then several shouts coming from an old blockhouse. Davin remembered the briefings on the landing craft—several buildings had been originally designed as a shelter against Tusken Raiders. This certainly looked like one of them.

No one else in Zeta squad seemed to hear the commotion.

Looking for a chance to get away from the craziness for a while, Davin clicked on his comlink. “Ten twenty-three, checking out a disturbance at a blockhouse.”

“Permission granted,” said Captain Terrik. “Ten forty-seven, back him up.”

Davin gripped his rifle and peeled off from the squad. Creatures in every form of dress moved aside for Davin and his backup. A nondescript sign with faint lettering read: Mos Eisley Cantina.

A 2.8-meter-high green insectoid crawled from the cantina as they arrived. It sported bulbous eyes atop a slender stalk, with four legs supporting a slender thorax and abdomen. It chattered at Davin.

“I am taking my spice trade elsewhere if I cannot be assured of my own safety!”

Davin turned to his backup, 1047. “Sounds like trouble.”

“These places don’t serve droids,” said 1047. “We’re needed elsewhere.”

Wanting to keep away from the droid hunt, Davin ignored him and pushed on inside the dark cantina. Davin’s solid-state visor immediately compensated for the low light level. He stood on an elevated entranceway, just inside the door. It looked like a place where smugglers, bounty hunters, and other low-class types would hang out.

Davin spotted two people in the back, a boy and an old man, get up from a booth and walk quickly toward a back hallway. He ignored them and stepped up to the bartender.

Davin clicked on his outside speaker. “I understand there’s been some trouble here.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” said the bartender, nodding to the rear of his establishment. “Just having a little fun. You can look around if you like.”

“All right—we’ll check it out.”

Davin kept a grip on his rifle and walked slowly through the cantina. He passed two slender human women