Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [45]
Mos Eisley was a hellhole at best, and recent changes made survival even more uncertain. The increasing Imperial presence added an unpleasant new dimension to Jabba’s corrupt regime. Muftak’s and Kabe’s lives had never been easy; the two of them had scrabbled for years to eke out a living. Now, with the Senate’s inaction, things were growing worse. Previously, the four-eye had shared his little friend’s indifference to politics, not caring who was in power, as long as they let him alone.
But the sandtroopers were even worse than the Hutt’s thugs. Cold, cruel, brutal, they were like killing droids. Hundreds—maybe thousands—had been arriving during the last two days to enforce the will of that ancient, rotting Emperor who lived far, far away. Tightening the Empire’s grip on my world …
Bzzzzz. Muftak’s remote laughter echoed in his head like a dancing bee. My world? Ridiculous! Bzzzzz …
Since there were no other creatures on Tatooine even remotely like him, Muftak knew only too well that this was not his home world. When he’d awakened that day long ago, standing beside his shredded cocoon, he’d figured that his people had originated on another world—which one, he had no idea. He’d spent a lifetime searching for information about himself, and, in the process, had learned much about Tatooine, its deserts so different from the lush paradise of his dreams. Knowledge, the four-eye found, was power, of sorts. Denizens of Mos Eisley knew that if you wanted information about almost any activity or person on Tatooine, you went to see Muftak.
Since he’d “adopted” Kabe, an orphan like himself, the big alien’s hazy dream-memories had receded into the background. For all practical purposes, Tatooine was his world.
The second sun was rising as they made their way through the main square of the marketplace. It was already getting hot, and Muftak felt his dew-wet, diaphanous fur drying out. Reaching the main street, the pair turned west, toward their little burrow, trying to hurry without looking suspicious. The fences were setting up quickly and efficiently, displaying freshly stolen booty. Muftak glanced nervously at several blasters, priced well beyond his means, trying to look as though he had nothing better in the world to do than shop. Kabe skittered about, muttering to herself, whiffing the air, then squinching up her muzzle with disdain. “Look at that trash.” She snorted. “If you’d let me rob Jabba’s town house, I’d give them some real stuff to fence. It’d be a snap, and we’d be set up for life.”
This was such an old argument Muftak didn’t bother to reply. The Hutt was currently occupying his desert palace, but his residence in Mos Eisley was still fully guarded. The four-eye lengthened his stride. Sanctuary lay just ahead …
Suddenly a mechanical-sounding voice barked, “You there, Talz, halt!” The voice belonged to an Imperial soldier.
Hastily, Muftak obeyed, then turned, slowly and ponderously, to face the sentry. As he did so, he was careful to conceal Kabe’s small form with his huge body. Knowing the plan, she darted off and ducked behind a public dew collector. Signaling to her behind his back to stay out of sight, Muftak faced the white-armored human.
Only then did it strike him … the word the trooper had used. “Talz.” What was a Talz? Slowly he felt the truth sink in, like moisture in the desert. The Imperial trooper must have recognized his species! The word “Talz” reverberated through Muftak’s mind, his heart. Talz … yes! It was part of the meaningless vocabulary he had found in his brain after his “birth.” Talz means me. I am a Talz!
Muftak shook his head, pushing this revelation to the back of his mind. There was a more immediate dilemma to face. The sandtrooper, blaster drawn, was staring at him, waiting. Muftak let the air filter out slowly from his proboscis, humming a little. “Yes, Officer.