Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [51]
“Be quiet, droid!” Kabe pricked up her ears, listening intently. When she detected nothing, they began gathering loot again. K-8LR, still half trussed, followed them about, complimenting them on their selections in a metallic whisper.
“Kay-eight Ellarr,” Muftak said, stuffing a tiny figurine carved from living ice into his furry abdominal pouch, “if you really are grateful, tell us where the Hutt keeps his most valuable treasures.”
The droid stopped, appearing to think. “There are Corellian artifacts on the walls of his audience chamber that are beyond price, if my memory banks are correct. And a shapework from the earliest days of human civilization.”
“Take us there!”
• • •
As Muftak and the droid headed for the door, talking in low voices about the location of Alzoc III, Kabe hastily pried a large fire-gem from the eye of a sculpture. She stuffed it into one of the myriad pockets of her robe, joining the other small valuables she’d secreted about her person. I’ll never have to pick pockets again, she thought.
They followed the droid back into the hall and to the right. As they tiptoed along, Kabe’s ears twitched at a noise so soft no one else could have heard it. Breathing. Agonized, rasping … and aware. She halted before the third door. “Who is in this room?” she demanded of K-8LR. “Whoever is in here is awake.”
K-8LR stopped. “It is one of my former master’s victims, I’m afraid. A human courier. They have been torturing him for days with a nerve disruptor.”
Muftak motioned her on, but Kabe hesitated. “Do you know how much Valarian would pay for a nerve disruptor?” she whispered to the Talz. “Droid, can you open it?”
“Certainly, madam.” K-8LR interfaced with the lock and the door swung open.
Muftak shifted nervously, scratching his head. “Kabe, let’s not get involved with this. It stinks in there.”
The Chadra-Fan ignored her friend, marching into the room. Reluctantly, Muftak followed.
A naked, frail, sallow man with an air of infinite sadness lay strapped onto a bunk, moaning. As they entered, his eyes fastened on them. The nerve disruptor, a small black box mounted on a tall tripod, stood by the bed. Kabe went over and, resolutely ignoring the human, began to disconnect it.
“Water,” the man pleaded in a ghastly husk of a voice. “Water … please.”
“Be quiet,” Kabe snapped. Even as her fingers moved, deftly unscrewing little components, she remembered the days before Muftak had found her, when she’d wandered the streets of Mos Eisley, hungry … and nearly crazed with thirst. Unable to stop herself, she looked up at the human. Their eyes met.
“Water,” rasped the man. “Please …”
Kabe’s fingers slowed, then, cursing under her breath, she pulled a small flask from her belt and held it out. “Here’s water. Now leave me alone.” With his arms restrained, the human could only gaze at the flask longingly.
“I’ll give it to you, sir,” said K-8LR, coming forward. He raised the human’s head, and held the water to his lips.
The nerve disruptor was finally detached. Kabe stuffed it in her sack. “This alone will buy us enough juice for a lifetime!” she said triumphantly.
The human finished the water and licked his cracked, impossibly rough lips. He eyed them carefully. “You two … are interested in credits. How’d you like to earn thirty thousand, quick, without risk?”
Muftak, restless, was keeping a lookout on the hall. Kabe, already turning to leave, halted. She regarded the man suspiciously. “What d’you mean, human?”
“My name is Barid Mesoriaam. Remember that name, because it will be your password. If you deliver a datadot to a certain Mon Calamari who will be in Mos Eisley for the next few days, the credits are yours.”
Kabe considered. “A datadot. Thirty thousand? But where’ll you get it? How do we know—”
“You’ll just have to trust me. As to the location of the