Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [7]
A crowd gathered instantly. Mos Eisley being what it is, and with Jabba’s brutes cheerleading, this brawl would spread like a sandstorm. I took advantage of a five-beat rest and blurted out the danger signal. “Sundown. Sundown, Figrin.”
“I’m still losing,” Figrin hissed. “We can’t leave yet.”
At the foot of stage left, Lady Val careened sideways into a knot of onlookers. Regaining her balance, she dragged three of them back into the multicolored melee. D’Wopp whistled twice. Two young Whiphids charged in. Jabba’s toughs stampeded their side of the onlookers from behind. Lady Val shrieked. Every offplanet gangster in town, and every passerby who’d had too much of Jabba, rushed in on Lady Val’s side. Chairs flew. One crashed into the bulkhead, offstage left.
Figrin bent over the Ommni. “End of set, thank you very much,” he announced vainly over the bedlam. Tech, wide awake for once, broke down the Ommni. I couldn’t find my Fizzz case. Glancing frantically around, I spotted white armor at the grand entry.
Stormtroopers? Not even Valarian could’ve called in Enforcement that quickly! All sabacc projectors shut down simultaneously, but the gang at the uvide table got caught with its wheel spinning. Just this once, I guessed, Jabba hadn’t tipped off Lady Val. I’d’ve even bet that he sent the stormtroopers himself, but I don’t gamble.
“Back door!” Figrin leaped off one end of the stage, barely missing a bulky human’s murderous backswing. We followed Figrin along the bulkhead, clutching our instruments—our livelihood. I spotted my new friend Thwim bashing heads. “Help us! We’re unarmed!” I shouted.
His nose swiveled toward us. He leveled his blaster into the midst of us and fired. Tedn shrieked and dropped his Fanfar case. Appalled, I ducked. “Get the instruments!” Figrin cried. Nalan dove into a scrum and emerged carrying one arm at an odd angle—and two Fanfar cases. I grabbed Tedn’s unwounded arm and pulled him closer to the hatch, mentally promising anything and everything to any deity listening, if only I could escape with my fingers unbroken and my uncased Fizzz undamaged.
Eefive stood his post, calmly blasting every being that approached him. Figrin stopped running so suddenly that Tech almost bowled him over.
I glanced back over my shoulder. No use heading that way. Imperial and unlicensed weapons popped off all over the Star Chamber Cafe.
Well, I reminded myself, I’ve always had better relations with droids than with sentients. I marched straight toward Eefive.
“Doikk!” Figrin cried. “Get back here! Get away—”
Eefive didn’t shoot. Just as I’d figured, he still had us on his recognition circuits. “Let us out,” I pleaded. Something whizzed over my head from behind.
“Shut the hatch behind you,” he honked.
“Go!” I shouted at Figrin, motioning him past me.
Figrin ducked under my arm and cranked the hatch open. I stood rearguard. As daylight appeared through the hatch, beings of all shapes and sizes charged at it. I spotted the slash-mouthed human bartender among them.
I hesitated. If nothing else, I owed him for a sweet mug of punch. “Come on!” I shouted, then I ordered Eefive, “Don’t shoot that human.”
Eefive may have recognized me, but he didn’t take my orders. He pointed his needier straight at the bartender. Plug-ugly dropped to the floor, surprisingly agile for such a big human. “High register,” he cried. “Do a slide!”
It sounded crazy, but I raised my uncased Fizzz and let out a squeal, pushing it higher with all the breath I could muster. Somewhere along the squeal, I must’ve hit the control frequency for that brand-new restraining bolt. The droid shut down.
The barman sprang up and rushed past me. We squeezed into the airlock together. “Stinkin’ droids,” he muttered, wiping blood off his nose. “Stinkin’, lousy droids.”
I emerged on a narrow duracrete ledge, three stories up. The bartender leaned back, sandwiching my Fizzz between his gray-belted bulk and a pitted