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Wuher bent and examined the sandy floor. Sure enough, tracks. Fresh tracks, leading down the alley in the other direction. Without a further thought, either for caution or self-protection, the bartender hurled himself after them.

The droid must be saved.

He puffed through the twisting alleys, following the tracks. The ground told the story clearly enough. Droid tracks. A pair of small shoe tracks. A Jawa had scoped the metal being out, as it had feared. As he moved along, Wuher removed the club from the back of his belt. Within moments, he heard the telltale beeping and chitter: the sounds of the droid and its new master.

Wuher slapped himself against a wall, peered around the corner. Sure enough, there they were, waddling along. The Jawa had clamped a restraining bolt on the odd-looking droid. They were within yards of a main thoroughfare.

He must move quickly.

Without hesitation, Wuher the bartender leaped out from his concealment, ran up behind the Jawa, and fiercely and conclusively brought down his club upon the back of its hood. Thunk. The Jawa went down like a bag of smunk roots. Speedily, the bartender dragged the hooded creature back to a darker part of the alley, trailing a slight seepage of blood.

He went to the droid, examined its body, and found the restraining bolt. He pulled it off and tossed it after the downed Jawa.

The droid came alive.

“Sir! You have saved me. You have delivered me from my enemies!”

“That’s right, Ceetoo-Arfour.”

“You have undergone a change of heart. I knew it, I knew it, I could tell that deep within you there beat a heart of gold. That is why I risked my encounter with you. Why, this is marvelous. This is what they write stories about! A hard soul, changed for the better. Thank you, kind human. Oh, thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Ceetoo-Arfour. Yes, I realized that you were a wronged droid. The squalor and sadness of my life made me realize that I should do something good and worthwhile for once.” Wuher smiled. “However, we shouldn’t just stand here and banter. There are doubtless more Jawas about. We should get you back to where it’s safe.”

“Oh, my lucky stars shine this day. Sir, you have redeemed my faith in the true pure spirituality of the human soul. For you see, we droids, though of metal, possess consciousness and thus spirituality as well.”

“Oh, good. I’m sure we’ve got a lot of philosophy that we can discuss. First, though, we should hurry on,” said Wuher solicitously. “Is there anything that I can do to ease your path?”

“You already have, kind sir. And here I was thinking myself the poorest, most bereft soul in Mos Eisley. There is indeed room for growth in the purity of the human soul.”

“Yes, I have had a complete turnabout in my attitude toward droids,” said Wuher. “I am bringing you back to the cantina. I will hide you in the basement, where there are no droid detectors.”

“Oh, oh!” said the droid, clearly enraptured by this stunning turnabout. “Finally, I experience the milk of human kindness.”

“Oh,” said Wuher, with a wry grin. “I don’t think I’m particularly interested in milk today.”

The drop depended, a jewel of promise.

Dropped.

The usual pain, of course. Too bad, but that was the price you paid for system incompatibilities. Still, Wuher bore it stoically, even gladly, awaiting the news his taste buds would bring. Already, his quivering nostrils were behaving in a positive fashion as the familiar wisp of steam rose to tickle them.

Around Wuher, as though hovering expectantly, were all the trappings of his experimental alcove, along with its two new additions …

Yes, yes, this was new!

He detected a hint of bergamot!

Better, something more.… and it struck him with such tremendous power, it was as though someone had kicked him in the head.

The taste of two bloody aliens arut in a tangle of erupting spice pods and mud mushers.

He fell off his stool, a spasm racking him.

“Master! Master!” cried Ceetoo-Arfour. “Are you all right?”

Wuher shivered.