Star Wars_ Tales of the Bounty Hunters - Kevin J. Anderson [45]
A band played in the main hall—giant orange-skinned Turans with base nose flutes, electric harps, and soft percussion drums were playing an insistent, exhilarating tune that somehow stirred Dengar deeply.
A troupe of dancers was on stage, swirling madly—small men and women of yellow skin, wearing golden strips of cloth on their arms and legs. At their center was a beautiful young woman with blue skin and dark blue hair. He recognized her—the Aruzan dancer, Manaroo.
She whirled across the floor, gazing intently into the eyes of her audience—peoples of many species, who sat at their dining and gambling tables. In her hands she had colored stones that glowed brightly, like the moons of Aruza, and she juggled and threw them in intricate patterns that drew the eye.
There was nothing frantic in her dance. Instead it was peaceful, mesmerizing, like the flow of waves across some empty beach, or like the movement of birds across the sky. For a moment she seemed to not be like a woman at all, but more like a force of nature. Irresistible, self-contained, like a sun that holds the worlds around it in sway.
Everyone focused on her, and Dengar found himself fumbling to a table, where he ordered dinner and a pleasant wine.
The band struck up a new tune, and a repulsorlift field was generated before them. Inside the field, glass gems were shooting up through a pump, so that the gems swirled in the air under the lights like some magic fountain of violet, green, and gold. Two of the dancers leapt into the field, tumbling weightlessly in dance.
With her dance finished, Manaroo came to Dengar’s table, sat beside him.
“I should have known I’d find you in a place like this, out where the Imperials don’t pay much attention,” Dengar said.
Manaroo, who had just performed so flawlessly, looked down at her hands folded in her lap, and there was a tenseness in her voice. “I needed to get away from the Empire,” she said. “Only now, they’re here. They caught that man you were looking for—Han Solo. I heard it from one of the security guards.”
Dengar found himself a bit surprised. Sometimes it seemed that those who had not ingested mnemiotic drugs were … well, stupid. “You remembered Solo’s name? After all this time?”
“I wanted to help you find him,” Manaroo said. “I wanted to repay you. I’ve been looking for him, too.” This surprised Dengar even more, seeing how one small deed of kindness almost paid off big. “But I didn’t find out he was here until after they caught him. I heard about it from a security guard. Now the Empire has promised to turn Han Solo over to another bounty hunter who followed him here, a man named Boba Fett.”
“Do you know where Boba Fett is?”
The dancer shook her head.
Dengar considered. “A man like Boba Fett doesn’t like to leave his quarry. He’ll want to get Solo safely stored on his ship, and then he’ll be off.”
Dengar was tempted to bushwhack Boba Fett and steal his prize, but the fact was that over the past couple of days, his anger had eased. True, Boba Fett had bombed Dengar’s ship, but he’d done it in such a way as to leave Dengar alive with the probability of making it to safety. It was a nice gesture, and an unnecessary one.
So Dengar wanted to return the favor. True, he wanted to steal Han Solo—since if not for Boba Fett, Dengar would have made the capture—but he also wanted to leave Boba Fett in something approximating an ambulatory state. Managing both tasks simultaneously would take some doing.
“So what will you do?” Manaroo asked.
“If the Imperials haven’t released Han Solo to Boba Fett,” Dengar considered, “then it means they’re still questioning him. It may be a few days before they’re done with him.”
A waiter came, and Dengar let Manaroo order dinner on his tab. Afterward he settled back, regarding her closely. She seemed nervous still, apologetic, as if she’d failed him, when in reality