Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [26]
Gesturing to Bulgan, he waited while his friend carefully unfolded the polus net from beneath his robe. When Bulgan was ready, Kyakhta stepped up to the counter. Smiling patiently, the proprietress shuffled toward him. A last, quick glance in the direction of the marketplace showed that the entryway remained clear. There was no sign of the other visitors through the single large, transparent pane.
“Welcome to my modest place of doings, sir.” Eyeing his robes, she added, “I see that you are Pangay Ous. You are a long way from your stretch of prairie, sir.” A hint of uncertainty crept into her voice. “Yet you do not have the look about you of one who is of the Northern Bands. I see no identifying tattoo on your forehead, and your mane is—”
“But my body fragrance is of the Pangay Ous,” he declared, interrupting her. “See?” Pulling the compact atomizer from beneath his robe, he shoved it forward and sprayed her right in the face, before she could object. She inhaled reflexively, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped to the floor, her chin banging against the counter as she dropped. So fast did the spray work that she did not even have time to look surprised.
“Haja!” he exclaimed, stepping back from the counter. “The poor lady has collapsed! It must be her hearts!”
“Here, let me have a look.” Alerted to a possible emergency and wishing to be helpful, Barriss pushed forward. “I’m not that familiar with Ansionian physiology, but there are certain bipedal circulatory and respiratory constants that …”
Kyakhta moved aside, not listening to her incomprehensible medical jargon. He wouldn’t have understood any of it anyway. Bulgan was already in motion. Another glance outside showed that the street was still devoid of Jedi. The Padawan had stepped behind the counter and was kneeling beside the fallen proprietress.
“Her vitals appear sound.” She sounded a note of puzzlement. “I don’t think it’s serious. Perhaps only a fainting spell.” She started to rise. “A little cool water on her face, I think. I wonder what could have caused her to go down like that, so sudden and silently?”
“Maybe this?” Thrusting the sprayer forward, Kyakhta caught the female with a full burst right in the face. If anything, having two nostrils instead of the normal one, she absorbed more of the mist than would an Ansionian. Her eyes flickered but did not roll back, and she started to reach for the lightsaber slung at her waist. Startled and beginning to panic, Kyakhta squirted her again, and then a third time, before she finally went down. In a testament to her training, she’d absorbed enough vapor to put out a whole squad of mounted warriors.
“Hurry, hurry!” Trying to divide his attention between the entrance and the now unconscious Padawan, he struggled with Bulgan to stuff the human female into the unbreakable sack they had brought with them. Finally lifting their bagged burden, which proved surprisingly heavy, they hurried toward the back of the establishment. As was typical with such better-off shops, it boasted a second, rear entrance. Uldas was with them—the dirty service alley was deserted. Remembering to finger the signaling device at his side, he led the way toward Jaaruls Street, the shielded and secure apartment waiting there, and safety. Excitement rose within him. They’d done it!
Now all they had to do was hold on to their captive, keep her alive and well, and await further instructions from Soergg. Compared to the abduction they had just carried out, such talk-work struck Kyakhta as not work at all.
No one questioned the contents of the lumpy sack the two Alwari lugged down alleys and back streets. Business was business, and a nomad’s business was none but his own.
Luminara put down the beautifully enameled little mirror