Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [77]
Meanwhile, Barriss continued to reply to as many of the thief’s now inquisitive companions as her limited knowledge of their language would allow. She learned that they were called Gwurran, that they lived in the caves and crevices that ran through these hills, and that they hated the Alwari nomads.
“Not all nomads are bad,” Barriss told them. “The Alwari are like any other people. There are good people among them, and bad people. My kind, humans, are no different. There is good and bad in everyone.”
“Nomads kill Gwurran,” one of the tribespeople informed her. “Gwurran have to live here, in hill country, to survive.”
“Not our nomads,” she countered. “Like I told you, they come from far, far away. I’m sure they’ve never hurt a Gwurran in their lives. They may never even have seen one of your kind.” Even as she said it, she fervently hoped it was true. It was hard to imagine the thoughtful Kyakhta or the kindly Bulgan ever showing such unreasoning hostility to a cousin, even in their formerly addled condition. “Why not come and see for yourselves? Come back with me and meet my friends. We’ll have a party. You can try some interesting food.”
Her assailants exchanged dawning glances. “Party?” someone murmured hopefully.
“Food?” exclaimed another expectantly.
“… is anybody listen to me?” Having spent some time now bouncing off the walls, the Gwurran who called himself Tooqui was out of breath and out of energy. “This Tooqui talking. You know Tooqui. Tooqui who—” Dumping his ill-gotten gains indifferently to one side, the thief sat down on the gravel floor of the fissure and exhaled deeply. “Ah, moojpuck! Nobody care. Gwurran bunch of brainless bonehead stupids.” Thrusting an accusing finger at Barriss, Tooqui raised what was left of his voice.
“This all you fault, you small-head outland big-lips! You twist word noises, make friends forget Tooqui. I hate you.”
She walked toward the disheartened thief. Everyone on the rim above went suddenly quiet. As for the talkative Tooqui, seeing the much larger stranger approach, he picked up one of the foodpaks and backed up as far as he could.
“You keep away from Tooqui, you long-leg ugly bean thing! Tooqui fight you! Tooqui kill!”
Halting, she indicated the foodpak he held awkwardly in a throwing position. “Not with a few packets of dehydrated energy pudding, I don’t think.” To make herself less intimidating, she knelt, bringing her face as close to the Gwurran’s level as she could manage. It was a risk. While concentrating on the thief, she couldn’t keep an eye on his rock-armed comrades overhead. If they chose to bombard her while she was talking to him, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. But as Luminara had often told her, it was difficult to accomplish anything worthwhile without the taking of a risk.
Little did she know that at that very minute, on distant Coruscant, a group of extremely powerful and very determined individuals were contemplating that exact same conundrum—though for them, the stakes were inconceivably higher.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Tooqui. I want us to be friends.” She nodded up at his comrades who lined the top of the fissure. Some still held rocks in their small but strong three-fingered hands. She fought not to show her nervousness. “I want all of us to be friends.”
The Gwurran hesitated, aware that his fellow tribesfolk were following with great interest the confrontation being played out below. “You not hurt Tooqui? You not angry with him?”
She smiled engagingly. “On the contrary, I admire you for what you did. I imagine it’s not every Gwurran who would be so bold as to try to steal in broad daylight from a party of tall, strong offworlders like myself and my companions.”
Though still uncertain and continuing to eye her guardedly, he slowly lowered the foodpak and moved away from the wall. “Jaja, that true