Part 7 (2/2)
Something grabbed Luke's shoulder and spun him around.
”Hey.” Looking around and struggling to regain his composure, he found himself staring up at an enormous, scruffy-looking human. Luke saw by the man's clothing that he must be the bartender, if not the owner of this cantina.
”We don't serve their kind in here,” the glaring form growled.
”What?” Luke replied dumbly. He still hadn't recovered from his sudden submergence into the cultures of several dozen races. It was rather different from the poolroom behind the Anchorhead power station. ”Your droids,” the bartender explained impatiently, gesturing with a thick thumb. Luke peered in the indicated direction, to see Artoo and Threepio standing quietly nearby. ”They'll have to wait outside. We don't serve them in here. I only carry stuff for organics, not,” he concluded with an expression of distaste, ”mechanicals.”
Luke didn't like the idea of kicking Threepio and Artoo out, but he didn't know how else to deal with the problem. The bartender didn't appear to be the sort who would readily respond to reason, and when he looked around for old Ben, Luke saw that he was locked in deep conversation with one of the Corellians.
Meanwhile, the discussion had attracted the attention of several especially gruesome-looking types who happened to be cl.u.s.tered within hearing range. All were regarding Luke and the two droids in a decidedly unfriendly fas.h.i.+on.
”Yes, of course,” Luke said, realizing this wasn't the time or place to force the issue of droid rights. ”I'm sorry.” He looked over at Threepio. ”You'd better stay outside with the speeder. We don't want any trouble in here.”
”I heartily agree with you, sir,” Threepio said, his gaze traveling past Luke and the bartender to take in the unfriendly stares at the bar. ”I don't feel the need for lubrication at the moment anyway.” With Artoo waddling in his wake, the tall robot hastily headed for the exit.
That finished things as far as the bartender was concerned, but Luke now found himself the subject of some unwanted attention. He abruptly became aware of his isolation and felt as if at one time or another every eye in the place rested a moment on him, that things human and otherwise were smirking and making comments about him behind his back.
Trying to maintain an air of quiet confidence, he returned his gaze to old Ben, and started when he saw what the oldster was talking to now. The Corellian was gone. In its place Ken.o.bi was chatting with a towering anthropoid that showed a mouthful of teeth when it smiled.
Luke had heard about Wookiees, but he had never expected to see one, much less meet one. Despite an almost comical quasi-monkey face, the Wookiee was anything but gentle-looking. Only the large, glowing yellow eyes softened its otherwise awesome appearance. The ma.s.sive torso was covered entirely with soft, thick russet fur. Less appealing cover consisted of a pair of chromed bandoliers which held lethal projectiles of a type unknown to Luke. Other than these, the Wookiees wore little.
Not, Luke knew, that anyone would laugh at the creature's mode of dress. He saw that other denizens of the bar eddied and swirled around the huge form without ever coming too close. All but old Ben-Ben who was talking to the Wookiee in its own language, quarreling and hooting softly like a native.
In the course of the conversation the old man had occasion to gesture in Luke's direction. Once the huge anthropoid stared directly at Luke and let out a horrifying howling laugh.
Disgruntled by the role he was evidently playing in the discussion, Luke turned away and pretended to ignore the whole conversation. He might be acting unfairly toward the creature, but he doubted that spine-quaking laugh was meant in gentle good-fellows.h.i.+p.
For the life of him he couldn't understand what Ben wanted with the monster, or why he was spending his time in guttural conversation with it instead of with the now-vanished Corellians. So he sat and sipped his drink in splendid silence, his eyes roving over the crowd in hopes of meeting a responsive gaze that held no belligerence.
Suddenly, something shoved him roughly from behind, so hard he almost fell. He turned angrily, but his fury spent itself in astonishment. He found himself confronted by a large squarish monstrosity of multiple eyes and indeterminate origin.
”Negola dewaghi wooldugger?” the apparition bubbled challengingly.
Luke had never seen its like before; he knew neither its species nor its language. The gabbling might have been an invitation to a fight, a request to share a drink, or a marriage proposal. Despite his ignorance, however, Luke could tell by the way the creature bobbed and wove unsteadily on its podal supports that it had imbibed too much of whatever it considered a pleasing intoxicant.
Not knowing what else to do, Luke tried turning back to his own drink while studiously ignoring the creature. As he did so, a thing-a cross between a capybara and a small baboon-bounced over to stand (or squat) next to the quivering many-eye. A short, grubby-looking human also approached and put a companionable arm around the snuffling ma.s.s.
”He doesn't like you,” the stubby human informed Luke in a surprisingly deep voice.
”I'm sorry about that,” Luke admitted, wis.h.i.+ng heartily he were somewhere else.
”I don't like you, either,” the smiling little man went on with brotherly negativity.
”I said I was sorry about it.”
Whether from the conversation it was having with the rodentlike creature or the overdose of booze, the apartment house for wayward eyeb.a.l.l.s was obviously growing agitated. It leaned forward, almost toppling into Luke, and spewed a stream of unintelligible gibberish at him. Luke felt the eyes of a crowd on him as he grew increasingly more nervous.
” 'Sorry,' ” the human mimicked derisively, clearly deep into his own cups. ”Are you insulting us? You just better watch yourself. We're all wanted.” He indicated his drunken companions. ”I have the death sentence on me in twelve different systems.”
”I'll be careful, then,” Luke muttered.
The little man was smiling broadly. ”You'll be dead.”
At this the rodent let out a loud grunt. It was either a signal or a warning, because everything human or otherwise which had been leaning up at the bar immediately backed away, leaving a clear s.p.a.ce around Luke and his antagonists.
Trying to salvage the situation, Luke essayed a wan smile. That faded rapidly when he saw that the three were readying hand weapons. Not only couldn't he have countered all three of them, he had no idea what a couple of the lethal-looking devices did.
”This little one isn't worth the trouble,” a calm voice said. Luke looked up, startled. He hadn't heard Ken.o.bi come up alongside him. ”Come, let me buy you all something By way of reply the bulky monster chittered hideously and swung out a ma.s.sive limb. It caught an unprepared Luke across the temple and sent him spinning across the room, cras.h.i.+ng through tables and shattering a large jug filled with a foul-smelling liquid.
The crowd edged back farther, a few grunts and warning snorts coming from some of them as the drunken monstrosity pulled a wicked-looking pistol from its service pouch. He started to wave it in Ken.o.bi's direction.
That spurred the heretofore neutral bartender to life. He came charging clumsily around the end of the bar, waving his hands frantically but still taking care to stay out of range.
”No blasters, no blasters! Not in my place!”
The rodent thing chattered threateningly at him, while the weapon-wielding many-eye spared him a warning grunt.
In the split second when the gun and its owner's attention was off him, the old man's hand had moved to the disk slung at his side. The short human started to yell as a fiery blue-white light appeared in the dimness of the cantina.
He never finished the yell. It turned into a blink. When the blink was finished, the man found himself lying p.r.o.ne against the bar, moaning and whimpering as he stared at the stump of an arm.
In between the start of his yell and the conclusion of the blink, the rodent-thing had been cleft cleanly in half down the middle, its two halves falling in opposite directions. The giant multiocular creature still stood staring, dazed, at the old human who was poised motionless before it, the s.h.i.+ning lightsaber held over his head in a peculiar fas.h.i.+on. The creature's chrome pistol fired once, blowing a hole in the door. Then the torso peeled away as neatly as had the body of the rodent, its two cauterized sections falling in opposite directions to lie motionless on the cool stone.
Only then did the suggestion of a sigh escape from Ken.o.bi; only then did his body appear to relax. Bringing the lightsaber down, he flipped it carefully upward in a reflex saluting motion which ended with the deactivated weapon resting innocuously on his hip.
That final movement broke the total quiet which had enshrouded the room. Conversation resumed, as did the movement of bodies in chairs, the sc.r.a.ping of mugs and pitchers and other drinking devices on tabletops. The bartender and several a.s.sistants appeared to drag the unsightly corpses out of the room, while the mutilated human vanished wordlessly into the crowd, cradling the stump of his gun arm and counting himself fortunate.
To all appearances the cantina had returned to its former state, with one small exception. Ben Ken.o.bi was given a respectful amount of s.p.a.ce at the bar.
Luke barely heard the renewed conversation. He was still shaken by the speed of the fight and by the old man's unimagined abilities. As his mind cleared and he moved to rejoin Ken.o.bi, he could overhear bits and s.n.a.t.c.hes of the talk around him. Much of it centered on admiration for the cleanness and finality of the fight.
”You're hurt, Luke,” Ken.o.bi observed solicitously.
Luke felt the bruise where the big creature had struck him. ”I...” he started to say, but old Ben cut him off. As if nothing had happened, he indicated the great hairy ma.s.s which was shouldering its way through the crowd toward them.
”This is Chewbacca,” he explained when the anthropoid had joined them at the bar. ”He's first mate on a s.h.i.+p that might suit our needs. He'll take us to her captain-owner now.
”This way,” the Wookiee grunted-at least, it sounded something like that to Luke. In any case, the huge creature's follow-me gesture was unmistakable. They started to wend their way deeper into the bar, the Wookiee parting the crowd like a gravel storm cutting canyonettes.
Out in front of the cantina, Threepio paced nervously next to the landspeeder. Apparently unconcerned, Artoo Detoo was engaged in animated electronic conversation with a bright red R-2 unit belonging to another of the cantina's patrons.
”What could be taking them so long? They went to hire one s.h.i.+p-not a fleet.”
Abruptly Threepio paused, beckoning silently for Artoo to be quiet. Two Imperial troopers had appeared on the scene. They were met by an unkempt human who had emerged almost simultaneously from the depths of the cantina.
”I do not like the looks of this,” the tall droid murmured.
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