Tales From Jabbas Palace (Kevin Anderson) (25 page)

“Jabba really likes your music.”

“That’s not what I meant. The terms simply aren’t acceptable.”

“But everything’s agreed,” Cuthas said. “You told me Max was the band’s leader. He agreed to a contract with Jabba. Now you tell me it isn’t acceptable? If you have a problem, it seems to me you should talk to Max Rebo. “

“But—I was just letting Max front for me!”

“Jabba doesn’t like it when people back out on deals.”

“Surely there’s some room for negotiation!”

Cuthas leaned closer, his voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “The last band tried to renegotiate their contract. Jabba dropped them into the rancor pit.”

“The rancor pit?”

“The floor in front of the throne opens up. Jabba keeps an immense, ravenous rancor below… it made very short work of the last band. Just a few tweets and they were gone. And see that man over there?” He pointed into a dim alcove, where a screaming man encased in carbonite hung on the wall.

“Yes,” Sy said.

“He was a smuggler who broke a deal with Jabba.

Jabba keeps him there as a reminder to other employees.”

Sy swallowed. “I see what you mean,” she said. She shot Max a violent look, but he didn’t notice. He seemed entirely happy with the plate of bantha steaks a droid had brought him.

Sy Snootles looked around her quarters with a measure of disgust and revulsion. How could they expect her to live in such a hovel? The bedclothes were soiled, filth caked the walls, and the floor had something dark and sticky spattered across it.

She turned to complain, but Cuthas had already gone off with Max and Droopy. She went out into the hall. They were gone.

A droid stood at attention nearby, though, so Sy crossed over to address it: “You there. What’s your name?”

“M3D2.”

“My room requires cleaning.”

“The housekeeping staff is located on level three, room 212.”

“Thank you. Please inform them.”

“That is not my function.”

“What is your function?”

“You are the singer Sy Snootles?”

Sy paused. Why would a droid ask that? “Yes,” she answered cautiously.

“I have a message for you. It must be delivered in private.”

“In here.” Sy moved back to let it into her room.

Who would send her a private message here? Did she know someone on this awful world? And what could a droid have to say that could possibly be so private?

“I have a message from the Lady an,” it began.

“Jabba has long been a rival of hers, and she is looking for additional spies in this palace…”

Max barely glanced at his room before pronouncing it satisfactory.

He had, after all, requested quarters close to the kitchens. His proboscis told him food lay only a few doors away. Now that the first faint stirrings of hunger had begun, he was eager to find a bedtime snack before turning in.

“Come,” Cuthas said to Droopy, and he led the Kitonak off.

Max nodded happily. All in all, a successful day. He had a new job, he had a lifetime contract, and all the food he could eat. Life was good.

Shutting the door to his room, he followed his nose to the kitchens. He had to compliment the chef on the appetizers before getting his snack.

No telling what desserts he might find waiting for him each day if the two of them became friends.

“Hey, you,” said a loud, gruff voice. “You are a Kitonak, aren’t you?”

Droopy McCool raised his head slowly and stared at the Gamorrean guard standing in the open doorway to his room. The guard stared back at him.

“Yes,” Droopy finally said.

“I thought so,” the guard said. He stared back at Droopy.

“Why?” Droopy finally said.

“I saw Kitonaks in the deep desert once,” he said.

“Oh,” Droopy said.

The next time he looked up, the Gamorrean had gone away. Still, it was enough to get his slow, slow mind moving.

Other Kitonaks in the deep desert… interesting.

Sy Snootles stared at the small fortune on her bed and pondered what to do. At first she had intended to report Lady Valarian’s offer to one of Jabba’s lieutenants in case it had been a test of some kind.

But since - then, she hadn’t had a moment to herself. Person after person kept knocking on her door making her offers to spy for them.

All told, she had sixteen different commissions to work for sixteen different parties. Each had left a “token payment” for her services, ranging from a few dozen credits to a hundred and fifty. Now all sixteen pouches sat in a neat little row on her bed.

Of course, she’d agreed to spy for everyone.

It seemed there might be more money than she’d suspected in working for Jabba the Hutt… and from all the wrong sources. At this rate, she’d have enough to get off planet in just a few weeks.

She sat on a low chair, ignoring the mess on the walls, ignoring the sticky patches on the floor, ignoring the unkempt bedclothes, and waiting for the next knock.

It came a few seconds later.

“Come!” she called.

A humanoid slipped in—a Twi’lek with one of his twin head tentacles wrapped around his neck. Sy had seen him in Jabba’s throne room earlier, she recalled, standing near the Hutt and whispering things to him.

She swallowed. This was certainly her most powerful visitor so far.

He glanced at the bed, at the line of pouches, then looked at her and smiled. It was not a pretty look, Sy thought with a little shiver.

“You have been busy tonight,” he said. “Sixteen visitors so far.

I think you can expect two, possibly three more tonight, and a few others over the next week.”

“I was going to tell Jabba about it in the morning,” Sy began.

“No need, my dear.” He moved closer. “I am Bib Fortuna, and one of my jobs is heading up security for Jabba. I want you to take commissions from everyone who offers you one. Inform me as you are contacted. I will let you know what news to pass on.” He drew a small pouch from his belt and handed it to her.

“Jabba pays much better than piddling second-raters like these… as you will learn.”

“Thank you,” Sy said, hardly daring to believe her good luck.

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Bib Fortuna said.

He took one look around her room, sniffed once, and as he left, added, “The housekeeping staff is located on level three, room 212. I suggest you get the room deloused before you spend the night.”

3.

HOW the Band Became a Duo Jabba’s throne room was really grooving, Max thought. In the months they’d been playing there, things hadn’t been better. The rancor had been fed, which always made Jabba happy, Sy was wailing for all she was worth, her stomach gyrating, and the droids had just served him a pair of small Largess cakes, courtesy of Porcellus the chef.

“Ooooh-che-nah!” she sang. “I eeeeeee-eat my young!”

Max upped the power on the amps and went into a quick solo.

Nothing like dazzling fingerwork to keep your appetite up, he thought smugly.

A blaster sounded close by, and Max let the music fade out. What was going on? Jabba didn’t like it when blaster fights broke out.

Someone would Certainly feed the rancor tonight, he thought.

A scruffy-looking bounty hunter appeared with a Wookiee in tow.

“I have come for the bounty on this Wookiee,” he said.

Jabba laughed, his whole body shaking. “At last we have the mighty Chewbacca,” he said through his new gold translator droid.

“Welcome, bounty hunter. I will gladly pay you the reward of twenty-five thousand.”

“Fifty thousand!” the bounty hunter chirped. “No less.”

Jabba hit his droid in anger and snarled, “Why do I have to pay fifty thousand?”

“Because I’m holding a thermal detonator!” the bounty hunter said. He held out a silver sphere. His thumb touched the button on top and the detonator activated.

If he let go, the sphere would explode, Max knew, destroying the whole throne room and everyone in it.

He covered his face. This was enough to put him off supper!

“The bounty hunter is my kind of scum, fearless and inventive,” Jabba announced after a good laugh.

Max uncovered his face. “I offer the sum of thirty-five,” Jabba said through his droid.

“Very well,” said the bounty hunter.

“He agrees!” cried the droid.

As the Gamorrean guards moved forward and took the Wookiee away, Sy said, “Hit it!”

Max gave a two-beat lead, then they launched into “Galactic Dance Blast.” It had a rhythm, was easy to play, and Max knew he wouldn’t mess it up even though his hands were trembling. A thermal detonator!

At least it hadn’t gone off. He’d have extra helpings at dinner tonight, he thought, to calm his nerves.

Jabba kept them playing for the next few hours. Something seemed to be up—something big—but Sy was too busy singing to pick up on what it was, though she listened intently.

When Max finally shut down his organ for the evening, Sy stepped down and started for her room. Bib Fortuna caught her arm.

“No,” he said to all of them. “Don’t break down yet.”

“I don’t understand,” Sy said. “It’s dinnertime.”

“Jabba’s planning a party for later tonight.”

“But what about dinner?” Max said. “It’s in my contract!”

“Get it if you want, but bring it back here. You’re going to sleep in the throne room tonight. Jabba’s orders.”

Sy swallowed. “Of course,” she said, “if that’s what Jabba wants.”

Max turned to Droopy. “Come on, let’s get some dinner.

Take-out!”

“Take-out,” the Kitonak echoed.

“Bring me some, too,” Sy said. “And don’t eat it on the way back here, Max!”

?????? this time

Later that evening, behind a curtain that masked the throne room from the display alcove where the smuggler in carbonite hung, Max lay listening intently. First he heard a metallic jangle, then soft footsteps as someone stole rather ineptly into the room. Then came a dull boom. He saw Jabba tense, then lean forward to look out through a small hole in the curtain.

Suddenly Jabba began to laugh. Those closest to him laughed as well. As the curtain rolled aside, everyone was laughing, so Max joined in. At last he could see what was so funny.

The bounty hunter who had used the thermal detonator to blackmailJabba had set the smuggler encased in carbonite free! And beneath the mask, the bounty hunter was a beautiful woman. Her face looked familiar, Max thought. Wasn’t that Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan? But Alderaan had been destroyed years before.

Hadn’t the whole royal family died as well?

Jabba said, “So, I have finally caught up with you again, Solo.

What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Hey, Jabba, look, Jabba, I was just on my way to pay you back,” the smuggler said, blinking frantically and rubbing his eyes, “and I got a little sidetracked. It’s not my fault—”

“It’s too late for that, Solo,” Jabba said. “You may have been a good smuggler, but now you’re bantha fodder.”

Everyone around him laughed, so Max laughed, too. No sense standing out, he thought. Food jokes were funny.

“Look—”

“Take him away.”

“Jabba, I’ll pay you triple. You’re throwing away a fortune here.

Don’t be a fool.”

The guards seized the smuggler’s arms and hauled him away.

“Now,” saidJabba, “bring her to me.” By “her” he meant Princess Leia.

Two of the Gamorrean guards took Leia’s arms and led her forward toward the throne.

“We have powerful friends,” she said as they shoved her up on Jabba’s dais. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I’m sure,” Jabba said. He pressed his lips close to her and extended his tongue, and Max wondered if he intended to eat her.

“Play,” Jabba commanded.

Max dropped his cup and scrambled toward his organ.

As the band launched into “Ode to a Radioactive Ruin,” two dancing girls stripped off Leia’s clothes and gave her a skimpy gold outfit to wear.

She was a scrawny thing underneath the battle armor, Max decided, and definitely malnourished. He’d have to see if he could slip her an extra meal or three to fatten her up properly.

It took hours for the party to die. When it finally did, everyone just lay down where they were and dozed off.

Max still had a few small blatberry pies tucked away behind his organ.

He picked one out and carried it to Jabba’s dais. There he set it next to Princess Leia, who looked at him with an unhappy expression.

“In case you get hungry,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He smiled a little, nodded politely, and headed for his room.

When he learned that Jabba planned a day trip out across the Dune Sea, Max had droids carry their instruments out to the sail barge and set them up on the lower deck. It was a beautiful cloudless day, the portals were open, and a warm breeze blew through. They’d have a great view of everyone and everything around them. Nothing like a trip to build your appetite, Max thought.

As always, Sy showed up late. At least she was dressed and ready for work, so it didn’t really matter.

Max tuned his organ while Sy did her vocal warm-up exercises, and they were ready to play. Nothing to do now, he thought, except wait for the crowds to arrive.

Droids equipped with huge platters of food and drink were already moving into position around the deck, and Max grabbed a handful of chooca nuts as a G4 unit passed. He accepted a goblet of Chagarian ale from an R2 unit and stashed it under his organ for later.

Toward lunchtime guests began filing aboard. They were all talking about a Jedi Knight—someone named Luke something? - - whom Jabba had captured that morning. It seemed theJedi and his friends were to be thrown to a creature out in the desert.

Max powered up his organ and played a’ pleasant little instrumental ditty called “Ode to a Master Chef” which he’d written himself, wringing every nuance from the keyboard. He was in top form today, he thought.

Life was great in Jabba’s palace.

Finally Jabba himself boarded, floating out on his dais. It had repulsorlift coils underneath it, Max saw.

So that was howJabba moved about. This was the first time he’d actually seen the Hutt leave his throne room.