Tales From Jabbas Palace (Kevin Anderson) (30 page)

Barada grunted. “No marks,” he said. “Whoever killed the guy didn’t leave any marks on the body.”

He looked from one Weequay to the other. “Anzat.

It’s an Anzat killed him: Anzat don’t leave marks.”

If the Weequays were impressed, they didn’t show it.

They squatted beside Ak-Buz’s body and examined it for a few minutes.

Then they stood up and started to walk away. Barada followed. “There’s been a lot of dead bodies turning up,” he said.

The Weequays halted and faced him. One reached out and put his hand on Barada’s chest. The other pointed back to the scrap heap. “Sure,” said the mechanic, “none of my business. I get it. I guess I’ll just go look for those pins now. Want me to do anything with our friend Ak-Buz?”

He got no answer, of course.

The Weequays shouldered their force pikes and marched off in step toward their own quarters. They stared straight ahead, not even changing expressions, until they’d arrived at the small building that housed the Hutt’s Weequay contingent. They went inside. There were more Weequays in the Hutt’s employ, but they were away attending to other matters.

“Alone now,” said Weequay. “We can talk,” said the other Weequay.

Weequays have no individual names; it never seems to cause them any difficulty, though.

“Trouble.”

Weequay nodded. He put his force pike down on his bunk. “Too many dead.”

“Even stupid Barada knows that.”

The Weequays paused, possibly in thought. “We must have a meeting,” said one finally.

“Agreed,” said the other.

The Weequays sat down at a plank table, across from each other.

One put slips of paper and writing styluses between them. This was the first activity at any proper Weequay meeting: the election of officers.

“There are two of us. One will be president, the other secretary-treasurer.”

“Agreed.”

Each took a blank piece of paper and a stylus, marked his secret ballot, and folded it in half.

“We will read them together.” They unfolded the papers and counted the votes. “There are two votes for Weequay for president, and two votes for Weequay for secretary-treasurer.”

“It is done,” said the other. “I am now president.

You, secretary, must record these proceedings for future review.”

The Weequay secretary put a small electronic recording device on the table between them.

“Good. Now I ask, will we tell Jabba of this most recent murder?”

The secretary shook his head. “No, we can’t. Not until we find the killer.”

More time passed in silence. “We must ask the god,” said the Weequay president.

“Ask the god,” the other agreed. Neither was happy about the decision.

The Weequays worshiped a variety of gods, most of whom represented natural forces and creatures on their homeworld. One of their chief gods was Quay—Weequay means “follower of Quay”—the god of the moon.

Many Weequays kept in close personal contact with this god through a device which they also called a quay. This was a white sphere made of high-impact plastic about twenty centimeters in diameter. The quay could recognize speech and reply to simple questions.

To the Weequays, the object looked like the moon of their home planet, and they believed a bit of their lunar god inhabited each quay.

They never quite understood that the quays were manufactured cheaply by more imaginative species and there was nothing at all supernatural about them.

The Weequay president reverently removed the glistening quay from its leather sack, “Hear us, O Great God Quay,” he said. “We come to you for guidance.

Will you grant us, your true believers, a hearing?”

A few seconds passed. Then a tiny mechanical voice said, “It is decidedly so.”

The Weequays nodded to each other. Sometimes the Great God Quay was not in the mood to be interrogated, and he could stay recalcitrant for hours, even days at a time. With several of the Hutt’s servants dead - - now including the barge captain, Ak-Buz—the Weequays knew they needed immediate help.

“We, your true believers, praise you, O Great God Quay, and thank you.

Will you reveal to us the identity of the foul murderer of Barge Captain Ak-Buz?”

The Weequays held their breaths. They heard the whirring of the ventilation system in the barracks, but nothing else. Then the mechanical voice piped, “As I see it, yes.”

The god was in a cooperative mood today!

“Is the killer in this room?” asked President Weequay.

The secretary snarled fiercely at him. “It is the necessary first question,” explained the president.

“Concentrate and ask again,” said the white quay.

The president closed his eyes tightly and said, “Is.the killer in this room?”

“Better not tell you now,” said the god-ball.

“You see!” cried the president. “It is you!” The Weequay reached across the table and clutched his fellow’s tunic.

“No! I swear!” said the secretary, terror-stricken.

“The Great God Quay did not identify me! Ask him a third time!”

The president released the Weequay reluctantly, then looked down between them at the sphere of prophecy. “We beseech you, O Great God Quay! Is the killer in this room?”

The answer came quickly. “Very doubtful.”

Both Weequays relaxed. “I am relieved,” said the president. “I did not wish to abandon you to the vengeance of Jabba.”

?????? know who the murderer is,” said the secretary. “We must learn if there will be more victims.”

The president nodded slowly. He had begun to realize that their future well-being depended on investigating these crimes and presenting their suspicious employer with a neatly tied-up solution. The Hutt had no patience at all with incompetence, and guards who couldn’t guard would soon find themselves on absolutely the wrong end of something’s food chain.

“Will more of Jabba’s entourage be killed?” asked the president.

A low-pitched grinding noise came from the quay on the table. The two Weequays looked at each other, then back down at the white sphere.

“It is certain,” said the tinny voice.

The secretary bent low over the device. “Will I die?” he asked quietly.

“Without a doubt,” the quay responded instantly.

“Weequay,” said the president, “you waste time. Of course you will die.

All who live will die someday. Be silent, and I will gather the information. O Great God Quay, what weapon are we looking for? Is it a blaster?”

“Don’t count on it,” said the white ball.

“A rifle of some sort, then?”

“My reply is no.”

The Weequay president tossed his braided topknot over his left shoulder.

“Is it any sort of projectile weapon?”

“My reply is no.”

“A knife, then? Is the murderer’s weapon a knife?”

The secretary pounded the table with a fist. “There were no knife wounds on Ak-Buz,” he said.

“A rope or silken cord?” asked the president.

The secretary looked even more impatient. “No signs of strangulation.

We would have seen them.”

The mystery was too complex for the limited Weequay minds. “All these deaths,” said the president.

The secretary’s eyes opened wider. “Different methods. Why?”

“And who?” said the president. He rubbed his chin for a few seconds, then put his hands flat on the table, on either side of the sacred quay.

“O Great God Quay, you have told us there will be at least another death.

Will it too happen by a different method?”

“Outlook good” was all the device had to say.

“Not blaster,” said the secretary thoughtfully. “Not rifle. Not knife.

Not rope. Is it a poison gas?”

“My reply is no,” said the Great God Quay.

“Is it an injection of deadly drugs?”

The quay made a sound like the grinding of teeth.

“Very doubtful.”

“Is it tiny little off-world creatures that infest the body and kill the host horribly at a later date, giving the killer time to establish an alibi elsewhere?”

There was a long pause from the quay, as if it were digesting this strange possibility. “My sources say no.”

Outside, the hot sun of Tatooine climbed higher in the sky. It was approaching noon. Barada was at work in his shop, overseeing the construction and installation of six new rocker-panel cotter pins for the AE-35 unit. Word had come down from the Hutt himself that the sail barge would be setting forth later that day.

With Ak-Buz now greeting his ancestors in his race’s version of heaven, Barada assumed he himself would have to captain the huge craft.

He’d done it before, when Ak-Buz had shown up for duty less than sober.

Meanwhile, the Weequays labored mightily to get some useful information from the quay. It was simply a matter of asking the right questions. If the Weequays stumbled on the correct weapon and then the true identity of the murderer, the Great God Quay would let them know they’d succeeded at last. However, time slipped by as they guessed one thing after another, from every kind of blunt object to a pile of straw near the scrap heap. “Ak-Buz could have been smothered in the straw,” the president insisted. “It’s possible.”

“And you accuse me of wasting time,” said the secretary scornfully. “O Great God Quay, was the barge captain drowned in a bucket of water?”

“Don’t count on it.” If nothing else, Quay had more patience than the average primitive deity.

“Does the weapon begin with the letter A?” asked the president.

The other Weequay glared furiously. “Now we’ll be here all afternoon. What a foolish way to…”

“My reply is no,” said the god-ball.

“The letter B?” asked the president.

“You’re never going to learn anything that way,” said the secretary. “I call for new elections”

“It is decidedly so.” Both Weequays stared at the white plastic sphere.

“The letter B?” said the secretary.

“B for… what?” said the president. “Blaster?

No, we asked that. Bantha? Will the murderer kill the next victim with a bantha?”

There was tense silence in the barracks. Then the quay replied, “Cannot predict now.”

The president took a deep breath and let it out again. “Will the murderer kill the next victim with a bantha?”

This time the quay didn’t hesitate. “My reply is no.”

The Weequays went on through the alphabet, trying every object and technique they could think of. At last, as three more armed Weequays entered the barracks, the secretary asked, “Bomb? Is it a bomb? On the sail barge?”

“Signs point to yes,” said the mechanical voice.

All five Weequays gasped. “O Great God Quay,” said the president hoarsely, “we, your true believers, thank you! We will use the gift of your prophecy to protect your servants, and we praise your wisdom and power.”

One of the newly arrived Weequays came to the table. “What does this mean?” he demanded.

“Ak-Buz dead,” said the secretary.

“Bomb aboard the sail barge,” said the president.

“We must find it,” said the third Weequay.

“We must disarm it,” said a fourth.

“We must punish… who?” asked the fifth.

The secretary looked at the president. “Does the murderer’s name begin with the letter A?” he said to the quay. The secretary didn’t say anything; he just squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his aching forehead.

It was going to be a very long day.

Barada wouldn’t let his workmen quit for the midday meal until the AE-35 unit had been repaired and replaced in the sail barge. It wasn’t a difficult job, but Barada was an extremely exacting supervisor. He had to be. If there were the slightest malfunction, if any mechanical breakdown interrupted the Hutt’s pleasure cruise, Barada himself would be the next corpse to be found on the scrap heap. He didn’t intend for that to happen.

He checked the fittings and connections carefully, then slid the AE-35 hatch cover into place and slapped it closed. “Good,” he said.

He wiped his perspiring brow with one hand. “Anything else?”

Mal Hyb, Barada’s capable human assistant, glanced at a datapad in her hand. “All the diagnostic tests turned up green,” she said.

The mechanic nodded. “Nothing more we can do now, I guess. All right, let’s take an hour for lunch.

We’ll check out the barge again later, before the Hutt gets here.”

Mal Hyb frowned. She was recognized in the workshop for her skill with a welding torch. Although she was two feet Shorter than Barada, and compactly built, she was also a good ally in a brawl. Her fighting ability always surprised her opponents—once. “More tests?” she asked.

Barada grunted. “You haven’t worked for the Hutt as long as I have. If I could make this crew do it, I’d be running diagnostics all day and all night. I’ve seen the Hutt execute a crewman because a shutter squeaked.”

Mal Hyb shook her head and walked away. Barada heard a sound, turned, and saw a party of five Weequays enter the barge’s hangar. He wasn’t pleased.

The Weequays approached him. One of them gestured toward the sail barge.

“You want to go aboard?” said Barada. “Why? You still trying to figure out who killed Ak-Buz?”

The Weequay spokesman nodded.

“Not a chance,” said Barada. “We’ve got the barge all tuned up and I don’t want you leather-faced bullies wrecking it.”

A second Weequay held out a paper sack. Barada took it, opened it, and looked inside. “Beignets,” he said, surprised. “Porcellus’s beignets?”

Another Weequay nod.

“All right, I guess,” said the mechanic. “You’ve got to do your job, too. Just don’t touch anything.”

The five Weequays formed up in single file and boarded the sail barge.

Barada sat down stiffly on the concrete and took the first beignet from the bag.

The Weequays poked around the sail barge, not entirely sure what they were looking for. A bomb, of course, but what kind of bomb was it? How big? And where? There were a million places to hide one.

The Weequay president carried the quay with him, and murmured, “Does the murderer’s name begin with the letter V? Vader? Valarian?

Venti Paz?”

The quay began to slammer. “Win”

“Yes?” the Weequay prompted.