Tales From Jabbas Palace (Kevin Anderson) (43 page)

It took several minutes, but finally he had worked his way out of the armor, and he fought against his dizziness and weakness and started climbing, halfway up the small hill of sand, and fired his final grenade into the darkness above him. The wave of sand that collapsed on him this time was unbelievable; Fett struggled up through it as it came down upon him, almost swimming upward through the falling sand.

The sand covered him, his nude body and the helmet that still protected his head, and he clawed at it frantically, with no air but that trapped in his helmet with him, using both hands, both the broken arm and the good, possessed by a mortal terror that gave him the access to the final strength he would ever be able to call upon-A hand broke free, he felt it, felt it thrust up into emptiness, and seconds later, Boba Fett dug his way up out of the sand and into the cool nighttime air, in the middle of the Dune Sea, at the edge of the Great Pit of Carkoon, hundreds of kilometers away from anyone or anything.

Alive.

A year later: Boba Fett returned to Tatooine in the Slave II.

He came down out of orbit and hovered above the Great Pit of Carkoon, in the midst of the Dune Sea.

On the night desert, the glow of his thrusters burned like the daytime sun, lit the sand for kilometers in all directions.

The Slave II descended until the flame of its drive played directly down onto the Pit of Carkoon. The wash of pain that rose to greet Boba Fett tasted like wine of an ancient vintage. If he closed his eyes he could see it, the main chamber where Susejo hung, shimmering beneath the superheated air.

You.

“Yes, indeed.”

Inside the creature’s pain, Boba Fett could feel something like relief.

You liberate me from the long Cycle.

The Slave II hovered above the pit… and then drifted off to the side, and came to a landing fifty meters from the edge, well away from the reach of even the longest of the burnt, writhing tentacles.

Susejo’s pain and confusion touched Fett. What strange mercy is this?

Sitting in the Slave II, a faint smile hidden beneath a Mandalorian helmet, Boba Fett said, You don’t eat a barve like that all at once.

I see I suppose I shall see you again, then.

You can count on it, said Boba Fett. His hands danced across the instrument panels.

The thrusters caught fire; light washed once more over the Great Pit of Carkoon-A dark spirit arose into the night.

*

Skin Deep: The Fat Dancer’s Tale

by A. C. Crispin

Thud… thud… thud.

The rhythmic pounding echoed faintly in the cavernous audience chamber of Jabba’s palace. The bulky figure dozing cross-legged on the empty dais sat bolt upright and stared apprehensively at the arched doorway leading upstairs to the main entrance. The knocking came again.

Why would someone be out there, hammering on the blast doors?

Yarna d’al’ Gargan wondered. Heaving herself up, the multibreasted dancer cautiously ventured to the archway and stood peering up the stairs toward the front entrance. Jabba’s frog-dog, Bubo, who was tethered at the top of the steps, looked down at her and croaked plaintively, begging for scraps. For once, Yarna ignored it.

Straining her sensitive hearing, the dancer picked up a faint shout.

Thud… thud… thud.

The Askajian female glanced around and swallowed nervously. She wasn’t going up there alone. Death stalked the corridors and chambers of Jabba’s palace; they’d discovered another body, that of an unfortunate scullion named Phlegmin. Earlier, Yarna herself had been attacked and had barely escaped unscathed.

“J’Quille?” she called softly into the dimness. It was his turn to be on guard.

No reply.

Where was that stupid Whiphid? Hugging her arms across the pendulous mounds of her topmost pair of breasts, Yarna shivered. It was after sunsdown outside the palace, and nothing should be out there at this hour.

It was true that MasterJabba had gone off in his sail barge to witness the executions of the illfated Han Solo and his friends. The Hutt was hours overdue, and none of them had heard a word since the sail barge had departed… but that couldn’t be Master Jabba’s entourage outside. He wouldn’t knock on the front entrance. The master would enter the palace through the big rear doors. After being in the Hutt’s “employ” for nearly a year, Yarna knew the routine only too well.

So who was out there?

And what should she do?

THUD… THUD… THUD.

The hammering redoubled in intensity, and the shouting grew louder, more desperate. Everyone with the authority to tell her what to do—Master Fortuna, Tessek, Barada—was gone. Even the head Gamorrean, Ortugg, was nowhere to be seen.

Running her tongue over suddenly dry lips, she turned and cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Guards!” she bellowed across the chamber.

“Guards! Is everyone deaf? There’s someone at the main entrance!”

Other denizens of the Hutt lord’s motley “court” who had been sleeping in the far reaches of the audience chamber stirred, glancing around furtively… but none of them joined the Askajian at the foot of the stairs In Jabba’s palace, calling attention to oneself could prove dangerous.

Yarna heard running footsteps, then an armed humanoid raced through the opposite Portal. The guard in the battered dark armor was familiar, though he always kept to himself and she didn’t know his name.

He’d been the one the Wookiee Chewbacca had knocked silly, smashing him into the wall with one swipe of a long, furred arm.

“What’s going on?” A mechanical-sounding voice emanated from inside the helmet that masked his features, and Yarna realized he spoke through a breathing filter. “Where is Master Jabba?”

“Hasn’t returned yet,” Yarna said, feeling her hearts pound in her belly. “Who are you?”

“Sergeant Doallyn, at your service,” the guard said, automatically straightening to attention. More knocks at the entrance made him glance up the stairs. “Who is at the door, Mistress Gargan?”

“I don’t know,” she said, appreciating the title of respect. It had been a long time since anyone had addressed her as anything but “Ugly One.” The hammering reached their ears again, seemingly weaker now.

Yarna shrugged and pointed. “The sentry who should be there… isn’t. And I didn’t think I should open it without a guard present.”

The helmeted head nodded. “Good thinking.” He beckoned her to follow him, and started up the steps.

Yarna stayed so close to him that she nearly trod on his boot heels.

When the pair reached the tall, massive doors, Doallyn glanced at the sentry screen, but it was too dark to make out the identity of the visitor. He leveled his blaster, then gestured to her. “Key it, then stand back.”

Moving with a quickness that belied her bulk, Yarna pressed the appropriate combination, then skipped off to the side. Slowly, the enormous portal rumbled upward. Cold night air rushed in.

Tessek the Quarren stood outside, his robes rumpled and smelling of smoke. His wrinkled, tentacled features were pale and cracked as though he’d been exposed to intense heat. “Jabba… Master Jabba… the sail barge…” he babbled breathlessly.

“Solo, the Wookiee… and that Jedi! There may be an attack!”

“Where is Jabba?” Doallyn demanded.

“Dead! She strangled him, that Alderaanian dancing girl, the new one.

Just as the execution was supposed to take place, a terrible battle erupted on the sail barge. They had weapons hidden, and that Jedi boy, Luke Skywalker—he had powers beyond belief! I fought them, but a shot grazed me, and I lost control of my swoop… I nearly went into the Sarlacc pit!

Then”—his arms waved expressively—”a huge explosion!

The sail barge is in pieces all over the Dune Sea!”

“Jabba? Dead?” Even Doallyn’s mechanical tones sounded stunned.

The Quarren nodded. He glanced from Yarna to Doallyn, then seemed to remember his dignity. Pulling himself up, he straightened his hunched shoulders.

“I’m in command, now,” he said, his voice deepening. “Wait for me here.

I’ll return shortly.”

Doallyn sketched a half-salute, but did not respond further, and the Quarren, still shaking, turned and swung a leg across his swoop.

Moments later, he was gone.

Yarna stood frozen with shock, scarcely daring to believe what she’d heard. She’d waited for this day for so long! Could Tessek be lying?

Was this yet another of Jabba’s twisted schemes to test the loyalty of his minions?

And yet… she did not believe the Quarren meant her ill.

Yesterday he’d even caught her pilfering some semiprecious stones and hadn’t reported her to Jabba. She remembered Tessek’s wide, frightened eyes. No. The Quarren was telling the truth.

Yarna heard excited gabbling at the bottom of the stairs, and realized that the news was already spreading. Within minutes, everyone would know.

The Askajian struggled for calm. She had to think—think!

What did this news mean to her? What would happen now?

She felt no compunction to obey Tessek–even if he had done her a favor yesterday. The Quarren was an arrant coward, and everybody knew it.

With Jabba gone, there was no one that Yarna could think of with the strength of will, ruthlessness, and intelligence to assume Jabba’s mantle of leadership. Within the hour the palace would be in chaos.

And back in Mos Eisley ˇ.. Yarna’s breath caught in her throat like a limp of jelled sagbat. Under Tatooine law, Jabba’s illegal assets would be seized and liquidated. His slaves would be sold to the highest bidder.

Yarna herself was not legally a slave, since Jabba had placed her under “contract,” promising her she could buy her freedom one day.

That had been one of the Bloated One’s favorite ploys. “Free” people tended to work harder and show more dedication than slaves. And Yarna clearly recalled the wording of the contract she had thumb-signed—it had stated that, in the event of Jabba’s death, she was a free being—unless, of course, she had helped in any way to bring about that death. But she had not. So now… she was free.

The eventual promise of earning her freedom had made Yarna serve the Hutt crimelord loyally, dancing for him, minding the household staff and cleaning droids, and being a sort of mother figure to his other dancing girls. Another three years, and she’d have been free—unless, of course, Jabba had tired of her and ordered her killed.

Thinking of Leia and the other dancing girls made her mind flash to Oola. If only the poor little Twi’lek girl had taken her advice, then she too would have lived to see this day—and she too would have been free! Yarna hadn’t known Oola well, but she’d liked the girl… even if she had been foolish enough to ignore Yarna’s counsel on how to stay alive.

It had only been a few days since Oola had been fed to the monster residing beneath the throne room now it was dead, as well, slain by the young warrior who called himself a Jedi. Yarna, watching from above, had barely been able to conceal her vengeful glee. The Askajian dancer had hated the ugly beast with a fierce passion ever since it had devoured her mate, Nautag. Their whole family had been captured in a slaver raid, and they’d been brought to Tatooine as part of a shipment for Jabba’s inspection. The slavers had marched their merchandise into this very throne room, and invited the Hutt to take his pick of their wares.

Then, in a moment that still haunted Yarna’s dreams, Nautag had stepped forward and cursed the Bloated One, defying Jabba and declaring that he and his mate and their cublings would never be slaves… never! And then… Jabba had laughed, that deadly “ho, ho, ho” that always chilled Yarna’s hearts. Jabba laughed… and sprang the trapdoor, and Nautag fell.

Her mate had fought bravely, but he’d only lasted a few minutes.

The rancor’s triumphant roar as he’d torn her mate in half echoed in the Askajian dancer’s ears…

Yarna started, abruptly recalled to the here and now by a shrill, unmistakably feminine scream. The chaos had begun.

I have to get out of here, she thought, remembering the small cache of pilfered valuables she’d been collecting ever since she’d been brought here. She’d need them when she reached Mos Eisley, and her cublings.

Prefect Talmont’s auctioneers would be eager to sell, but they’d expect at least a hundred apiece…

Mentally, she tallied up the value of her little hoard. Do I have enough? Probably. Just barely.

She couldn’t stay here, not now. She wouldn’t last a full day, she knew it. Not long ago, she had seen the face of the Death that was haunting Jabba’s palace, and she knew that he would never let her live to tell what she had seen. Only luck had saved her yesterday.

If Ortugg hadn’t come looking for her…

And then they’d found the kitchen boy. Yarna was the only one who understood the significance of the small drops of blood crusted in the victim’s nostrils.

She knew how the lad had met his death… and she had no desire to share his fate. Since that moment, she’d been careful never to be alone, even taking one of the servants when she visited the bathhouse and lavatory.

“Mistress…” someone said, hesitantly, and Yarna turned to see Doallyn still standing beside her. His features were hidden, but there was no mistaking his tense, urgent bearing.

“Yes?” The Askajian strove to keep the impatience she felt from reaching her voice. Nobody must know that she intended to escape, or she’d be stopped.

“I was wondering if you could help me. You’re in charge of the cleaning… you know where Jabba keeps… kept things. Have you ever seen a supply of these?” With quick fingers, the guard detached a small, cylindrical cartridge from the side of his breathing helmet and held it out for her inspection.

Yarna had seen a box of small gas cartridges like that, concealed behind a panel in Jabba’s personal quarters. She looked curiously at Doallyn.

“What is it?”

“A trace-breather cartridge. I can breathe Tatooine’s air for short periods of time, but if I don’t have minuscule amounts of hydron-three added to my air intake, I will die.” The guard glanced over his shoulder apprehensively. “Jabba only doled out one day’s supply at a time… his way of ensuring my loyalty.