Tales From Jabbas Palace (Kevin Anderson) (17 page)

Could I please come along with you?”

The Hutt rumbled something and gestured to one of the guards, who in turn prodded the C-3PO protocol droid. “Oh—ah—the great Jabba the Hutt says no,” the droid translated distractedly, not even looking at Mara. She followed his gaze to one of the skiffs Just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of Skywalker, standing proud and straight, as the skiff took off through the hangar door.

And he was getting away. “Please, Your Exaltedness?”

Mara begged, putting all the strength of her most powerful Force mind-control technique behind the words.

She might as well have spat at a stone wall. The Hutt chuckled, his eyes swiveling to face her, and spoke again. “The greatJabba the Hutt says you are to leave him now,” the protocol droid said, still gazing forlornly after the departing skiff. “He says a landspeeder will be placed at your disposal, and that you are not to be seen here again.”

For a moment Mara locked eyes with the Hutt, trying futilely to read that impenetrable alien mind. Did he have some idea of who she was, perhaps even of why she was here? Or did he merely suspect, as Melina had, that she was part of a conspiracy and was hoping she would lead him to his enemies?

It didn’t really matter. She couldn’t catch Skywalker’s skiff with a landspeeder, and she couldn’t fight all of them. One way or the other, it was time to go.. “I thank Your Exaltedness for his kindness,” she said, matching ambiguity with ambiguity. “May you live forever.”

So you have failed, the Emperor’s thoughts said, the chill of his anger sending a shiver through Mara despite the blazing heat of Tatooine’s twin suns. I am disappointed, Mara Jade. Disappointed, indeed.

I know, Mara answered, the bitter taste of defeat mixing with the grit of sand in her mouth as the landspeeder skimmed across the desert. But perhaps Jabba can deal.with him.

His anger had made her shiver. His contempt now made her ache.

Do you seriously believe that?

She sighed. No.

For a moment he was silent, and Mara could sense him reaching deeply into the Force. Searching into the future… Skywalker is of no immediate importance, he said at last. Continue on to Svivren.

We will discuss this when you return.

The image and sense faded, and he was gone.

With a sigh, Mara returned her full attention to the desert landscape before her. So she had failed. Her first true failure since the Emperor had designated her his Hand. It hurt. Terribly.

But it was all right. She would make it all right.

Skywalker might escape now, but he couldn’t avoid her forever.

Eventually, somewhere, she’d catch up with him.

And then he would die.

And Then There Were Some: The Gamorrean Guard’s Tale

by William F. Wu

GartOgg the Gamorrean guard was waddling through the dimly lit corridor of Jabba the Hutt’s palace toward the servants’ quarters on his assigned patrol when he heard a disturbance behind him. The main entry slammed shut and chains rattled; he paused, snorting thoughtfully. At the sound of a Wookiee roaring in protest, Gartogg hurried back toward the main entry, anxious to prove his worth to Ortugg, leader of the nine porcine Gamorreans working here for Jabba.

“Ortugg,” he gurgled. “Wait.”

The Wookiee roared again as a bounty hunter pulled his prisoner by his chains down the steps to the main audience chamber. Gartogg lumbered after them, hoping to get in a good shove or two, but he was too late—as usual. Ortugg and Rogua, the other Gamorrean posted at the main entry with the chief, followed the bounty hunter and the Wookiee.

“Prisoner?” Gartogg came up behind Ortugg.

“Shut up,” said Ortugg.

“Yeah, shut up.” Rogua shouldered Gartogg back out of the way.

Gartogg said nothing as he stumbled backward. Or-tugg always treated him this way, but Gartogg knew he deserved it. He had never really earned his chief’s respect. Members of other species here always joked and complained about how stupid the Gamorreans were, but Gartogg didn’t believe that; to him, Ortugg, Rogua, and their other fellow guards seemed as intelligent as the rest of Jabba’s followers.

Jabba dickered with the bounty hunter as the crowd watched carefully.

“Boba Fett?” Gartogg asked, trying to shove between Ortugg and Rogua again.

“Of course not,” Ortugg muttered impatiently.

“Boba Fett’s over there.” He pointed through the crowd with a thick green arm. “This bounty hunter’s called Boushh.”

“And the others call us stupid.” Rogua shook his head.

Jabba spoke to the visiting bounty hunter.

“He agrees!” one of the new droids interpreting for Jabba announced from Jabba’s dais.

Jabba signaled for the Gamorrean guards to haul the Wookiee down to the dungeon.

Ortugg and Rogua stepped forward to take the Wookiee’s chains.

“Me, too.” Gartogg lumbered after them.

Ortugg put a big green hand on his chest. “No. Go back to your patrol.”

“Sail barge,” Gartogg grunted frantically.

“What?”

“Sail barge?”

“Speak plainly, you idiot. What about it?”

“Want to go. Next time.”

“The rest of us Gamorreans speak in complete sentences!”

Rogua whacked Gartogg on the side of his head with his open hand.

“Why can’t you?”

Gartogg blinked dizzily from the blow, snuffling.

“Huh?”

“You want to be assigned to the sail barge next time Jabba takes it out?” Ortugg demanded.

Gartogg snorted in the affirmative.

Rogua snorted contemptuously.

“You must earn that kind of assignment,” said Or-tugg.

“You never have.”

“Audience chamber?” Gartogg asked hopefully.

“No! Return to your patrol!”

Stung, Gartogg watched in disappointment as Or-tugg and Rogua grabbed the Wookiee’s chains and dragged him away to the dungeon. As the band struck up their, music, and the crowd in the audience chamber resumed their party, Gartogg plodded away. He never had any fun.

As he wandered the dark, empty corridors alone as usual, he snuffled and muttered to himself. Ortugg always ordered him to sentry duty at places where nothing ever happened. When off duty, Gartogg wandered Jabba’s palace in the hope of finding something important to do. Even his fellow Gamorrean guards didn’t want his company. Every time they had a special assignment, like protecting Jabba the Hutt on an excursion in his sail barge, they left Gartogg behind.

Footsteps up ahead told him someone was coming this way Eagerly hoping for company, he looked up and saw two familiar humans, a pale, slender, brown-haired woman and a stocky man with-black hair and slanted eyes.

Gartogg had heard they were a couple of thieves hiding out with Jabba.

“Good evening,” he snorted enthusiastically.

Both humans flinched in surprise and stared at him.

“What did he say?” Quivering, the woman whispered without taking her eyes off Gartogg. “Ah Kwan, did you understand him?”

“Sorry, Quella,” said Ah Kwan. “I can’t tell what language that was.”

“Good evening,” Gartogg snorted, more loudly.

Both humans drew back.

“What do you want?” Ah Kwan rested one hand on the handle of a long knife at his belt. “What did you say?”

“Good evening!” Gartogg roared in frustration, raising his clawed fists.

The man and woman whirled and ran up the hall; in a moment, they vanished around a corner.

Gartogg sighed. No one liked him. Alone, he trudged up the corridor.

It was always the same.

Earlier that day, as Gartogg had plodded alone through the shadowed, empty corridors of the palace, he kept the peace by his very presence.

After all, nearly everyone he met, even the other Gamorrean guards, hurried away when they saw him coming.

Gartogg heard a couple of loud footsteps, as though someone had tripped, echoing in the corridor leading down to the servants’ quarters. He hurried to investigate, still longing for some special accomplishment he could show his fellows, a contribution that Ortugg would respect. Maybe then Ortugg would let him go the next time Jabba journeyed out on the sail barge.

As fast as his thick, muscular legs could move, Gartogg thumped down the corridor and turned a corner, hefting his ax optimistically.

He saw Porcellus, the human chef, kneeling over someone on the floor.

The chef was a very thin, jittery man with receding, dark blond hair; as usual, he wore his white chef’s uniform, perpetually smeared with all sorts of ingredients with interesting aromas.

Gartogg liked Porcellus. The chef always had plenty of food lying around the kitchen. All the Gamorrean guards went snorting and snuffling around there for snacks. Last week, Gartogg had found four of his fellow Gamorreans fighting in the kitchen over who could lick out the bowl from a dessert. Delighted to join in the fun, Gartogg had almost chopped off Porcellus’s head with his ax by accident, but the chef didn’t seem to hold it against him. He was a good fellow.

Now Porcellus knelt over Ak-Buz, the commander of Jabba’s sail barge.

Ak-Buz, a Weequay, lay motionless, sprawled on his back with his arms outstretched and his eyes staring vacantly.

This was Gartogg’s chance to think out the situation on his own.

He studied the scene. In his opinion, Ak-Buz did not look well.

“Hey!” Gartogg snorted. “What’s happened here?”

Porcellus leaped to his feet, quivering. “What?”

Gartogg walked up to Ak-Buz and frowned down at him. “He’s dead?”

“He isn’t dead,” Porcellus said quickly, his face shiny with sweat.

“He’s asleep. He’s resting. He said he was tired and he was going back to take a nap. He must have… he must have fallen asleep right here in the hall. “

Gartogg studied Ak-Buz’s unmoving face. Those staring eyes did not move. Gartogg snuffled thoughtfully.

“Looks dead.”

“Have you ever seen a Weequay sleep?”

“Uh… no.”

“Well, there you are.” Porcellus crouched and lifted Ak-Buz, tugging one of the commander’s arms around his shoulders. “Now I’m going to get him to his quarters–er—before he wakes up.”

Gartogg nodded. That would be good; Weequays shouldn’t sleep in the hallway. Someone could trip over him. “Want help?”

“Thank you,” the chef said, smiling. “I’m fine.”

Gartogg sighed. For a moment, he thought he had found something important, like a corpse, but he was mistaken. Now he had been left alone again, with nothing much to do.

Snorting in disappointment, he had plodded back upstairs.

Late that evening, Gartogg was wearily climbing the stairs up to the guest quarters when he heard a single set of footsteps behind him.

Hoping something horrible might happen so he could catch the guilty party, he stepped around a corner and waited in the shadows.

A moment later, a silhouette thrown against the far wall sauntered near.

The lanky figure stood tall, lean, and broad-nosed; he wore a jacket with a high’necked collar. Even Gartogg held his breath, trying not to snuffle unnecessarily.

Dannik Jerriko, an assassin, was the only one in the palace he feared except forJabba himself. Gartogg had never seen this killer in action, but he had heard all the rumors about how Jerriko conducted his business: he was a snot vampire, When the assassin had passed, Gartogg covered his upturned snout protectively with one hand and hurried in the other direction.

As Gartogg plodded along the corridors on his usual patrol, he worked his way through the back hallways and neared the main entry. He heard shouts from the direction of the kitchen and hesitated, wondering if he should go and look. Then he remembered that he liked going to the kitchen. He could always find a snack.

At first, Gartogg saw no one in the kitchen. He walked inside, pausing to pick up a handful of plastifoam to munch on. Then he saw someone in the receiving room.

Still crunching plastifoam, he moved forward. He stopped when he saw Ree-Yees, the three-eyed, goat-faced crook, kneeling by a shattered box.

Porcellus stood to one side, over Phlegmin, the kitchen boy.

Unlike Ak-Buz, Phlegmin lay in a tangle of arms and legs with his eyes closed.

“He sleeping?” Gartogg asked from the doorway.

“I didn’t do it!” Porcellus screamed.

Ree-Yees started in surprise, almost knocking himself over. His three eyes froze on Gartogg. Silvery-green goatgrass, smelling sweet, had been scattered on the floor from the broken box.

“Kitchen boy sleeping, huh?” Gartogg asked again.

“Uh…”

Gartogg blinked, waiting, and grunted encouragingly.

Suddenly Ree-Yees scrambled to his feet, knocking Porcellus aside, and spoke breathlessly. “You’re just in time! I found himMjust like this—down the hall—near the tunnel to Ephant Mon’s quarters!” His three eyes narrowed. “I brought him here try—to—to perform resus-suspiration!”

“Huh?”

“You know—emergency culinary resuspiration! The smell of food so—so– so ripe it can bring the dead back to life! An ancient art, one I learned from my great-uncle, Swee-beeps. We call it—er–garbage-sniff-ing of the last resort. But alas, I was too late.” His eyestalks drooped and he sighed.

Gartogg shuffled forward, bent his knees, and leaned forward slightly.

He wondered if the emergency culinary resuspiration would work belatedly, and still wake up the kitchen boy. When he sniffed, though; he didn’t smell any garbage. Maybe it was too late.

“So you see?” Ree-Yees said anxiously. “Someone must take over now.

Someone with authority. To investigate, put together clues, solve this crime. Jabba will be impressed—and grateful.”

“Kitchen boy murdered!” Suddenly understanding the problem, Gartogg bent down to grab one of Phlegmin’s ankles. He straightened and dangled the body up where he could see it clearly. Blood covered Phlegmin’s face.

Ree-Yees stared at Gartogg, not speaking.

Gartogg nodded and flung the body over his left shoulder.

Turning, he snorted thoughtfully and plodded back out through the kitchen, grabbing another handful of plastifoam with his other hand.

“Don’t forget!” Ree-Yees called out. “I found him near Ephant Mon’s quarters!”