Tales From Jabbas Palace (Kevin Anderson) PDF
Preview Tales From Jabbas Palace (Kevin Anderson)
Star Wars TALES FROM JABBA’S PALACE by Kevin J. Anderson TALES FROM JABBA’S PALACE BANTAM New York Toronto London Sydney Auckland To SUE ROSTONI who has been more helpful than any of Jabba’s minions could have ever been, offering suggestions, troubleshooting obstacles, and navigating me through a forest of details that would have given even a Hutt a headache! Acknowledgements Thanks go to Lucy Wilson for being so enthusiastic about the idea of anthologies in the first place, Tom Dupree for his efforts at Bantam Books, and Bill Smith at West End Games for providing the foundations for so, many of these stories. And, as always, Rebecca Moesta Anderson, for putting up with me at times when she probably should have just fed me to the rancor. October 1994 Contents Introduction A Boy and His Monster: The Rancor Keeper’s Tale by Kevin J. Anderson Taster’s Choice: The Tale of Jabba’s Chef by Barbara Hambly That’s Entertainment: The Tale of Salacious Crumb by Esther M. Friesner A Time to Mourn, a Time to Dance: Oola’s Tale by Kathy Tyers Let Us Prey: The Whiphid’s Tale by Marina Fitch and Mark Budz Sleight of Hand: The Tale of Mara Jade by Timothy Zahn And Then There Were Some: The Gamorrean Guard’s Tale by William F. Wu Old Friends: Ephant Mon’s Tale by Kenneth C. Pint Goatgrass: The Tale of Ree-Yees by Deborah Wheeler And the Band Played On: The Band’s Tale by John Gregory Betancourt Of the Day’s Annoyances: Bib Fortuna’s Tale by M. Shayne Bell The Great God Quay: The Tale of Barada and the Weequays by George ALec Effinger Bad Feeling: The Tale of EV-9D9 by Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stephens A Free Quarren in the Palace: Tessek’s Tale by Dave Wolverton Tongue-tied: Bubo’s Tale by Daryl F. Mallett Out of the Closet: The Assassin’s Tale by Jennifer Roberson Shaara and the Sarlacc: The Skiff Guard’s Tale by Dan’l Danehy-Oakes A Barve Like That: The Tale of Boba Fett by J. D. Montgomery Skin Deep: The Fat Dancer’s Tale by A. C. Crispin Epilogue: Whatever Became Of…? About the Authors “If I told you half the things I’ve heard about this Jabba the Hutt, you’d probably short-circuit!” Introduction Jabba the Hutt has many enemies. Called a “vile gangster” by some, Jabba’s criminally gained wealth and power has placed him in a dangerous position in his guarded citadel under the twin suns of Tatooine. Though few openly covet Jabba’s wealth, this does not stop them from plotting in secret. The Lady Valarian, the female Whiphid owner of the Lucky Despot hotel and casino, is Jabba’s chief rival. Hairy and tusk-faced, with a voracious appetite (some say literally) for males of her species, she keeps a low profile, planning in the long term. Prefect Eugene Talmont, stationed in Mos Eisley is the Imperial in charge of the Tatooine garrison. He hates his backwater assignment and hopes that by eliminating Jabba he can find a way out of the arid hole where he has landed. Then there is the mysterious order of B’omarr monks, who originally built the enormous citadel for their solitude in the desert depths. The monks, wrapped in their ethereal concerns, seem oblivious to the fact that Jabba—and many other bandits in the decades before him—usurped their stone fortress. But no one can know what the quiet, uncommunicative monks are really thinking. Jabba is always on his guard, but little does he suspect that his greatest nemesis will come in the form of a single Jedi Knight, who walks in alone from the desert… Note: For the reader’s convenience, all alien languages have been translated into Basic. A Boy and His Monster: The Rancor Keeper’s Tale by Kevin J. Anderson Special Cargo The unidentified ship tore through the brittle atmosphere of Tatooine with a finger of fire, trailing greasy black smoke. Waves of sound, sonic booms from the crashing ship, made an avalanche through the air. Below, the Jawa sandcrawler continued its endless path across the Dune Sea looking for forgotten scraps of abandoned metal, delicious salvage. By sheer luck the crawler stood only two dunes away when the plummeting ship struck the ocean of blind sand and spewed a funnel of dust that glittered like mica chips under the blazing twin suns. The pilot of the corroded sandcrawler, Tteel Kkak, stared out the narrow window high up on the bridge deck, unable to believe the incredible fortune the luck of his ancestors had dropped in his lap. His crawler’s year-long trek across the wastelands had been practically fruitless, and he would have been ashamed to return to his clan’s hidden fortress beating so little—but now a virgin ship lay within reach, unclaimed by other scavenging clans and unsullied by time. The ancient reactor engines shoved the immense sandcrawler into motion. It ground over the shifting sands seeking purchase with wide treads in a straight line for the smoldering wreckage. The ship lay in a crater of loose, blasted sands that might have cushioned the impact; some of the cargo should still be intact. The armored chambers and parts of the computer core might be salvageable. Or so Tteel Kkak hoped. Jawas swarmed out of the sandcrawler toward the wreckage: the entire scavenging arm of the Kkak clan, little hooded creatures surrounded by a rank musty scent, chattering as they claimed their prize. The front group of Jawas carried chemical fire-suppressant packs, which they sprayed on the hissing hot metal to minimize further damage. They did not look to see if anyone had survived the crash, because that was not their primary concern. In fact, living passengers or crew would only complicate the Kkak salvage claim. Those injured in such wrecks rarely survived Jawa first aid. The Jawas used up two battery packs in the sputtering old laser cutters to cut their way through the hull into the armored bridge compartment. Dim light from emergency systems and the still-flickering glow from internally burning electronics components lit the abandoned stations. Harsh chemical fumes and curling gray-blue smoke struck Tteel Kkak’s sensitive nostrils—but underneath he could detect an undertone of metallic fear, the copper smells of blood splashed and burned. He knew he would find no one alive in the captain’s chair. What he was not prepared for, though, was to find no bodies at all—just dark, wet arcs of sprayed blood, melted starbursts from blaster fire on the walls. The other Jawas opened the main bulkhead doors and flowed in, chittering. Scout teams poured into the remains of the ship, spraying down smoldering sections and squirming through collapsed walls to find other treasures in the cargo hold. Tteel Kkak directed one of the younger clan members to demonstrate his prowess by slicing into the main bridge computer to download the registry number and owner of the vessel, just in case there might be some large bounty, a reward for simply reporting the whereabouts of the hulk—after they had stripped it of all valuables, of course. The young clan member Tteel Kkak’s third sister’s fifth son by her primary mate pulled out a scuffed, flatscreen reader with stripped raw wires dangling from the end. He used his rodentlike claws to peel back the access plate of the bridge panel and squealed as sparks flew when he connected the wires. He jammed the leads into other pickups, tapped into the dying energy in the ship’s backup batteries, and called up the information in flickering green phosphor letters across the screen. The captain of the ship had been a humanoid named Grizzid, and Tteel Kkak’s fantasies diminished. He had hoped for some well-known dignitary or VIP passenger. This Grizzid person had departed from the Tarsunt system, another place Tteel Kkak had never heard of. Dismissing that, he directed his young assistant to find more important information—the cargo manifest. When new letters scrolled up on the screen, the device flickered, and his
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