Skywalker's Legacy, page 52
Chapter Ten
Brenna found the cantina without much difficulty. She looked at it from the outside for a moment---nothing much, just your basic hole-in-the-ground. Like all the others on Tatooine, it was partly below ground to take advantage of whatever natural cooling it could.
She descended the steps.
It was dim inside, but not completely dark, thanks to the flashy, garish lighting arrangement. She was aware of The Fear clawing at her, but it didn't overtake her. Fortunately, on Tatooine, places like this did a good portion of their business during the day, when freightors and pilots were looking for a way to beat the heat of Tatooine's twin suns or arrange shipping contracts. It was hard to imagine that her father had ever gone into a place like this, but somehow, at this moment, it felt natural for Brenna to be here.
Coming in from the bright suns outside, it was hard to see just who was inside. On this side of the bar, there were several clusters of patrons, but she could make out only three who were alone. One was sitting alone at a booth. Brenna studied him casually. No, too old. The two others were sitting at the bar. One turned slightly, and she was able to see his face. Humanoid, but not what she was looking for. That left the third one sitting at the bar, facing away from her. She couldn't see his face, but from what little she could see, the description fit. She walked towards the bar.
As she approached a couple of tables filled with freightors wearing identical uniforms and insignias with the same ship's marking, several of them whistled. Brenna favored them with a brief smile as she started to pass between the tables. One of them, a humanoid with protruding brow-ridges, reached out and grabbed her arm. "How 'bout it, Missy? You an' me?"
Brenna turned to the freightor and smiled again. "Sorry, friend, it's not for sale." She started forward again, but the humanoid didn't release his hold. "I said, it's not for sale." She jerked her wrist free and turned away.
The freightor grabbed her arm again. "I never said I was buyin'," he leered, pulling her back towards him. "In fact, I was thinkin' you should give it to me for free."
The man apparently couldn't take 'no' for an answer. Brenna brought the edge of her free hand down in a hard chop on the man's arm. He screamed and let go, his arm bent at a funny angle, and Brenna turned to the bar once again.
The freightor's mates, about half a dozen of them, human and humanoid mixture, stood up and blocked her way.
Brenna sighed. She could wait outside for Rupert to emerge, and avoid a fight. As a general rule, she disliked fighting. "I don't suppose I wanted a drink that badly," she said. "I'll come back after the place has been fumigated." She turned to leave, but one of the freightors grabbed her right wrist again. She started to deliver another side-hand chop, but her left wrist was grabbed from the other side by one of the humanoids.
It was not exactly fair odds, but the freightors didn't know it yet. Even her father couldn't object to her using the Force in a situation like this. Brenna was just about to summon it when a hand fell on one of her captor's wrists. It belonged to someone who had come up from behind her, from somewhere inside the cantina. Brenna turned and saw that the 'someone' was a pleasant-looking young man with dark hair and dark eyes. He seemed to fit Lucy's description of Rupert, but this was not exactly the time to ask. She wondered how she had missed him earlier.
He was nice looking, though.
"The lady," he said, "does not appear to be interested."
Brenna glanced towards the other man who might be Rupert, the one at the bar. He seemed to be watching the scene with interest, but made no move to intervene.
Brenna's wannabe rescuer seemed to know about pressure points, because he squeezed, and the freightor's hand opened up to release Brenna's arm. Brenna pulled the other one free from the humanoid.
"You'd better get out of here, Miss," the man said, not taking his eyes off the freightors, "and send for the authorities."
"What, and miss all the fun?" Brenna asked. "Besides, this is Mos Eisley. There are no authorities."
The first swing came from the freightor whose wrist the young man had forced open. It was aimed at the young man's face. He ducked it and returned a blow to the freightors stomach, then whirled to face the four other freightors who tried to rush him simultaneously.
Brenna could have sworn she heard him growling.
One other freightor came towards her. She dispatched him with a knee to the groin, then turned to see how her temporary partner was faring.
One-on-one, he could probably have held his own, but four-on-one was a bit much for him. He was fighting like an animal, more with instinct than with brains. Nevertheless, he had had managed to knock one freightor down before he was caught and held by two others, and a third was pulling back for a punch. Brenna concentrated on the last one, and the man's fist stopped in mid-delivery, then opened up and flew to his throat as he felt his windpipe being restricted. She took care of another by breaking the freightor's collarbone with the side of her hand. That left two: the one holding onto the other side of her rescuer, and the one on the floor who was just getting up.
"No blasters!" the bartender yelled. "No blasters!"
The shout alerted Brenna, and she turned to see the freightor whose collarbone she had fractured raise a blaster in the direction of the young man. She concentrated, and the freightor dropped the weapon as if it were red-hot. She followed up by grabbing one of the half-empty glasses sitting on the table and tossing the contents into the freightor's eyes. He howled and covered his eyes with his hands. The first freightor, the humanoid whose arm she had broken, was also reaching for his weapon with his good hand, although a little awkwardly. Brenna smiled and picked up the blaster his partner had just dropped and pointed it at him. The humanoid dropped his.
Brenna glanced back and saw that her rescuer had somehow taken care of the two freightors that had been left; there were now two bloodied lumps on the floor, which Brenna was gratified to note were still breathing. The young man quickly wiped the blood off his nose with the back of his hand and glanced around to see if there were any more to be taken care of. He was still making a snarling noise deep in his throat when he saw the last one standing, the one Brenna had her gun trained on, the one who had started this whole mess. The young man turned his attention to the freightor with fire in his eyes, and a snarl curling his mouth, and there was no doubt but that he intended to do unnecessary bodily harm to the freightor. "Oh, Hell," Brenna murmured. She twisted the dial on the gun to 'stun,' and shot the spacer.
For a moment, her partner-in-fight seemed confused at having his foe suddenly collapse. Then he turned to Brenna, saw the gun, and a second later his eyes cleared. "Yes, that's better," he said, but not so much to Brenna as to himself. Brenna bent to pick up the blasters that had been dropped in fight, and quickly searched the moaning and unconscious forms on the floor until she had collected six blasters. One of the humanoid freightors had a pilot's insignia on his collar. On a mischievous impulse, Brenna pulled it off and pocketed it. Then she took off her desert robe, laid the blasters in it, and wrapped them up.
"Out!" the bartender said. "Get out!"
Her rescuer used his hand to wipe at his bloodied nose again, then wiped his bloodied hand on his pants before taking Brenna's arm lightly. "Come on," he said.
Brenna didn't argue, and they went out of the cantina into the white-bright street.
"Are you all right, Miss?" he asked, once they were outside.
Brenna smiled. "I'm fine. I'm even a few blasters richer for the experience. Want one?"
"No, thanks," said the young man. He glanced backwards at the cantina, then took Brenna's arm again and walked with her down the street. "This is not exactly the safest place for a young woman to go alone."
"I can handle myself." She looked at the young man's collar. No pilot's insignia. Damn.
"I wouldn't bet on it against a pack like that mob," he replied. "Where do you live? I'll walk you home."
Brenna smiled again. "There's no 'home' to go to. But thank you for the offer."
He stopped and looked at her. "You don't have any place to stay?"
"Oh, I didn't say that. I just said that I didn't have a home any more. Not that I miss the one I did have all that much." She glanced back towards the cantina then looked back at the young man. Insignia or no insignia, she was still on a mission. There was still a chance that this was Rupert. If he was Rupert, they'd be first-cousins, which would be a damn shame. He was rather attractive. And his willingness to come to her rescue was definitely a point in his favor. "What's your name?"
Rupert hesitated. Knowing that the explosion on the Falcon had been sabotage made it dangerous to use his own name, not just for himself, but for anyone he came in contact with. He needed a name that Lucy or his mother's friend would recognize if they heard it. "Lando," he said.
Brenna sighed. Rupert had to have been the one who was sitting at the bar, then. She had seen him leave during the fight. She'd just have to come back later. In the meantime, she still had this one to occupy her. It wasn't a bad trade.
He studied her expression. "You look disappointed."
She laughed. "Actually I'm not. It's nice to meet you, Lando."
"And you?" the young man asked. "What's your name?"
Brenna made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I wish I knew how to answer that. I'm not even sure myself these days." She quickly changed the subject. "You know, I still didn't get that drink I wanted. Care to join me?"
"I'm...not partial to toxins," he said.
"Well, around here the water's probably more toxic than the certified toxins. But you can order whatever you want. At least let me say thank you for saving my life." Even if it didn't need saving. But here on Tatooine, finding someone even willing to try was rare.
Rupert hesitated. If Skywalker or Chewbacca came and he wasn't there, he figured they'd either wait for him, or try again tomorrow. There was something about this girl, something he liked about her very much, and not just her scent, which smelled faintly of soap and sand and something else he couldn't identify. "Only if we can find some place a little quieter than the one we just left," he said finally.
"In Mos Eisley? Not likely," Brenna answered.
They found one which, if not quieter, at least had a private table in a corner, and Rupert ordered a large glass of trisilade. Brenna was surprised.
"It may not be officially on the toxins list," she told him, "but it's got enough chemicals in it to preserve a body for a few millenia."
The corners of Ruperts mouth turned up slightly. "It's not the preservatives that concern me," he said.
"What then?"
"I don't like to lose control."
Brenna shrugged. "You're unique, then. Most people try every means they can to lose it." She ordered a fruit juice for herself.
"What do you do?" Rupert asked. It was all he could think of to say.
"I'm a mechanic."
"Which ship?"
"Freelance," Brenna told him. "If it's broken, I can fix it. What about you?"
"I'm a pilot," Rupert said, wondering how much he should tell her.
"You don't wear insignias."
"Neither do you."
Brenna showed him the underside of her collar, where she had pinned many of the pilot's insignias she had won.
Rupert stared. "Those are pilot's insignias."
"Yeah, well, I told you, I'm freelance. These, I won. Racing on ships that I repaired myself, I might add. Mostly old clap-trap skyhoppers that belong to somebody else. I sometimes repair a ship at no charge for the chance to race it, but the owner has to buy the parts that I specify. Now. What about you? Where's your insignias?"
Rupert tried to think of a witty response. He put on his most stuck-up senatorial imitation and said, "I don't feel the need for such ostentatious display to verify my self-worth."
Brenna stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. After a moment, she wiped her eyes and said, "Let me guess. You lost them to someone like me, right?"
"Not exactly like you, no."
"So what brings you to Mos Eisley?"
"My...ship's in need of some repairs at the moment."
"Great," Brenna said. "Sounds like you can use someone with my talents."
"I'd...rather handle it myself, thanks."
"You sure? I'm pretty good."
"I'm sure." Rupert studied her for a minute, then said, "I still don't know what to call you."
"Call me whatever you want, but call me." She smiled.
Rupert smiled in response but didn't press. He wasn't exactly being honest about his own name. "What were you doing at that cantina?"
"Meeting someone."
The arrival of the 'droid-waiter with the drinks gave Rupert an excuse not to look at her. He looked down at his trisilade and sipped it. "Lucky someone," he said.
"Actually, I've never met him before. But he may be my ticket off this lump of sand. Tatooine is not exactly the hot-spot of the galaxy."
"Where are you trying to go?"
"I don't know. Someplace...else. What about you?"
Rupert's mouth twitched slightly. "I'm looking for a person, not a place."
"Oh? Who?"
"Me."
Brenna smiled at that. "Yeah. I guess I can understand that."
After a while, Brenna excused herself on the pretense that she had to make new arrangements to meet her appointment and went back to the cantina. Rupert insisted on accompanying her, and she agreed so long as he promised to wait by the door. On the way, she used Lucy's credits to purchase a sack-pack for the blasters.
Before going into the cantina, Brenna tucked one of the blasters into her belt, and threw her robe on over it. Then she entered cautiously, checking to see if the freightors were still around, but they were gone.
Unfortunately, her Rupert-candidate hadn't come back, either.
She sighed, and went up to the bartender. He was not happy to see her, but he relented when she handed him a fist full of Lucy's credits. "That's for the mess earlier," she said. Then she dangled another high denomination credit in front of him but snatched it back when he reached for it. "That's for services to be rendered."
"What sort of services?" the bartender asked dubiously.
Brenna held her other palm out to show the pilot's insignia Lucy had given her, which she'd kept in her pocket. "Take a good look at this. It's got a bird and a star, see? When you see its mate, tell the wearer I'll be here every day an hour before dusk. When I meet whoever has the matching insignia, you'll get another one of these." She held the credit out again, and this time, didn't snatch it back when the bartender took it. She put the insignia back into her pocket.
She left again, having congratulated herself on arranging things so she wouldn't have to spend every minute of every day hanging around space-garbage like the freightors she and Lando had dealt with earlier, and went back to the door where Rupert was waiting. "Well, that's done," she smiled. "Want to get something to eat?"
Rupert took one last glance around the cantina to make sure he hadn't missed anything, but there was no one there who could have matched Chewbacca's description of his uncle Luke, so he looked back at Brenna. "Sure," he said.