“Even better than you think,” said Zuckuss. He shifted the blaster slightly away from Sma’Da’s head and squeezed the trigger. A coruscating bolt of energy shot out and blew away a section of the bar’s ceiling, charred fragments and hot sparks raining down on the upturned faces of the crowd. “This weapon’s live.”
Sma’Da had instinctively dived when the blaster bolt had scorched past the side of his head. His immense girth had toppled the table, sending a cascade of liquor and the remains of the banquet cascading across the floor. Crockery and crystal decanters shattered, the fragments gleaming like transparent teeth imbedded in the wetly gleaming disorder. A few of the bar’s patrons still looked stunned and disbelieving;
some
of
the sharper-witted ones had rushed for the exit and were now scrabbling to get past one another and up the narrow tunnel to the surface.
“Let’s go.” Zuckuss reached down with his free hand, grabbed Sma’Da’s trembling elbow, and pulled the gambler to his feet; he had to lean back to counterbalance Sma’Da’s greater weight. “There’s some creatures who are ready to pay a nice pile of credits for the privilege of having a talk with you. A long talk.” And probably not a pleasant one, judging from the panicked look on the other’s face and the fear-induced quivering that shook this mass like a small planet’s seismic activity.
The bar’s proprietor came rushing up, pushing his way past the remaining crowd. “What is the meaning of this?” Salla C’airam was nearly as agitated as the gambler caught in Zuckuss’s grip.”It’s an outrage? It’s impossible! It’s-“
“It’s business.” Zuckuss diverted the blaster’s aim for a moment, away from Sma’Da and toward C’airam. That was enough to stop him in his tracks. C’airam’s tentacles drew short and wrapped themselves tightly around his body. “You’ve already got a mess here.” Zuckuss used the blaster to point to the sodden, trampled-upon- and expensive-garbage on the floor. “You can either start cleaning it up … or you can join it. Your pick.”
C’airam’s floppy, seemingly boneless appendages settled lower, a sure sign in his species of wanting to avoid a violent confrontation. “I do not know,” he spoke with measured sulkiness, “how you managed to get a power source for your weapon into these premises. It’s strictly forbidden-“
“Sue me.”
“If any of my staff here were involved…” The gaze of the proprietor’s gelatinous-appearing eyes, nearly as large as Zuckuss’s, swept menacingly across the waiters and bartenders. “If I should discover any complicity, any treachery on their part…”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Zuckuss. He pushed the trembling mass of Sma’Da ahead of himself. “They’re off the hook.” He didn’t feel like sharing any of the credit for this job with nonbounty hunters; the little bit of action, the deep, warm feeling of empowerment that came with drawing a live weapon on a fat, blubbering piece of merchandise, had given his spirits a considerable lift. With the gambler’s quivering bulk ahead of him, Zuckuss stopped just beside the table at which his partner 4-LOM had remained sitting throughout all the commotion that had taken place. “Speaking of your staff”- Zuckuss turned, swiveling the muzzle of the blaster back toward C’airam- “you’ve got the usual service droids in your kitchen, don’t you?”
C’airam gave a puzzled nod.
“Fine. Go have one of your other staff pull the motivator out of one of ‘em. A standard FV50 unit will do nicely.” Zuckuss raised the weapon’s muzzle a little higher. “I suggest you have them hurry. I might not have the same resources of patience that you do.”
On hasty orders from C’airam, one of the bar staff scuttled back into the establishment’s kitchen and returned only seconds later with
a double-cylindrical object in his hands.
“Thanks.” Zuckuss took the motivator from him, and then shooed him away with a wave of the blaster. “Don’t move,” he warned Sma’Da-needlessly. The gambler, face now shiny with sweat, looked incapable of anything beyond involuntary respiration. Keeping the blaster in one hand, Zuckuss set the motivator down on the table, then swiftly-he had practiced this step before coming to C’airam’s bar-unlatched the access panel just
below the back of 4-LOM’s head unit. “This should do it…”
“Don’t forget the red feedback-loop clip.” Even without a working motivator inside the bounty hunter droid, 4-LOM retained enough low-level auxiliary power to maintain consciousness and interactive communications. “Make sure you’ve got that in-phase before you power up the major thoracic systems.”