Both of the Q’nithian’s feathered brows rose. “That’s the message? That’s it?” The wings lifted and fell in a rudimentary shrug. “Seems to me … that you’re spending an awful lot of credits … on some odd kind of hoax.” The Q’nithian studied Den-gar through the lens. “Not
that anyone is going to believe it, anyway. Everybody knows … that Boba Fett got eaten by the Sarlacc. Some of Jabba the Hutt’s ex-employees … came right here into the cantina … and told all about it.”
“Good for them. I hope somebody bought ‘em a drink.”
“You appear to be … a serious person. And you’re paying … serious credits.” The eye behind the magnifying lens blinked. “Are you telling me … that the renowned Boba Fett is alive?”
“That’s none of your business,” said Dengar. “I’m just paying you to get the message to where it needs to go.”
“As you wish,” replied the Q’nithian. “And just where is that?”
“The planet Kuat. I want Kuat of Kuat to receive it.”
“Well, well.” The Q’nithian’s feathers rustled as he shifted position on the seat opposite Dengar. “Now, that is interesting. What makes you think a creature as important as the CEO of Kuat Drive Yards … would be interested … in hearing something like that? Whether it’s true or not.”
“I told you already.” Dengar spoke between gritted teeth. He was about ready to reach over and crush the magnifying lens in his fist. “That’s not your business.”
“Ah. But I think … it is.” The beak opened in a crude simulation of a humanoid smile. “We are something like partners now … you and I. If Boba Fett is alive … there are others who would be interested in knowing that … rather intriguing fact.”
Dengar glared at the Q’nithian. “When Santhananan ran this business, he knew that his customers weren’t just buying a message being transmitted. They were also buying him keeping his mouth shut.”
“You’re not dealing … with Santhananan now.” The bright gaze behind the magnifying lens was unperturbed. “You’re dealing with me. And my backers; I’m not a completely independent agent the way Santhananan was … but then, that may be why he’s dead and I’m not. Let’s just say … that I have certain additional expenses … that I need to cover.” The tip of the lens pointed toward Dengar. “For which you should be grateful.”
“Yeah, I’m grateful, all right.” Dengar shook his head in disgust. That was the problem with doing business in Mos Eisley; there were always payoffs that had to be made,
bribes
in either the form of
credits
or information. And disregarding what he was holding back for the on-delivery payment for the message, he was effectively tapped out of credits. That left only one thing to barter. “You want to know why Kuat would be interested? I’ll tell you. It’s because he just made one hell of an effort to make sure that Boba Fett was dead. Did word of that bombing raid out on the Dune Sea reach here?”
“Of course it did,” said the Q’nithian. “The seismic shocks had structural beams cracking … all over Mos Eisley. Really-the Imperial Navy cannot engage in a routine practice operation such as that … and not have sentient creatures notice it.”
“It wasn’t the Imperial Navy. It was a private operation.”
“Oh? And what proof do you have of that?”
Dengar reached inside his jacket, past the drawstring pouch with the rest of the credits and to the larger, heavier object he’d found when digging up the damaged swoop. Back there, he’d brushed the sand off the device, a dully gleaming sphere that had filled his hand with its weight and potentiality, and had read the words and serial numbers incised upon its thick, armored shell. Reading those words, and realizing what they meant, had changed all his plans in an instant; they were why he was here in the Mos Eisley cantina, talking to a message expediter like this Q’nithian. That hadn’t been part of Boba Fett’s plans for this little errand into the spaceport. Dengar was operating on his own now.
He handed the sphere, with its two off-enter cy lindrical protrusions, to the Q’nithian. “Take a look.”
The sphere was cradled in the taloned hand before the Q’nithian realized what it was. He almost dropped it, then his twin claws gripped it desperately tighter and kept it from bouncing on the tabletop. A dismayed, wordless