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Leaving the booth, Solo flipped the bartender a handful of coins as he and
Chewbacca moved off. "Sorry for the mess. I always was a rotten host."
Heavily armed troopers hurried down the narrow alleyway, glowering from time
to time at the darkly clad beings who hawked exotic goods from dingy little stalls.
Here in Mos Eisley's inner regions the walls were high and narrow, turning the
passageway into tunnel.
No one stared angrily back at them; no one shouted imprecations or mouthed
obscenities. These armored figures moved with the authority of the Empire, their
sidearms boldly displayed and activated. All around, men, not-men, and
mechanicals were crouched in waste-littered doorways. Among accumulations of
garbage and filth they exchanged information and concluded transactions of dubious
legality.
A hot wind moaned down the alleyway and the troopers closed their formation.
Their precision and order masked a fear of such claustrophobic quarters.
One paused to check a door, only to discover it tightly locked and bolted. A
sand-encrusted human shambling nearby visited a half-mad harangue on the trooper.
Shrugging inwardly, the soldier gave the crazy human a sour eye before moving on
down the alley to join up again with his fellow.
As soon as they were well past, the door slid open a crack and a metallic face
peered out. Below Threepio's leg, a squat barrel shape struggled for a view.
"I would rather have gone with Master Luke than stay here with you. Still,
orders are orders. I don't quite know what all the trouble is about, but I'm sure it
must be your fault."
Artoo responded with a near impossibility: a sniggering beep.
"You watch your language," the taller machine warned.
The number of old landspeeders and other powered transports in the dusty lot
which were still capable of motion could be counted on the fingers of one hand. But
that was not the concern of Luke and Ben as they stood bargaining with the tall,
slightly insectoid owner. They were here not to buy, but to sell.
None of the passersby favored the hagglers with so much as a curious glance.
Similar transactions which were no more pleas or threats to be exchanged. As
though doling out vials of his own blood, the owner finalized the sale by passing a
number of small metal shapes to Luke. Luke and the insectoid traded formal good-
byes and then they parted, each convinced he had gotten the better of the deal.
"He says it's the best he can do. Since the XP-38 came out, they just aren't in
demand anymore," Luke sighed.
"Don't look so discouraged," Kenobi chided him. "What you've obtained will
be sufficient. I've enough to cover the rest."
Leaving the main street, they turned down an alleyway and walked past a small
robot herding along a clutch of creatures resembling attenuated anteaters. As they
rounded the corner Luke strained for a forlorn glimpse of the old landspeeder—his
last link with his former life. Then there was no more time for looking back.
Something short and dark that might have been human underneath all its
wrappings stepped out of the shadows as they moved away from the corner. It
continued staring after them as they disappeared down a bend in the walkway.
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