Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(18)

“They are still weapons,” Vader said. “If not against outsiders, then perhaps against their own kind.”

“That is often the case with ceremonial weapons.”

There were three other speeder bikes and two landspeeders drawn up in front of the cantina when they arrived. Other Black Spire residents were converging on the building on foot. Thrawn and Vader parked their bikes beside the others and dismounted. “Perhaps our timing was…inconvenient,” Vader said.

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Yet a large group also increases the probability that one or more of those responsible for the Emperor’s disturbance will be present. Their reaction to our arrival may prove useful.”

“It may,” Vader said. “I will watch. You will speak.”

The door is tall and wide, designed to accommodate large beings or cargo pods. The texture is subtly different from the rest of the building, and appears newer. Vader pushes one door open with his left hand, leaving his right hand free. He strides in and takes a long step to the side, allowing entry behind him. The interior is dimly lit, the windows mostly closed and covered, with only small gaps allowing in light.

The cantina was well populated, with approximately two-thirds of its tables full. Most of the patrons had turned toward the door as Vader entered, and were now gazing at the newcomers.

With so many faces it would be impossible to fully observe the initial reactions of all of them. Fortunately, only one group was truly important.

Two adjacent tables are attended by five Darshi each. Four of the ten exhibit enlarged eyes. Six exhibit enlarged eyes and suddenly stiffened spines. One grasps at a second’s arm. A third leans closer to a fourth, speaking inaudibly. Still, it is impossible to discern whether they are reacting to Vader or the unexpected appearance of a Chiss.

Thrawn strode past Vader toward the bar and the large human working behind it. The patrons along the route, none of them Darshi, return to their plates and cups, their initial focus fading. The bartender finishes preparing his current drink and looks up at the newcomers. His expression holds puzzlement and a hint of returning memory.

“Good morning,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps you remember me.”

The bartender’s eyes widen. His expression holds sudden recognition. His lips turn downward, his eyes and expression holding unpleasant memories. “I do,” he said. His eyes change focus as Vader comes forward. “The other, from before. Is he with you?”

“No,” Thrawn said. “I’m told he died some years ago. The fortunes of war.”

“Good,” the bartender said. His eyes shift to Vader again. His expression holds hostility. “Does this one now stand as your bodyguard?”

Visible in the curved metal railing of the bar, Vader’s body stance stiffens. “He is a fellow traveler, not a bodyguard,” Thrawn said. “What is your name?”

The bartender’s expression changes, now holding wariness. “I am Nodlia. Have you come to once again deal with supposed oppression?”

“Do you wish my help?” Thrawn asked.

“Have I a choice?”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “You speak of oppression?”

Nodlia hesitates. He lowers his voice and leans a few centimeters closer over the bar. “The newcomers to Batuu,” he said. “The Thinfaces.”

“The Darshi?”

“If that’s their name. They’ve not spoken much to me. I know only that since their arrival Batuu hasn’t been the same.”

“When was that?”

“The first group came one hundred seventy-four days ago,” Nodlia said. “They said they were on a pilgrimage, that their journey would require them to stay on Batuu for a time. They built houses for themselves to the east, and spent three days in the woods to the north in group meditation. At times they fill our spacefield with their ships, coming and going to distant places on unknown errands.”

“That does not sound like oppression,” Thrawn said.

“They drove away some of the traders who used to come here,” Nodlia said. “Other ships were discouraged by the lack of landing spots at the times when they filled the spacefield. Some of those traders went elsewhere on Batuu. Others abandoned our world entirely. Our people were forbidden from venturing near the Thinfaces’ houses, and they took the best food and resources for themselves.”

“Did they not pay for it?”

Nodlia hesitates. His expression holds embarrassment. “Yes, they paid. The proper fees and prices. Perhaps even somewhat more. Enough more, truth be told, to calm most of those dissatisfied with their other interference.”

He leans yet closer, his eyes shifting to the Darshi at their two tables. “But I wasn’t fooled. I remember…you know of what I speak. There’s the same feel about the Thinfaces.

“And then, eighteen days ago, a new group of them arrived.” He pauses. His expression holds a quiet horror. “With them came ten coffins.”

An armored finger touched Thrawn’s arm. “They prepare for combat,” Vader said quietly.

Nodlia’s expression holds sudden fear. He takes three steps away along the bar. His body stance holds a desire to move far from the upcoming attack.

“How soon?” Thrawn asked.

“They are passing weapons among themselves,” Vader said. “Not their knives, but combat sticks. The newly armed are making their way in both directions, no doubt attempting to surround us and launch a coordinated attack.”