Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(20)

“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “And we’re prepared to pay for it,” he added, setting a golden coin on the bar beside the row of mugs.

The bartender looked down at the coin, but made no move to pick it up. “Information on Batuu is of two types,” he said. “The useless, and the very costly.”

“Perhaps we shall find a central ground.” Thrawn gestured to Anakin.

“We seek information on these human females,” Anakin said, switching on his holoprojector. The ghostly images of Padmé and Duja appeared above the disk. “Have you seen either of them?”

Reluctantly, the bartender lifted his eyes from the coin. Anakin reached out with the Force, caught the flicker of recognition—

“No,” the man said, lowering his eyes again. “Neither has been seen here.”

“Really,” Thrawn said, his voice taking on a smooth coolness that suggested he didn’t believe the man, either. “Please take a second look, for this is important. Their father is dying, and would like to see his daughters one last time before the end.”

Again with clear reluctance, the bartender lifted his gaze. “I haven’t seen them,” he said, lowering his eyes back to the mugs and the coin. “They’re sisters, then?”

“Yes,” Thrawn said. He pulled out a second coin and placed it beside the first. “Their entire family is assembled at his bedside”—he added a third coin—“with these two sisters the only ones unaware of their coming loss”—a fourth coin joined the growing pile—“and who will be heartbroken if their beloved father passes on without their farewells.”

The bartender had missed none of the action. “And you were sent to retrieve them?” he asked.

“He carries the burden of that task,” Thrawn said, nodding to Anakin. “I was merely hired as guide and translator.”

“Yes.” The bartender took one last, long look at the pile of coins. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped resolutely back from the bar. “I’m sorry, gentlebeings. I truly am.”

And without warning, the line of mugs on the bar exploded into a cloud of thick white smoke.

Instantly Anakin clamped his nose and mouth shut to keep out the gas. Snatching up his lightsaber, he started to leap back from the cloud—

And staggered sideways off balance as Thrawn grabbed his shoulder and shoved hard against it. Through the smoke he caught an unclear image of the Chiss now standing on top of the bar, turning to face the doorway with drawn blaster. Again, Anakin started to step back from the bar.

But instead found himself swaying further to the side, his balance gone, his knees buckling beneath him. That momentary jolt when Thrawn used his shoulder as an assist for his leap onto the bar had let in enough of the gas to affect him. He managed to get turned toward the door, then found himself toppling to the floor.

As he hit the rough wood, the room erupted with blasterfire.

His vision was starting to fade. But he was a Jedi, and there were ways to fight back against drug attacks. Drawing energy from the Force, concentrating on not losing consciousness, he peered through the smoke.

Four shapes were charging toward them, blasters blazing. From behind Anakin, Thrawn was returning fire, his weapon flashing brighter and making a higher-pitched sound than Republic blasters. One of the four assailants fell, but the other three continued forward.

Even with the gas fogging his mind, Anakin had enough awareness to know he didn’t dare ignite his lightsaber—with his muscles uncoordinated the weapon would be as dangerous to him as to the enemy. But there were other ways. Again reaching to the Force, he got a mental grip on the nearest chair and threw it into the attackers’ path.

Or rather, tried to. With no accuracy and only limited strength he was barely able to tip the chair over in front of them. But it was enough. For a moment they were distracted, their shots going wild, and in that moment two more of them fell to Thrawn’s counterattack. Anakin tried to throw another chair, or even just nudge the blaster out of line.

But the fog was growing thicker, and his mind and hands were turning to lead. He had the vague impression he was tapping his comlink with the emergency code…

He woke up with a start to find himself lying on his back on the cantina floor. R2-D2 was standing over him, prodding him with one of his grappler arms, moaning with quiet anxiety. “I’m all right, Artoo,” he assured the droid, his voice slurring a little. The air seemed clear; taking a deep breath, he ran a quick mental inventory.

Everything seemed intact. His mind was still fuzzy, but it was rapidly coming back to normal. He flexed his fingers—no problems there. Lifting his head, he looked around.

The cantina, not surprisingly, was deserted, the earlier patrons having fled. Aside from himself and R2-D2, only Thrawn remained, sitting in a chair a few meters away, his back to Anakin. His gun hand was resting on the chair’s armrest, his weapon pointed toward the door. A few meters in front of him lay four bodies, and the smell of death was in the air.

“Welcome back,” Thrawn said. He didn’t turn around, Anakin noted, but kept his face turned toward the door. “Your droid seemed worried.”

“Artoo sometimes thinks I need looking after,” Anakin said, carefully pushing himself to his feet. There was a moment of dizziness, but it passed quickly. “Any idea what that gas was?”