Han and Chewbacca stop in front of the Dockside Cafe. It is constructed of the new plasfoam blocks gaining popularity on desert and arctic worlds alike. There are only a few assorted ground transports parked around the building, but the volume of chatter which drifts into the scorched streets whenever the door opens indicates a sizeable crowd.
Though this is not one of the ageless taverns free-freighters prefer, it must draw its clientele from the surrounding spaceport. Han dislikes the place immediately. The absence of free-freighters in a spaceport bar means the presence of tourists, shipping line crew, Imperial personnel, and other chumps.
Han signals Sodarra and his men to wait, then steps into the cantina doorway. The tavern is stylishly decorated in an art-galactic theme. It is also clean, filled to three-quarters capacity, and too well lit for han’s tastes.
The customers are, for the most part, clean-cut and of harmless appearance. Only a few are armed. A dozen insectoids sit at a table near the entrance, chirping and clacking their forelimbs together in a serious argument. A bug-eyed piscine lies on a bar couch holding a drink-tube between two fins. From the way its artificial gills puff, Han knows the fish will bother no one.
He studies the rest of the patrons. There are creatures with one eye and a dozen ears, and creatures with a dozen eyes and no ears. Some of the aliens have skin, some fur, and one or two a glistening, rough-textured surface that defies description. A steady gaggle of conversaion in a dozen alien languages buzzes throughout the room. The place makes the pilot nervous – no one expects trouble. When it develops, they will panic or interfere. Neither is to his advantage.
Chewbacca nudges Han and nods toward the other side of the room. In the shadows of the back corner, eight aliens of various races sit without conversing. There are two Gamorreans, a Twi’lek, two Togorian males, and three four-eyed, six-armed anthropoids Han does not recognize. Han cannot see whether they are armed.
“looks like they’re waiting for someone,” Han says.
Chewie grunts a barely audible comment.
“Maybe it is Alfreda,” he answers, “and maybe not. After all, this is Mos Eisley.” The smuggler hesitates. He can use Sodarra’s troopers to chase the aliens from the bar. But if they are not Alfreda’s hirelings, he will be tipping his hand to anyone she does have in the cantina. If they are Alfreda’s goons, chasing them off before she arrives will give him a tremendous advantage.
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