Han and Chewbacca stop in front of the Dockside Cafe. They have purposely allowed the lookout to see the two of them and report to the cantina. Han hopes to surprise Alfreda with his escort of Imperial stormtroopers.
The building is constructed of the new plasfoam blocks gaining popularity on desert and actic worlds alike. Only a few assorted ground transports crowd 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 perfer, it must draw its clientele from the surrounding spaceport. Han dislikes the place immediately. The absence of free-freighters in a spaceport bar usually 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 taste.
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 sees no sign of Alfreda.
Han 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 conversation in a dozen alien languages buzzes throughout the room. The place makes Han nervous – no one expects trouble. When it develops, they wiil panic or interfere. Neither reaction 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.
Chewbacca ventures a guess.
“Maybe it’s us,” Han answers, “and maybe not. There’s only one way to find out.”
Han waves Sodarra forward and enteres the tavern ahead of the stormtroopers. When Sodarra’s armored stormtroopers appear, a hush falls over the room. A hundred eyes, human and otherwise, watch the stormtroopers spread through the crowd.
Sodarra glances at Han for instructions; Han nots toward the back corner. As the troopers move to the back of the room, a rustle of relieved sighs follows them.
That relief does not last. The room suddenly erupts into whistles and crumps as the eight aliens open fire. The stormtroopers reply immediately.
Bar patrons shriek and dive for cover. The air begins to stink of burning cloth and melting plascompounds.
A pair of well-dressed, hairy bipeds draw hold-out blasters and fire at the stormtroopers’ backs. Han nudges Chewbacca and targets on the pair. “Don’t be stupid!” he calls. The hairy bipeds slowly turn to face Han, their blasters ready to fire.
If Han holds his fire, Click Here
If Han fires on the bipeds, Click Here