"He owe you credits?"
Dengar let himself take a sip; he had gotten seri ously dehydrated, riding the damaged swoop across the Dune Sea. "He might."
"Well, he owed me," growled the bartender. "I don't appreciate it when my customers get themselves killed and I'm the one that gets stiffed." He furiously swabbed out a glass with a stained towel. "Creatures in these parts oughta think of somebody besides themselves for a change."
Listening to the bartender's complaints wasn't accomplishing anything. Dengar drained half the glass and pushed it away. "Put it on my tab."
He worked his way into the shadow-filled center of the cantina's space, gazing around as best he could without making direct eye contact with anyone. Some of the more hot-tempered cantina habitues were known to take violent offense over such indiscretions; even if he didn't wind up being the one laid out on the damp floor, Dengar didn't want to draw that kind of attention to himself.
"Excuse the lamentable discourtesy"-a hand with bifurcate talons tugged at Dengar's sleeve- "but I couldn't help overhearing... ."
Glancing to his side, Dengar found himself looking into the black bead eyes, no more than a couple of centimeters in diameter, of a Q'nithian aer-opteryx. One of the beads swelled larger as the creature's other set of claws held a magnifying lens on a jeweled handle in front of it. Dengar had been expecting something like this; one's business didn't stay secret for very long in the cantina, if spoken in anything louder than a whisper.
"Let's go over to one of the booths," said Dengar.
Those were far enough away from the cantina's crowded main area for a measure of privacy. "Come on."
The Q'nithian flopped after him on the flattened tips of its shabby gray wings, useless for any kind of flight.
It struggled into the seat on the booth's opposite side, then settled down as though wrapped in a feathered cloak.
"I heard you mention poor Santhananan's name." The taloned hand protruded from under the wings so that the Q'nithian could scratch itself with the magnifying-lens handle. "He met a sad demise, I'm afraid."
"Yeah, I'm sure it was tragic." Dengar set his arms on the table and leaned forward. He wanted to wrap up his errand here before the bartender had a chance to pressure him into settling his account. "What I want to know is, did anybody pick up on his business?"
The lens shifted to the other beady eye. "The late Santhananan had various enterprises." The Q'nithian's voice was a grating squawk. "A creature of many interests, some of them even legal. To which of them do you refer?"
"Keep it down. You know what I'm talking about."
Dengar glanced across t he cantina, then turned back to the Q'nithian. "The message service he used to run.
That's what I'm interested in."
"Ah." The Q'nithian made a few thoughtful clacking noises with its rudimentary beak. "What great good fortune for you. It just so happens that that is an enterprise ... over which I now exercise control."
Great good fortune-that was one way of putting it.
Dengar wondered for a moment just how the late Santhananan had met his end, and how much this Q'nithian had had to do with it. But that was none of his business.
"Whatever communication you require," continued the Q'nithian, words and voice all mild bland-ness, "I think I can assist you with it."
"I bet you can." Dengar looked hard into the magnifiying lens and the mercenary intelligence behind it. "Here's the deal. I need to send a hyperspace messenger pod-"
"Really?" The feathers above one beady eye rose in apparent surprise. "That's an expensive proposition. I'm not saying it can't be done. Just that-since I haven't done business with you before-it would have to be done on a strictly credits-up-front basis."
Dengar reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small pouch. He loosened its drawstring and poured the contents out on the table. "Will that do?"
Even without the magnifying lens, the Q'nithian's eyes grew larger. "I think"-the bifurcate talons reached out for the little hoard of hard credits-"we may be in business here. ..."
"Not so fast," Dengar grabbed the other creature's thin, light-boned wrist and pinned it to the tabletop.
"You get half now, half when I hear that the message reached its destination."
"Very well." The Q'nithian watched as Dengar divided the credits into two piles, one of which went back into the pouch, and then inside Dengar's jacket again. "That's a regrettably standard arrangement. But I can live with it." The talons picked up the rest of the credits and drew it someplace under the cloak-like wings. "So-what's the message you want to send?"
Dengar hesitated. He'd known how far he could trust Codeq Santhananan-he'd dealt with him before-but this Q'nithian was an unknown quantity. Still ... right now there was no alternative. And if the Q'nithian wanted the other half of the payment for his services, there was a limit to any double-dealing he might be contemplating.
"All right." Dengar leaned even farther across the table, until he could see himself reflected in the Q'nithian's darkly shining eyes. "Just four words."
"Which are?"
" 'Boba Fett,' " said Dengar, " 'is alive.' "
Both of the Q'nithian's feathered brows rose. "That's the message? That's it?" The wings lifted and fell in a rudimentary shrug. "Seems to me ... that you're spending an awful lot of credits ... on some odd kind of hoax." The Q'nithian studied Den-gar through the lens.
"Not that anyone is going to believe it, anyway.
Everybody knows ... that Boba Fett got eaten by the Sarlacc. Some of Jabba the Hutt's ex-employees ... came right here into the cantina ... and told all about it."
"Good for them. I hope somebody bought 'em a drink."
"You appear to be ... a serious person. And you're paying ... serious credits." The eye behind the magnifying lens blinked. "Are you telling me ... that the renowned Boba Fett is alive?"
"That's none of your business," said Dengar. "I'm just paying you to get the message to where it needs to go."
"As you wish," replied the Q'nithian. "And just where is that?"
"The planet Kuat. I want Kuat of Kuat to receive it."
"Well, well." The Q'nithian's feathers rustled as he shifted position on the seat opposite Dengar. "Now, that is interesting. What makes you think a creature as important as the CEO of Kuat Drive Yards ... would be interested ... in hearing something like that? Whether it's true or not." "I told you already." Dengar spoke between gritted teeth. He was about ready to reach over and crush the magnifying lens in his fist. "That's not your business."
"Ah. But I think ... it is." The beak opened in a crude simulation of a humanoid smile. "We are something like partners now ... you and I. If Boba Fett is alive
... there are others who would be interested in knowing that ... rather intriguing fact."
Dengar glared at the Q'nithian. "When Santhananan ran this business, he knew that his customers weren't just buying a message being transmitted. They were also buying him keeping his mouth shut."
"You're not dealing ... with Santhananan now." The bright gaze behind the magnifying lens was unperturbed.
"You're dealing with me. And my backers; I'm not a completely independent agent the way Santhananan was . .
. but then, that may be why he's dead and I'm not. Let's just say ... that I have certain additional expenses .
. . that I need to cover." The tip of the lens pointed toward Dengar. "For which you should be grateful."