Free Tales from Jabba's Palace by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

there!”
    Still possessed by an uncertain, creepy feeling (hadn’t that charming-for-a-Whiphid Lady Valarian assured him that his in-palace contact, Darian Gli, was a Markul? This creature did not look anything like a Markul. But Melvosh Bloor was an Investigative Politico-Sociologist, not an Eidetic Xenologist, so he figured he could be wrong), the academic did as he was told. He laid hands on the massive door and was mildly surprised when it swung back easily on its hinges.
    “How … primitive,” he remarked as he peered into the darkened chamber beyond. The spill from the dim illuminations in the corridor was enough for him to see by. He hesitated on the threshold until his guide gave him another of those forceful shoves, makingthe Kalkal trip over his own boots and fall on his face. Chittering and squealing with glee, the little creature scampered over Melvosh Bloor’s prone body. There was a scrabbling sound and a faint amber light flared on at the far end of the room.
    Melvosh Bloor picked himself up cautiously. “Shall I—Shall I close the door?”
    “Close the door! Close the door!” his guide commanded imperiously. He was seated on a block of rough-hewn sandstone about the height of a table. The amber light came from a small, crystal-shielded niche in the wall nearby. The only other object to break the cubic monotony of the room was a second slab of rock approximately the dimensions of Melvosh Bloor’s bed back in the university cloister.
    Melvosh Bloor hurried to comply, then took a seat on the sandstone slab. He covered his face with his hands and let the full weight of misery bow his shoulders even more. “I suppose I’m to blame for not having done sufficient research before undertaking this mission,” he said. “As, no doubt, Professor P’tan will be the first to tell me once we return to the university. Insufferable old gorm-worm. Oh, I can just hear him now, spouting off the same way he always does when he speaks to the junior faculty.” Melvosh Bloor struck a stiff pose and, in a voice blubbery with pomposity, intoned, “ ‘Melvosh Bloor, do you call that teaching ? You merely drum facts into your poor pupils’ rocky heads and give them passing grades if they spew the same swill right back in your lap! Small wonder, when it’s the same swill you swallowed whole from your professors.’ ” The Kalkal snorted. “ Then he has to go brag about how he doesn’t rely on secondhand knowledge when he teaches; he goes out and does research in the field. If I hear him say ‘Publish or perish’ one more time, I shall—”
    “Research in the field?” the creature broke in,cocking its head. Then it made a rude noise with one or more parts of its rubbery body.
    “My sentiments exactly,” Melvosh Bloor agreed. “Oh, I do wish we had more honest folk like you at the university. Have you ever had any academic experience, Darian Gli?”
    The creature repeated the rude noise, louder this time, and with a few extra flourishes.
    “Ah,” said Melvosh Bloor dryly. “I see you have.”
    “Professor P’tan?” the creature prompted.
    Melvosh Bloor was not used to enjoying the company of such a good listener. “You wish me to … go on?” he inquired timidly.
    “Go on, go on !” the creature responded with an expansive gesture. Melvosh Bloor found himself liking this quaint being more by the minute.
    “My good fellow, your, ah, rather substantive evaluation of Professor P’tan’s character leads me to believe you have encountered him, even though he swore he’d have nothing to do with you. Which—correct me if I’m wrong—strikes me as stupid.”
    “Stupid.”
    “Ah! Then we’re in agreement. When I was first plotting—I mean considering this expedition, my fellow academics Ra Yasht and Skarten told me I couldn’t go wrong with you by my side. Perhaps you remember them? You helped them research that fascinating monograph on Torture Observed: An Interview with Jabba’s Cook.