by James Luceno
In a lower-deck compartment forward in the freighter, two Rodians monitored the approaching crescent on a display screen, switching to an interior view of the docking bay as the small craft disappeared from sight.
“Is that his ship?” the Twi’lek pacing behind them asked when the craft had penetrated the bay’s magnetic containment field and landed. Like almost everyone else aboard the Starmaster, the trio were wearing jumpsuits inflated by large pouch pockets.
“His ship,” one of the Rodians scoffed. “He has dozens of ships. Let’s wait and see who disembarks.”
Three human males and a female appeared on the craft’s extensible boarding ramp. Moving with lithe economy, the first two men might have been brothers, though the taller one’s face was hideously scarred where the other’s was slim and angular. Dark-haired and willowy, the woman also moved with care, but there was a coiled wariness to her step and a vigilant gleam in her eyes. The last man out had an air of confident nonchalance. In one of inherited entitlement, the elevated chin and pocketed hands might have been perceived as arrogance, but he wore refinement well, as only one who had earned it could. In contrast to the shin-high spacer’s boots and long cloaks affected by his confederates, he was dressed in silk and leather.
“That’s him,” the other Rodian said, indicating the latter male with the tap of a long, sucker-equipped finger against the display screen. “That’s Karrde.”
The Twi’lek positioned his thick tattooed head-tails over his shoulders and leaned between the Rodians for a closer look. “You’re certain?”
The one who had made the identification twitched his short snout. “If not, it’s either his twin or a clone.”
The Twi’lek straightened. “I’ll alert the boss.”
Hurrying through the compartment hatchway, he entered a large hold, clamorous with activity. Stacked high throughout the space were alloy shipping crates recently ferried up Ryloth’s well from Kala’uun Spaceport. Two-legged binary loadlifters supervised by masked Twi’lek foremen were arranging the crates for further shipping and off-loading, while utilitarian-looking asp droids stenciled the crates with port-of-call information and applied laser-readable labels. Despite the forceful draw of overhead exhaust fans, dark motes danced and swirled in the recycled air.
One hand clamped to his mouth, the Twi’lek threaded his way through the maze of stacks, arriving ultimately at a laboratory isolated from the hold by tall permaplas window walls. Inside, two humans wearing goggles, rebreathers, and environment suits were assessing the quality of a fine black powder sampled from an opened shipping crate bearing the corporate logo of Galactic Exotics, alleged to contain edible fungi. The stockier of the pair removed his mask and goggles to reveal bulging eyes in an otherwise bland face.
“He just arrived,” the Twi’lek reported. “Docking Bay 6738. Two men and a woman accompany him. They are clearing contamination and control now.”
“You’re certain it’s him.”
“Certain. But we’ll run an identity scan just in case.”
The man peeled off elbow-length gloves, slipped out of the environment suit, and settled himself at a display console. “Keep the cam and scanner feeds open so I can see and hear for myself.”
“Will you be informing Borga?”
The man considered it. “We’ll see.”
The Twi’lek took the same route back to the compartment. By the time he arrived and was peering over the shoulder of the Rodian closest to the screen, Karrde and his companions were literally at the door.
“Positive identification on Karrde,” the Rodian said after studying the scanner readouts. “No information on the other men, but neither one is armed with blasters. The scanner matches the woman to Shada D’ukal, a known associate of Karrde’s.” The Rodian looked at the Twi’lek. “Lethal, even without weapons.”
The second Rodian lifted a blaster from his hip holster, checked the charge, and primed the weapon.
“Unnecessary,” the Twi’lek told him. “They’d be fools to try anything.”
The Rodian’s round black eyes fixed on him. “You pay me to be prepared.”
The Twi’lek nodded, grinning slightly to show filed teeth. “I stand corrected.”
“Look,” the Rodian’s partner interrupted. “He’s on to us.”
The Twi’lek glanced at the display screen in time to see Karrde waving at the optical scanner concealed in the bulkhead above the hatchway.
“I still don’t understand why Karrde would be interested in dealing with us,” the armed Rodian remarked. “He trafficks in information, not spice.”
The Twi’lek caressed his bulged forehead and moved to the hatchway. “This isn’t about spice. But we’re expected to hear him out, so that’s what we’re going to do.”
He aimed a remote at the hatchway sensor, and the hatch pocketed itself into the bulkhead. Karrde and the others entered, his two male companions hanging back and Shada D’ukal sidestepping into a corner where she could keep a watchful eye on the proceedings.
“Welcome, Talon Karrde,” the Twi’lek said in Basic. “I’m Rol’Waran.”
Karrde nodded. “A pleasure.” He didn’t bother to introduce anyone else.
“Your chair,” Rol’Waran barked at one of the Rodians, who immediately stood and stepped aside. He waited for Karrde to make himself comfortable. “I’m told that you’re interested in procuring product.”
“Eight blocks.”
Rol’Waran’s normally narrow eyes widened. “A substantial quantity. However, since your past and recent activities are not unknown to me, would you mind explaining why you’re suddenly interested in product?”
Karrde laughed innocently. “If you’re concerned about entrapment or anything of that nature—”
“Nothing of the sort,” Rol’Waran was quick to assure. “After all, we are only subordinate players in the grand game. But I was given to understand that you had abandoned illegality for activity of a more … diplomatic nature.”
Karrde crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee. “The Yuuzhan Vong invasion has rendered obsolete my position as liaison between Bastion and Coruscant.”
“Meaning, he’s unemployed,” the shorter of the two men behind him said.
“Yes,” Rol’Waran said, stroking his left lekku pensively. “The Yuuzhan Vong have heaped changes on us, as well.”
“Not the way I hear it,” the same man remarked.
“Just what have you heard?” Rol’Waran asked.
The man’s upper lip curled. “That spice remains a safe bet.”
Karrde cleared his throat. “What he means is that product has always been a prized commodity, and now, what with more mouths to feed—”
“Hard times bring about a need for escape,” Karrde’s comrade cut him off. “We’re all for letting everyone bury their heads in the sand.”
Rol’Waran cut his pink eyes to Karrde. “So you’re interested in going into business.”
“Assuming that shipment can be arranged.”
Rol’Waran smiled tightly. “That would, of course, add to the price. Where did you have in mind?”
“To begin with, Tynna.”
An awkward silence fell over the compartment, while Rol’Waran and the Rodians traded covert glances. “Tynna is extremely problematic at the moment,” Rol’Waran said at last. “I could arrange shipment to Rodia, perhaps even Kalarba, but you’d have to take it from there.”
“What about Kothlis or Bothawui?” Karrde said.
Rol’Waran shook his head. “Not at present.”
Karrde loosed an annoyed exhale. “If you can ship to Rodia, can I at least get you to bring it up the run to Corellia? That’s the actual destination.”
Rol’Waran tilted his head to one side. “Again, I’m afraid we have a problem.”
“What’s the problem?” Karrde’s scar-faced accomplice asked harshly. “We were told you could move spice with impunity under the new terms.”
Rol’Waran’s tiny eyes darted.
“New terms?”
He was about to say more when the hatch opened to reveal the stout laboratory technician filling the portal. Karrde’s accomplices reacted swiftly, but Karrde was just as quick to interpose himself between them and the grinning intruder.
“Crev Bombaasa,” he said in genuine surprise. “You’re a long way from home.”
“As are you, Talon.” Bombaasa looked at Shada. “And the always enchanting Shada D’ukal. As for my being far from home, even life in the Pembric system can grow boring.”
With an explicit nod, Bombaasa dismissed Rol’Waran and the Rodians, then lowered himself into a chair at the console and deactivated the room’s security systems.
“If I recall correctly,” he said to Karrde, “the last time we crossed paths was in the ThrusterBurn tapcaf in Erwithat. In search of Jorj Car’das, you and Shada required safe passage through the Kathol sector, which I provided to offset an earlier debt I owed to your former partner, Mara Jade. I mention all this by way of stating at the onset that if you’re expecting favors—such as product delivery into the star systems you mentioned—be forewarned that I figure we’re already even.”
He glanced at Kyp Durron and Ganner Rhysode, then smiled at Karrde. “So why have you come, Talon? And don’t tell me you’re serious about going into the spice trade.”
Karrde looked him in the eye. “I appreciate your frankness, Crev. The fact is the Yuuzhan Vong have changed the way everyone is doing business. Many of the players remain the same, but the field has been rearranged. In the Rim, former Imperials are fighting alongside New Republic forces. Adversaries of long standing are putting aside their differences for a common cause. Even the Hutts have been forced to relinquish part of their space as a means of avoiding all-out war.”
Again, Bombaasa glanced at the Jedi. “Yes, the only good thing to come of the war is that it gave Kyp Durron something else to do besides prey on smugglers.” He paused briefly to glance knowingly at Karrde’s confederates, then sighed. “I thought for certain that would draw a reaction, but I can see that this clearly isn’t a moment for levity.”
“Laugh all you want,” Kyp told him.
“I can laugh all I want,” Bombaasa repeated in monotone, then touched his head theatrically. “Did someone here make me say that?”
Ganner placed a calming hand on Kyp’s arm.
Bombaasa watched the two Jedi, then nodded at Karrde. “You’re right, Talon, the lines have certainly been redrawn. Just where that leaves people like you and me has yet to be determined.”
“Speak for yourself, Crev. I know where I stand.”
Bombaasa took a breath. “I’m a practical man, Talon. I wish only to survive—and under the best possible circumstances I can arrange for myself. You say your stance is decided. Then suppose you tell me what’s on your mind.”
Karrde’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t ship to Tynna, Bothawui, or Corellia.”
Bombaasa linked his hands and rested them atop his prominent belly. “That much is true. And I commend you on your acuity in picking just those systems where we have temporarily suspended operations.”
“The Yuuzhan Vong are in Hutt space,” Karrde continued. “They’ve already hit Gyndine. So one might reasonably assume that you’re merely trying to avoid areas of potential conflict.”
“Once more I commend you. Why risk shipments by sending them into contested space? Transgression might even prove dangerous to the bearers of those shipments.”
“Then either you’re merely being careful, or you’re heeding orders that came down from the Hutts.”
Bombaasa glanced at the ceiling. “Let’s just say that the Hutts, at this juncture, are in a better position to ascertain which areas are dangerous.”
Karrde nodded. “I thought so. And how will you justify this conversation to Borga?”
Bombaasa’s shoulders heaved in a shrug. “I will relate just what happened here. Talon Karrde wanted product delivered into denied areas, so we failed to come to terms.” Irony wrinkled his jowled face. “Borga has been expecting just such an encounter, in any case.”
“Playing both sides, is she?”
“Looking out for number one.”
Karrde could not restrain a smile. “I won’t forget this, Crev.”
Bombaasa steepled his thick fingers and brought them to his double chin. “Then you might mention me to your friends—as affirmation of just whose side I’m on.”
“Count on it,” Karrde said. “Someday we might all be called to work together—smugglers, information brokers, pirates, and mercenaries—and this strikes me as a good start.”
The yammosk vessel Crèche hung in stationary orbit above the planet Ando. In the ship’s grottolike docking bay, Commander Chine-kal and the priest, Moorsh, welcomed Randa Besadii Diori aboard. First to exit the loathsome slipper-shaped Ubrikkian space yacht that had arrived from Ando were the young Hutt’s Twi’lek and Rodian retainers, followed by the tusked humanoid Aqualish who comprised his limited detail of bodyguards. Then, propelled by his muscular tail, the Hutt himself emerged, smiling broadly and instantly at home in the cavernous, dimly lighted space.
“I see that you are as fond of gloom as we Hutts are,” Randa told Chine-kal after he had been announced and introductions had been made.
The commander smiled pleasantly. “We favor obscurity when it suits our purpose.”
Randa attributed the ambiguity of Chine-kal’s remark to the inexperience of the Yuuzhan Vong translator. “You must come to Nal Hutta, Commander, and visit my parent’s palace. I’m certain you would find it to your liking.”
Chine-kal’s politic smile held. “We’ve heard much about it, young Hutt. Commander Malik Carr was very impressed.”
“As Borga was with Commander Malik Carr,” Randa replied with courtly poise. “I am eager to learn as much as I can of your operations, so that we Hutts may expedite your needs.” His protruding black eyes disappeared briefly behind the membranes that kept them moist. “With so many worlds falling to your superior might, the task of ferrying captives about must be growing tiresome.”
“The task distracts us from our principal objective,” Chine-kal allowed. “Which is precisely why we are as eager to instruct as you are to learn.”
“Then the sooner we begin, the better,” Randa said.“But perhaps you could first show me to my quarters so that I might refresh from the journey.”
“We have prepared a place for you, Randa Besadii Diori,” the priest answered. “On the way, we thought we might introduce you to the ship’s most prestigious passenger.”
Randa pressed his hands together in a gesture of respect. “I would be honored.”
Chine-kal voiced a brusque command to his guards, who snapped their fists to their opposite shoulders and arranged themselves in an escort formation, some advancing through an iris portal in the hold’s biotic bulkhead while others fell in behind Randa and his retinue.
They moved deeper into the ship, passing from one module to the next, on occasion lifted by decks that bulged under them like a tongue being raised to the roof of a mouth. Illumination varied, but the bioluminescence of the bulkheads rarely provided more than a faint glow. What did increase was a certain tang in the air, which while not unpleasant tended to irritate the nasal passages and promote the flow of mucus and tears. Lubricious by design, Randa found the conditions most agreeable.
Chine-kal brought the procession to a halt in the rank belly of the ship and directed Randa’s attention to an aperture in the membranous bulkhead that provided a vantage into an adjacent hold. Below, centered in a circular tank of syrupy liquid, floated a tentacled life-form that could only have been created by the Yuuzhan Vong. Sharing the tank with the creature—and plainly attending to it—stood several dozen captives, anywhere from knee- to shoulder-deep in the liquid. Tended to in kind, a few of the captives were being stroked by the tentacles. In one case a human male was entirely entwined by two of the slender appendages.
Randa found himself thinkin
g about certain members of the Desilijic clan who were fond of chaining dancers or servants to themselves. Again his eyes were drawn to the fully embraced human. In the midst of regarding the several beings in close proximity to the human, Randa turned excitedly to his Twi’lek majordomo.
“Are those Ryn?” he asked, indicating them with one of his stubby arms.
The Twi’lek regarded them and nodded. “I believe they are Ryn, Excellency.”
Chine-kal followed the exchange and asked for a translation. “Something has caught your eye, young Hutt?”
“Indeed, Commander,” Randa said. “You have succeeded in capturing a somewhat rare specimen.”
“To which do you refer?”
“You see the human your creature takes such an interest in?”
Chine-kal gazed down at the yammosk and its captive attendants. “Keyn, that one is called.”
“The sharp-nosed bipeds next to and opposite him,” Randa elaborated. “And there, at the adjacent tentacle. They are Ryn—an entertaining species, highly prized by the Hutts, though often disparaged by others.”
“Prized for what?”
“They are celebrated for their skill at dancing and singing, but their real talent is prognostication.”
Chine-kal waited for the translation, then turned to Moorsh. “Did you know of this?”
“I did not, Commander,” the priest said.
Chine-kal cut his eyes to Randa. “They divine, you say?”
“Rather astutely.”
“By what technique?”
“Manifold means. I have heard that they can read the future in the creases of the hands, the bumps on the head, the color of the eyes. They sometimes employ a deck of playing cards that are said to have been fashioned by them.”
“You have heard,” Chine-kal said. “Then you have had no direct experience with them?”
“Sadly, I have not.” Randa smiled. “But perhaps you would be willing to relieve them temporarily of their peculiar duties and judge for yourself? Your creation appears to take little interest in them, in any case.”
