by Jeff Grubb
“Sensors are lighting up,” said Angela Krin. “We’ve got a lot of company out here. Inert masses, though. Asteroids.”
“That would be the remains of the other planets,” said Reen. “Ardos’s other children, blasted apart in the storm.” She flicked a switch. “Eddey, are you there?”
The comlink crackled and the Bothan’s voice resounded. “Just came in. Feels a little crowded here. I’m going to find a likely-looking chunk of rock to hide behind, but I’ll be around if you need to get offplanet quickly.”
Mander checked the screens and saw the dark shape of the New Ambition hovering nearby. As he watched, a trio of side thrusters fired and the ship drifted off into the surrounding murk.
“We’re going to leave Eddey out here,” said Reen, answering Mander’s unspoken question. “In case Varl has its own protectors.”
“A good idea,” said Mander. “Despite what the Archives say about it being a dead planet, I find it unlikely that the Hutt Elders would leave their original homeworld unguarded.”
They fell for nearly an hour toward the hot white dot that had once been a sun. Finally, the comlink crackled and a voice boomed out in Huttese. On the port side another shape heaved up; in the wan light of the primary Mander could see a blocky-looking patrol ship. Not a flashy vehicle, but likely one with heavy weapons mounted onboard.
“They’re demanding the proper approach codes,” said Mander, translating.
“Here goes nothing,” said Reen, flicking a switch on the transponder unit.
“I’m surprised to find a Hutt this far out,” said Angela Krin.
“The words are too clipped,” said Mander. “None of the sibilant lip-smacking noises Hutts make. It could be one of the servant races, or even a droid on the other end.”
“Or it could be a droid or a servant answering to a Hutt,” said Reen, now nervous.
They paused for a long moment, waiting for confirmation. Mander noticed that Angela’s hand drifted to the weapons console, hoping to get any jump they could should the patrol ship decide to open fire.
The comlink burped a short word, and the dimly lit shadow swung about and vanished back into the darkness of space.
Varl itself looked horrible, a mottled brown pebble creased by darker mountains that stuck up out of its depleted and smoky atmosphere. The ground itself, where visible, was the color of dead brown leaves, broken only by glowing pools of sickly green radiation.
“Is it safe?” asked Reen.
“You’ll need a breather mask,” said Angela Krin, “and probably all sorts of tests afterward. Also, the type of life that Hutts raise tends to be extremely hardy and opportunistic. It would have to be something on the order of a star falling in on itself to kill life on a Hutt planet and keep it dead.”
“We shouldn’t be staying long,” said Mander.
They leveled off now, cutting through the thin remnants of atmosphere. The ancient devastation became clearer—the skeletal frames of entire cities were canted across the landscape, tilted testaments to a civilization that once ruled this world and its neighbors. Shattered piles of greenish stone loomed around them. They could have once been monuments to the Hutts or to their gods, or hardened eruptions of twisted magma—now eroded—that found their way to the surface in the planet’s death throes. Mander spotted what might have been blasted brush beneath one such eruption, and thought he saw movement along one of the radiant green pools—something large and pale and painfully slow.
It was not a dead world, but it was close enough.
The transponder beeped as they rose above the dead horizon. “Our destination is just ahead,” said Angela Krin.
It looked like it had once been a crater, though whether from a ground-based ion explosion or an asteroid impact even Mander could not tell. The upper walls jutted black out of the atmosphere itself, and the side facing the dawn had entirely fallen away. Cradled in the heart of the pit was a diseased green lake, throwing up its own malignant radiation on the walls of the crater. And on the shores of that lake sprawled a single long building, tapered at one end, solid and blocky at the other. Heavy struts supported the plant where the rough ground formed deep ravines carrying oozing creeks of green pollutants to the lake.
“I think we have found our manufacturing plant,” said Angela.
Mander blinked and realized what he was seeing. “It’s a ship. They landed a starship here and transformed it into a factory.”
“That makes sense,” Angela Krin said. “Who could build something of this size onplanet?”
Reen gently put the ship down onto a lit landing pad, the only piece of warm, yellow light in the entire crater. “It looks like they are expecting other guests as well, and soon.”
Indeed, the sides of the building were already decorated in heavy netting, their color intended to blend with the dark stone of the crater. In addition, large spherical ion cannons had been mounted around the landing field, and the emplacements set for more to come.
“Another month, and they would have made themselves undetectable,” said Krin, surveying the defenses. “And unbeatable as well.”
The Barabi Run settled on the landing pad and Reen’s fingers danced over the controls, shutting down the last of the boosters. She toggled the ramp and unlocked the cargo shells. “We have company.”
Already asp droids, small and spindly, were waddling toward the unlocked cargo containers.
“What happens now?” asked Reen.
“According to our guests back on the Resolute,” replied Angela Krin, “they would drop the cargo, and then take off again. Payment would show up in their accounts, routed through a number of shell companies. They never saw anything more than the loading droids. That’s their standard operating procedure.”
“So we’re going to break the procedure,” said Reen, strapping on her holster.
“Hang on,” said Mander, looking at one of the side screens.
There, standing at the cargo doorway of the plant, was a jade-green protocol droid, checking over the shipment with a datapad in its hand.
Reen let out a low whistle. “One of Vago’s droids. I think we’ve found our Spice Lord.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
THE HEART OF THE TEMPEST
The three of them descended the landing ramp to the entrance. They determined that Angela Krin would lead, as she had never met Vago or her servants. Reen and Mander followed, their weapons ready beneath their cloaks, their hoods casting their faces into deep shadow. All three wore breather masks, and even though it was a matter of mere meters from the ship to the factory, Mander felt himself holding his breath, fearing the toxins and viruses that might leak around the seal.
The asps paid no attention to them as they strode to the entrance. The 3PO unit, on the other hand, was not so complacent.
“Is there a problem?” asked the droid.
“I need to see your boss,” said the CSA officer. She was trying to sound tough, as opposed to merely official. To Mander’s ears, it sounded false.
“This is unusual,” said the H-3PO. “I don’t know the proper protocol for this situation.”
“Vago,” Angela Krin pressed. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
The droid looked at Angela Krin, startled, then at the other two behind her. “You should return to your ship.” Its digits flicked onto the pad, “Let me check …”
Reen’s blaster was up at once, and the side of the droid’s head exploded in a single shot. The droid slumped to the ground, its fingers still poised to check on its superiors.
The asps all froze in place, their conical faces twisting toward Reen and the others.
“Labor dispute,” snarled Reen. “Get back to work!” She sounded much more convincing than Krin, Mander thought. The asps all resumed unloading the containers of spice, tumbling over themselves in compliance.
“So much for subtlety,” snapped Angela Krin.
“They are going to find out we’re here eventually,” said Reen. �
�I just bought us a few more moments.” She swept into the open plant entrance while the droids clattered about behind them.
Mander Zuma thought Reen correct, for as they passed into the plant itself, everything seemed quiet, save for the bustling asps with heavy containers of normal spice. He spotted a number of holocams in the hallway, and pointed them out to Reen and Angela. They shot them out. By now the Spice Lord might know they were there, but they would do what they could to keep the Hutt from knowing too much.
They followed the loader droids deeper into the ship.
After a long passage, a final cargo door opened onto a great balcony overlooking the heart of the ship. The central spine of the grounded starship had been cleared of its interior walls, and had been transformed into a huge factory. To their right, piles of ordinary spice had been heaped, dumped by the asp units from the Barabi Run and half a dozen other smuggler ships that had previously docked here. The spice, glittering in a rainbow of pale shades, was fed into long conveyor belts, which dumped them into great open vats.
The vats themselves were fed by a pale green mixture that sluiced through clear pipes. Mander realized that this was the runoff from the sides of the crater, gathered and fed into the ship itself. Where it first touched the spice, a venomous-looking cloud arose, yet eventually the spice—now dyed with a deep purple hue—floated to the top and was harvested by droid-operated skimmers. The skimmed spice then passed under great drying lamps, gaining its lustrous violet finish. The conveyors in turn led to a distant exit to the stern, near the engines, where the Tempest was likely broken up into smaller parcels for transport out. The pungent smell of ordinary spice and the distinctive aroma of Tempest hung heavy in the air.
Varl created the Tempest. Perhaps it was just this crater, but it was the blood of a dead world that made the deadly spice.
But where was the factory’s master? Mander looked toward the turbolifts on the far side. The bridge, most likely.
Asp droids moved among the great vats, operating the skimmers, feeding the spice along the conveyors, and monitoring the quality control. Other, larger droids moved among them—huge, hulking metallic beasts, unlike any droid or robot Mander had ever seen. These were bipedal, and their upper torsos bristled with heavy armament. Their armored casings were scarred, and they lumbered among the more nimble asps in a jerky fashion, as if they had to double-check every step.
“What are those?” asked Reen.
“Ancient … Hutt war droids,” said a feminine voice slowly behind them, and the three spun to see Vago standing there. She had arrived behind them from some side passage, and was flanked by two of the late Popara’s handmaidens. The handmaidens were no longer dressed in light robes, but rather in heavy plates of padded armor, with only their long-tailed heads exposed. They wore shock gloves, but also carried blaster pistols, and these weapons were leveled on the three of them. Even so, they seemed to hang back, slightly behind the Hutt, as if using Popara’s former adviser as a shield. Perhaps they were wary because every time they encountered the Jedi and his allies, their current master died.
Mander also saw that the veins along the Twi’leks lekku were darkened with pulsing veins. These had already fallen prey to the power of the Tempest as well, making them doubly unreliable and dangerous. Vago was unarmed. She said, haltingly, “Talk first … There will be time to … fight and die … later.”
Reen and Angela Krin looked at Mander, and he nodded. They lowered their weapons slightly. The Twi’leks dropped theirs not at all.
Vago talked slowly, and Mander wondered if the Hutt was also under the influence of Tempest. If so, there were no other visible symptoms.
Then the realization blossomed in Mander’s mind: Vago was speaking in Basic. She knew Mander could understand Huttese, so why speak in Basic? And why were the armored Twi’leks not translating for her?
“These hulks … were found in an abandoned weapons cache … when this plant was founded,” said Vago. “They date back to … to … to”—she slipped into Huttese here—“tatammo nar shaggan.”
“A time before you had servants,” Mander translated for the others. Before the Hutts met with and dominated the Klatooinians, the Niktos, the Weequay, and others. Mander’s hand drifted to his lightsaber, but one of the Twi’leks saw the motion and snapped out an order in Huttese.
From the surrounding shadows issued more security droids. These were not the stumbling hulks from below, but rather serpentine-bodied constructs with two arms on their upper torsos, one ending in a passable four-fingered hand, the other in a refurbished blaster carbine. Their crested, conical faces lacked obvious eyes, their sensors hidden beneath discolored armor plating.
“Yes,” said Vago, still in Basic. “The droids have no … designation. Names?… But they serve well.”
“This is over, Vago,” said Mander.
“Perhaps …,” said the Hutt. “You served … mighty Popara well. Perhaps you can serve … us. A Jeedai would be … useful.” The last phrase rolled off her lips like a poisoned candy.
“The Corporate Sector knows we came here,” said Angela. “They will send someone else.” Mander glanced at her, but could not catch her eye. He looked at Reen, but the Pantoran’s eyes were locked on the Twi’leks, waiting for them to make a move. The Twi’leks’ eyes were shifting, from Vago to the three of them and back. They were distracted by the conversation.
“That would be … difficult,” said the Hutt, and Mander saw that pools of perspiration were forming along Vago’s forehead. The Hutt was nervous, and more nervous than just the three of them accounted for. “If you would agree to … go back to your ship … and say you found nothing … you would be rewarded.” Her chest worked like a bellows now, and she drew in vast hiccups of air as she spoke.
“Fat chance,” said Reen.
“Then you will have to remain here … as guests,” said Vago.
“As prisoners, you mean,” said Angela Krin. Vago managed an uncomfortable, revealing shrug.
And suddenly it all made sense to Mander: The Hutt’s nervousness. Speaking in a language she obviously hated. The bodyguards that seemed more interested in keeping an eye on their supposed employer than protecting her.
Vago wasn’t their employer at all, and they were not her bodyguards.
“She’s right. We would be captives,” Mander said firmly. “Captives like you are, Vago Gejalli.”
The Hutt’s eyes flew open wide in surprise, and she unleashed a curse at Mander’s accusation. More surprised, however, were the Twi’lek bodyguards. One brought up her blaster pistol, while the other barked an order and grasped Vago the Hutt firmly with her shock glove. Vago let out a cry as electrical arcs ringed her conical head and sparks danced in the depths of her wide, liquid eyes. The Hutt slumped to the floor.
But the Twi’leks were not as fast as they had hoped. The one who’d drawn first, fired wide. Reen had been waiting for the opportunity, and her blaster was up and her shot caught the former handmaiden square in the face. The Twi’lek fell backward without firing another shot.
The remaining Twi’lek, the one who’d shocked Vago, was now bellowing orders. The serpentine droids slid forward, blasters blazing. Mander pulled his lightsaber and swung it in a perfect pattern, deflecting each blaster bolt in turn back on the enemy. He could see the patterns in the blasts, able to determine which ones were wide to start with—and could therefore be ignored—and which were potentially dangerous to the three of them. These, he could analyze easily, knowing which among them were of the most immediate danger and the quickest reach, then curling the arc of his blade against them so the photonic energy caught on his blade and was bounced away. And even then, he could see where the now-deflected shot would land, and target it against one of the droids, avoiding both his allies and the fallen form of Vago.
Time slowed for him as he moved forward, staying out of the way of Reen and Angela Krin’s own shots, making himself the target of the ancient droids, directing their fire to him, and all
owing him to return each volley clearly and cleanly. Already four of them were toppling, their battle-scarred housings punctured with shots from their own upgraded weapons. For Mander, it didn’t feel like a cold analysis progression of one shot, then the next shot, but rather like music, where each note logically followed the next. Where each motion smoothly dovetailed into the next, where each action was clear, and where thought itself was not necessary.
Then something drove hard into his stomach and time resumed, the real world in all its conflicting messiness descending on him. He had concentrated on the blasterfire, and had paid insufficient attention to the surviving Twi’lek, who now had risen from behind the fallen Hutt and lunged at him, slamming the Jedi with her shoulder and driving him backward. He held on to his blade, but the handmaiden-turned-bodyguard had rolled him back and stepped onto his wrist with a heavily booted foot. She stabbed one hand under his chin, throttling him by the neck. The other, the one bearing the shock glove, she raised high about her head. Her sharpened teeth glittered in maniacal delight, and the Tempest-thick veins on her head-tail throbbed.
And just as quickly, the Twi’lek was gone, screaming, vanished into the midst of the surrounding battle. Mander pulled himself off the floor and saw that Reen had grabbed the handmaiden’s lekku halfway up its length and pulled back sharply. The head-tails were particularly sensitive and the Twi’lek shrieked and clawed at the Pantoran, the shock glove trailing bolts of lightning as she lunged. Reen dodged beneath the clumsy assault and brought the heel of her pistol up hard across the handmaiden’s face. The Twi’lek collapsed with a whimper.
Angela Krin, for her part, had laid down a withering rate of fire, blasting the remainder of the serpentine droids in quick succession. One, partially hidden by the bodies of its comrades, raised a head cautiously above the debris … only to have that head explode with a carefully aimed shot from the CSA officer’s blaster.
