by Jeff Grubb
Mander nodded for her to continue.
“Tempest is one of the really bad ones,” said Reen, lowering her voice now and leaning forward. “It’s extremely addictive, and long-term users are clearly marked. Like a lot of spice, it makes the user feel good, but at a price.” She paused a moment, then added, “I need to ask. The Jedi, in your studies, do you use … you know?”
The question surprised Mander Zuma. He pursed his lips and said, “No.” Another silence stretched out between them, and he added, “Some types of spice provide boosts in telepathy or empathy, but always at a cost of control. No Jedi would seriously use spice when dealing with the Force.” Another silence, and even Eddey had stopped eating. Reen’s eyes were unfocused, and her mind was wrapped up in a now-distant memory. The Jedi could imagine what she was thinking about.
Mander added, “I am very sorry about your brother.”
“Even before I came here,” she said, “I knew I had lost him. I had lost him to his dreams. I had lost him to the Jedi. And I had lost him to the spice.”
“Toro’s mission to Makem Te had nothing to do with spice,” Mander repeated. “He was here to negotiate for a set of space coordinates. I don’t know how or why he became involved in Tempest. Regardless, I am sorry.”
She looked into the Jedi’s unwavering eyes. “I believe you,” said Reen after a moment, and went back to picking at her steak. Then she looked up. “I’m sorry for shooting at you.”
“You would not be the first,” Mander said. The three ate in silence.
After a few moments, Reen said, “Where does that leave us?”
Mander suppressed a shrug. “I don’t know if it leaves us anywhere. The spice that he used has been destroyed, along with its local distributors. I want to find out where the spice came from, but I also must finish Toro’s mission, and I don’t know if one is tied to the other. But someone else may want those coordinates, and someone definitely knew about Toro’s … addiction, and deliberately spiked the wine with an overdose. That means I have competition for what I need, and must act quickly.”
Reen did not look up from her meal. Then, as if realizing something for the first time, she said, “You said he was looking for space coordinates? Doesn’t seem like much of a mission for a Jedi.”
“They are for the Indrexu Spiral,” said Mander in a low voice.
Both Reen and Eddey looked up, and Reen let out a low whistle. “The Indrexu Spiral? That’s a knotty bit of space. It’s a swirling maelstrom of proto-stars and dark matter just looking for ships to blow up. Even spacers who make the Kessel Run know better than to try it. Who would have been foolhardy enough to have mapped it?”
“That I do not know,” said Mander. “But I do know who has the coordinates, and that Toro was supposed to meet with them in orbit above Makem Te.”
Reen looked at him thoughtfully. “Once you get the coordinates, you’ll need someone who knows the space lanes to confirm them.”
“I know my galactic navigation,” said Mander. “I’ve studied the relevant texts on my way here.”
“Meaning you’ve never programmed a navicomp, have you?” Reen’s eyes lit up. “Probably had some droid do it. It’s an art form, you know. You mess up the numbers and … well, it’s not pretty, that’s all.”
“Are you volunteering to help?” asked Mander, and the Bothan made a coughing noise like the steak was going down a breathing tube.
“Not volunteering,” said Reen, ignoring her companion. “If Toro was killed for Jedi business, then it makes it my business as well. If someone overdosed or poisoned him to keep him from these coordinates, I’d like to meet them.”
“And if they decide to come after me, you’d like to be there,” said Mander.
Reen gave a shrug, and stabbed at the last of her steak. “You’re my best lead,” she said.
“Do you have a ship?” asked the Jedi.
Reen hesitated with the large forkful of steak and set it down on the iron plate. The Bothan was grinning, but said nothing.
“Well,” said the Pantoran, suddenly more circumspect, “yes and no.”
“How much yes and how much no?” asked Mander.
Reen said, “There is a ship—the Ambition. But it’s not what you would call … functional.” The Bothan was making a chuffing noise that Mander could swear was chuckling.
It was Mander’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “How nonfunctional is it?”
“Extremely nonfunctional,” said the Bothan, and there was clear amusement in his voice.
“It is in a couple of pieces,” started Reen.
“More than a dozen major ones,” added Eddey. “Not counting the—”
“A few pieces,” corrected Reen, staring daggers at the Bothan. “Just a few pieces. Back on a landing pad on Keyorin. If,” she added quickly, cutting off Eddey Be’ray, “they haven’t sold it off for scrap to pay for the berthing fee.” The Bothan merely smiled and folded his furred hands in front of himself.
“Ah,” said Mander. “So you are stranded here. But someone with the coordinates for the Indrexu Spiral …”
“… and the ability to check them out …,” Reen put in.
“… would be able to write their own ticket,” finished Mander. “Sounds fair enough. Yes, I think an experienced pilot would be helpful. If I get the coordinates and they check out, you can have them as well. The Jedi don’t have much in the way of material belongings, so consider it Toro’s bequest.”
“He’s giving in too easily,” said the Bothan. “There has to be a catch.”
“There is,” said Mander. “The catch is the people who have the coordinates, the ones who kept Toro jumping through hoops for weeks.”
“So my brother was negotiating with tough customers,” said Reen. “How bad can they be?”
Mander said, “Toro was negotiating with the Hutts.”
Now it was the previously calm Bothan’s turn to react, his eyes wide and his fur raised from the crown of his head back along his spine. “You can’t be serious?” he managed.
“Completely,” said Mander. “I know that the Bothans and the Hutts have bad blood, so if you want to back out at this point, I would understand.”
Eddey opened his mouth to reply, but Reen beat him to the punch. “Bad blood isn’t the problem. Bothans and Hutts are natural competitors. The problem is that you can’t trust any Hutts. Period.”
“I believe the one we are dealing with can be trusted,” said Mander.
Reen stifled a laugh and said, “The only people who tolerate the Hutts are those who have to work for them, and even then they work very hard to keep them at an arm’s length. Every single Hutt is a criminal and a thief. Their entire civilization is built upon the powerful stealing from the weak. They survived the destruction of their original homeworld, Varl, and proceeded to steal another one from a less powerful species. Now Nal Hutta is a haven for the crime lords, and its moon, Nar Shaddaa, is rife with corruption.”
“Granted,” said Mander. “But the Old Republic dealt with the Hutts when they had to, and in this case the benefits were considered worth it. And if all Hutts are untrustworthy, that means you can depend on what they will do.”
“They are predictable,” said the Eddey Be’ray. “That is a far cry from dependable.”
“You’re making a mistake dealing with them in the first place,” said Reen. “If you want my professional opinion.”
“And in your long experience,” said Mander, “you’ve never dealt with Hutts?”
“That’s the point,” countered Reen. “I have. And it is a job best done through middlebeings and fixers with strong stomachs and weak morals. It is not a question of if a Hutt will betray you, but when.”
“So you’re saying no, then?” Mander asked with a sigh.
Eddey made to say something, but Reen overrode him again. “I’m saying that you had best be careful. They’re not like most of the other sentients you encounter out here on the Rim. Their brains don’t even work the same
way as everyone else’s,” she said. “And they’re resistant to your Jedi mind tricks,”
“I have reliable information to that effect,” said Mander. “I believe that it is one reason they are willing to deal with the Order. They feel we are at a disadvantage in negotiations, both with our limited ability to affect them and our tendency to deal with people fairly.”
“In other words, you’re predictable,” muttered Eddey.
Reen ignored him. “They will stab you in the back at the first hint of a profit. And Hutts deal in spice,” she said firmly.
“They do,” said Mander. “So the question is: Do these Hutts deal in that type of spice?”
Reen bit her lip, and the Bothan watched her as the wheels turned. At length she said, “Do you think that this is involved with my brother’s death?”
Mander shook his head. “You said that, not me. I don’t have enough information one way or another. A rival group may be after the coordinates, and they gave your brother the overdose. Or it may be for some other matter he was investigating. Toro’s reports were brief, so it could be that he became involved in investigating this Tempest himself. In any event, I can use someone who understands the possible perils, and you seem to meet that requirement. Are you still interested?”
Reen looked at Eddey, and if the Bothan communicated anything to the Pantoran, it eluded Mander’s senses. But after a moment, she nodded. “We’re in. Tell us about this ‘trustworthy’ Hutt that you poor, naïve Jedi have been dealing with.”
“These Hutts belong to the Anjiliac clan. Have you heard of them?” Both of them looked at him blankly. “They are not one of the ruling clans, but are on the next level down, socially. The patriarch is Popara Anjiliac, and he is the one who has the navigation codes.”
“Any idea where he got these codes in the first place?” said Reen.
“No,” said Mander, “although it’s not hard to speculate. The Anjiliacs are a trading clan, and apparently spend a great deal of effort in discovering new items and markets. The idea that someone in his employ discovered …”
“… or stole …”
“… or otherwise acquired the codes is not beyond reason.
“Popara and the Anjiliacs have a good reputation,” continued Mander, adding quickly, “Good obviously being relative when dealing with Hutts. He is ancient in Hutt terms, and has built a reputation for straightforward trade. From all our reports, he is sharp but honest in his dealings, and always gets what he wants. He pays his people well, and has a surprising amount of loyalty.”
“Luxury,” said Eddey Be’ray, and the other two looked at him. The Bothan finished the last of his meal and said, “Hutts would see loyalty—or treating one’s workers well—as a luxury, as much a status symbol as a humanoid dance-slave or a storied piece of holo-art. If this trustworthy Hutt cannot own entire planets, the ability to engage in such extravagant actions would be a conspicuous display of power.”
Mander nodded. “I hadn’t considered that as a possibility.”
Reen put in, “Keep this in mind—the Hutts have no words in their language for ‘thank you.’ The best they can manage is Bargon u noa-a-uyat che tah guma—Your services will be rewarded.”
“I know enough Huttese to get by,” said Mander. “Even taught a bit to your brother. That is one of the reasons why he was chosen for this particular mission.” Despite himself, Mander frowned at the reminder of sending Toro off. He pressed on. “Regardless, Popara Anjiliac has a good reputation, and I think we can trust him.”
Reen looked at Mander a long moment, her head tilted. At last she said, “What kind of Jedi are you?”
Mander blinked for a moment, confused by the question. “What do you mean?”
Reen’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know about the Tempest. And you’re negotiating for a set of space coordinates. With a Hutt. A Hutt that you’re willing to trust.”
“Your brother was willing to trust this Hutt,” said Mander calmly, his face a mask now, belying his irritation.
“And look where that got him,” she retorted. Then she realized what she had said. A shocked look crossed her face and she turned away.
Mander was unsure what to say. He looked at Eddey Be’ray, and the Bothan nodded at him to continue.
“A Jedi goes where he is needed,” said Mander. “Your brother, regardless of his fate, knew this. I taught him that, as I myself was taught. I will finish Toro’s task and, if I can, bring those responsible for his death to justice. I would appreciate your help.” He looked at the Bothan. “Both of you.”
Reen looked up and pushed the night-blue hair back across her forehead. “You’ll need our help, if you’re going to survive out here in the real world. You have to drive a hard bargain with the Hutts. Anyone who would trust a Hutt needs someone to keep them from walking into walls or falling down a well. It might as well be us.”
The Bothan nodded, and Mander said, “Very well, then. Welcome aboard.”
Reen leaned forward on the table and templed her fingers together. She said, “So when do we meet this ‘good Hutt’ of yours.”
“First thing tomorrow,” said Mander. “Popara’s yacht should pull into orbit this evening. I am supposed to meet his factotum at the starport at dawn. Berth Y-27. Meet me there and you’ll get a chance to draw your own conclusions.”
CHAPTER
THREE
POPARA THE HUTT
“Uba sanuba charra mon,” said the Hutt factotum, looking at the trio over the top of a heavy set of data goggles. At the Hutt’s side, a protocol droid made of greenish metal translated. “You said you would be coming alone,” it said in a neutral voice, lacking inflection.
“Do the Hutts consider members of one’s entourage as independent beings?” countered Mander, his face an unconcerned mask. He had reviewed the available volumes on Hutt customs and society before he had left Yavin 4. “Or are they merely extensions of one’s own will?”
The factotum had a greenish cast to its flesh, and its long lashes batted at Reen, Mander, and Eddey. A female, realized Mander, or rather a Hutt in female state. The great slug-like creatures could be either gender, and manifested secondary sexual traits differently throughout their lives. The idea of calling one male or female was usually left to the observer. The Hutts themselves seemed to be unconcerned about whether they were male or female at any moment. Indeed, many of their titles such as Lorda, or “master,” were considered gender-neutral.
This one’s head seemed to be narrower and taller than most as well, looking more like a spear point than a flattened triangle. She continued, speaking in the sibilant tongue of Huttese.
“And you are the previous Jedi’s replacement in the negotiations?” translated the droid, an H-series 3PO unit. The Hutt’s lackadaisical manner indicated that she didn’t care if he was or not.
“I was his teacher,” said Mander. “And I came to finish the task he was assigned.”
The factotum punched a few toggles on her pad, then adjusted her data goggles up over her eyes. The goggles’ oversized lenses made her eyes look huge, even for a Hutt. Surprisingly, the next time she spoke, it was in Basic, albeit in a halting fashion that communicated nothing so much as distaste for doing so, as if the words were bitter in her mouth. “I am Vago Gejalli. I am mighty Popara’s … chief adviser, majordomo, and factotum. Benevolent Popara is … very busy, so most of your dealing will be with me. Treat me with the respect … that wise Popara has earned.”
“Of course,” said Mander, and the Hutt turned and slithered toward the shuttle. Mander turned to the others, and was struck by the scowls they both wore.
“You can still stay behind,” he suggested.
“I would not miss this for all the spice on Ryloth,” said Reen.
“Just remember, let me do the talking,” Mander said. “Later I will ask about your impressions.”
They boarded the ship, and Mander watched the jade-green 3PO unit organizing the stowage of supplies: rantweed clusters, pickled zo
g, norrick loaves, and many kegs of Kashyyyk ale. The last was interesting, even in the larder of a Hutt epicure.
The shuttle lifted off smoothly from the spaceport, the ship helmed by a team of Gluss’sa’Nikto. The Pale Nikto spoke to one another in a low, atonal language but reported to Vago in Huttese. Mander did not doubt for a moment that the factotum was fluent in Nikto as well as in Basic, and did not doubt that she would rather sprain her tongue than speak it. The Hutt settled herself onto a great cushion along the back wall of the ship and busied herself with her datapad and goggles. It was as if Mander Zuma and his entourage had ceased to exist, having no more importance than the ale kegs.
Mander watched the sprawl of the Tract, the unlimited graveyard of Maken Te, extend out to the horizon as the shuttle rose. To Vago he said, “We appreciate benevolent Popara’s willingness to continue negotiations in this matter even after Toro Irana’s passing.”
Vago responded without looking up from her pad, the droid translating. “You may thank efficient and diligent Vago for that kindness. Most of the negotiations were through her offices. The previous Jedi was fairly effective, and the offer tendered through him remains sufficient, regardless of who offers it.”
Reen looked at the Hutt. “Then you knew my … I mean, you knew the previous Jedi.”
Vago looked up at Reen and blinked, her eyes magnified beneath the data goggles. She looked at Mander as if expecting him to cuff an insolent subordinate for speaking out of turn. When the older Jedi did not, she huffed and muttered a reply in Huttese, the droid translating.
“He dealt through our agents, and I believe he met both of Popara’s spawn at one time or another. He never met gentle and wise Popara, if that is what you are getting at. He was fairly effective, as I said.” She then returned to whatever she had on her datapad, the Pale Nikto crew droning in their native languages as the ground dropped away beneath them. Eddey remained quiet, taking everything in. Reen and Mander watched the sky darken beyond the viewports and the tomb-dotted horizon turn into a planetary curve.
