by Jeff Grubb
There was a sparkle about the edge of the curve, which grew as they approached from a solitary pip of light into the dagger-shape of an Ubrikkian space yacht. The long, tapered bow cut like a knife blade among the stars, and the navigation spars bracketed the four rear engines. This was an air-breathing craft, and could land on a planet, should Popara Anjiliac ever deign to put common dirt beneath his belly. Even so, the ship was buffed to a reflective brilliance.
Mander did not doubt that there were at least half a dozen turbo-blasters concealed along the length of the bow, and that the shuttle was being tracked in the yacht’s crosshairs as they approached.
Vago snapped off her datapad and readjusted her goggles. “Imru Ootmian,” she said, then translated in Basic: “The Wandering Outlander.” Then she barked an order in Huttese and the shuttle nestled itself at the belly of the yacht. The hissing of seals confirmed the docking, and Vago led the group to the lift tube, the green droid fussing among the Pale Nikto behind them, readying the cargo for transfer.
The lift tube itself was opulent, with mirrored walls, mosaic crystal floors, and door irises made of muskwood. Vago seemed supremely disinterested in both her surroundings and her companions. The door hissed to a stop and spiraled open.
The hatch revealed the hulking form of a Wookiee, who pushed his way into the tube without waiting for the others to depart. Reen and Mander stepped back, but Eddey held his ground, and the Wookiee was brought up short, towering over the smaller Bothan. The two locked eyes, and for that long moment it looked like the Wookiee would attack. Mander could smell the alcohol on the Wookiee’s breath, and realized that this was why they were bringing on more ale from Kashyyyk. Finally, the Bothan stepped away and let the Wookiee shamble in, away from the Hutt. For her part, Vago slipped past the drunken Wookiee and shepherded the others down the hall.
“One of young Zonnos’s companions,” she said, without further explanation, biting off the words in Huttese. “There will be others on board.”
The end of the hallway was another great door of muskwood, this one with settings of silver. Another green 3PO unit, this one a bit more dented and battered, stood by the door. Apparently, thought Mander, it hadn’t gotten out of the Wookiee’s way in time.
“Announce us,” Vago said in Huttese, and the protocol droid snapped to attention and hand-palmed the lock, the hatch irising silently outward. In Basic, the droid crackled, “His most mighty and powerful lord, his most wise and generous master, his most understanding and thoughtful leader, Popara Anjiliac, Popara the Hutt.”
The room was dark in the manner that Hutts preferred, and wafted with the smells of smoke and slightly spoiled meat. The room itself was Hutt-sized, with three great alcoves along the other walls. All three were sumptuously furnished with rich tapestries and thick cushions. Mander noted briefly that the one on their left was empty, but the one on their right held a large young Hutt laughing with a trio of Wookiees. Empty kegs and used hokuum pipes were scattered about. But he had scant time to take that in, for Popara the Hutt occupied the central alcove.
Mander knew that Popara was old—nine centuries if the data disks had been correct—and had the wiliness of one who’d had to fight to survive every year. Hutts grew continuously throughout their entire lives, and Popara was enormous, his flesh marked with gray patches and old whitened scars of earlier conflicts. His eyes, though, were as brilliant as a morning on Yavin 4. Three green-hued Twi’lek females in long, diaphanous robes dabbed him with perfumed sponges, and one of them broke from her ministries as the massive Hutt let out a low, almost animal growl.
“Chowbaso, Jeedai,” said the old Hutt, and the floor itself vibrated from the deepness of his voice.
“Wise Popara bids you welcome,” said the Twi’lek, flashing sharpened teeth as she spoke.
“Dobra grandio Ma Lorda Popara Anjiliac,” said Mander Zuma, wrapping his tongue around the difficult glottal stops of the Huttese. I am honored, my lord Popara Anjiliac.
The great Hutt made a deep rumbling comment, and the Twi’lek handmaidens giggled. The tallest one said, “He says that your accent is horrible. He understands your language, and it is apparent you understand his. Shall I continue to translate for you and spare you further embarrassment?”
“Please,” said Mander, “for the sake of my companions, if not just clarity for me.”
Another flash of sharpened teeth, and the Hutt made another deep comment. “Puissant Popara declares that the offer the new Jedi Order has made for the coordinates of the Indrexu Spiral is sufficient.”
“I am pleased that it is so, and appreciate Popara’s willingness to part with it.” Mander nodded.
Another deep rumble, which the Twi’lek translated as “Knowledge is like water—hard to contain once it has been unleashed. Though he notes that if you have a Bothan in your party, such knowledge will not be kept secret long.” She looked daggers at Eddey, who merely held up both palms in that Who, me? response that Mander had already become accustomed to.
Mander started to say that the coordinates would help many, but the ancient Hutt let out a string of belches. “Sage Popara would, however, like to expand the deal we have agreed to. Mighty Popara bids you serve his family.”
“Here it comes,” said Reen under her breath.
Mander ignored her. “Please continue.”
A long string of Huttese followed, sounding like a hot spring covered with mud. The Twi’lek’s forehead creased as she sought to remember it all. “Concerned Popara notes that there is a plague on the planet Endregaad, on the far side of the Indrexu Spiral. The world is close to the Corporate Sector Authority, and the CSA has placed it under quarantine, interdicting all ships in and out. The plight of the Endregaadi has touched beneficent Popara’s heart, and he wishes to make a gift of medicinal spice to the world. The CSA will have nothing to do with dealing with Hutts, and Popara regrets that their lack of appreciation may cause greater suffering. You will be provided a ship carrying the spice with the coordinates already locked into the computer.”
Mander shot Reen a look at the mention of spice, and the spacer’s eyes were wide. She started to say something, but was drowned out by the return of the Wookiee from the lift tube, the huge creature bearing a keg of ale underneath each burly arm and shouting a welcoming cry. The other Wookiees in the smaller Hutt’s alcove responded in kind, and Mander took the opportunity to touch Reen on the shoulder and shake his head. The factotum Vago might tolerate such an interruption, the shake said, but it would be unlikely that Popara would, despite his stated benevolence.
For his part, the older Hutt unleashed a caustic tirade of abusive gutturals at the Wookiees and the younger Hutt. While the Twi’lek did not translate any of the exchange, Mander did not need to know Huttese to understand a parent berating a misbehaving child. The younger Hutt looked wounded, and he and the Wookiees settled into muttering, the new returnee pointing at Eddey in particular.
Addressing the Twi’lek, Mander said, “On behalf of the Jedi and all caring and concerned peoples of the galaxy, we thank Popara for his generosity, but question his interest in but one planet, and inquire if there is not something else he needs us to be aware of.”
The Twi’lek took a short, insulted intake of breath, but the ancient Hutt let out a deep sigh and spoke in a low tone to his translator, who then addressed Mander. “Mighty Popara has seen two of his spawn grow to maturity. Zonnos, here, is the elder of the two.” She made an almost imperceptible head-nod toward the Hutt and his Wookiee entourage. “His youngest child is Mika. Mika Anjiliac was on Endregaad when the plague hit, and the CSA interdicted the world. There has been no word of him since then, and Popara, a caring parent, is concerned. The child is … impetuous.”
Mander nodded and said, “I understand his concern for one of a younger generation. We will be glad to see delivery of the medical supplies and determine what happened to your son.”
“We keep the ship,” Reen interrupted.
Mander shot her a
sudden, shocked look, but the older Hutt merely chortled. “Of course,” said the Twi’lek. “When gracious Popara expanded the deal, he meant to expand both the risk and the reward. The ship will be more than sufficient payment for this favor.”
Popara the Hutt shifted forward on his cushions, his great girth hanging over the sides, towering over Mander and the others like an avalanche of flesh. His eyes softened, and for a moment he looked very, very old and alone. In a quiet voice, he said, in Basic, “Bring me back my son.” Then he settled back, and it was as if the moment had not happened. He was no longer a concerned father, merely a Hutt employer. Two of the robed Twi’leks dabbed at him with scented fluids, and the third asked, “Are you amenable to this addendum?”
“We will do our best,” said Mander.
“Vago Gejalli will see to your needs,” said the Twi’lek, and the great Hutt closed his eyes to mere slits—a sign that the audience was at an end.
“Bargon u noa-a-uyat,” Popara said, by way of benediction: You will be rewarded.
“Your thanks, the coordinates, and the ship are reward enough,” said Mander. He turned, leading the two others through the muskwood doors.
In the hallway, the H-3PO unit directed them down to a meeting room. Reen leaned in close to Mander and said, “I told you that you need to drive a hard bargain with the Hutts.”
“And I told you,” said Mander, “to let me do the talking.”
The briefing room was better lit but equally sumptuous, with raised ramps along one wall and a table and chairs more suitable for hominids in the center. Tasteful but opulent statues stood in niches along one wall. Reen examined one made of a rose-colored mineral depicting an incongruous Hutt emerging from a sweeping fountain of water. Reen reached out to touch a finger to the delicately carved foam.
Vago, behind them, spat out a string of Huttese. The slightly dented green H-3PO unit trailed after her like a moon in the Hutt’s tidal wake. The droid said, “That statue was presented to mighty Popara to commemorate the successful birth of his youngest child Mika. It is carved of a single emradite crystal. Such statuary would often be protected by virulent contact poisons, but that one has been detoxified.” Despite the nontoxic assurance, Reen pulled back her hand.
Vago ignored her and moved over to the table, toggling a switch. A holodisplay illuminated the schematics of a ship in the center of the table. It was shaped like a blunted arrowhead.
“This vessel is waiting at landing pad X-13 on Makem Te,” said Vago through the droid. “It is being loaded as we speak.”
Reen’s attention was on the ship at once, the statue now forgotten. “That’s a Suwantek TL-1200 freighter,” she said. “Dependable model, easily modded and customized. Can be handled solo, but flies better with a crew. Two quad laser turrets. No custom work that I can see. Bit dinged up. It will do.” She nodded her approval to Mander.
“Better condition than our last ship,” muttered Eddey, punching up a detailed schematic.
Vago ignored both of them and handed Mander a datapad. The droid translated. “The medicinal spice will be loaded into the aft compartments. We don’t know the specific details of the plague itself, so the spice is a broadband antisporant and pain suppressor.”
Reen’s head popped up from checking the ship’s stats. Mander saw her jaw tighten slightly as she asked, “Does All-Wise Popara do a lot of trade in spice?”
Vago looked over her data goggles at the Pantoran, then shrugged. The droid translated without comment. “Some. Mostly medicinal. This is not the first time Great Popara has directed spice to handle a crisis. He also ships glitterstim when he chooses to speculate on the market.”
“Nothing … worse?” said Reen. She tried to keep the words light, but Mander could see the shadow of a disapproving frown.
The Hutt factotum’s eyes narrowed, and the droid hesitated before translating. “No. Benevolent Popara chooses not to deal in slaves or in hard spices. He sees that there is enough misery in the galaxy without adding to it, and enough opportunity that he may gain wealth without contributing to that misery.”
“Regardless,” said Mander, “I think we should check the cargo before we get to Endregaad. It would be embarrassing to be found running contraband. The CSA in particular takes a dim view of spice smugglers.”
Vago made a chuffing noise. “Understood,” said the droid, taking the datapad from the Jedi. It handed the ’pad to Vago, who punched a few more buttons and handed it back. “This clears you to access the crates, and allows you to determine that they are what we claim them to be.”
“I am sorry if I sound untrusting,” said Mander.
Vago’s face was a blank, offering no more clue to her thoughts than the droid translator. “Not at all. Hutts have a … shall we say, reputation … in such things. One assumes that all Hutts are criminals, just as all Bothans are spies.” Despite himself, Mander shot a glance at Eddey, who was poring over the ship schematics and paying no apparent attention to any of them. Reen had joined him in investigating the plans.
“Wise Popara is no fool,” Vago continued through the droid. “He has survived clan wars and assassination attempts, and has found a position of strength in honesty. That is one reason to deal with the Jedi. Your Order does not leap to conclusions quite as rapidly as others.”
“We try to keep open minds,” said Mander.
Vago let out a snort and spoke in Huttese, holding up a hand to instruct the droid not to translate for the others. In Huttese she said, “Pity that the CSA does not follow your example. We have hit a wall dealing with them. Zonnos himself has taken over the negotiations, and hasn’t gotten much farther. In the meantime, Popara is distracted by his missing son, and the business suffers. And that makes it my worry.”
“Hmmm,” said Mander in Basic. “You are not worried about Mika?”
“I worry about Popara and his lineage,” said Vago, choosing her words carefully. To Mander it seemed that the Hutt wanted him to hear the words without going through a translator. “Benevolent Popara inspires loyalty, and hopes to make that loyalty his gift to his children. Zonnos is more typical of our species, but Mika has potential. I think that is why Popara is … concerned.”
“You are not Anjiliac clan, are you?” asked Mander. He shot a glance at his two companions, but they were still looking at the schematics. He wondered idly if the Bothan understood Huttese.
“No, I was spawned of the Gejalli family,” said Vago.
“I am not familiar with that clan,” said Mander.
“Because I am the only one in it,” said Vago, her face expressionless. “I said that Popara has survived numerous clan wars. The Gejallis were among the clans that confused openness for weakness and sought to defeat the Anjiliacs. I am the survivor.”
Mander raised an eyebrow. “And yet you work for him?”
Vago let out a deep sigh, and for a moment the officious mask of the majordomo slipped. “I was but a child, and by rights and tradition Popara could have ended my life. Instead he brought me in and trained me as his own. I owe him much and I want to see his true child returned to him. It is difficult to explain to an outlander.”
“We outlanders understand more than you think,” said Mander. “One last question: Why was Mika on Endregaad in the first place?” From the corner of his eye Mander noticed the Bothan’s head come up a bit. Eddey was definitely listening now.
Vago stiffened slightly and lowered her hand, allowing the droid to resume its translation, the air of familiarity gone once more. “Family business. One of our many holdings is Skydove Freight. The office is in Tel Bollin, the main colony on the planet. Mika was negotiating with geode miners. A small task, but Popara wants his children to understand the business. No one anticipated the plague … or the quarantine.”
“Does the other son, Zonnos, do small tasks as well?” asked Mander.
“Sometimes,” said Vago through the droid, and then allowed herself a deep chuckle. “If they are not too complicated.”
&n
bsp; “Will the CSA be expecting us?”
“No. We offered aid but they turned it down,” said Vago. “They will not be expecting it this soon in any event, as a normal ship would have to go around the Spiral. They will probably have at least one ship in orbit, and knowing the CSA it’s probably an old rust bucket with limited maneuverability, but enough ordnance to start a small war.”
“That would be expected with the Corporate Sector,” said Mander.
“The coordinates should bring you in on the far side of the system. Prescient Vago recommends you run the blockade,” translated the H-3PO unit. “Use some of the medicine to bribe the local officials on the ground. If you need to, offer the remaining spice to the CSA by way of an apology later. The plague is truly secondary compared with the safety of an Anjiliac scion.”
Mander nodded. Popara may be described as benevolent, wise, and kindly, but the fate of a world would not matter next to Mika.
“The Anjiliac family leaves such matters to your discretion,” spoke the droid. “And you will need to be vaccinated, of course. Vago will summon a medical droid. If you need anything else, this unit will see to your needs.” Not waiting for the droid to finish, Vago Gejalli slithered through the door.
“Do we have enough information?” asked Mander. Reen had been drawn into the schematics. The Bothan looked up, and saw Mander pointing to the walls and to the droid. The Bothan nodded. Both of them assumed listening devices in the walls, and droids had big receptors.
“A moment, Jedi,” said the droid. “There is someone else who would speak with you.”
“Vago will be back soon enough, but I think we are available,” said Mander.
“Not the others, I’m afraid,” said the droid, looking at the Bothan. “Just the Jedi. For a moment.”
Mander looked at Eddey, and the Bothan shrugged. The Jedi left Eddey and Reen going over the manifest, and followed the droid across the hall.
The warm room was dimly lit, and stank worse than the grand meeting room. As soon as he entered, two Wookiees closed in behind him, blocking the door. Two more flanked the elder son, Zonnos, sprawled on a repulsorlift couch.
