Canto Bight [Star Wars]

by Saladin Ahmed

  Corwindyl.

  Lexo’s shoulders tightened mercilessly, and his heart began to pound like a drum.

  He forced himself to dig deep into Ganna’s massive shoulders, to pretend that nothing was amiss, but his mind churned. Ganna’s impenetrable hide and thick blubber made corwindyl impractical for him. There was no reason for him to use it.

  Maybe the scent had come from Lexo’s own fingers. Yes, that must be it. Though the paste Lula made had been completely absorbed by now, the scent of it was somehow lingering. Maybe it had something to do with the increased humidity in the spa.

  It took a tremendous amount of strength to access the muscles of Ganna’s shoulder, so Lexo was bearing down hard, concentrating, and he almost missed the movement on the balcony above them.

  He glanced up. Looming over the faux-stone railing was Contessa Alissyndrex delga Cantonica Provincion. She was dressed in a black gown, the Onyx Bands of Cato Neimoidia draping from epaulets at her shoulders—all in sharp contrast with the halo of thick, white epidermis around her head and neck. As always, the stem of a crystal wineglass was pinched between her delicate fingers.

  Lexo caught her eye, and she nodded to him once, slowly.

  He returned his attention to Big Sturg Ganna’s massive deltoid, but the heat and stress in his shoulders was becoming unbearable. The countess. Here, unannounced.

  She was one of the spa’s partners. Lexo didn’t know the proportion of her stake, only that she was provided free services whenever she wanted them. He also knew that she loved wine and preferred zero-g massages, that she tipped well and rarely spoke. As far as Lexo could remember, she’d never before paid the spa a visit without an appointment.

  “You could get whatever information you wanted,” Big Sturg Ganna said, blithely unaware that the countess was watching them. “You have a way about you, Lexo Sooger, you and your bracelets and your unnervingly strong fingers. You could convince people to tell you anything.”

  “I couldn’t possibly,” Lexo replied. “Even if I could, the Zord’s experience is guaranteed to be elegant, relaxing, and safe. Discretion is the larger part of safety, yes? I see nothing but the sore muscles of my clients, and hear nothing but their sighs of satisfaction.”

  “For some of us, knowledge is the larger part of safety.” He paused. Then: “Lexo, my friend, I shall be frank.”

  Here it comes, Lexo thought.

  “I need you,” Ganna said. “You are perfectly positioned. A war is looming in Canto Bight, you see. It will be a silent, invisible war to most, but make no mistake, blood will be shed.”

  “That sounds very serious.”

  “I’m going to win this war, Lexo. And don’t you want to be on the winning side of a war? Of course you do. Everyone does.”

  Lexo said nothing. Feeling the countess’s eyes on them, he glanced upward. She took a sip of wine, her stare resolute.

  “Be my eyes and ears,” Ganna coaxed. “I pay very well. Ask anyone. And I’m loyal to those loyal to me. Someone of your positioning, your abilities, could go very far in a city like this. I’m just the one to help you do it.”

  The councilor didn’t know the half of Lexo’s abilities, and Lexo planned to keep it that way. To stall, to give himself time to think, Lexo asked, “That’s it? You just want me to gather information?”

  “And sometimes give information,” Ganna said. “There may be occasions when I want specific tidbits planted in specific ears.”

  “I see,” Lexo said. He had to be more careful than he’d ever been right now. “I can’t imagine Zord would approve of information brokering in his flagship spa.”

  “It will be our secret,” Ganna said.

  “Neither would the countess approve,” Lexo plunged on. “She’s here, by the way. Watching us right now.”

  Ganna’s body tensed. “She is? Well, that’s interesting. Very interesting. Anyway, there’s no need to bother either her or Zord with such trifling matters. Besides, you needn’t worry about the countess at all. I’m buying her out.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll be part owner of this spa very soon, and when I am, I plan to make some personnel changes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Depending on how things go, someone could find himself with a raise and a promotion. Or, you know, without a job at all.”

  Lexo was massaging along the councilor’s spine now. Every creature had a vulnerable point. An artery, a nerve cluster, a weakness. Ganna’s vulnerable point was near his neck, where blood traveled from heart to head, just as in Lexo’s human daughter, Lula. He would have to press very hard through hide and blubber to reach it.

  Not that he would, of course. But the very fact that it crossed his mind startled him. He hadn’t had thoughts like these in years. Decades. That life was long gone, as dead to him as the fighting slaves he’d tended on Askkto-Fen IV.

  “Surely you’ve sold information before?” Ganna continued. “All you service types do. I’m a man of the people, Lexo. I provide a way for the poor and downtrodden to improve their lot in life. Lucky for you, you’re in the perfect position to take advantage of my charity.”

  “Indeed,” Lexo said, thinking of the stable hand Lula had known, the one who died in Ganna’s service. “Your generosity is well known.”

  “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Of course I shall have to think about it.”

  Ganna made a noise that was something between a snort and a rumble. “You won’t think about it too long,” he said, and the smugness in his voice gave Lexo a shiver.

  It was time to turn Ganna over and massage his monstrous chest, and Lexo gestured for the assistant masseurs. Maby Sagedo and Oble Rumb hurried over. They were well known for climbing all over their clients, using heels, toes, and knees to compensate for their lack of size.

  “It’s time for your turning,” Lexo warned. Ganna grunted acknowledgment, and Lexo flipped a switch on the base of the stone plinth.

  A soft mechanical hum reverberated, and Ganna seemed to expand on the table as his blubber became buoyant in the artificially lightened gravity. With Sagedo’s and Rumb’s help—and careful to avoid Ganna’s highly ticklish tail—Lexo heaved and scooted and nudged until Ganna was lying on his back, his whitish chest and belly exposed.

  Then Lexo froze.

  This time, as the scent of corwindyl filled the air, Lexo couldn’t pretend it came from his own hands. Ganna was definitely using the stuff. Or someone else had placed it on him.

  “Get on with it, Sooger,” Ganna said.

  “Yes, of course.” Lexo placed his fingers against the councilor’s left pectorals and began to knead. He watched as Ganna made eye contact with the countess, who was still standing on the balcony above, her wineglass nearly empty. After a moment the countess turned and fled, gown swishing at her feet.

  Big Sturg Ganna chuckled.

  Lexo’s shoulders were almost quivering now, with the physical exertion of massaging this creature, and with the sure knowledge that something was deeply, deeply wrong.

  To calm himself and stave off panic, he thought of Lula. She was probably mucking crowded stalls now, dodging fathier hooves, giving pats and kind words whenever her boss wasn’t looking, trying to make the poor creatures’ plight a little less awful. He hoped she’d gotten a chance to rub the corwindyl into Hard Luck’s hock joint. Maybe her favorite fathier was feeling better already.

  Councilor Ganna opened his mouth, but Lexo interrupted him. “Do you ever use corwindyl, Councilor?” he asked.

  “Huh? Cor-what? Never heard of it.”

  “It’s an herb that—”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Look, Sooger, you’re going to work for me whether you want to or not. I’m doing you a favor. You’ll realize it soon enough, and you’ll thank me.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I don’t care what you think. I’m hiring you to broker information for me, not think.” Ganna’s voice had become low and dangerous. “You have to a
lly yourself with the winner. And that’s me. If you don’t, no one is safe. Not you.” He paused for a long moment. “And not your human daughter.”

  Lexo’s breath hitched. “You know I have a daughter,” he said flatly.

  “Of course. I never bring someone into my employ without vetting them thoroughly. She seems like a nice kid. A bit on the small side, though. Too fragile for working in the stables. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been kicked in the head already.”

  Lexo couldn’t seem to fill his chest with enough air.

  “You see,” Ganna said, “I had a feeling you’d resist my generous offer. So I took some precautions. I feel confident that you’ll come around very shortly.”

  “I told you I would think about it,” Lexo said in a small, tight voice.

  “Take as much time as you want,” Ganna replied. “But I suspect you’ll not want to take much time at all.”

  Lexo was desperate. He didn’t want Ganna to know the extent of what he could do, but he had to take a risk. He had to know more.

  Pheromone flooded his fingertips. As he pressed into Ganna’s chest, osmosis allowed it to secrete through his porous epidermis, onto Ganna’s hide. He massaged it in, making little circles, then wider circles, pressing hard, hard, harder.

  “You’re really outdoing yourself today,” the councilor observed. “I may have to increase my sessions to once per week.”

  Lexo would rather massage a rathtar. He said, “It would be a delight to see you more often.”

  “I mean, I’ll practically own the place soon. Stopping by regularly is just good management.”

  “You are very wise.”

  Ganna wasn’t relaxing. He was talking, sure, but he wasn’t saying anything useful. Lexo’s pheromone wasn’t working.

  Lexo tried again, secreting a small amount at the base of the councilor’s neck. Many species were especially sensitive there, where their skin was a little thinner.

  “Do you smell something?” Ganna said.

  “Just an enchanting, swampy perfume imported from your very own homeworld.”

  “No, it’s something else.”

  “Your olfactory senses must be superior to mine.”

  “Maybe. Just give my face another once-over, will you? We’re running out of time.”

  “Of course.”

  Not only was Ganna immune to his secretions, he could smell them as well. Lexo would have to find another way to get the information he needed.

  They chatted a while longer about nothing in particular, Lexo responding with things like “Yes, I expect you’ll do a lot of winning,” and “No, he was a fool for doubting you,” but all the while his mind was screaming, What have you done with Lula?

  When their session finally, finally drew to a close, Ganna insisted that they would talk again very soon, and Lexo said he was looking forward to it, and the moment the giant plinth rolled away, Lexo was sprinting up the stairs to the servants’ closet to change into his regular clothes.

  On the way out, he grabbed Oble Rumb and said something he hadn’t said since that day thirteen years ago when he found a cargo crate containing a tiny human baby: “Cancel all my appointments. I’m taking the rest of the day off. Zord can dock my pay.”

  Lexo fled into the streets of Old City and hailed a speeder cab.

  OLD WAS A RELATIVE TERM. The neighborhoods surrounding the Canto Casino were certainly older than the casino itself, and their age showed in the occasional cobbled street or stone archway or crumbling façade. But for the most part everything was shiny and new, with luxury shops and restaurants housed in domed towers made to blend seamlessly with the original architecture. Tourists never saw the truly old parts of the city, because those parts were poor, dank, cramped, and mostly underground, like the tiny apartment he shared with Lula.

  Lexo considered going there first, but he had last seen Lula heading up the stairs to the surface, toward the stables. He had to know if she’d arrived at her destination. Lexo fished out the chips he’d received from Joris as a tip and inserted them into the cab’s payment slot. He directed the cab toward the stables.

  Evening was quickly becoming dusk, and the city was springing to life. Speeders whizzed by his passenger window, faster, shinier, and sleeker than the one he had hired. Many of them, he knew, were chauffeured by organics. Big Sturg Ganna himself always eschewed automatic and droid-driven speeders. He considered it a point of pride and a symbol of his status that he could afford a living driver.

  To Lexo’s right the horizon glowed dark purple with the setting sun, a strange phenomenon that had manifested with the creation of Canto Bight’s artificial sea. Lights from various yachts and pleasure barges twinkled against the vast water. He had to admit, it was beautiful, albeit a colossal waste. On the hot desert planet of Cantonica, water evaporated at a rate of several tons per day, which meant that the cost of maintaining the false sea was astronomical.

  The cab turned toward the casino and was forced to slow down to accommodate traffic. Everyone was arriving for the night, checking into the hotel, trying to make a grand entrance. Lexo didn’t care about any of that. He leaned forward in his seat, as if he could will the speeder to go faster.

  It took a frustratingly long time to pass beyond the sleek, brightly lit entrance to the casino and its rows of rare Alderaanian chinar trees. Maybe the trees were real, maybe they weren’t; last Lexo had heard, the planet Alderaan wasn’t doing so well. But that was Canto Bight for you. In this city it was almost impossible to tell the real from the fake.

  Ahead, a glow loomed on the horizon, indicating that they were nearing the racetrack. The beautiful show stables were just ahead, and tourists crowded around to pet well-groomed fathiers, enjoy refreshments, and, of course, buy souvenirs.

  But the real stables were behind them, their unseemly smells and tight quarters and filthy workers kept mostly out of sight of the city’s wealthy visitors. The cab curved around the show stables, ducked into an alley, and finally came to a stop.

  Lexo practically leapt from the vehicle and headed straight for the main stable where Lula’s boss, Bargwill Tomder, was most likely to be lingering. The air was musty with fathier dung and unwashed bodies. Children were everywhere, hefting pitchforks and feedbags, running messages, even mending stall doors. Lexo scanned the area, hoping against hope to spot Lula. Maybe he’d misread Ganna’s threat. Maybe she was right here after all, safe and sound.

  The stables were made of brick and stone, with stalls that were more like jail cells—small and dark, with barred gates that opened electronically. Fathier heads peered over the gates as if dreaming of air and light, their broad ears nearly touching the tight walls, their silky coats often scarred or caked with dirt. Looking at their sad, soft eyes, Lexo couldn’t help but wonder if Lula was right. Maybe the fathiers were more intelligent than everyone realized.

  Lula was nowhere to be seen.

  But he found the stable keeper easily; Lexo simply followed the stench of rot and disease until he discovered him leaning against a fathier stall, his dressage whip held at the ready.

  Bargwill Tomder was a four-armed Cloddogran with rotting teeth, oozing skin, and a perpetual scowl. His plague-ridden nose tendrils were slowly but inexorably forming a mass of infection that would someday overtake the whole creature’s face, and possibly, Lexo considered, the entire star system. He wore a utility vest that hadn’t been washed in several years, where he stashed all manner of rusty tools—a wrench, a hoof pick, a collapsible glow rod. Lexo was willing to bet that the last time those tools had been used was probably around the same time that the vest had been washed. According to Lula, Bargwill Tomder hadn’t worked a day in his life. He just liked to use that whip.

  “Who’re you?” Tomder barked at Lexo as he approached.

  They’d met several times, but Lexo was unsurprised that Tomder did not recognize him. His eyesight was poor, and failing rapidly.

  “I’m looking for Lula Sooger,” Lexo said.

  Tomder s
quinted, peering closer. Stench rolled off him in waves. “Are you that Dor Namethian fellow? The masseur?”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “You’ve come to beg for her job back, haven’t you. Well, it won’t work. That lazy pile of rotting dung is done here. You hear me? Done.”

  Lexo was just about out of patience with dissembling and making nice. He unrolled his shoulders and stretched his spine to full height, gaining another meter—a trick he pulled only when he wanted to intimidate someone. In a dangerous, precise voice, he said, “What, exactly, do you mean by ‘done here’?”

  Tomder flinched away, his fingers tightening around his whip. “Girl didn’t show up to work. So she’s fired. That’s just the rules.”

  The air left him in a rush, and Lexo’s shoulders deflated. His worst fear realized. Lula was missing. Ganna had taken her hostage.

  “By the way,” Tomder said, “when you see her next, tell her she owes me her indenture debt. If it’s not paid by month’s end, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Lexo’s fingers twitched. He could reach for Tomder’s carotid. The disgusting creature could be dead in seconds.

  It was the second time today he’d considered killing. He shook the thought away with some difficulty. Now was the time for clearheadedness. Rage would make him careless and sloppy.

  He took a calming breath and said in a voice full of sympathy, “It must be hard to take care of all these urchins only to have some of them turn on you.”

  Tomder’s rheumy eyes bugged out and he nodded vigorously. “No one understands!” he said. “I work hard all day long, giving these kids a better life. And how do they repay me? By ditching work and leaving me destitute.”

  “You’re to be commended for soldiering on,” Lexo said. “In your position, I’d have to find other avenues for generating income. So I could take care of the children, of course.”

  Tomder shrugged. “I find ways to make it work.”

  Lexo steeled himself. He knew what he needed to do, but Bargwill Tomder was the most revolting creature he’d ever encountered. It would take days to get the stench off himself. Only for Lula.