Scourge

by Jeff Grubb

  In his absence, the tailor droids had arrived with new outfits. Reen had chosen a practical outfit of deep violet spacer’s slacks with matching vest, both highlighted by white piping. A silver-gray shirt of Dramassian shimmersilk blended well with her azure skin, and she had touched up her facial tattoos with ocher powder. She still had her holster, but apparently had left the blaster on her ship. Eddey, on the other hand, had chosen a bulky, open-fronted tunic with padded shoulders, worn over a ruffled white shirt. Just as the sun—blood crimson from pollutants—touched the horizon, the dented H-3PO unit came to escort them to the party.

  The droid buzzed with something that resembled excitement. “Generous Popara, may his name always be praised by his clients, has a number of guests this evening, and will be holding audiences throughout the meal. Many of the guests would like to meet you as well, as word of your exploits has spread. Would you be opposed to sitting at different tables?”

  Mander started to respond, but Eddey put in quickly, “We would prefer it that way. We have seen enough of one another while crammed into our ship, and would enjoy new company.” Mander looked at the Bothan, and nodded. If they were talking to different guests, they could gain more information. The assassination attempt was a message—perhaps the one who sent that message would be present.

  The penthouse was not quite at the tip of the tower’s spire, but occupied an entire floor close to it. A turbolift deposited them at one end of a large room ringed with windows overlooking the city. On one side, the setting sun was being overtaken by the girth of Nal Hutta. Out the other set of windows, the city-moon was already in shadow, alive with its own brilliances of signs and lights. Across the far side of the room a translucent white wall reached from side to side, with two great sliding screens. Against the screens, they could see the shadows of Popara, Mika, and a third Hutt with a narrow, triangular head moving about in animated discussion.

  The room itself was an assemblage of guests and bodyguards. Each of the crescent-shaped tables was dominated by a Hutt. Mander noted Cereans, Bimms, and a pair of male Twi’leks. Reen pointed out a table with several Rodians with a subtle nod of her head. Popara’s Niktos lined the wall behind Mander and the others.

  Zonnos was there with his Wookiees, and to Mander’s eyes he had already dipped deep into the Kashyyyk ale with his furry companions. The eyes of Popara the Hutt’s eldest son widened when they came in, then reduced back to slits. The hulking Hutt muttered something to one of the Wookiees and turned back to his drink.

  The spread was, if anything, more indulgent than the catered meal delivered to their quarters earlier. Platters of Hutt delicacies littered the tables, include braised fork tarts, sand gizzars, and strained kebaddas. Small bowls of crunchbugs peeped softly in the center of the table. Live tuskettes were kept in cages on hand near each of the Hutt guests as a palate cleanser. Effrikim worms were served, heads on, and consumed in one gulp—though only by the Hutts. Mander was unsure if several dishes were intended as food, utensils, or table decorations. Each table was dominated by a larger spice-jelly crafted to look like Popara, Zonnos, and Mika together. One happy family captured in suspended gelatin. In addition to the Kashyyyk ale, there were heavy pitchers of boga noga and gardulla, next to fluted crystal ewers of what looked like clear, fresh water.

  The back wall slid open and the three Hutts emerged. Vago came first, heading directly to the turbolift, one of her ubiquitous jade-green droids in tow, apparently too busy for the festivities. Then Mika, who went to the empty table where a clutch of Rodians gathered. Finally, Popara came forth, resplendent on a liftpad, flanked by his three female Twi’leks.

  “Gijee bo mabonna matah,” said the elder Hutt, welcoming the collected species. “Chowbaso padunky.” Reen looked expectantly at Mander.

  “Gentlebeings and fellow sentients,” translated Mander softly for the others, “Welcome to my home.”

  “Jeema mojja nanyar kodowin Mander Zuma keeja Jeedai, Reen Irana, bo Eddey Be’ray, lomarin geejo mokyin Endregaadi. Gon kodowin pumba mallin.”

  “He said—” Mander began, but Reen interrupted, “I caught our names. Did he say ‘thank you’?”

  “As much as a Hutt ever does,” said Mander. “He said our efforts were more than sufficient.”

  The Pantoran sniffed and scanned the tables. “Dibs on the Rodians,” she said. “I want to see if I can shake something loose about the Bomus.”

  Mander nodded and let himself be guided to the table with the Cereans and a large female Hutt with a diamond insignia in her forehead. Eddey was seated with the Twi’leks and Bimms. None of them sat at Zonnos’s table.

  A tall Cerean introduced the Hutt at Mander’s table as Lungru Nokko, an old business associate of the Anjiliac clan. The tall Cerean himself was named Kir Sesad, and was Lungru’s chief adviser. There were a trio of Quarren at the table, but only one spoke Basic, and that one with a sibilant lisp. When this Quarren translated the table conversation to the other two, her native language sounded much more delightful.

  Lungru, of course, only spoke in Huttese, and Mander could follow well enough, though Sesad would step in when Lungru slurred a colloquialism or Mander had difficulty making a point. The female Hutt was particularly interested in their adventures on Endregaad, and more than once referred to Mander as Mika’s savior. “Such a child needs protectors,” said the Hutt.

  “Popara’s youngest son seems more than brave and capable enough,” said Mander. “We had an incident earlier today. Came under sniper fire. He did not flinch in the face of that.”

  Lungru’s eyes widened in surprise, and Mander added, “I believe our shooter was Cerean.”

  Lungru made a chortling noise and burbled in Huttese, “A Cerean? Do you recognize him at the table? Perhaps Kir Sesad here slipped away from my entourage to take a shot at Popara’s favorite!” The Cerean adviser gave Mander a look as cold as deep space, but the Hutt continued, amused at her own joke. “Perhaps you snuck away when I was not looking, eh, Kir Sesad?”

  Kir Sesad replied stonily, “I would never do anything without your orders, Lorda Lungru,” but the Cerean’s stare never left Mander.

  Lungru proceeded to say that she would never do anything so crass as to assassinate a rival before a dinner party, and noted that Mika being a target was not the young Hutt’s fault, after all. “Popara babies him. It happens to older Hutts. We get soft, sentimental. We miss opportunities. We don’t take advantage. The Popara I remember was much stronger, more cruel. Now he is just old, like me.”

  At that point one of the Twi’lek handmaidens arrived and informed Lungru that Popara would see her. The female Hutt pushed herself away from the table, and the other Cereans followed the handmaiden up to the sliding doors. Kir Sesad brought up the rear. Popara’s lift-pad drifted back into the inner chamber, and the translucent walls slid into place.

  Popara was mixing business with pleasure, Mander realized, turning a celebratory feast into little more than a well-fed waiting room. The Quarren were having their own discussion, which did not include him. He looked around, and Reen caught his eye and excused herself from Mika’s table. She half collapsed into Kir Sesad’s chair.

  “I need to trade seats,” she said.

  “How are your Rodians?” asked Mander.

  “They are accountants,” said Reen, throwing as much venom as she could into the word. “They belong to the Kemu clan, and they are as dry as a desert world. I have never been as deeply bored in my life.”

  Mander managed a smile. “Poor Mika.”

  Reen let out a frustrated snort. “Poor Mika? He apparently loves this sort of thing. They’ve been discussing the revised strictures on post-Imperial import levies among the Core Worlds for the past half hour.”

  “So no luck, then.”

  Reen shook her head. “They know of the Bomu clan, but consider them clowns and incompetents. I couldn’t really disagree about that, given their track record. They think smugglers go into the business because they can’t handle t
he paperwork.”

  “You should get back,” said Mander. “Here comes my table.”

  The wall-sized panels slid open and Lungru slithered out, her entourage in tow. She looked like she hadn’t had a good meeting, and on her way back to the table snagged a hokuum pipe from a serving tray and took a long hard pull on it. The Cereans sat stone-faced as their mistress drew the smoke deep into her lungs; even the Quarren were quiet.

  Lungru looked at Mander at length, then let out a torrent of Huttese that Mander had trouble following. The Jedi looked at Kir Sesad for a translation. The serious Cerean merely said, “You know about the Tempest spice.”

  Mander slowly nodded. “We encountered it. On Endregaad. It seems to be spreading through the galactic arm.”

  “It is an opportunity,” said the Cerean, and Lungru let out a snort that sounded like a mud bubble popping. “An opportunity that Popara is passing up.”

  “Gah ja boftah,” said the Hutt, which translated as “He is getting soft.”

  “It is a dangerous spice,” said Mander.

  “All things are dangerous,” said the Cerean, in a way that sounded like he included himself in that estimation. “It is here, on the Smugglers’ Moon. The spice. We have seen it. And if anyone happens to know where it came from, how to manufacture it, who to talk to—well, that would be valuable information.” Kir Sesad managed a toothy smile and leaned forward. “Very valuable.”

  “Agreed,” said Mander, leaning forward. “I would be interested myself in knowing those things. Keep me in mind.” To Lungru he said, in butchered Huttese, “I will find out.” And he made it sound like a threat.

  Mander pushed himself back from the table, leaving Lungru sputtering and the Quarren giggling in his wake. The Rodian accountants had had a brief meeting with Popara, and the other Hutt, Parella, was now ushered in. Rather than go rescue Reen from further discussions of Republic-era precious metal policy, he stopped at Eddey’s table, where the Bothan was conversing with the Bimm.

  “It is good to see someone is having a pleasant time,” said Mander.

  Eddey smiled. “The Bimm here were rescued by one of Popara’s ships, and have been negotiating to pay off the debt for that rescue. Since the food is pretty good here, they are in no hurry.” The Bimm nodded and held up some sod creepers roasted in their own shells.

  “And the Hutt at your table?” asked Mander.

  “Strange one,” said Eddey. “His name is Parella, and he likes to hunt.”

  “Hunt?” said Mander.

  “Most Hutts are, well, slugs,” said Eddey. “Inert invertebrates. This one likes the thrill of bringing down his own kills. Has been going on at length about knocking whirlbats out of the sky on his estate on Nal Hutta. He likes weapons of all sorts. Oh, and he’s probably going to corner you about your blade.”

  “My lightsaber?” said Mander, the deactivated hilt feeling heavy at his side. “Why?”

  “New weapon for him,” said Eddey. “He’ll want to try it out.”

  “A lightsaber can be dangerous in the wrong hands,” Mander replied. “Jedi study for years to master its nuances. Without the Force, it is dangerous to its user as well as to its opponent.”

  “I told him something like that,” said the Bothan. “Needless to say, a Hutt hears nothing he doesn’t want to. Have you noticed Zonnos?”

  Despite himself, Mander turned to look at Popara’s elder son, locking eyes with him across the room.

  “He’s been staring at you for most of the evening,” said Eddey. “His Wookiees were irritated by me last time we met the Hutts, but now, nothing. They’ve been staring at you. And every time you do anything, Zonnos just gets angrier. You’re doing something to get his ponderous back up.”

  The Hutt’s eyes narrowed and one of the Wookiees said something, earning a cuff across the back of the head from the Hutt. Zonnos looked, if anything, angrier and more dangerous than earlier. His thick bluish hide seems to radiate rage and irritation. Mander turned back to Eddey. The Bothan said, “He probably doesn’t know if you said anything to his father about the little chat you two had before we went to find Mika. Or what you will say.”

  “Meaning?” said Mander.

  “Meaning we could theorize that the target of this afternoon’s assassination attempt was someone other than Mika,” said Eddey. Mander thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

  The panels to the back room opened and Parella the Hunter emerged, a smile across his broad face. Did he get what he wanted, Mander wondered, or did he simply not want that much in the first place?

  Reen manifested at the Jedi’s side, one of Popara’s Twi’leks visible behind her shoulder. “We’re up next,” she said, and the Twi’lek motioned for the doors.

  They walked through the doorway and Mander felt a tingling along his flesh, as if he had passed through a bubble made of static electricity. A force field, he realized, arranged to allow slower-moving bodies to pass through while deflecting energy weapons and probably high-caliber bullets.

  Popara was no fool, and was making sure just in case an assassin decided to send him a message in a more direct fashion.

  The Hutt was still stretched out on his repulsorlift, his Twi’lek servants ministering to his needs. One held the stem of an ornate hokuum to his lips. A second stood to one side with a datapad. A third carried a large bowl with what looked like pale, wriggling worms.

  “Bet he doesn’t say thank you this time, either,” said Reen softly, and Mander shushed her.

  Popara Anjiliac took a long, slow pull on the water pipe, nodding at its Twi’lek bearer. She backed away and the Hutt exhaled the smoke from his narrow nostrils. Then the Hutt unleashed a long torrent of Huttese—Popara was getting down to business at once. Mander caught the gist of it, but the Twi’lek confirmed his thoughts in translation.

  “Mighty Popara bids you serve his family,” said the Twi’lek, as Popara grabbed a fistful of pale white worms and stuffed them enthusiastically into his maw. “His youngest son, Mika, has uncovered that the plague that trapped him on Endredgaad was tied into a new form of spice. A hard spice that thickens the mind and inflames the passion. Mighty Popara would never condone trade in such a spice, despite the urgings of others.” Here Popara swallowed his mouth full of worms and continued with another torrent of Huttese, hooting with each statement.

  “The Tempest spice is throughout Hutt space and the galactic arm, and is a bane to us all. Mighty Popara believes that young Mika found out enough to call attention to his actions and those involved in the smuggling targeted him for elimination.” Popara at this point levied a long series of curses, many of which Mander knew but several of which sounded extremely innovative. The Twi’lek chose to edit those out of her translation.

  “Popara will not have his family threatened. He has crushed his foes and left clan homes empty among those who have challenged him. For this reason, he wants to find out who is responsible for this new addiction on the worlds, so he may destroy them.” Popara patted his belly, let out a belch, and motioned for more worms. After downing another handful, he took a long drink from a crystal ewer, and continued.

  “You are of similar mind, Mighty Popara thinks, as he is. The Jedi do not care for shackles, either on the body or on the mind.”

  “Mighty Popara is correct in his assumption,” said Mander, in the best Huttese he could manage. Popara chuckled, and for a moment a pained look crossed his face. He motioned for the ewer, downed a healthy portion, then burbled another long speech.

  The Twi’lek followed her master’s words and translated. “Fatherly Popara does not wish his youngest son, so recently returned, to put himself at risk. Similarly, Vago is most competent, but Vago is like a daughter to him and should not be endangered, either. Zonnos is the eldest and one does not imperil the family heir. You will investigate this matter on our behalf.” The Twi’lek with the datapad stepped forward and handed it to Mander. “This is a list of local tapcafs at which Vago determined that this Tempest was
sold,” the second Twi’lek said. “Perhaps you will be able to trace the source, or find our would-be assassin.”

  Mander slipped the datapad inside his robes and said simply, “It would be our honor to be of service.” Reen started to say something, but Eddey nudged her with an elbow and she thought better of it.

  Popara started to say something, then stopped, repeated himself, and let out an indecorous belch that took the Twi’leks aback. He started to say something else, but stopped again, even as he seemed to sway for a moment on his repulsorlift. Then his eyes widened in pain and horror.

  Eddey said, “What’s going on?”

  Mander didn’t know, and crossed toward the great Hutt. It would normally be a transgression to approach him, but Popara was clearly in pain now. Popara’s belly started to swell, and the great Hutt patron started to croak like an injured frog. The Twi’leks were clearly frightened, and one of them pushed Mander back, away from their master. Still the Hutt’s massive form expanded, his eyes wide with panic. His skin was stretched taut, like a balloon about to pop.

  Reen shouted, “I’ll get help,” and turned back to the doors. They slid easily apart, and Mander realized what it would look like to the assembled party—Popara in obvious pain, the Twi’lek shouting in fear, and the rest of them standing right in front of the Hutt’s distended form.

  “Reen, don’t!” Mander said, but Eddey grabbed him and pulled him to one side. Popara was almost ovoid in shape now, and screaming in a low, throaty roar.

  And then the flesh gave way in half a dozen places and Popara exploded, his organs rupturing in all directions around the room. The Twi’leks screamed, diving for cover, and Reen was flung forward by the power of the explosion and bounced off the force field, along with the former Hutt patriarch’s interior organs. Both the Pantoran and the Hutt’s digestive system were moving too fast to allow the screen to let them pass.

  There was silence for a moment, and Mander looked out at the assembled guests—Hutt and Quarren, Bimm and Rodian, Wookiee and Cerean. All of them looked at the gory tableau beyond the open doors in shock. It was only for a moment, but Mander felt his heart hammer from the certain knowledge of what was to come.