Scourge

by Jeff Grubb

  If she couldn’t, she would be dead, and at least she would be spared any more of the Hutt’s legal proceedings.

  She tensed herself for the leap, and that was when the wall exploded behind her.

  All eyes in the penthouse-turned-courtroom, living and mechanical, had been trained on her as she verbally and publicly assaulted Zonnos. As a result, no one saw the aircar that peeled away from traffic, and therefore no one had the opportunity to think it odd that such a vehicle would try to form its own lane. They would be surprised, though, when the aircar took a sharp left and picked up speed, aiming at the penthouse itself.

  It blasted through the durasteel panels that had so recently been installed over the shattered windows. The panels themselves held, but the temporary fasteners were not so resistant to impact, and huge plates popped inward, into the room. The Wookiee guard, strung along that wall in a place of honor, was completely bowled over by the force of the blast, and many were crushed beneath the multi-ton plates.

  The canopy of the aircar shattered and a lightsaber beam was clear in the smoke. Mander Zuma strode out of the wreckage. Angela Krin and Eddey Be’ray flanked him, their blasters drawn.

  The Niktos were caught gaping at the sight, and Eddey and Angela mowed down the bulk of them. Two of the Twi’lek handmaidens fled back to the lift, shrieking. The third, calmer than her sisters, retreated behind them in good order. The Vuvrian toady dived for cover among the holocam droids.

  “Let her go,” shouted Mander, sounding more angry than commanding.

  Zonnos seethed with rage, but was still a Hutt in his heart. He picked up one of the blaster carbines and grabbed Reen, pulling her as tight to him as her chains allowed.

  “Kickeeyuna je killyo,” said Zonnos. Reen didn’t know what the Hutt said, but she got his meaning: Mander could surrender or watch her die in a spasm of blasterfire.

  Mander stopped, and for one cold moment Reen was sure that the Jedi would surrender, would offer himself in trade for her. And Zonnos would accept and then kill them all.

  Then Mander reached into his robes with his free hand. He came up with a blaster.

  And before Zonnos could move—before he could cower behind his hostage—Mander Zuma shot Reen Irana once, dead center, in the chest.

  Reen slumped in her chains, falling through Zonnos’s arms and collapsing on the floor. The powerful young Hutt, deprived of his hostage, let out an enraged bellow, and charged Mander, wielding the blaster as a club. His eyes were feral now, and all trace of cunning or guile was replaced with an overwhelming rage.

  He got halfway to Mander and stopped short. A lightsaber had blossomed in his chest, its blade driven deep into his soft flesh.

  Mander recovered from the throw and somersaulted forward. He grasped the handle of his blade and tore upward, through the tough flesh of the creature. Zonnos the Hutt, master of the Anjiliac clan for less than one day on Nar Shaddaa, collapsed at his feet.

  The surviving Wookiees and Niktos had regrouped, taking cover among the destroyed chairs and droids, and now had their weapons leveled on Mander and the others. But a pall had descended on the ersatz courtroom. No one fired.

  “What now?” asked Eddey, flanking Mander.

  “They aren’t sure,” said Angela Krin. “They don’t know if they have a master or not. There is no one to give them an order.”

  The turbolift doors slid open and Mika the Hutt slid out, flanked by Niktos. He looked out of breath. To Mander it seemed that he had been pulled from whatever room he was being held prisoner in here and rushed to the scene as soon as Zonnos’s death was broadcast.

  “Ap-xmasi keepun!” Mika barked, and the Niktos put up their weapons immediately, trained from birth to jump at the word of a Hutt. The Wookiees hesitated a moment, then did the same.

  To Mander he said in a commanding voice, “Reloj ba preesen!” Free the prisoner. The Hutt’s voice had a note of command and power, and despite his small size Mika seemed to dominate the room. Mander knelt next to Reen’s fallen form and cut through the chains. Eddey hoisted her body. Angela Krin stood guard over all of them.

  Mika shouted at the pair of them as they worked. “Jee gah plogoon du bunky dunko.” You are a plague on my house. Mander was stunned for a moment by Mika’s anger and the power in his voice—then realized that the holocam droids were still operating. They were broadcasting Mika’s words to an audience of Hutts, all of them weighing those words and whether this youngest member of the house deserved to run the clan. He was playing to the cams.

  Mika spoke in Huttese, now, slowly enough that Mander could understand him. “I have discovered that it was Zonnos who was responsible for my father’s death. You are mere pawns in his plans. Come with me. You will darken my father’s halls no longer!” He beckoned for Mander and the others to follow. Eddey carried Reen, and Angela Krin kept her weapon drawn and ready in case any of the Wookiees decided to curry favor with their new master by trying something.

  Once beyond the cams, in the safety of the lift, Mika allowed himself to deflate slightly. “I hope I was convincing,” he said, smiling weakly, speaking Basic once more for the benefit of the CSA agent and the Bothan.

  “I was thoroughly convinced you were a Hutt,” said Angela Krin. “What did you say?”

  Mika shrugged. “The truth. Or at least the truth as I understand it. It always served my father very well. I told them that Zonnos was responsible for my father’s death, and that you were nothing but a distraction. An irritating distraction that I would now throw out of my house with great show and fanfare.”

  Mander said, “We will try to look appropriately abashed.”

  “Your services will be rewarded,” said Mika. The door shushed open to reveal a nondescript hoverbus with blackened windows. “This will take you back to your ship. It is fully prepped and ready to go.” Angela went in first, and helped Eddey bring Reen’s unconscious form onboard.

  “Thank you,” said Mander. “There is one thing, though,” he added, looking to make sure that the others could not hear them. “When we fought the vrblther, you seemed to …”

  “… use a special talent,” finished the Hutt.

  Mander nodded. “A talent that many of my brethren share.”

  Mika’s face darkened in embarrassment. “I am thought of as an unusual son of an unusual Hutt to begin with,” he said. “Can you imagine how the other families would react if they knew that I had …”

  “… a special talent?” said Mander.

  “It is a tool that I would prefer others not to know about,” said Mika. “My father knew. And your apprentice found out, and helped me understand part of it. But so much of your teaching is alien. I cannot wrap my mind about it, no matter how hard I try.”

  “Not everyone who feels the Force can be a Jedi,” said Mander.

  “I know,” said Mika, and seemed to fall in on himself, seeming smaller than he was before. “I can work children’s tricks, no more. I would prefer that no one else knows this, either among the Hutts or the Jedi.”

  The small Hutt’s brow furrowed and he shook his flat head. “I will have my hands full. Vago is missing. I don’t know if Zonnos had her killed, or if she has fled. I don’t even know how much she was responsible for what happened. I will have much work to repair my family’s reputation as it is. This is a secret I would prefer to be kept.”

  “I understand,” said Mander. “And I want you to know that if you need help, you can trust this Jedi to keep your secret.”

  Mika smiled weakly, “Your efforts will be rewarded,” he said with a shrug.

  Mander said, “For our part, we will continue to pursue the Tempest trade.”

  Mika shook his head sadly. “Of all the things, that particular drug has damaged my family the most. Perhaps with Zonnos’s death it will finally abate. Please keep me informed about your progress in this matter, and for my part I will tell you if Vago turns up.”

  “Of course,” said the Jedi.

  “Now hurry,” said the
Hutt, “before the cam droids figure out where your ship is.”

  Mander boarded the hoverbus and it pulled away. Through the darkened windows, he looked back to see the lone, small Hutt standing on the platform, lacking family, lacking support. A singularly unique Hutt trapped in a life he had not planned.

  And then the hoverbus lifted into the clutter of air traffic, and he was gone.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  CALCULATIONS

  Koax the one-eyed Klatooinian stood her ground as waves of abuse in Huttese spilled out over the holoreceiver. Spittle showed up as snowy static as the Spice Lord dressed her down. In her sleeping pod, she was glad she had set up the privacy shields to maximum. No one wanted to hear an angry Hutt through the walls.

  “An amateur operation!” snarled the faceless silhouette hovering above the receiver platform. “Your Rodians could not handle the simplest of tasks, covering their own tracks on Makem Te. Why should I expect them not to make an akk dog’s breakfast of something like this? Why should I not put you and them out on the street!”

  Koax visibly blanched at the thought. “With respect, Ma Lorda, Rodians are by their nature creatures of violence and vengeance, and the Bomu clan more so than most.”

  The Spice Lord was unimpressed with her line of argument. “And you thought not to inform me that once you unleashed them, they would surge through the undercity like a plague, shooting everything that moved and blowing up the foundations of our very towers?”

  Koax stammered for a moment, and the light in her red eyes seemed to flicker from nervousness. For Klatooinians—indeed, for most of the client races under control of the Hutts—disappointing their lords was a cardinal sin. And yet inwardly she seethed—this was not her problem. The Spice Lord had gotten what the Spice Lord had wanted. “I apologize for their … enthusiasm. They were meant to merely herd the group into Zonnos’s trap instead of trying to blow it up.”

  The Hutt made a growling noise that could have been laughter or indignation. “Zonnos. That was the price paid for their ‘enthusiasm.’ He should have gotten his trial and meted out his punishment to all three of them, taken Popara’s place, and proved to be a useful tool for us. Instead we have Jeedai and CSA agents sniffing at the hems of our robes.”

  Koax’s gem-like eye gleamed in mischief. “Should I cut ties with the Bomu clan?”

  “Yes,” said the Hutt, then considered a moment. “On second thought, let us do the opposite. Provide the Bomu clan with more opportunities to serve. Stretch them thin. Send them in a number of different directions, far away from the Jeedai and their hunters. Do not give them time to pursue their vengeance, while we recover and strengthen our own forces. When the time is right, we will sacrifice them.”

  The Hutt laughed at the thought, and Koax cautiously joined the Spice Lord. “You are a good servant, Koax,” said the Hutt, “and your failings can be forgiven when compared with the gifts you bring.”

  The Hutt raised a thick-fingered hand and produced the trophy, the weapon that had been in Koax’s possession until so very recently. Looking at it, Koax felt another pain—one of jealousy. There had been no question of her failing to turn over the lightsaber to the Spice Lord, but still, she missed its familiar weight from when she’d kept it safe.

  The Hutt ran a thumb over the activator plate and the blade sprang to life, illuminating the Spice Lord fully to the Klatooinian. For the first time in their conversations over the holoreceiver, Koax saw her master’s face.

  She fought the urge to step away, to quail in the Spice Lord’s presence. Instead she said, “I am glad that you received it. I am glad you find me worthy to continue my service to you.”

  “A good craftsman keeps good tools,” said the Hutt, and toggled off the transmission.

  Koax stared at the blank holoreceiver, and realized that she was shaking. She had seen the face of the Spice Lord, and the expression on that face: cold, cruel, and calculating. Despite the encouragement, Koax knew the Spice Lord would leave her for dead at the merest suspicion of incompetence or failure.

  She could not let that happen.

  She would have to redouble her efforts, keeping the Bomus busy, taking care of the hundred and one things that needed doing that the Spice Lord was too busy for. Because for a Klatooinian, failing a Hutt is the worst failure of all.

  “You shot me,” said Reen.

  “A lightsaber does not have a stun setting,” said Mander. “You said that yourself.”

  “You shot me.”

  “Only to keep you alive,” he said, but the words sounded weak.

  They were in the belly of the Resolute again, moving slowly through Corporate Sector space. Angela Krin had requested they redirect to her ship after leaving Nar Shaddaa. Now, in the medlab, a medical droid was prodding the blistered skin of the Pantoran, applying balms and ointments to her chest. She had her shirt off, and her anger allowed her to ignore the potential embarrassment of it. For his part, Mander found the far wall of great interest, and concentrated his attention there.

  The medical droid, a B1E unit, clattered with approval and rolled backward on its tripod wheels. Reen shrugged her shirt back on and Mander felt more comfortable with the conversation immediately.

  “And I missed out on all the fun,” she added, buttoning herself up.

  “It was hardly fun,” said Mander, turning back from the wall. “I had to kill Zonnos.”

  “It would have been fun for me,” she said. “And I don’t think the Tempest ends with him.”

  “I agree,” said Mander. “He wasn’t smart enough to pull off such a trade himself.”

  “And he would have been sampling his own stock,” said Reen.

  “That is a mistake in the spice trade, I’ll admit,” noted Mander.

  Reen shook her head. “No—he had someone buying the drug in Nar Shaddaa. One of his Wookiees, remember?”

  “So?”

  “Would you send someone out to pay street prices when you had a ready and steady flow yourself?” Reen asked.

  Mander opened his mouth, and then stopped. She was right. “Vago hasn’t been seen since Popara’s death,” he managed to say.

  Reen regarded him coolly. “And Vago is smart enough to pull this off.”

  Eddey manifested at the medlab door. “Good to see you up and around,” he said to Reen. “The lieutenant commander wants to see us in her office.”

  “After you,” said Reen, dropping off the examination table.

  “Go ahead,” said Mander.

  “Are you kidding?” said the Pantoran. “I’m not turning my back on you. You shot me.” Mander looked at her for a trace of amusement in her face. He saw none. Troubled, he left the medical bay ahead of the Pantoran.

  The commander’s office was as bare and utilitarian as always. The holo-chess set was in idle mode once more. This time the viewscreen showed simply deep space, the distant stars drifting only slightly. Lieutenant Commander Angela Krin stood facing those stars as the three were ushered in, dressed once more in her full uniform. She waited for them to be alone. Then she turned to her desk and punched a few buttons.

  “While we were in Hutt space, I had the Corporate Sector medtechs examine both the Tempest spice and Endregaad disease. Here is the disease.” She toggled the screen, and a spiral of chemical markers danced above the tabletop. Along one side of the image, lines radiated from points of interest in the molecular chain, zooming in on particular connections.

  Mander and the others nodded. The lieutenant commander’s fingers stroked open another file from the desktop. It displayed next to it a bulkier, more geometric image. This one was built not on a double helix, but on a three-dimensional hex grid. Again, lines radiated from particular items the medtechs thought interesting.

  Mander leaned forward, but shook his head. The two drawings seemed as widely different as a puppy and a droid.

  Eddey, though, pointed at a swooping line in both drawings. “Those parts are similar.”

 
Angela nodded. “My techs caught it as well. They both have a similar organic structure along those root splines. There’s a link between the two.”

  “The plague on Endregaad was caused by the spice?” asked Mander.

  “No,” said Angela, “the spice is a mutated form of a normal spice. At its heart, it is a spice—or several spices—common to a dozen worlds, but it has undergone a modification in its treatment and manufacture that brings out its lethal nature. Wherever the spice is refined gives it its exceptional properties. We believe it to be harvested from elsewhere and then treated, and that treatment location is where this disease originally appeared.”

  “All right,” said Mander, “where did this disease originally appear?”

  Eddey squinted at the spinning spiral diagram of the disease. “Is that hard-radiation scarring in those molecules?”

  Angela smiled. “Exactly. Hard radiation in a very narrow type of wavelengths, found among white dwarves. We knew the disease came from a highly irradiated world. Now we know what type of system our origin point is in.”

  “There are hundreds of thousands of white dwarf worlds in the galaxy,” said Mander.

  “But only tens of thousands within easy transport distance of Endregaad and the Corporate Sector,” said the lieutenant commander. “I can break free some resources for a methodical search for traders operating in dead systems, strange comings and goings, and other telltales.”

  “Still,” said Mander, “that would mean finding a needle in a slightly smaller haystack.”

  “That’s where our experienced consultants come in,” said Angela Krin.

  Reen, who had been silent to this point, suddenly brought her head up. She had apparently been thinking about other things. “Us? What do you need from us?” Apparently, thought Mander, she had not decided about the CSA’s job offer quite yet.

  “Information,” said Angela calmly, though Mander could hear stress in her voice. “You know the ins and outs of spacers better than anyone under my command. Where would they hang out? If they were making a transfer of contraband, where would it be? What systems are considered the softest for smuggling operations? Who are their contacts?”