Tales From the New Republic

by Peter Schweighofer

  "We won't deliver the Twi'leks into slavery. Fen," Shada said. "Not even

  a carefully disguised slavery. If you won't tell us what's really going on,

  you leave us with no other alternative."

  She paused, waiting for a reply. Fen kept her mouth closed, her heart

  thundering as she wondered if Ghitsa had finally made her last miscalculation.

  If Shada decided that murdering a pair of would-be slavers did indeed count as

  high moral ground...

  "Very well," Shada said after a moment. "Time's up. Unstrap-you're making

  the rest of the trip without us."

  The Mistryl silently ushered them aft. It was worse than Fen had

  imagined. "You can't be serious."

  Shada swung open a tiny door. "It was your choice, Fen. Into the escape

  pod."

  Ghitsa climbed in without protest. With her own blaster hovering

  somewhere behind her back. Fen ducked in after her.

  "Good-bye, Fen," Shada said.

  The door slammed, shut and sealed. Like our fate, Fen reflected, before

  turning on her partner. "Fine mess you've gotten us into."

  "What are you talking about? This has worked perfectly."

  Before Fen could utter a properly acidic reply. The Fury belched the pod

  into space. She shouldered Ghitsa out of the way to get to the controls.

  Just as she had suspected. There was a tiny ion engine cluster with

  enough reaction mass for orbital insertion, re-entry burn, and, maybe,

  something left over for deceleration before touch-, correction, make that

  smash - down. Typical. In her experience, the best pilots always had the worst

  pods.

  The odds of a controlled landing in this vessel were minuscule. The odds

  of making it alive were only slightly better. All Fen knew for certain was

  that she planned on bracing herself with Ghitsa's ample shoulder pads on

  impact.

  "Shada?"

  Shada turned her head as Dune stepped into The Fury's cockpit. From the

  tone of her voice...

  "What is it?" she asked. "Something wrong with the Twi'leks?"

  "Not at all," Dune said, sliding into her seat and handing Shada a small

  holo tube. "They're quite happy. And they seem to have known all along that

  they weren't going to Nal Hutta."

  "Really," Shada said, examining the holo tube. "That's very interesting."

  "That's what I thought." Dune gestured to the tube. "One of them, Nalan,

  gave me that. Near as I could figure through her accent, she said that "Fenig-

  who-is brave" gave it to her to give to us."

  Shada looked out the viewport. The pod had disappeared, caught in Nal

  Hutta's gravitational pull. "I'll check out the tube," she said. "You'd better

  run a fast diagnostic on the ship's systems."

  "You think we've been conned?" Dune asked, keying her board.

  "We were being conned from the minute we landed on Ryloth," Shada said,

  carefully filtering her emotions out of her voice. It wasn't proper for a

  Mistryl to show frustration and bitterness in front of a subordinate. "The

  only question was in what direction we were being taken."

  "Well, whatever direction that was, our former employers seem to have

  gotten what they wanted," Dune said sourly. "Except maybe for the escape pod

  part-oh, Sithspaun."

  "What?" Shada snapped.

  "The Fury's ID code." Dune was furiously pulling up the stored nav

  coordinates for an emergency leap out of Nal Hutta space. "Fen must have

  reprogrammed one of the comm systems to create an overlay. We're broadcasting

  as that Karazak slaver ship, the Indenture."

  Shada spun The Fury around. A blinking comm light signaled a hail from

  Nal Hutta; she ignored it. "What are we going to do?" Dune demanded.

  "Get out of here, of course," Shada said. "I have no particular desire to

  get caught in the crosshairs of Hutt slave politics."

  "No argument on that one," Dune said. "What I meant was what are we going

  to do about our two former employers?"

  Shada grimaced. Yes, the Mistryl owed Jett a debt of honor for his

  friendship to them. But no one misuses such a debt this way. No one. "The

  galaxy is big," she told Dune darkly. "But not that big."

  Dune nodded. "Understood."

  A Kutt patrol ship appeared, heading in their direction. With a final

  glance at the muddy planet, Shada pulled the hyperspace levers.

  Fen wrestled with the pod, trying to align it so the aft shields bore the

  brunt of the re-entry burn. "Impact in one minute."

  "Aren't we going a little fast?"

  By way of response, Fen squeezed everything she could from the poor pod's

  deceleration system. White, hot fire burned out the window.

  "Uh, Fen? The large brown area we are plummeting into? I suggest you try

  not to land in it."

  "A swamp might cushion our landing, if we don't drown. Get ready for the

  cheapest mud bath of your life."

  "You simply cannot be serious."

  "Fifteen seconds," Fen replied, as she attempted to aim the pod toward a

  large, muddy swath.

  With a terrific, teeth-shattering jolt, they splashed down.

  Fen shrugged out of the harness. "This thing's got flotation pads. They

  may keep us from sinking right away." Tugging on the release bar, Fen popped

  the hatch open. The dreary, gray colors, fetid odors, and mud of Nal Hutta

  poured in.

  Fen clambered out first, and looked quickly around. Swamp. Oozing, oily

  goo. She jumped in and was immediately enveloped in slime up to her waist.

  Ghitsa, however, was stalling at the hatch of the rocking pod.

  "Gotta do it, Chits," Fen called back to her.

  She looked out across the swamp. "Well, at least we don't have far to go.

  I only wish I weren't wrecking a pair of designer boots." With a weary sigh,

  Ghitsa jumped into the bog.

  Slogging through the tangled weeds and stinking mud, they trudged toward

  a landing facility they had both spotted, some five hundred meters away.

  As they staggered onto blessedly dry, hard duracrete, a tusked Whiphid

  lumbered out of the building. His manner was so casual, Fen concluded that two

  women missing the landing pad to crash in the swamp was a near everyday

  occurrence.

  Ghitsa and the Whiphid exchanged a rapid-fire mix of Basic and Huttese,

  and the Whiphid ambled off.

  "Now what?"

  "With your best efforts, we have, however miraculously, crashed in

  Durga's Clan territories. I told him that I am one of Durga's counselors."

  "He believed you?"

  "Of course. This kind of mishap is not uncommon if you deal on behalf of

  Hutt clans." Ghitsa seemed bemused by Fen's incredulity. "Durga's estate is

  less than three hundred kilometers from here. He will be here right away to

  inspect his new dancers. So we wait."

  They found a cold, pitted bench at the edge of the pad, and sat.

  "Fen?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Are your affairs all in order?"

  "My what?"

  "Affairs, your will, estate, and such, in the event Durga feeds us to his

  pet dianoga."

  I definitely should have plastered her on Socorro two years ago. Fen

  thought viciously. No money was worth this. "I thought this was going to be

  the easy part."

  Seat
ed on the bench, Ghitsa's feet were swinging several centimeters off

  the ground. "Easy?" she echoed. "Whatever made you think that?"

  "I assumed..."

  Ghitsa's reminder about assumptions and shallow graves was cut off as a

  low, loud hum reverberating across the sullen marsh. They scrambled to their

  feet. Squinting, Fen spotted a sail barge moving fast over the quagmire. Its

  size and sure, smooth movement evidenced the Hutt opulence which was always,

  to Fen's mind, incongruous with the dank misery of Nal Hutta.

  What had appeared in the distance to be blobs on the barge's deck

  devolved into a full complement of heavily armed and undoubtedly fiercely

  loyal guards of various slobbering species. As the sail barge skimmed to a

  stop before them. Fen's fingers twitched at her side, instinctively looking

  for the blaster that was probably still in Dune's hands.

  In a mimicry of how Fen herself had met the Mistryl, Ghitsa walked

  forward to stand at the bottom of the barge's ramp. An immense Hutt with a

  large mark stretched across his forehead slithered down the plank.

  "Counselor Dogder," Durga finally rumbled, with a glance at Fen. "I doubt

  my dancers are hiding in the escape pod I saw on our clan's property. I expect

  an explanation for my missing Twi'leks."

  Fen watched in fascination as her partner bent into a low bow. "Your

  Magnificence, thieving knaves stole your dancers from your most humble agent."

  "Stole?"

  With an effort. Fen did not flinch at the malodorous smell wafting from

  the Hutt. Was it something expelled when a Hutt was angry, she wondered? Or

  just the remnants of breakfast?

  "Yes, Your Corpulence. We were betrayed by those we hired for passage

  from Ryloth. When we arrived into ational Hutta space, they overwhelmed us and

  forced us into the escape pod."

  It was over before Fen could comprehend it had even happened. Durga

  snapped his grasping, stubby fingers, and five guards surrounded Ghitsa. Fen

  was now standing squarely, and without cover, in the sights of an E-web

  repeating blaster mounted on the barge.

  "Counselor, I will hear your explanation. And whether it pleases me will

  determine whether you die quickly, or very, very slowly."

  Fen willed composure. Ghitsa, however, seemed perfectly calm. Or maybe,

  after a lifetime with Hutts, she was so warped that five slobbering aliens

  with BlasTechs aimed at her was simply all in a day's work.

  "Durga," the con artist said smoothly, "if I give you two reasons why you

  will not kill me, will you pay me seventy-five thousand credits?"

  "I will indeed, counselor."

  "First, I hereby invoke the Hutt Commercial Laws, section C, subsection

  12.4ence, and the protections it affords all counselors and messengers."

  Fen had never been able to read Hutts well, and though she had never seen

  it before-and doubted she would see it again-she knew that Durga was shocked.

  Ghitsa plunged ahead. "You kill me, Durga, and every deal I have brokered

  on behalf of our Clan is forfeit. At my last calculation, that sum exceeds

  one-hundred million."

  Anger rippled over the Hutt. Durga bellowed, "You dare cite our own laws

  to me?"

  "You know the law, Durga." Now, Fen heard steady reason in her partner's

  voice. "Counselors and messengers are not to pay the price for those who would

  use them to embarrass or cheat the Hutt Empire."

  Durga gave his little counselor a long, calculating look, then finally

  said, "If memory serves, those laws were enacted after the early and violent

  deaths of twelve counselors and innumerable messengers."

  "Your memory is faultless, as always. You will doubtless also recall what

  occurred when a young, skinny, and very foolish Hutt of the Vermilic Clan

  forgot this prohibition two years ago and disintegrated his counselor."

  Fen was startled to realize even she had heard of that incident. The

  Vermilics were bankrupted and no Hutt traffic moved for three months. She

  wondered now if the counselors had refused to broker the Hutt deals.

  A long, humid pause strung out before Durga spoke again. "I believe,

  Dogder, you had a second reason?"

  "If you kill me now, you will never regain your Twi'leks."

  "Ohhh, ho, Dogder." When Durga laughed, Fen was reminded of a restless,

  rolling sea. "And just how will you return my dancers?"

  "I can give you the ID code of the ship we retained, its itinerary, and

  ownership registry. You will be able to trace those who have truly wronged

  you."

  Durga's face folded into frowns. "And how will I know if the information

  you provide me is useful?"

  "You may pay me fifty percent now, and the remainder within one standard

  week," Ghitsa replied. "You will have sufficient time to verify if the data is

  valuable."

  "Do you trust us so much, counselor?" Durga seemed amused. Fen was not.

  "I trust you, Master."

  Under Durga's thoughtful, raking scrutiny, Ghitsa stood impassively.

  Then, with a snap of his fingers, the guards lowered their weapons, and Fen

  found she could breathe again.

  Durga put a companionable arm around Ghitsa's mud-encrusted shoulders.

  "After so many years of loyal service, counselor, you understand that should

  you prove unfaithful, I am confident that the galaxy will be too small a place

  for both you and my anger."

  "I understand, Master."

  "Although I remain disturbed with your failure, I am pleased with your

  efforts to foresee possible betrayal." He held out a tiny, groping hand, and

  Ghitsa gave him the disk Fen had taken from The Fury. "You may transfer the

  sum from our Coruscant account."

  Ghitsa bowed slightly.

  Durga's tail twitched violently, serpentine. "You also know that for the

  sake of our interests, we permit only credible counselors. Once this

  transaction is completed, we will look elsewhere for an advisor."

  "You have always wisely insisted that counselors not be the victims of

  other predators, Master. I ask for no exception in my case." Fen would wonder

  for some time whether Ghitsa actually sounded wistful at that parting.

  "All right," Shada said, easing the holo tube into the player. The scan

  had showed it was a normal holo tube, with no surprises attached. But that

  didn't mean she entirely trusted it. "Here we go."

  A two-meter-tall likeness of Fenig Nabon appeared. "Hello again, Shada,"

  the figure said. "Since you're watching this, I presume Ghitsa and I are gone.

  Hopefully still alive, though you're now probably regretting that you didn't

  send us out the airlock without the benefit of vac suits."

  Dune grumbled in her throat, but said nothing.

  "Ghitsa has maintained that you would want to deliver us to the Hutts for

  their own peculiar punishments," Fen continued. "If this went down right,

  she'll be selling to Durga the Hutt a datacard with detailed information on

  the ship responsible for the theft of his dancers. A competent slicer will

  trace that information back to the In dentureand the Karazak Slaving

  Cooperative."

  The image grinned, a little shamefacedly. "I'm sure you've also noticed

  that The Fury's ID is readi
ng as the Indenture. That was my own touch, in case

  someone on Nal Hutta spotted you. The overlay program is buried in your backup

  comm system. You'll probably have to go in through the battle game I was

  playing to get to it- - that's how I got in-but it shouldn't be any real trick

  to disable."

  She sobered. "On the more serious side, you can probably predict what

  will happen when Durga reaches the conclusion that the KSC stole his dancers."

  "Gang war," Dune murmured.

  "Ghitsa thinks that in the resulting turmoil both the KSC and the Hutts

  will leave Ryloth alone for a while. Durga's slicer should also find certain

  inconvenient payments the KSC has made to Brin'shak. This will likely be the

  last Twi'lek acquisition Brin'shak will make for the Hutts."

  The image shifted, foot to foot. A little embarrassed, perhaps? "We've

  told the dancers that you'll return them to Kala'uun on Ryloth. The Dira Clan

  is expecting them and can be trusted. The Shak Clan may howl about it, but you

  shouldn't get anything but noise from them. They were discredited two years