Star Wars - Hutt & Seek - Unpublished

by Chris Cassidy;Tish Pahl

  “I don’t need to justify myself to you,” Ghitsa said loftily. “My motivations, and those of my clan masters, should be perfectly comprehensible to you.” Her left hand now completely painted, she switched the brush from right to left, and began reddening her right nails. “Money, profit, security—things even Mistryl ought to understand.”

  Dunc snorted. “Except that our principles aren’t for sale to the highest bidder.”

  “But that’s the irony of it. They are for sale. They have been sold, you have been sold, like any cheap trinket.” Ghitsa laughed with merry scorn. “Do you really think Mistryl are immune because they don’t deal with former Imperials, refuse to assist in patently illegal ventures, and charge more for the questionable ones?”

  Under the terminal, Fen slowly and silently slid her hand down and released the safety on the blaster at her hip. She had no idea how much of this was show and how much the twisted truth. What she did know was that Ghitsa was trying to push the young Mistryl to the snapping point. And that she might succeed.

  “For all your exalted justifications of saving your desperate people,” Ghitsa went on, “you’re delivering the Twi’leks to servitude and death as certainly as any Karazak slaver.”

  Slowly, deliberately, Dunc uncoiled from her chair and stalked over to the table, her face calm and deadly. Fen got a grip on her blaster butt; but Dunc made no move against her partner except to stand and tower over her like a storm cloud.

  “The contract said they were being paid, Hutt,” Dunc bit out, making the word a curse. “You said they weren’t slaves. You’ve lied to the Mistryl.”

  Ghitsa raised her eyes to Dunc. “I didn’t lie. They will be paid. And then they’ll be charged: for costumes, board, room, and expenses. At one time, they might have saved enough to buy out their contracts. However, because Twi’lek mortality hovers near seventy percent, Durga now withholds an additional sum to cover the cost of a burial shroud.”

  “Shada questioned Brin’shak,” Dunc hissed. “She asked each of the Twi’leks if they wanted to go.”

  Ghitsa held her hands out, admiring her work. “In a uniquely Twi’lek way, these dancers do indeed go willingly. They know some Twi’leks must end up in Hutt throne rooms. This is the price they all pay for a lack of power. A Hutt commercial agent will see that the clan is compensated. The alternative is indiscriminate Karazak slaving raids on their enclaves.”

  Dunc’s lip twisted. “I’d heard that Twi’leks sell a few of their own to buy a greater peace for them all,” she conceded reluctantly. “But you make it sound like your altruism keeps Karazaks from plundering Ryloth.”

  “Our altruism. Dunc—we’re all in this together, you know.” Ghitsa blew lightly on her perfectly marked claws. “I advised Durga it was more cost-effective to go this route, rather than contract with the Karazaks. The KSC is expensive and their slaves tend to be poor quality.” She began capping the little bottle. “As I see it, the Hutts purchased Mistryl morality for thirty-two thousand. Karazaks would have demanded at least forty-five. But then, they aren’t as desperate as the Mistryl.”

  Fen cringed at Ghitsa’s attack. Perfectly crafted in the words of commerce, she was a humanoid vision of repugnant Hutt excess.

  And it had worked, all too well. Dunc stood above her, color rising, the slow boil of a jump’s worth of taunts and insults bubbling over, threatening to ignite the fire beneath. She stirred, perhaps about to go for a weapon, perhaps to simply pick Ghitsa up and hurl her bodily across the cabin—

  “Dunc, in aiente,” came a quiet order from the door.

  Fen jumped. Ghitsa didn’t even twitch. “Hello, Shada,” the con chirped innocently. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough,” Shada said, her eyes on Dunc. “In aiente.”

  Dunc took a careful breath. Then, wordlessly, she pivoted away from Ghitsa and strode from the cabin.

  For a moment Shada studied Fen and Ghitsa, her face stiff and unreadable. “We drop out of hyperspace at 0100 tomorrow,” she said and followed Dunc out into the passageway.

  Ghitsa finally broke the long silence that followed. With uncharacteristic, doubting hesitation, she asked. “Do you think I went too far?”

  “Hard to say,” Fen said, working moisture back into her mouth. “If we get out of this alive, I’d say no. If they slash our throats in our sleep, then, yeah, probably so.” She hesitated, weighing her words carefully. “You said some pretty reprehensible things. How much of it was true?”

  She grimaced. “Enough. Too much.”

  Seeing the little grifter shift uncomfortably in her seat. Fen asked, “Ghitsa, could that be your conscience bothering you?”

  Ghitsa made a show of examining her nails. “Of course not, Fen. Merely indigestion. Ship’s rations, you know.”

  Fen slipped back into the main cabin just in time to see the holovid system sputter. Spewing smoke, it coughed out the smoldering remains of Ghitsa’s Coruscant Daily Newsfeed recording. Perhaps there truly was a higher power in the universe and she had a sense of humor, Fen thought.

  “We’ll be adding the repair costs to your bill,” Shada said examining the unit.

  “By all means,” Ghitsa replied, moving to the holographic game table. “How about a round, Fen?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Ghitsa shrugged. “I don’t see why you won’t install a holo-beasties game on the Star Lady.”

  Fen laughed, stretching her arms high. “Let’s just say that the last time I allowed a round on board, my droid ended up with his arms ripped out of their sockets. Besides, we’re about to come out of hyperspace, aren’t we, Shada?”

  “Five standard minutes,” Shada said over her shoulder as she exited the cabin. “I’ve already seen to the Twi’leks.”

  Ghitsa waited, then whispered, “You didn’t run into her, did you?”

  “No,” Fen replied wearily, strapping into her seat. As Ghitsa did the same. Fen let her eyes slip shut. “Won’t be long now.”

  “No, it won’t,” Dunc’s voice agreed quietly next to her ear.

  Fen’s eyes flew open. Dunc was standing to the side, pointing a blaster at the two of them. Fen’s blaster, she realized suddenly, belatedly missing the weight at her hip. Her vibroknife, for good measure, was hanging loosely in Dunc’s other hand. The girl definitely had talent. “What is going on?” she snarled.

  “There’s been a change of plan,” Dunc said. “Dogder, I’ll take that blaster in your boot. Slowly.”

  “Certainly,” Ghitsa said calmly, reaching into her boot and removing a small hold-out blaster Fen hadn’t even known she owned. “I don’t recall a contractual provision about a blaster in our faces,” she added as she slid the weapon across the deck.

  “The contract’s been changed, too,” Dunc said, settling in a seat facing them.

  Fen felt the ship tumble into real space. A minute later, Shada joined them. “We protest this treatment, of course,” Ghitsa said, getting in the first word.

  Shada ignored her. “From the beginning, Fen, your behavior on this trip has been completely irrational,” she said. “You convinced us to take this passage; then, at every opportunity, have hounded us that what we were doing was a moral outrage. I want to know why.”

  “We’re just chatty,” Fen muttered sourly.

  “You wanted us to break the contract, didn’t you?” Shada persisted. “That’s the only explanation. But why? You can hardly bring suit against us—legally, we don’t even exist. Blackmail? Ridiculous.”

  Ghitsa spoke up. “This is a perfectly legal operation. You renege, and the Eleven will be extremely unhappy with you.”

  “Having others unhappy with you isn’t as bad as being unhappy with yourself,” Dunc put in. “We’ll take our chances.”

  “Ah, yes—the wonderful view you get from the high moral ground,” Ghitsa said sarcastically. “Not that you gain much of that high ground by shooting two unarmed people.”

  “We won’t deliver the Twi’le
ks 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 Dunc 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,” Dunc 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.” Dunc 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?” Dunc 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,” Dunc said sourly. “Except maybe for the escape pod part—oh, Sithspawn.”

  “What?” Shada snapped.

  “The Fury’s ID code.” Dunc 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?” Dunc 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,” Dunc 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 Dunc darkly. “But not that big.”

  Dunc nodded. “Understood.”

  A Hutt 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, Ghits,” 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 wasn’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 500 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 300 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 heron Socorro two years ago, Fen thought viciously. No money was worth this. “I thought this was going to be the easy part.”

  Seated 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 of assumptions and shallow graves was cut off as a low. loud hum reverberated 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 Dunc’s hands.

  In a mimicry of ho
w 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 Nal 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 75,000 credits?”

  “I will indeed, counselor.”

  “First, I hereby invoke the Hutt Commercial Laws, section c, subsection 12.4e, 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 100 million.”