Star Wars - The Han Solo Trilogy - Hutt Gambit, page 7
So, Mako, howve you been doing? Han asked. Hows the business?
Booming, Han, Mako said. The Empires restrictions are makin us all rich, runnin contraband of all kinds these days. Spice, yeah, thats still big. But we do nearly as well these days smuggling arms, weapons components, power paks, all that kind of thing. Luxuries like perfume and As-kajian fabric, too. Lemme tell ya, Hah, old Palpatine wouldnt rest nearly as easy nights if he knew how dissatis-fied with his rule some wodds are getting.
So theres work here? Han asked eagerly. Work for pilots? You know Im good, Mako.
Mako signaled the server droid for another round of drinks. Kid, youre one of the best, and Ill let everyone know that, Mako said, slapping Han on the shoulder. Badure didnt name you Slick for nothin! Tell you what, want to work for me to get your feet wet? I could use a good copilot, and while youre ridin with me, I can show you some Of the best runs. Ill introduce you to all the other runners, too. Some of em are bound to need help. Han hesitated. Could Chewie here come along?
Mako shrugged and took a huge swig of ale. Can he shoot? I can always use a good gunner.
Yeah, Han said, finishing his own tankard with more confidence than he felt. Chewie was a dead shot with his bowcaster, but hed only been training as a gunner for a month or so. He can shoot.
Its all set, then, Mako said. Listen, kid, you found yourself a landing zone yet?
A landing zone, in smugglers lingo, meant a room or fiat. Han shook his head and felt the room lurch slightly. I was hoping you could recommend a decent place, he said. Not too expensive.
Sure I can! Mako said, slurring ever so slightly. But why don you two come stay with me for a day or so, till we cn get you set up.
Well . . . Han glanced over at Chewie, sure, wed love to, wouldn we, o1 buddy? Hrrrrrrnnnnnnnn!
Mako insisted on paying for the drinks, then the three left, heading for Makos digs. The two humans were rather the worse for the ale theyd consumed, but Mako assured them it wasnt far. They headed a few levels down, where the buildings were grimier and seamier. Don be fooled, Mako said, waving a hand at their surroundings. Ive got plenty of room, n my place is fixed up decent. But living down here, youre not as much a target for thieves and burglars as the folks livin topside. He jerked a thumb upward.
Hah eyed their surroundings, and concluded that back in his days as a burglar hed have given this area a clean miss. It was unprepossessing. Drunks weaved along the permacrete, and the glidewalks down on this level were permanently broken. Beggars and pickpockets eyed them, but didnt approach the trio. Han figured that was because Chewbacca was wearing his fiercest Dont mess with me or Ill rip your arm off look.
But suddenly, what Hah had assumed was a heap of old, grimy rags stirred. From within the rags a skeletal human hand appeared, and Han caught just a glimpse of a beaky-nosed, nearly toothless face. An ancient crone, whose eyes shone bright with . . . what? Drugs? Madness?
Oh, no! Not again! What is it with all the old women on Nar Shaddaa? Cant wait to get their hands on young pi-lots?
Hah drew back, but the liquor had slowed his reflexes, and he wasnt quick enough. A second talonlike hand shot out of the heap of tatters and grabbed his wrist. Tell your fortunes, good sirs? Tell your fortunes, masters? The voice was shrill and squeaky, and Hah couldnt place the accent. The descendant of Vima Sunrider has foreseen the future, good sirs! For a credit she will tell you what lies ahead.
Lemme go! Han tried to yank his hand free from the filthy claw, but the ancient womans grip was surprisingly strong. He fumbled for a credit coin, just to make her let go of him. He didnt want to have to stun the crone-at her age a stun blast might kill her. ttere! Take th credit and lemme go! He dropped the money in her lap.
Vima no beggar! the old woman insisted indignantly. She earns her creditT Foresees the future, yesssss she does! Vima knows, yessssss . . .
Han stopped and sighed, rolling his eyes. At least she wasnt propositioning him. Go ahead, then, he snapped.
Ah, young captain . . . she half crooned, prying open
his fist and staring at his palm, then up at his face. So
young . . . so much lies before you. A long road, first the
smugglers road, then the way of the warrior. Glory you will
have, yessssss. But first you must face terrible danger. Be-
trayal, yessssss . . . betrayal from those you trust. Be-
trayal . . . Her eyes fixed for a second on Mako, and the older man and Hah exchanged exasperated glances.
So Im gonna be betrayed, Han said impatiently. Will I get rich? Thass all I care about.
Ahhhhhhh . . . she cackled shrilly. My young cap-tain, yessssss . . . wealth will come to you, but only after you no longer care about it.
Han burst out laughing. Thatll be th day! Grandma, gettin rich is ALL I care about!
Yesssss, that is true. Much will you do for money. But more will you do for love.
Great, Hah snarled, trying again to yank free. Thass it, Ive had nuff of this garbage, he growled, and with a hard flex of his wrist, he broke her grip. Thanks for noth-ing . . . nutty old witch. Dont ever bother me again.
Turning unsteadily on his heel, Hah stalked away, scowl-ing, with Chewbacca and Mako in his wake. He could hear Mako snickering, and Chewie was still chuckling. Han scowled. The crazy old thing had made a fool of him!
The permacrete be neath his feet seemed to lurch slightly, and all Han could think about was how good it was going to feel to stretch out on Makos couch, or floor, and grab some sleep.
Behind him, he could hear the old woman cackling softly, crooning nonsense to herself.
Han hardly remembered climbing the rampway to Makos flat, and he didnt remember falling onto the couch at all. He was instantly asleep, and this time, he didnt dream.
When he awakened the next morning, hed forgotten all about the old woman and her foretelling.
Aruk the Hutt was doing what lie loved most in all the universe . . . totaling his profits. The powerful Hutt Lord, head of the Besadii clan and its kajidic, bent over his datapad, his stubby fingers busy as he instructed the ma-chine to calculate a percentage of profits based on a twenty percent yearly growth in product, projected three years into the future.
The resulting graph and accompanying figures made him laugh softly, a booming Heh, heh, heh . . . in the solitude of his huge office. No other living thing was pres-ent, only Aruks favorite scribe, who stood poised in the corner, metallically gleaming, waiting until its master sum-moned it from its artificial repose.
Arnk read the graph again, and blinked his bulbous eyes. He was an old Hutt, approaching his ninth century, and hed reached the corpulent stage that most Hutts achieved past middle age. It was now such an effort for him to get around under his own power that he seldom bothered any-more. Even the warnings of his persona] physician about impending circulatory problems failed to make him exer-cise these days. Instead, he relied on his anti-gravity repul-sor sled. With it, he could go anywhere. Arnks sled was top quality, the best money could buy. After .all, why should the head of the Besadii kajidic deny himself anything?
But Arnk was not one of those sybaritic Hutts who rel-ished the pleasures of the flesh. True, he was a gourmet, and often a gourmand, but he didnt maintain entire pal-aces filled with slaves to cater to his slightest-or most per-verse whim, the way some Hutts did.
Arnk had heard that Jiliacs nephew, Jabba, kept several female dancing humanoids-humanoids, of all things!--on leashes near him at all times. Arnk considered such indul-gences distasteful and extravagant. The Desilijic clan had always had a weakness for fleshly pleasures. Jiliacs taste was better than Jabbas, but he enjoyed hedonistic excess just as much as his nephew.
And that is why we will prevail, Aruk thought. The Besadii clan is willing to endure a bit of privation, if neces-sary, to gain our ends . . .
Aruk knew it wouldnt be easy, though. Jiliac and Jabba were clever and ruthless, and their clan was as wealthy as his own. For years the two richest and most powerful Hutt clans had contended with each other for the most lucrative ventures. Neither clan had eschewed methods such as as-sassination, kidnapping, and terrorism to gain their ends.
Arnk knew that Jabba and Jiliac would do almost any-thing to bring Besadii down. But the path to ultimate power was money, and Arnk was pleased with how many credits the Ylesian project was bringing Besadii every year.
Soon, Arnk thought, we will have so many credits that we will be able to wipe them off the face of Hal Hutta, eliminate them as we would, any blight on crops or pes-tilence in our people. Soon, the Besadii will rule Nal Hutta unopposed . . .
Aruk, and his dead sibling, Zawal, had been the ones whod thought of setting up colonies on Ylesia, and using religious pilgrims as slave labor to turn raw spice into the finished product. The only thing theyd feared was a slave uprising, and it had been Arnk whod come up with the idea of the One, the All, and the Exultation to tie it all together.
Most Hutts knew of the tlanda Til ability to project warm, pleasurable emotions and sensations into the minds of most humanoid species. But it had taken Aruks quick thinking, his cleverness, to come up with the idea of the Exultation as a mind-numbing reward for a days hard labor in the spice factories.
Once hed realized how the tlanda Til ability could be utilized, it had been a simple matter for Arnk to make up some doctrine, compose a few hymns, and write several chants and litanies. And that was all it took to produce a religion that credulous fools belonging to inferior species could embrace.
Production in the factories was excellent had been ex-cellent all along. Only once, five years ago, had the Ylesian enterprise not turned a tidy profit. That was the year that wretched Corellian, Han Solo, had destroyed the glitter-stim factory. And destroyed Zawal, too, though the finan-cial loss was the one Aruk regretted the most. He did not think himself unduly harsh or unsympathetic for caring so little that his sibling had died. No, he was reacting as any true Hutt would.
Aruk studied one item on the Ylesian colonys project budget. The sum of seventy-five hundred credits to be handed over to the person or persons responsible for Hans live capture. No disintegrations was the primary guide-line. Live capture and delivery.
Seventy-five hundred credits. A twenty-five-hundred-credit raise since the bounty was first posted. Apparently Solo was proving . . . difficult. Well, this new bounty was certainly large enough to tempt many hunters, though Aruk had seen larger ones. Still, for a man so young, it was a large bounty.
Was it really necessary to pay extra for the live capture option? Aruk had supervised many torture sessions, coolly and efficiently, but unlike many of his people, he took no pleasure in tormenting sentients to gain his own ends. If the Corellian Solo were to be brought before him, Aruk would not bother to torture him before ordering his death.
But Teroenza was a different story. The tlanda Til were vengeful people, and it was obvious to Aruk that the High Priest of Ylesia would not rest until he could personally supervise the long and exceedingly painful death of Hah Solo. Moment by moment, scream by scream, groan by groan, Solo would die in the most exquisite agony, while Teroenza savored every second of it.
But did Aruk want to pay extra, just so Teroenza could be satisfied? Aruk considered. Lines of concentration formed above his bulbous, slit-pupiled eyes. After a mo-ment he released his breath in a short, decisive hour. Very well, he would authorize the payment of the bounty. Let Teroenza look forward to his fun. The anticipation made the High Priest happy, and happy underlings were productive underlings.
Aruk was a bit concerned about Teroenza, actually. The tlanda Til was definitely running the Ylesian operation, no matter how much he and that idiot Kibbick tried to dis-guise that fact. Aruk frowned. Ylesia was a Hutt operation. It wasnt proper for anyone other than a Hutt to give the orders there. And yet . . . Kibbick was the only high-ranking Hutt in the Besadii elan who was available at the moment to take the Ylesian posting. And Kibbick, there was no denying it, was a fool.
If only I dared send Durga, Aruk thought. He has the will and the intelligence to rule Ylesia properly, to remind Teroenza of just who his masters are . . .
Durga was Aruks only offspring. He was still a very young Hutt, barely past the age of legal responsibility and true self-awareness; only a hundred standard years old. But he was smart, ten times more intelligent and clever than Kibbick.
When Durga was born, all the other Hutts urged Aruk to roll over on the helpless newborn, smothering him, be-cause of the dark birthmark that spread like a foul liquid from his forehead down over one eye and cheek. They said that such a marred countenance would make the youngster socially unacceptable, and speculated that he would be feebleminded all his life. Ancient tales mentioned that such birthmarks were supposed to be omens of disaster, and the elder Hutts predicted all sorts of terrible things should Durga be allowed to survive.
But Aruk had looked down at his tiny, squirming off-spring and sensed that his child would grow up to be a worthy Hurt, intelligent, cunning, and, when necessary, ruthless. So he had taken young Durga up into his arms and solemnly pronounced that here was his offspring and heir, and warned the nay-sayers to be silent.
Aruk had seen to it that Durga was well educated, and had everything a growing Hutt could want. The young Hutt responded to his parents interest, and the bond between the two had become very close.
Staring down at the graphs showing the Ylesian finances, Aruk made a mental note to share his findings with Durga later that day. He was grooming his offspring to take on the leadership of the clan after his own passing.
These figures are so encouraging, Aruk thought, that we should put some of this profit into founding yet another colony on Ylesia. Seven colonies can produce much more processed spice than six. And we can increase our mission-ary force by recruiting more tlanda Til males and sending them out to lure in more pilgrims.
Aruks greatest dream was to someday expand their spice-processing and slaving operation to a second world in the Ylesian system. He knew he probably wouldnt live to see two wodds producing at full capacity, but Durga defi-nitely would.
There was only one problem, and that was Desilijic. Aruk knew that Jiliac and Jabba watched every move he and his high-ranking clan members made, and they were ready to pounce at the slightest sign of weakness. They were ruthless, the Desilijic, and they were jealous of the Besadii clan and their success on Ylesia. Aruk knew only too well how much Jabba and Jiliac would give to destroy them all and take over the Ylesian operation.
Still, it was but a sign of the Besadii clans extraordinary success and accomplishment that they be so envied. Hutt life was full of move and countermove. That was the way of it, and frankly, Aruk thrived on the intrigue, the d anger. He wouldnt have changed things if he could have.
With a sigh of contentment, Aruk the Hutt turned off his datapad and stretched, rubbing his bulbous eyes. Ahhhhh . . a good afternoons work. Time for dinner, and a chance to spend time with his offspring. How pleasant that he had such good news to impart!
Guiding his repulsor sled with minuscule touches from his thick fingers, Aruk glided from the room, in search of food and companionship . . .
Five months and six bounty hunters later, Han and Chewbacca had settled down into life on Nar Shaddaa. Han found them a little apartment in the Corellian sec-tor, a megablock or so from Makos place, and only one level below it. The little fiat was set up like a small suite, with two tiny bedrooms with foldout beds, a minuscule kitchen/living area, and refresher unit. But they didnt spend much time at home. As soon as Mako had intro-duced Han to his associates, the young Corellian found steady work. Good pilots were always valued on Nar Shad-daa.
During his first month, Han filled in as a shift pilot on the Nar Shaddaa to Nal Hutta shuttle, ferrying Hutts and their underlings back and forth from the Smugglers Moon to the Hurt homeworld. Han had hoped to meet either Jabba or Jiliac that way, but the two top Hutt Lords of the Desilijic clan had their own private shuttles and didnt need to take public ones. Han hung on to the referral Tagta had given him, but decided hed better learn his way around before he applied for jobs piloting for the Hutts. They were tough masters to please.
Just about the time Hans temporary job ended, the young Corellian went out with Mako on several runs, haul-ing loads of spice from the Twilek homeworld, Ryloth, to a staging area on Roon. There Han met up with an old ac-quaintance of Makos, a craggy-faced, aging smuggler named Zeen Afit. Zeen was heading off to Smugglers Run with a shipment of food, and when he mentioned that hed like company, Han and Chewbacca offered to ride along.
Smugglers Run was a hideout for sentients on the lam who were even hotter than the denizens of Nar Shaddaa. Smugglers Run was a series of hideouts-actually, artificial environments whittled out of several large asteroids located in the middle of a huge asteroid field. The main one was a smelly hole bored into a large asteroid that was known as SlOp 1.
Zeen Afit showed Han the way into the Run, through the treacherous, constantly changing asteroid field, though he wouldnt let him pilot his clunky old freighter, the Co-rona. Next time, kid, he promised, in his breathless, wheezy voice, as his fingers flew over the controls. I prom-ise you. This time, just watch old Uncle Zeen and enjoy the ride.
Han gulped as Corona narrowly missed colliding with a jagged, hurtling rock that would have reduced them and their ship to molecules. If Im still alive when the next time comes, he pointed out, involuntarily ducking as an-other asteroid nearly grazed their viewscreen. Blast it, Zeen, slow down! Are you crazy?
Only way to fly an asteroid field is fast and by the seat of your pants, kid, Zeen Afit said, never taking his eyes from his instruments. If you try and tiptoe in, chances are youll get smashed before you can wipe your nose. I always just fly right in, keepin my eyes open, and Im still here.
When they reached the fabled Smugglers Run, Han and Chewbacca warily followed Zeen Afit into Skip 1, to meet the gang, as he called his friends. Han was introduced to a sallow, thin man with scars on his face named Jarril, and another, older man with a receding hairline who incongru-ously went by file name Kid DXoln.
