Star Wars: Scourge (17 page)

“Evona was consumed by a black hole,” said Mander. “Ardos went nova and is now a white dwarf.”

Reen ignored him. “The Hutts fled before the devastation and came to the Y’Toub system, and found the world Evocar, which they called Nal Hutta—‘Glorious Jewel’ in their language. But Nal Hutta was occupied by another species, the Evocii, who welcomed them and thought to share their lands. The Hutts did not like the idea of sharing, and drove the Evocii from their world, resettling them on the largest of its moons, now called Nar Shaddaa. And then the Hutts took over Nar Shaddaa, the Smugglers’ Moon, and killed all the Evocii anyway.”

“I am well aware of the stories and the histories,” said
Mander. “I’ve read them myself in the archives. You have a point?”

“The point,” said the Pantoran, “is that the Hutts have survived the deaths of their gods, and think of themselves as suitable replacements for those deities. They consider everyone and everything else expendable.”

They had spent an inordinate amount of time in a holding pattern beyond the orbit of the Smugglers’ Moon, waiting for permission to land. Mander thought that while Popara was a powerful force in the Indrexu sector, his was not one of the Clans of the Ancients, the true ruling families of this world. He was ultimately a small fish in this wider and more deadly sea.

Now, coming in low among the tall spires of Nar Shaddaa, Mander could think of nothing else but a mudwasp nest—always buzzing, always active, but with precious little planning. Nar Shaddaa was known as both the Smugglers’ Moon and as Little Coruscant, and though it had the sprawling urbanism of the former Imperial capital, it had nothing of that planet’s grace and organization. The towering spires of Nar Shaddaa were thrown up without concern for their effects on one another, and as such contended for airspace among boiling rivers of aircars and floater vehicles. These traveled in only the barest semblance of the ordered airlanes of the original Coruscant, and small craft weaved and dodged among larger vehicles like the
New Ambition
in a twisted confusion of air skimmers, speeders, swoops, flitters, repulsorlifts, and the occasional rotorcraft. Reen muttered a curse as a glidezep hove into their path, and Eddey’s knuckles were white beneath his fur as he clenched the control yoke. They were among the top spires of the towers, and the ground was still kilometers below them.

“I will see to our guest,” said Mander, and left the
pilots to the perils of navigating Nar Shaddaa’s airspace at rush hour.

He found Mika in the galley with Orgamon and another Nikto, the other survivors left behind to salvage what they could from the Skydove warehouse and claim salvage rights on the crashed freighter. Mika had swapped his oversized zerape blanket for an equally large vest, brocaded in gold stitching. The two Niktos were sponging the Hutt with a concoction that smelled like rotting flowers.

“We will be landing in a few minutes,” Mander said. “The air traffic is difficult.”

Mika nodded. “The air traffic is always bad. Hutts take it as a good sign when no one has time to obey traffic laws.” He waved off his two supplicants with an instruction in Huttese to gather his belongings. Mander remained.

“Your companion, the Pantoran,” said the Hutt.

“Reen Irana,” said Mander.

“She is the sister of a Jedi, no?” asked Mika. “Does she have the power within her as well?”

“She is Toro Irana’s sister,” said Mander. “And while the Force can be strong in family lines, she does not have either the aptitude or the training of her brother.”

“Yes, the aptitude,” Mika said. Then, “The brother—he is truly dead?”

“Yes,” Mander said quietly.

“And these Bomu, these Rodians—they killed him?” said the Hutt.

“I think so. Toro was …” Mander thought for a moment on how much he should tell the Hutt, then said, “Poisoned. Drugged with Tempest. He fell from a great height.”

“I am sorry,” said Mika, and lowered his eyes, almost in respect. “That would explain much, then.”

“Much?” asked Mander.

“The young female,” said Mika. “She was very curious about the cargo of the plague ship. She asked the CSA lieutenant commander much about it, and about what the Corporate Sector knew about the Tempest spice. Angela Krin in turn asked me and I provided what information I could. But I find it interesting.”

“How so?” said Mander.

The Hutt let out a nervous hiccup. “The man you sent to negotiate with my father is killed with this Tempest spice. And the plague ship I find was carrying this spice as well. Surely there has to be a connection. The galaxy is too large for such a coincidence, such a twist of fate.”

“Hence the questions about the Bomu clan,” said Mander.

Mika the Hutt gnawed on his lower lip. “I will check this out, once I talk to my father. I don’t know if we use the Bomu clan in our dealings or not. Something is going on, though, and if we are not aware of what it is, we are at a disadvantage. I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” said Mander. “If there is anything you can do to find out who is ultimately responsible, I would be most appreciative.” Mika nodded in agreement, but the Jedi did not make to leave the room.

Mika looked at him. “There is something else?”

Mander frowned, wondering how to best approach the subject. “Back on Endregaad, when we were attacked by the swoop gang.”

“An experience I hope never to relive,” put in Mika, though he smiled as he said it.

“Your help was … greatly appreciated,” said Mander. “But at the end, that last swooper had you dead in his sights …”

“Yes?”

“He missed you.”

“You shouted out a warning,” noted Mika.

“Not in time,” said Mander. “Besides, you were ducking before I got a chance to shout.”

“I was … most fortunate, then,” said Mika. “I guess sometimes there just
is
a twist of fate.”

And with that, Mika the Hutt closed his eyes—a sign of dismissal. Mander would have pressed, but a string of Bothan curses erupted from the cockpit, and he went forward to lend what moral support he could to the pilots. He did note that Mika called his Order the “Jedi,” and not the Huttese
Jeedai
. As Lieutenant Commander Krin had noted, Mika was a very odd Hutt.

After what seemed like a small eternity, the bulk of the
New Ambition
nosed its way through the traffic and settled at last on a landing pad thrown out from one of the lower spires. The durasteel supports groaned under the ship’s weight, and a stricken look crossed Reen’s face at the idea that the pad could collapse, casting them into the Hutt-made canyons below. The supports held, though, and Eddey began deactivating systems and setting controls to standby. Both spacers slung their blasters at their belts.

“Landing pad X-1256 AEB,” said Eddey. “Remember the number if we get lost and split up.”

Mander let Mika lead the way down the landing ramp—the Jedi, Pantoran, and Bothan following, and the two Niktos bringing up the rear. They were greeted by another pair of Niktos, these armed with blaster carbines, each flanking a green protocol droid, one of Vago’s H-3POs.

“Young master Mika!”
said the droid, followed by a cascade of Huttese that Mander followed along as best he could. The gist of it was how valiant young Mika had been in adverse situations, how fortunate it had been for those on Endregaad that he had been present, and how wise mighty Popara had been to enlist the aid of such
competent employees as the others that now followed in his illustrious wake.

Then the droid turned to Mander and the others. “A feast has been prepared in your honor, to celebrate Mika’s return. You will accompany me and I will bring you to Popara’s tower.”

As he was about to accept the invitation, Mander caught a gleam of something on the catwalks over the entrance. He had been too slow, before, on Endregaad. This time he
did
manage to shout a warning before the sniper squeezed off a series of shots.

Mander dropped to a crouch, lightsaber up, and alongside him both Reen and Eddey had their blasters in hand. The Niktos converged on Mika, who fell back a few steps behind their protection.

The H-3PO unit had no such protection, and as it turned to look, it took a blaster bolt to the head. The cranial housing shattered under the force of the shot, and the now-headless droid staggered a few paces before collapsing.

Both Reen and Eddey returned fire, but there was nothing after the initial shots. Mika motioned the bodyguards forward, and Orgamon and the others stalked to the entrance. They looked back and shook their heads. Mika returned to the
New Ambition
while the Niktos chattered on comms.

Mika frowned and looked at the jade remains of the droid. “Not the homecoming I expected.”

Reinforcements arrived in the form of an entire squad of Nikto family retainers, along with another H-3PO unit. Mander recognized this one from the dent in its temple, and wondered if the Anjiliac household had gotten a deal on buying the droids in bulk or merely taken over the factory producing them. This H-3PO unit remained behind to oversee the cleanup of its brother protocol unit with half the squad. The other half closed
ranks about Mika and the others and marched through twisted passages and over bridges crossing steep permacrete canyons. At each new juncture, the Niktos sent in advance scouts to make sure the area and its inhabitants were not hostile. Mander noticed that despite the blaster carbines being waved about, few of the other inhabitants of the towers even paid attention to their presence, and those who did reacted by simply getting out of the way. Apparently such activities were common on the Smugglers’ Moon, in particular when the Hutts were involved.

“Did you get a good look at the shooter?” asked Reen during one of the frequent stops as the Niktos were clearing the way.

“Not a good one,” said Mander. “I saw a thin, narrow head. I think our attacker was a Cerean, but other than that, nothing.”

“So why take a shot at Mika?” asked Reen. “You think that someone is worried about what he found out on Endregaad?”

“Possible,” said Mander. “Or someone wants to send a message to Mika—or perhaps even to Popara.”

“A high-energy message.”

“A message nonetheless,” Mander continued, realizing as he did that he was scanning the surrounding arcades as well, expecting another attack. “Why else hire a bad assassin on the Smugglers’ Moon?”

Reen thought about it. “You’re right—you wouldn’t. Hire a bad assassin, that is. This place is overflowing with capable opportunists who would not hesitate to take a contract.”

“Exactly,” said Mander. “Yet we were fired upon by a sniper who literally missed the broad side of a Hutt. A small Hutt, but a Hutt nonetheless.”

Reen thought for a moment, then added, “But said
sniper then nails a protocol droid in the temple. Heck of a bad shot. Unless Mika wasn’t the target.”

“I think someone wants us to think he was,” said Mander, “but I don’t think he was one they were paid to shoot. Like I said, they are sending a message.”

The trio was brought up several more turbolifts into one of the larger nearby towers. As they rose higher into Popara’s home territory, the surroundings became more opulent. The rugs took on a deeper plush, the fittings became gaudier, and the light fixtures changed from simple domes to crystalline forms that cast Hutt-shaped shadows on the walls. Finally they reach the last doors, huge vault-like monstrosities of heavy wood and metal, emblazoned with Popara’s beneficent face. Only then did Mika turn to address them.

“I must meet with my father,” he said. “I had forwarded a report earlier, but he may have further questions. And he will want to know about the most recent incident. We will meet again, at the fete. We will be serving in the penthouse, at sunset.” And with that, the Hutt took his leave, swallowed by the opulent doors to his father’s chambers.

The three travelers were shown to a small suite of rooms to freshen up. A tailor droid was made available, and both Reen and Eddey availed themselves of its services. Mander had brought his formal robes with him, and while the other two were talking about fabrics and color swatches, he stepped out onto a wide balcony.

The best parts of Nar Shaddaa were dingier than the worst parts of Coruscant. Despite himself, Mander tried to find some order among the madness of the towers, each one equipped with balconies, galleries, bridges, overlooks, awnings, verandas, and decks of various levels of functionality and form. Some seemed to be landing pads, while others looked like they had no other purpose than to cast the floors beneath them in shadow.
Mander looked down but wasn’t sure he could even see the ground—rather, the towers themselves expanded out until they became a second skin to the moon. Welling up from those depths and dancing around the towers were a plethora of vehicles, again ranging from the nondescript repulsor vans to gaudy signblimps offering every vice and service known to sentient life.

And above it all, hanging corpulent and visible even in the late-afternoon sun was Nal Hutta itself, a rotten fruit that was now home to the Hutts. Few outworlders were welcome to the steaming swamp estates of the Hutt overlords, though Mander did not doubt that the Anjiliac clan had their own dacha somewhere on the planet above him.

A day on Nar Shaddaa was eighty-seven standard hours long, so they planned on a nap and a light meal, though the meal was light only in terms that a Hutt could appreciate. It was in effect a portable buffet consisting of a large platter of sliced bantha rump roasted with tigmary, stewed kebroot, flatbread, spiceloaf of various intensities, and inert piles of mounder potato rice. For Eddey, a bland-looking fish called salar was presented, and the Bothan declared it better prepared than most. At the center of the display was a spice-jelly cast in a mold that resembled Popara’s beneficent form. The effrikim worms were served with both heads still attached and went untouched by all.

Over the meal Mander said, “I understand that the lieutenant commander offered you a job.”

Reen looked up from the bowl of thick soup she had been eating and shot a glance at Eddey. “See,” she said, “he
did
think we were talking about him.”