“The Dor? I don’t know it,” Obi-Wan said.
“Of course you do,” Astri said. “The Splendor. The readout letters kept getting shot off by stray blaster fire, so they finally gave up replacing them. Now everyone calls it the Dor.” Astri shuddered. “Not that I’d set foot in the place.”
Didi looked anxious. “You must be careful of your person, Obi-Wan. Gogol has mean bones.”
He gave Obi-Wan a quick description, and Obi-Wan was treated to two more fierce hugs from Didi and Astri. Promising to return for a meal, he hurried from the cafŠ.
He had been to the Splendor with Qui-Gon several times. He had come to know sections of the hidden city below the gleaming surface levels of Coruscant, where sunlight did not reach. Here, the walkways were narrow and littered, the twisting alleyways dangerous, and all of it barely lit by glow lamps that were constantly shot out and not replaced. Here was where one found the dregs of the galaxy, the worst criminals and lowlifes, where one could bargain cheaply for a death mark on an enemy’s head.
The sleazy Splendor hadn’t changed. The metal roof sagged, and the windows were ominously shuttered. The door was pockmarked with blaster fire. The letters ID 0 R sputtered faintly in the dim light. Years ago as a Padawan, Obi-Wan had entered it nervous and unsure. Now he strode in as if he owned it.
It was not the same Imbat bartender at the bar, but it might well have been. He projected the same indifference to his customers, the same penchant for swatting his customers off their stools with a massive palm for trying too vigorously to signal for a refill.
Obi-Wan stood at the corner of the bar and waited.
He knew better than to signal for the Imbat’s attention. Eventually the lmbat wandered over and bent his tall frame closer to hear Obi-Wan over the noise of the music and the whirl of the jubilee wheel.
“Gogol,” Obi-Wan told him.
The lmbat signaled a table with his eyes. Obi-Wan slid a few credits across the bar.
Gogol was just as Didi had described him, a humanoid with a half-shaved head and long hair that straggled down his back. He played a dice game by himself, and bets were piled at both ends of his small table.
Obi-Wan sat across from him and said nothing. Gogol did not look up from his game. “What do you want, chum?”
Obi-Wan slid a pack of credits across the table. “Information on Krayn.”
Gogol eyed the packet without touching it. “Then I’ll need to see more than that.”
Obi-Wan slid another packet of credits into the middle of the table. Gogol counted the two packets.
“I want to know what he’s up to these days,” Obi-Wan said.
“That’s a tall order, chum.” Gogol looked up. His beady eyes blinked rapidly. “Nobody knows the whole answer to that question.”
“Give me part of it, then. Does he have any dealings with the Colicoids?”
“The table looks awfully empty,” Gogol said. Obi-Wan peeled off a few more credits.
Gogol licked his fingers in satisfaction as he counted the credits. Obi-Wan profoundly hoped that he was trustworthy, at least as far as information. Most types such as Gogol knew better than to lie. That would only get them in more trouble than they no doubt were in already.
“Word is that the Colicoids are taking over the spice trade,” Gogol said. “They have secretly taken over the Kessel mines. Now they need a big processing planet. The last piece is the moon of Nar Shaddaa. The only way they can get it is to deal with Krayn. He controls the factories on Nar Shaddaa. He can’t get enough spice from the caverns there, so he imports it from Kessel. It’s a marriage made in paradise,” Gogol cackled.
Obi-Wan knew Nar Shaddaa. Often called “smuggler’s moon,” it was a haven for criminals of all sorts. It was also an important link in the illegal spice trade. He had not known that Krayn was involved, however.
“Aga Culpa is the ruler of Nar Shaddaa. Doesn’t he control the factories?” he asked.
“He might rule it, but he doesn’t control it. Everyone on Nar Shaddaa answers to Krayn. So Krayn promises not to attack the Colicoid ships, and they promise to buy his slaves for the spice mines and use his factories. A good deal, eh, chum?”
A very good deal, Obi-Wan thought heavily, if one overlooked the fact that it involved cruelty, greed, and the selling of living beings for profit.
He stood and quickly exited the Dor. He paused outside for a moment. It had started to rain, and he welcomed the coolness on his cheeks.
The mention of the spice trade had immediately sparked a memory. He knew that Adi Gallia and Siri’s last mission together had involved the smuggling activities on the Kessel Run. Spice was a legally controlled substance, but it also held enormous profits on the black market. The Jedi had been asked to try to break the back of the illegal trade once and for all. Adi Gallia and Siri had not been successful. Something had happened on the mission that had caused a deep rift between them.