Teroenza was distracted from his memories when the front door to his apartments opened, and Kibbick the Hutt undulated in. The young Hurt was far from being old or corpulent enough to require an antigrav sled—he got around fine under his own power, propelling himself forward in a series of glides by contracting his powerful lower body and tail muscles.
Teroenza knew he should rise from his lounge-sling, and greet his nominal master with deference, but he didn’t. Kibbick was a young Hutt, barely past the age of full Hutt accountability, and he didn’t want to be here on Ylesia. He was the nephew of the dead Zavval, Teroenza’s former Hutt overseer. Zavval’s sibling, the powerful Hutt clan leader, Lord Aruk, was his uncle.
The High Priest raised a hand and nodded politely enough, though. He certainly didn’t want to alienate Kibbick. “Greetings, Your Excellency.
How are you today?”
The young Hutt glided up to the High Priest and then stopped. He was still young enough to be a uniform light tan in color, lacking the greenish pigmentation on the spine and down the tail that older, nonmobile Hutts frequently acquired. Since he was not fat, as Hutts went, Kibbick’s eyes were not hidden in leathery folds of skin, but instead protruded slightly, giving him a rather pop-eyed, inquisitive air. Teroenza had good reason to know, however, that that wide-eyed, curious stare was misleading.
“The nalatree frogs you promised me,” Kibbick began in Huttese.
Lacking the huge chest of older Hutts, his words were deep, but not particularly resonant. “The shipment hasn’t arrived, Teroenza! I was particularly looking forward to a repast of nalatree frogs tonight.”
He gave a theatrical sigh. “There is so little to look forward to on this benighted world! Can you see about it, Teroenza?”
The High Priest made soothing gestures with his tiny hands. “Of course, Your Excellency. You shall have your nalatree frogs, never fear. I do not relish them myself, but I know that Zavval did. I shall order an expedition of guards to collect some today.”
Kibbick relaxed visibly. “That’s much better,” he said. “Oh, and, Teroenza, I require a new bath slave. The old one hurt her back when she was lifting my tail to oil it, and I ordered her back to the factories. Her whimpering was getting on my nerves … and I have very delicate nerves, as you know.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Teroenza said soothingly. Inwardly the High Priest gritted his bite-plates. I have to remember that Kibbick, although a whining nuisance, allows me complete autonomy. If I must have a Hutt overlord, he is the best choice … “I shall see to it right away.”
Privately, Teroenza knew that he could run the Ylesian spice and slave operation with no Hutt involvement. In the year following Zawal’s “untimely” death at the hands of Han Solo, this had become clear to the High Priest. But the Besadii criminal enterprise, the kajidic, was ruled by a powerful old Hutt named Aruk, who clung to tradition. If a Besadii undertaking was to prosper, a Hutt from their own kin, the Besadii clan, must be in charge.
Thus, Teroenza found himself saddled with Kibbick. He repressed a sigh. It would not be wise to let his impatience show. “Will there be anything else, Your Excellency?” he asked, forcing himself to assume a servile, almost obsequious demeanor. Kibbick thought hard for a moment. “Yes, come to think of it. I spoke with Uncle Aruk this morning, and he was checking last week’s accounts.
He wanted to know what is this five-thousand-credit bounty you’ve placed on this human, Han Solo?”
Teroenza rubbed his small, delicate hands together. “Inform Lord Aruk that only a few days ago I discovered that Vykk Draygo, Zavval’s murderer, whom we had presumed to be dead for the past five years, has resurfaced! His real name is Han Solo, and he was drummed out of the Imperial Navy just two months ago.” Teroenza’s protuberant eyes were suddenly moist and glittering with anticipation. “By offering a sizable bounty and specifying ‘no disintegrations,’ that will ensure that they’ll bring this Hutt-slaying monster back here to Ylesia, so he may pay for his crimes.”
“I see,” Kibbick said. “I shall explain that to Aruk, but I don’t believe he’ll go along with paying the extra credits for a ‘no disintegrations’ bounty. That’s not necessary, under the circumstances, really. Simple proof that it’s indeed Solo’s body—genetic material, for example—would suffice, wouldn’t it?”
Teroenza lurched up out of his lounge-sling with an awkward, fierce movement. He began to pace his spacious, sumptuous apartment, his long, whippy tail slashing the air. “You fail to understand the nature of Solo’s crime, Your Excellency! If only you had been here, to see what Solo did to your uncle! His death agonies were horrible! His moans! His spasms of agony! And all because of that wretched little human!”