THE HUTT GAMBI(81)

Han nodded, and went to sit down, as told. He was a little surprised that it had been that easy. He wondered if he should be suspicious of Greelanx, but the man seemed genuinely motivated by greed. But there was something else going on, too … something Han couldn’t put his finger on …

Greelanx worked for nearly two hours, then, finally, stood up and beckoned Han into the privacy field again. “I have it,” he said.

“Nothing terribly inspired, standard Imperial tactics, but eminently workable. We should be able to cut any smuggler fleet to ribbons, I’m afraid.”

“That’s our concern,” Han said. “You just stick to this, Admiral”—he indicated the battle plan—”and when you can justifiably withdraw your squadron, you do it. I’ll be back to pay you.”

“You are a pilot, are you not?” Greelanx asked.

“You bet I am, sir,” Han said. He grinned at the older man. “You’re going to wish you had me on your side.”

The admiral chuckled. “Cocky, aren’t you? But the best pilots always are.

Very well, then, I’ll leave a shuttle for you at these coordinates.”

He added a line to the sheet of flimsy containing the battle plan.

“Wear that uniform. All the docking codes you’ll need will be in the navicomputer.

I’ll expect you one week to the day and hour after the attack. Is that understood?”

Han nodded. “Yes, sir, I understand. I’ll be back, count on it. The Hutts are only too aware of their danger. They’ll pay off, no complaints.”

It least none you’ll hear, he added silently.

“Very well. That concludes our business,” Greelanx said. “Although, young man, I believe you are overly optimistic about your chances against my squadron.”

Han nodded. “Noted, Admiral. But all we want is a fighting chance.”

“You’ll get it,” Greelanx said. “But your people had better be prepared to defend themselves. My attack will be genuine.”

Han saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Then he executed a perfect about-face, and strode from the room.





11


Battle Stations?


The corners of Aruk the Hutt’s wide, lipless mouth turned down as he squinted his protuberant eyes at the shipping report displayed on his datapad. He used to relish going over all the facts and figures …

the quarterly, semi-annual, and annual reports, the Ylesian profit statements, the prospectuses for new companies, his net worth statement, and all the other reports on the vast and varied financial enterprises of Besadii kajidic … but lately, it was becoming more and more of a chore to concentrate on them.

Abstractedly, Aruk reached for another of the nalatree frogs that Teroenza shipped him from Ylesia. The t’landa Til had been faithful to his promise to provide only the biggest, tastiest, freshest frogs to his Hutt overlord.

Aruk’s hand closed around the nalatree frog. The terrified creature squirmed wildly in the Hutt Lord’s grip. Opening his mouth, Aruk tossed the wriggling morsel in, then rolled it around on his tongue, savoring its frenzied struggles for a long minute or two before finally swallowing the thing whole.

Delicious… Aruk thought with a contented sigh.

He frowned again at the datapad. These reports could wait. Perhaps he’d take a nap, though he knew he really shouldn’t. His physician and the reed droids had both insisted that he get more exercise. Every day that he didn’t get off his sled and wriggle around under his own power, they complained and lectured. Every time he ate rich food, or smoked his hookah, they fussed, insisting that he was endangering his cardiovascular system. Aruk knew they were right, that his circulation was sluggish, he could tell because the greenish patches on his leather hide had darkened.

But he was old, blast it, and at his age, he should be allowed to do just as he liked—which included smoking, eating what he wanted, and not exercising. And … not reading incomprehensible financial reports.

Aruk resolved to turn the financial report over to Durga. Time the youngster began taking some of the load off his parent’s shoulders.

The aging Hutt Lord took another nalatree frog to savor, then, with a sigh, he closed his bulbous eyes for a delightful afternoon nap . .

.

“All right, you sentients, settle down!” roared Mako Spince. His amplified voice resounded off the walls of the large auditorium at The Chance Castle where Han had first seen Xaverri perform. The hotelcasino had generously donated the space, when Mako had called a meeting of representatives from every enclave, both humanoid and nonhumanoid, on Nar Shaddaa. “I said, settle down!”

Slowly the crowd quieted. Mako waited until he had their full attention, then he said, “Okay, guys. I’m no politician, so I don’t know how to make a speech. The best I can do is just tell you the facts as we know ‘em.