THE HUTT GAMBI(89)

Repeat: you are to LOSE, Admiral. Do not attempt to confirm these orders.

Do not discuss them with anyone. If you fail to comply, no excuses will be accepted.

Do NOT fail.

What did it all mean? Greelanx wondered. Someone very high up wanted Sam Shild’s foray against the Hutts to fail. Who? And why?

Greelanx was not a particularly imaginative or intelligent man, but he was smart enough to realize that if he told Sam Shild about those orders, he would sound like a madman. He had no proof that he had received them. The encoded message had been “time-sensitive”—impossible to copy, except manually, and designed to vanish within minutes after being downloaded.

And then had come the Hutt bribe. What a supreme irony, under the circumstances! A chance to increase his retirement nest egg by a thousand-fold or more. Even if he hadn’t gotten those secret orders, Greelanx would have found the Hutt offer difficult to reject.

Could the two things be related somehow? he wondered. Or was it just an incredible coincidence?

Greelanx had no way to tell.

The admiral was edgy and nervous about the entire venture. Schemes ran through his head, only to be discarded as too risky. Should he try to contact the High Command? Tell the Moff? Take the Imperial Destiny to some remote location, then abscond in an Imperial shuttle?

That last option seemed the most likely to ensure his continued existence.

He could go to the Corporate Sector, perhaps. Somewhere far, far away.

But if he did that, Greelanx had soon realized, his family would pay for his escape. His son and daughter, his wife. Perhaps even his two mistresses.

Greelanx was not particularly fond of his wife, but he wished her no harm.

And he loved his children, who were grown and married. He had a grandchild on the way.

No, the admiral decided, he could not risk them. If he’d kept the flimsy and showed it to the Moff, Greelanx knew that he’d have signed his and their death warrants. The Imperial security forces were swift and ruthless. Greelanx and his family could run to the ends of the universe, and the storm troopers would still hunt them down.

All he could do was obey, and hope for the best.

As he stood on the bridge of his ship, Admiral Winstel Greelanx thought of the young smuggler who had brought the Hutt offer. An offer he hadn’t been able to refuse. Had the young man sensed there was more going on than Greelanx was telling?

He’d seemed like an intelligent young fellow. Greelanx would have been willing to bet he’d worn an Imperial uniform before. Why had he left the service to become an outlaw?

The admiral hated to think that young smuggler might be one of the sentients he’d have to kill in order to make his attack on Nar Shaddaa appear legitimate.

Greelanx watched the star trails, thinking … and worrying. How did I get myself into this? he wondered. And how in the name of all that’s sacred do I get myself out of it?

Durga the Hutt was working in his office when a servitor droid rolled rapidly in. “Sir! Sir! The Lord Aruk has been taken ill! Please come!”

The young Hutt Lord abandoned his datapad and wriggled quickly after the droid, down endless corridors in the huge Besadii enclave. He found his parent lying limp, eyes rolled back in his head, sprawled across his repulsor sled. Aruk’s personal physician, a Hutt named Grodo, was working over the unconscious Besadii leader, assisted by two med droids.

“What happened?” Durga demanded breathlessly as he undulated up to them, his tail pushing him along in long, swift glides. “Is he going to be all right?”

“We don’t know yet, sir,” the physician said brusquely. He was working hard over the unconscious Hutt, giving him a jab with an injector, then administering oxygen. A circulatory pump stim-unit was adhered to Aruk’s midsection, automatically sending mild jolts into the massive body to keep Aruk’s heartbeat regular.

Aruk’s green-slimed tongue lolled limply out of his mouth. The sight terrified Durga. The young Hutt forced himself to halt several meters away, not wishing to get in the way. “He was talking to his scribe, giving an order about some work, when suddenly, as the droid reported, he just slumped over.”

“What do you think caused this?” Durga said. “Should I summon security, have them seal off the palace?”

“No, sir,” Grodo said. “This is the result of some kind of brain seizure, I suspect due to poor circulation. You know I have been warning your parent about—” “Yes, yes, I remember,” Durga said. In his anxiety, he grabbed the edge of a low inlaid table, and only realized he’d been twisting it when the heavy wood splintered in his hands.

Minutes later Aruk suddenly blinked, stirred, and then slowly raised himself, looking very puzzled. “What?” he croaked, his deep voice raw.