THE PARADISE SNARE(54)
Han thought of how he’d feel if he couldn’t fly anymore—if he’d been so overworked and poisoned by spice exposure that his hands shook all the time—and he nodded. “Hey, pal,” he said sincerely, “I’m really sorry. I hope you’ll be better soon.” He lowered his voice, and switched to trader’s argot. “Understand you trader-talk, friend?”
The Sullustan nodded. “Not speak,” he replied, equally softly, “but understand fine.”
Han glanced up at the ceiling. Were the Ylesians or their security monitoring this room? No way to be sure. But he hadn’t met too many droids who could translate trader’s argot, because it was a bastardized mix of a dozen or more tongues and several dialects, with no fixed syntax. He waved up the volume on the newscast higher … higher, then mouthed, barely making any sound, “Friend-pilot, when hands grow steady, then if me you, not say farewell, just fly off bad spice world, quick quick. Understand?”
The Sullustan nodded.
Han lowered the volume slightly, then went on, as if nothing had happened, “I got attacked by pirates the other day.”
The Sullustan leaned forward. “What happened?”
“They shot up my ship, damaged the hyperdrive engines, but I managed to get one of them with a missile,” Han said, gesturing “boom” with his hands. “Had to put into Alderaan for repairs. Ever been there?”
“Nice world,” the Sullustan commented dryly. “Too nice, for some things.”
“Tell me about it,” Han said with feeling. “Anyway, when I came back here, Teroenza had a hundred questions about what kinds of ships the pirates were in, why they didn’t fire warning shots or try to commandeer the Dream, stuff like that. I got the distinct impression that there was more to this attack than just a random pirate raid. For one thing, they were waiting for me at the rendezvous point. How’d they find out those coordinates?”
“Ah,” said Jalus Nebl. “There may indeed be much behind this attack, Pilot.”
“Please … call me Vykk. Us pilots gotta stick together.” “You call me Nebl, then. My nestname.” “Thanks. So what do you think is going on?”
“I believe that the t’landa Til are worried that these ‘pirate’ vessels may instead be from Nal Hutta. Hutt-dispatched ships, masquerading as pirates.”
Han whistled softly. “By all the Minions of Xendor … that takes the cake. The Hutts are fighting against each other?”
“Is not hard to believe if you have ever spent time among Hutts,” Nebl said dryly. “Hutt alliances are made and broken on the spin of a credit-coin. Hutt loyalty melts away in the face of loss of profit or power, you know?”
“I’m beginning to see a pattern, here,” Han said, shifting uneasily on the hard bench, thinking of how close he’d come to being cosmic dust.
“There are factions of Hutts on Nal Hutta?”
“Oh, yes. One family or clan will gain power and wealth, only to fall when another family plots their demise. It is no wonder that Hutts are the most distrustful of sentients—being a food-taster for a Hutt is most likely a job of short duration, Vykk. It is very difficult to poison a Hutt, but that does not stop assassins from trying it—and, occasionally, succeeding. And the clans are not above using missiles, assassins, or ground troops to accomplish their goals.”
“But the Hutts are the ones who are really running this place,” Han pointed out.
“Ah! You saw Zavval, then?”
“If that’s the bloated sonofagun who rides around on that repulsor sled, I sure did. Haven’t had the honor yet of meeting him face-to-face.”
“Pray you never do, Vykk. Zavval, like most Hutts, is not easy to please.
The priests can be hard masters to satisfy, but compared to the Hutts, their masters, they are nothing.”
“So, what’s going on with this world? You’ve got Hutts running this world, who’ve clashing with other clans of Hutts on Nal Hutta—why?”
Han thought for a moment, then answered his own question. “Oh. Of course. For the spice.”
“Naturally. The Hutts and the t’landa Til, their caretakers, profit in two ways from Ylesia. First, there is the processed spice. But the Ylesian Hutts must buy their spice from other Hutt families who provide the raw materials. Have you ever heard of Jiliac or of Jabba?”
“Jabba?” Han frowned. “Jabba the Hutt? I think I’ve heard of him.
Isn’t he supposed to be the guy who pretty much controls Nar Shaddaa, the smugglers’ moon that orbits Nal Hutta?”