“He hire me for tracking job,” the Barabel said, jabbing a keratin-plated finger at the Radian. “I do what he say. But he no pay me.”
The Radian said something indignant sounding. “Just a minute I’ll get to you,” Luke told him, wondering how he was going to handle that’part of the cross-examination. “What sort of job was it?”
“He ask me hunt animal nest for him,” the Barabel said. “Animals bothering little ships-eating at sides. I do what he say. He burn animal nest, get money. But then he pay me in no-good money.” He gestured down at a now scattered pile of gold-colored metal chips.
Luke picked one up. It was small and triangular, with an intricate pattern of lines in the center, and inscribed with a small “100” in each corner. “Anyone ever see this currency before?” he called, holding it up.
“It’s new Imperial scrip,” someone dressed in an expensive business coat said with thinly veiled contempt. “You can only spend it on Imperial-held worlds and stations.”
Luke grimaced. Another reminder, if he’d needed one, that the war for control of the galaxy was far from over. “Did you tell him beforehand that you’d be paying in this?” he asked the Radian.
The other said something in his own language. Luke glanced around the circle, wondering if asking for a translator would diminish his perceived status here. “He says that that was how he was paid,” a familiar voice said; and Luke turned to see Lando ease his way to the front of the crowd. “Says he argued about it, but that he didn’t have any choice in the matter.”
“That is how the Empire’s been doing business lately,” someone in the crowd offered. “At least around here.”
The Barabel spun toward the other. “I no want your judgment,” he snarled. “Only Jedi give judgment.”
“All right, calm down,” Luke told him, fingering the chit and wondering what he was going to do. If this really was the way the Radian had been paid:”Is there any way to convert these into something else?” he asked the Radian.
The other answered. “He says no,” Lando translated. “You can use them for goods and services on Imperial worlds, but since no one in the New Republic will take them, there’s no official rate of exchange.”
“Right,” Luke said dryly. He might not have Lando’s experience in under-the-plate operations, but he hadn’t been born yesterday, either. “So what’s the unofficial exchange rate?”
“No idea, actually,” Lando said, looking around the crowd. “Must be someone here who works both sides of the street, though.” He raised his voice. “Anyone here do business with the Empire?”
If they did, they were keeping quiet about it. “Shy, aren’t they?” Luke murmured.
“About admitting Imperial dealings to a Jedi?” Lando countered. “I’d be shy, too.”
Luke nodded, feeling a sinking sense in the pit of his stomach as he studied the Radian’s tapirlike snout and passive, multifaceted eyes. He’d hoped that he could simply smooth out the problem and thereby avoid the need to pass any kind of real judgment. Now, he had no choice but to rule on whether the Radian was in fact deliberately trying to cheat his partner.
Closing his eyes down to slits, he composed his mind and stretched out his senses. It was a long shot, he knew; but most species showed subtle physiological changes when under stress. If the Radian was lying about the payment-and if he thought that Luke’s Jedi skills could catch him at it-he might react enough to incriminate himself.
But even as Luke ran through the sensory enhancement techniques, something else caught his attention. It was an odor: a faint whiff of Carababba tabac and armudu. The same combination Lando had called his attention to on the Sluis Van space station:
Luke opened his eyes and looked around the crowd. “Niles Ferrier,” he called. “Will you step forward, please.”
There was a long pause, punctuated only by Lando’s sudden hissing intake of air at Ferrier’s name. Then, with a rustle of movement from one side of the circle, a familiar bulky figure pushed his way to the front. “What do you want?” he demanded, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered blaster.
“I need to know the unofficial exchange rate between Imperial and New Republic currencies,” Luke said. “I thought perhaps you could tell me what it is.”
Ferrier studied him with ill-concealed scorn. “This is your problem, Jedi. Leave me out of it.”
There was a low rumble of displeasure from the crowd. Luke didn’t reply, but held Ferrier in a level gaze; and after a moment, the other’s lip twisted. “The last time I did business on the other side, we settled on a five to four Empire/Republic conversion,” he growled.