quality of your sleep. That way your injuries don't interfere with your normal
sleep pattern. Which means you are less likely to have vivid dreams."
"Oh. Okay."
"And listen," Platt said, "it's not a big ship. If you need anything at
all, press the green button on the side of the bed. Yeah, that one.
"Okay, Tru'eb and I are going to get a little shuteye- - is there
anything else you two need?"
"Leave the lights on," Jai said.
After Tru'eb and Platt had gone, Harkness said, "What will you do when
you get back?"
"Are you kidding? I just inducted an entire planet into the New Republic.
I've got lots of desk work to do."
"Eh. Bag it. Make somebody else fill out the forms."
"Yeah." Jai was quiet for a moment; then her voice seemed to slur. "Maybe
when I get back I'll tell General Madine what he can do with this Intel
assignment."
"Maybe you should."
"Maybe."
Harkness felt the sedative seep into his limbs, warm and heavy. The room
seemed to mist over, in the same blue-gray fog as the one that hung over the
Valley of Umbra.
"Sarge?"
"Yeah?"
"You ever think about becoming a mercenary?"
"Sometimes," she said. Then her voice seemed to gather a little strength.
"Yeah, I think that would be pretty nice."
"You said you don't care much about fighting for the New Republic."
"Why? You proposing something?"
"Maybe."
She seemed to drift off after that. Harkness felt the silence tugging at
him, but it seemed to be easing him into a warm darkness, not a bottomless
well.
Then the humming noise came back.
Harkness started; he felt a surge of dismay. But then he settled back and
closed his eyes. It hadn't been a song, or anything to do with Chessa. The
humming was the sound of the engines on Platt's ship.
***
Hutt and Seek
by Chris Cassidy and Tish Pahl
with Special Thanks to Timothy Zahn
Fenig Nabon searched the skies for the ship she knew was un its final
approach. But, from her vantage at a grimy window, all she saw was Ryloth's
tortured landscape, empty and desolate, stretching into darkness.
She shifted from one foot to the other. The movement betrayed her
uneasiness and stirred choking dust in the stifling heat of the port control
room. As the veteran of seedy spaceports too numerous to be counted, the
Corellian smuggler knew she should be entirely in her element. Instead, the
whole deal about to go down left Fen with a queasy stomach and three not so
minor questions. Why was she here when she could have been making a simple
raava run between Socorro and Corus - cant? Why was her beloved ship, the Star
Lady, docked systems away on Nal Hutta? And when, in over twenty years of
traversing the stars, had she irrevocably and irretrievably lost her mind?
There was one answer to all these questions-Ghitsa Dogder, her current
partner of circumstance. Feeling another bead of moisture weave its tortuous
way between her well-worn flight suit and her sweat-soaked back, she wished
for the millionth time that she had followed her first instinct two years ago
and just blasted the little con artist right out of her wildly impractical
high heeled shoes. It would have truly been an act of galactic altruism on par
with the destruction of both Death Stars.
Squinting, Fen finally spied a speck of fast-moving light. It
materialized into the midsized, heavily armed freighter she and Ghitsa had
hired for passage to Nal Hutta. The ship arrowed up and disappeared overhead
to cruise above the cliffs housing the Twi'lek clan warrens of Leb'Reen.
Always the victims of pirates and plunderers, the reclusive Twi'leks
never made even the legitimate landings easy. For the Leb'Reen approach, a
pilot had to fly down a narrow rift carved into the plateau to emerge into the
landing cavern five hundred meters below. Harsh gouges made by disrespectful
pilots marred the unforgiving rock walls. Fen doubted the Mistryl piloting the
inbound ship would make the same mistakes.
Mistryl. These enigmatic women warriors would do desperate things for
their impoverished people. And in a universe of uncertainty, getting on the
wrong side of a Mistryl was a sure way to meet a really certain, and
completely lethal, end.
"It would be a pity if they damaged the ship," said a cultured
Coruscantan voice.
Fen didn't bother to look down at her diminutive partner. "They won't.
Shada D'ukal's a good pilot."
"High praise from you. Fen."
"Simple fact. I didn't say she was a great pilot."
"Or as good as you think you are?" Ghitsa taunted softly.
Fen was too tense to argue with her. "I told you before, conning a Hutt
is a bad idea; using Mistryl to do it is a really bad idea."
"Such uncharacteristic understatement for a Corellian." Ghitsa sighed,
smoothing back a tendril of spiky blond hair that dared to be out of place.
"We have been over this. Mistryl possess a peculiar, tarnished nobility. And..
." she screwed her perfectly applied face in concentration, "they are likely
to identify with the seeming predicament of our cargo. We could not count on
anyone else to be as predictable."
"They also carry heavy weapons, know how to use them, and don't need a
blaster to do permanent damage to a body."
"A Hutt is a big mark in a blaster sight, and a very small one in a con,"
Ghitsa replied evenly.
They turned from the window as the hum of repulsor lifts echoed in the
landing cavern behind them. With a whoosh, the ship burst through the gaping
hole in the roof of the Leb'Reen landing bay. Fen studied its descent intently
with a professional's eye. Watch out far-wind shear, she cautioned the pilot
mentally, as the ship bounced to a final, unsteady stop.
Her partner's crisp words interrupted Fen's musing. "I will finish the
details with the Shak Clan." Straightening the shoulder pads of her tailored
ensemble, Ghitsa took Fen's own tattered flight suit and ragged, nut brown
hair pulled into a sloppy braid. "Must you always look as if a rancor dressed
you?"
Fen slapped her head in mock horror. "And I ever so wanted to squeeze in
an appointment with your designer."
Ghitsa rolled her eyes with amused disgust and, as always, got in the
last pointed barb. "You are as hopeless as a Mistryl's cause." Pivoting on a
sharp, stylish heel, she walked away.
Fen positioned herself precisely so that the ramp of the ship extended to
rest at her big toe. From the bottom, she studied the two Mistryl at the
hatch. Tall and not so tall, dark and light, mature and young, they bore vibro
- blades, blasters, and the easy confidence of those accustomed to using them.
"Shada, you're lucky you didn't lose your rear deflector when that wind
shear caught you," Fen said, in her equivalent of "Welcome to Ryloth."
"It's nice to see you, too, Fenig," the older of the Mis tryl returned,
calm and unruffled. "I'm sorry to hear the Star Lady is still dry-docked.
We'll try to make you as comfortab
le as possible on The Fury.
Fen scowled. Shada knew nothing pained a pilot more than playing
passenger on someone else's ship. "You know me, Shada. I'll be comfortable
anywhere."
Shada moved down the ramp to stand next to Fen. Fen made a point of
ignoring the younger Mistryl who followed. To Shada, she muttered, "New
sidekick, I see."
"Dune T'racen," the younger woman identified herself. "And we of the
Mistryl don't refer to subordinates as sidekicks."
"My mistake," Fen replied, her voice flat. Dune bore her Mistryl heritage
proudly, but not yet with Shada's smooth competence. Possibly a novice, she
speculated. "My partner's over there," Fen continued, with a tilt of her head.
"Hammering out the final details with the Shak Clan representative."
Across the Leb'Reen landing cavern, they saw Ghitsa in an earnest, close
exchange with an immense, cloaked Twi'lek. Abruptly, Ghitsa spun about and
trotted away, swallowed quickly in the darkness of the spaceport. With a flick
of his head tails, the Twi'lek stalked after her.
"Where's the cargo?" Shada asked.
"And how much ryll are we talking about?" Dune added.
"Ryll?" Fen scoffed. "Who said anything about ryll?"
A frown creased Dune's delicate face. "Given the cost of your Ryloth
cargo, we assumed you were moving ryll kor for bacta use."
Fen barked crudely, "Saltan valoramosa n telval mard."
"What's that supposed-his" A subtle hand signal from Shada, and Dune
swallowed the rest of her question unasked.
"It's old Corellian," Shada said, measuring Fen with a cool gaze. "It
means "assumption is the first step into a shallow grave." his
"Very good, Shada," Fen responded, trying to sound casual or even a
little sneering, no small feat under that gaze. "But I would have expected
better language skills in your younger meres."
"We're not mercenaries," Dune uttered with the firmness of one who still
believes what she has been told.
Heels tapping a staccato rhythm on the stone floor interrupted them.
Ghitsa emerged from the gloom of the landing bay; one by one, five Twi'lek
females followed her. Subdued, head tails limp, each shouldering a heavy pack,
the Twi'leks padded forward, as if links in a chain, one after another.
"You're shipping Twi'lek females?" Shada moved closer, her sheer physical
presence crowding Fen back a step. "To Nal Hutta?" she added, her voice
chilling still further.
"I have a contract, executed by your leadership, that guarantees our
passage to the Hutt homeworld," Fen said, again striving for offhanded
casualness. She drew her datapad from her pocket, careful to keep her
movements slow and nonthreatening.
"Ladies, is there a problem?" Ghitsa asked pleasantly.
Shada ignored her. "You know we won't run slaves," she said icily, her
eyes still on Fen. She threw a quick glare at the approaching Twi'leks, who
took the cue and stopped.
Ghitsa held out her hand; Fen wordlessly slapped the datapad into her
palm. "It's Shada D'ukal, isn't it? Pursuant to our agreement, the Mistryl are
bound to provide passage from Leb'Reen to Nal Hutta for myself, my colleague,
and our cargo." Her intricately wrought bracelets clattered against the
display. "Fee of twenty thousand, nonrefundable deposit of five thousand,
contract void if done in aid of the former Empire..."
"The Mistryl won't deliver anyone into slavery," Dune bit out.
Ghitsa spared Dune a slitted, reptilian glance before returning her
attention to Shada. "Of course you wouldn't slave. Slavery is illegal under
New Republic Senate Resolution 54.325." She deftly manipulated the pad again.
"This is my contract with Brin'shak, the Twi'lek talent agent. He is providing
the services of a Twi'lek dancing troupe to Durga the Hutt. Durga will pay
these dancers."
Shada shifted her measuring gaze to Ghitsa. Not that the diminutive con
artist would require that much measuring. "Sure he will," the Mistryl said,
her tone clearly indicating how much she believed that.
Ghitsa proffered the datapad. "And pay them very well. Datapage eight,
paragraph twelve."
Shada took the pad and reviewed the contract entry. Not satisfied, she
scrolled through the document from beginning to end. Dune, in a tribute to her
training, remained watchfully silent.
The seconds seemed to be dragging on toward forever before Shada finally
reverts back to the Shak Clan," she pointed out.
"The Twi'lek method of compensation is not your concern, Shada," Ghitsa
said loftily. "And if you back out now, you'll forfeit the deposit, lose the
contract, and pay a ten thousand penalty."
Fen winced inside herself. That was the right lever for moving
impoverished Mistryl, all right. And Ghitsa had done her usual expert job of
pulling it.
Shada didn't react, at least not visibly. Her younger partner, though,
wasn't nearly so good. "Shada, we can't be party to this," Dune urged quietly.
"Not in good conscience."
"Conscience?" Ghitsa asked blandly.
Fen couldn't let that one pass unremarked. "Do you need to look up the
word, Ghitsa?"
Ghitsa waved a gilded hand. "No, Fen. I have a passing familiarity with
the costly phenomenon known as conscience. Still, if this conversation is
going to drift into ethics, I might point out that our hirelings should not be
trying to renegotiate an agreement their leadership executed."
"The contract appears to be both legitimate and legal." Shada shoved the
pad back to Ghitsa. "But of course we all know what appearances are worth. So
I'm going to go talk to Brin'shak and your alleged dancers. If they show any
indication of coercion, the deal's off. Period."
Shada gave Ghitsa a smile that didn't make it anywhere near her eyes. "I
suppose I could also threaten to report your activities to every law
enforcement agency you've ever heard of, plus a few you haven't. But I won't
bother. I'll just mention that you'll be in trouble with us. Serious trouble."
She looked at each of them in turn, as if daring them to protest. "And if
the whole thing is legitimate, you'll pay thirty-two thousand, not twenty,"
she added. "Or you can back out right now, we leave, and the contract is void.
Your choice."
"No problem," Ghitsa said airily, waving toward the Twi'leks still
waiting off to the side. "Satisfy yourvs as much as necessary. We have nothing
to hide."
Sure we do, Fen thought grimly. Sure we do.
"Did you really have to say that the Twi'leks could just rattle around in
the cargo hold since they are trained to endure physical pain?" Fen grumbled,
strapping herself in for the ride to come. Her partner had quickly moved to
Phase Two of their plan and was determined to make the now-committed Mistryl
rue the day they contracted with Ghitsa and Fen.
"I did see the wisdom of seat restraints," Ghitsa conceded, struggling to
squeeze her shoulder pads into a passenger seat of The Fury's main cabin.
"None of them have been off-planet before. We don't want them pani
cking and
injuring themselves."
"Of course not," Fen said. "Incidentally, the next time you feel an urge
to spout off about how an injured dancer depreciates in value, either don't do
it when Dune's hand is anywhere near a hold-out blaster, or wait until I'm not
around. Okay?"
"Given what we have heard of their unarmed combat skills, a blaster would
make little difference to a motivated Mistryl," Ghitsa pointed out.
Fen swallowed her retort, preferring to savor instead the familiar thrill
of a ship lifting. She felt every pitch and roll as The Fury fought the
Ileb'Reen cavern wind shear, only to emerge into the blistering wind and
driving sand of Ryloth's brutal lower atmosphere. Fen counted down the minutes
of that wild ride in anxious anticipation.
The moment the ship surged into hyperspace, Fen slipped free other seat
harness. She rose from her seat with a grace borne of thousands of hours
logged in flight while Ghitsa was still fumbling with the clasps of her
restraints. Eyes darting to the winding passage leading forward, Ghitsa
whispered, "You go check on the Twi'leks."