them, jutting out from the ship, small and vulnerable. "Dune?"
"Got it," Dune said, fingers flying across the console as she tracked the
quivering Firespray and, from the sound of it, emptied an entire magazine into
the left fin.
The Firespray's shield rippled with the force of the blasts, plasma
ebbing and flowing across the ship's hull like a flooded river. Dune let fly
another barrage, and this time the missiles pierced the other vessel's
weakening shield. Fire exploded on the ship, scorching its armor. Plates began
peeling off the hull like a reptile shedding its skin.
Dune switched over to the heavy turbolasers. The hot lasers carved
through the Firespray's collapsing shield, strafing the ship along its
diagonal. Two explosions, one at the cannon and the other near the reactor,
and the Firespray, true to her class, erupted in a brief and blazing shower of
white, yellow, and red.
For a moment they all sat in silence. "Well," Shada said at last, her
voice calm as ever. "That seems to be that. Well done, both of you."
"Not a bad piece of flying, Shada," Fen conceded, trying to get her
breath back and wondering why she was so winded. "Though of course I would
have done it without losing that aft shield."
To Fen's surprise, Shada laughed. "Fen, you have to be the most arrogant
pilot in the galaxy. You want to see if the computer was able to pull an ID
before we blew it into the next sector?"
"Let me check," Fen said, keying the computer. A name came up. "Surprise,
surprise," she muttered in disgust. "It was the Indenture."
"Well, well." Ghitsa murmured.
Shada and Dune exchanged glances.
"Explain," Shada said.
"You need to get out more," Fen said bitterly, "if you haven't heard
about the Indenture."
"Mistryl don't move in the same exalted circles we do, Fen," Ghitsa
scolded, her customary tinge of superiority returning.
"And you can't imagine how pleased we are about that," Shada countered.
"Fen?"
"That ship's had more names and ID codes than a Gamorrean has warts," Fen
said. "Last I heard, it was traveling as Salvation, doing hit and runs for the
Karazaks out on the rim."
"Firesprays are mostly used in law enforcement," Ghitsa added. "I
understand Krassis Trelix really appreciates the irony of using that kind of
ship for slaving."
"And Krassis Trelix is?" Shada waved out at the still glowing dust cloud.
"I'm sorry: Krassis Trelix was?"
"Karazak logistics coordinator," Ghitsa amplified. "A very nasty person,
even for a smuggler."
"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Fen added. Shada nodded with
comprehension, and maybe satisfaction, too. Fen thought.
"Dune, let's get those coordinates," Shada said. "Next stop, Nal Hutta."
Fen rinsed the anxiety of the battle from her body. The water was flat
and recycled, washing over her like a ritual cleansing that was really nothing
more than a tepid sponge bath. She let her head fall forward and rest against
the wall, taking a deep breath.
The KSC encounter had not been entirely unexpected. It had been a lucky
break in some respects, and disastrous in others. She had done her part. Now
it was up to Ghitsa to get them out of this developing jam.
Stepping into another battered flight suit, she ran a comb through her
wet hair, slicking it back in what Jett had called her drowned womp rat look.
Having already been to Mos Eisley numerous times by age fifteen, she had long
ago ascertained how rare a commodity water was there. Her adoptive father had
laughed until tears ran down his red face when she had explained that, in the
Tatooine desert, water was too precious to be wasted on drowning rodents. Only
belatedly had she understood that that had been his point. She quickly checked
the small grin threatening to pull at her lips.
At the cabin entrance, she paused, taking in the sight.
apply a new coat of nail polish. The omnipresent holo viewer hummed lightly in
the background.
Fen eased back over to the computer terminal. With Dune distracted and
Shada tending to the shields, now was a good time to complete a certain task
still on her checklist.
The first eighteen times Shada had caught her, Fen had appeared to be
doing nothing more than playing battle simulations. Shada had her suspicions,
but, as every female on that ship knew, there was a galaxy's difference
between doing something and actually getting caught doing it.
Ghitsa delicately applied a streak of vibrant red to replace the pink
adorning her fingertips. Dune watched with suspicious fascination. "Why are
you using such an obvious color?" she asked.
"Ohta su marvalic plesodoro, "Ghitsa responded.
"Which means?" Dune countered.
"Huttese," Fen said. "Let them marvel at our splendor."
"It was a favorite phrase of Jabba's." Holding out her hand, Ghitsa
admired the gaudy red shade. "Jabba understood the importance of flaunting
prosperity to demonstrate power. Since Mistryl have nothing, this is something
you cannot understand."
Ghitsa sure wasn't wasting any time. Fen subtly shifted for easier access
to her blaster, wondering if a stun setting would stop a truly enraged
Mistryl.
But Dune merely cocked an eyebrow, the same gesture Fen had noticed Shada
using on occasion.
"You seem to know a lot about Hutts," she said. "One might wonder how
that happened."
"Oh, I don't think you're wondering at all," Ghitsa said with a smug,
evil smile. "Surely you've read the Mis tryl backgrounder on me."
"What backgrounder?" Dune asked. Score one for Ghitsa, Fen thought.
Although Dune's light skin would probably always betray the slightest stress,
the young Mistryl was going to have to learn to lie better. She would have to
remember to mention that to Shada... from a couple of light-years away.
Ghitsa had obviously noticed the reaction, too. "Oh, come now. Dune.
Fen's dear-departed, noble partner dealt with the Mistryl for years. As has
Fen." Her forefinger joined her thumbnail, both colored red. "So what does it
say?"
"Why don't you tell me?" Dune suggested, her voice dark.
"If you insist," Ghitsa sighed irritably. "Among other things, it says
that I am a Hutt counselor. Do you understand what that means?"
Dune's mouth twisted in contempt. "It means you're authorized by one or
more Hutts to conduct business on their behalf," she said. "Like this dancers"
contract between Durga and Brin'shak."
"A nicely standard textdoc answer, shadow guard," Ghitsa said
approvingly. "But it doesn't even scratch the surface. Shall I tell you what
it really means to be a Hutt counselor?"
Dune nodded her head slightly to the side. "I'm all ears."
"Hutt clans appoint counselors to conduct their business," Ghitsa said.
"The skill and loyalty required to manage their complex schemes, plus a Hutt's
own longevity, dictate that counselors remain within a single unit, preferably
a family. Dogders have orc
hestrated Hutt infiltration of Core World businesses
for over one hundred and fifty years."
Fen lifted an eye from the screen. This was news to her, too, if it were
true.
"I see," Dune said in a cold voice. "What a splendid and honorable family
history you have."
"I don't need to justify myself to you," Ghitsa said loftily. "My
motivations, and those of my clan masters, should be perfectly comprehensible
to you." Her left hand now completely painted, she switched the brush from
right to left, and began reddening her right nails. "Money, profit, security-
things even Mistryl ought to understand."
Dune snorted. "Except that our principles aren't for sale to the highest
bidder."
"But that's the irony of it. They are for sale. They have been sold, you
have been sold, like any cheap trinket." Ghitsa laughed with merry scorn. "Do
you really think Mistryl are immune because they don't deal with former
Imperials, refuse to assist in patently illegal ventures, and charge more for
the questionable ones?"
Under the terminal, Fen slowly and silently slid her hand down and
released the safety on the blaster at her hip. She had no idea how much of
this was show and how much the twisted truth. What she did know was that
Ghitsa was trying to push the young Mistryl to the snapping point. And that
she might succeed.
"For all your exalted justifications of saving your desperate people,"
Ghitsa went on, "you're delivering the Twi'leks to servitude and death as
certainly as any Karazak slaver."
Slowly, deliberately, Dune uncoiled from her chair and stalked over to
the table, her face calm and deadly. Fen got a grip on her blaster butt, but
Dune made no move against her partner except to stand and tower over her like
a storm cloud.
"The contract said they were being paid, Hutt," Dune bit out, making the
word a curse. "You said they weren't slaves. You've lied to the Mistryl."
Ghitsa raised her eyes to Dune. "I didn't lie. They will be paid. And
then they'll be charged; for costumes, board, room, and expenses. At one time,
they might have saved enough to buy out their contracts. However, because
Twi'lek mortality hovers near seventy percent, Durga now withholds an
additional sum to cover the cost of a burial shroud."
"Shada questioned Brin'shak," Dune hissed. "She asked each of the
Twi'leks if they wanted to go."
Ghitsa held her hands out, admiring her work. "In a uniquely Twi'lek way,
these dancers do indeed go willingly. They know some Twi'leks must end up in
Hutt throne rooms. This is the price they all pay for a lack of power. A Hutt
commercial agent will see that the clan is compensated. The alternative is
indiscriminate Karazak slaving raids on their enclaves."
Dune's lip twisted. "I'd heard that Twi'leks sell a few of their own to
buy a greater peace for them all," she conceded reluctantly. "But you make it
sound as if your altruism keeps Karazaks from plundering Ryloth."
"Our altruism. Dune-we're all in this together, you know." Ghitsa blew
lightly on her perfectly marked claws. "I advised Durga it was more cost-
effective to go this route, rather than contract with the Karazaks. The KSC is
expensive and their slaves tend to be poor quality." She began capping the
little bottle. "As I see it, the Hutts purchased Mistryl morality for thirty-
two thousand. Karazaks would have demanded at least forty-five. But then, they
aren't as desperate as the Mistryl."
Fen cringed at Ghitsa's attack. Perfectly crafted in the words of
commerce, she was a humanoid vision of repugnant Hutt excess.
And it had worked, all too well. Dune stood above her, color rising, the
slow boil of a jump's worth of taunts and insults bubbling over, threatening
to ignite the fire beneath. She stirred, perhaps about to go for a weapon,
perhaps to simply pick Ghitsa up and hurl her bodily across the cabin-
"Dune, in aiente," came a quiet order from the door.
Fen jumped. Ghitsa didn't even twitch. "Hello, Shada," the con chirped
innocently. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," Shada said, her eyes on Dune. "In aiente."
Dune took a careful breath. Then, wordlessly, she pivoted away from
Ghitsa and strode from the cabin.
For a moment Shada studied Fen and Ghitsa, her face stiff and unreadable.
"We drop out of hyperspace at oh one-hundred hours tomorrow," she said and
followed Dune out into the passageway.
Ghitsa finally broke the long silence that followed. With
uncharacteristic, doubting hesitation, she asked, "Do you think I went too
far?"
"Hard to say," Fen said, working moisture back into her mouth. "If we get
out of this alive, I'd say no. If they slash our throats in our sleep, then,
yeah, probably so." She hesitated, weighing her words carefully. "You said
some pretty reprehensible things. How much of it was true?"
She grimaced. "Enough. Too much."
Seeing the little grifter shift uncomfortably in her seat, Fen asked,
"Ghitsa, could that be your conscience bothering you?"
Ghitsa made a show of examining her nails. "Of course not, Fen. Merely
indigestion. Ship's rations, you know."
Fen slipped back into the main cabin just in time to see the holovid
system sputter. Spewing smoke, it coughed out the smoldering remains of
Ghitsa's Coruscant Daily Newsfeed recording. Perhaps there truly was a higher
power in the universe and she had a sense of humor. Fen thought.
"We'll be adding the repair costs to your bill," Shada said, examining
the unit.
"By all means," Ghitsa replied, moving to the holographic game table.
"How about a round. Fen?"
"I'll pass."
Ghitsa shrugged. "I don't see why you won't install a holobeasties game
on the Star Lady."
Fen laughed, stretching her arms high. "Let's just say that the last time
I allowed a round on board, my droid ended up with his arms ripped out of
their sockets. Besides, we're about to come out of hyperspace, aren't we,
Shada?"
"Five standard minutes," Shada said over her shoulder as she exited the
cabin. "I've already seen to the Twi'leks."
Ghitsa waited, then whispered, "You didn't run into her, did you?"
"No," Fen replied wearily, strapping into her seat. As Ghitsa did the
same. Fen let her eyes slip shut. "Won't be long now."
"No, it won't," Dune's voice agreed quietly next to her ear.
Fen's eyes flew open. Dune was standing to the side, pointing a blaster
at the two of them. Fen's blaster, she realized suddenly, belatedly missing
the weight at her hip. Her vibroblade, for good measure, was hanging loosely
in Dune's other hand. The girl definitely had talent. "What is going on?" she
snarled.
"There's been a change of plan." Dune said. "Dogder, I'll take that
blaster in your boot. Slowly."
"Certainly," Ghitsa said calmly, reaching into her boot and removing a
small hold-out blaster Fen hadn't even known she owned. "I don't recall a
contractual provision about a blaster in our faces," she added as she slid the
weapon across the deck.
"The contract's been changed, too," Dune said, settling in a seat facing
them.
Fen felt the ship tumble into real space. A minute later, Shada joined
them. "We protest this treatment, of course," Ghitsa said, getting in the
first word.
Shada ignored her. "From the beginning, Fen, your behavior on this trip
has been completely irrational," she said. "You convinced us to take this
passage; then, at every opportunity, have hounded us that what we were doing
was a moral outrage. I want to know why."
"We're just chatty," Fen muttered sourly.
"You wanted us to break the contract, didn't you?" Shada persisted.
"That's the only explanation. But why? You can hardly bring suit against us-
legally, we don't even exist. Blackmail? Ridiculous."
Ghitsa spoke up. "This is a perfectly legal operation.
You renege, and the Eleven will be extremely unhappy with you."
"Having others unhappy with you isn't as bad as being unhappy with
yourself," Dune put in. "We'll take our chances."
"Ah, yes-the wonderful view you get from the high moral ground," Ghitsa
said sarcastically. "Not that you gain much of that high ground by shooting
two unarmed people."