Chapter X+1: Family reunion
Loud music blared out of the door of Ziro's Palace. Two stone-faced Pantorans guarded the door, while a steady line of sentients waited for their turn to enter. The night sky was never truly dark in Coruscant, but the sun was away, nevertheless, and shady deals needed no actual shade to be conducted. Beldorion watched from half a block away, considering his visit. It had been years since he visited, but he doubted Ziro minded the wait. Traditional Hutts were uncomfortable in the presence of a Jedi Hutt, rare as they were. It's like we are the antithesis of the Republic, the dark foil to the Yodas of the Galaxy. A Jedi Hutt must seem an unsolvable, fundamental contradiction. Hours passed as he remained on the sidewalk, watching unnoticed. Eventually he turned from his morose thoughts to look at the exiting patrons. It will be dawn soon, and they will close down for cleanup, he decided, I should pay him a visit before he closes shop for the day.
He stirred from his immobility, startling a late passerby, his bulk somehow unnoticed until that moment. He slithered towards the entrance, where the guards' eyes widened on noticing an enormous Hutt approaching. As they made to challenge him, he gestured them aside, and they scrambled to comply, his confidence lending him authority. "Gentlefolk, I've bussiness with my little cousin," he greeted as he neared, "kindly get the kriff out of the way, before you are crushed." He ignored them as he entered, the music more subdued than earlier, the remaining patrons too drunk or tired to keep dancing. He tossed a credit chit to the greeter, calling out loudly, "You there, I'm heading back with Ziro. Nothing but life or death business," he said as he mimed cutting his throat. Unfamiliar as he might have been with Beldorion, few fellows dared interrupt Hutt bussiness, fewer still if it involved Jedi as well.
He nodded to the Trandoshan guarding the office (dependable people, those, he nodded approvingly), an actual familiar face from his last visit, and waited while he let Ziro know on his comm unit. The shocked yell from inside brought a smile to Beldorion's face, confirmation that Ziro definitely knew he had arrived. After a few minutes, he was waved in by the guard. "Come right in, sir, he's waiting for you." He slithered inside, noting Ziro had no chems on display, was conspicuously alone (handy that secret exit, Bel mused), and was nervously waiting behind an expansive desk. "Cousin, welcome, please step inside, be welcome!" He tittered. Beldorion smiled, honestly amused. "You said welcome twice, cousin dear. Why the nerves? If I had come to close you down I would have brought backup. To wait at the end of you tunnel at the very least." Ziro couldn't help his quick glance toward his "secret" exit, then cursed as he realized he had looked.
Beldorion rolled his eyes, and raised his hand in a placating gesture. He switched to Huttese, his mother language still coming quickly back to him, after years with little practice. "Peace, little cousin. I come for family matters, not to disturb your business. Let us share a drink, and I'll try to keep my disruption minimal." Ziro watched him for a second, unsure, then seemed to decide he could do nothing if Beldorion was lying, anyway. He glided to the bar set on the west wall, and called back to the Jedi. "Right, family matters then. Do you still take your Ice Blaster straight then?" Beldorion hmmed as he made a show of examining the furniture. Unlike Beldorion's genitors, Ziro kept chairs and sofas for his frequent humanoid visitors, in a setting designed to invoke comfort instead of merely showcasing his power. "Thank you Ziro. That would be lovely. Bring the bottle, if it's no bother." They reunited on Ziro's desk, the host arranging the cups and bottles on the natural wood. "You have a magnificent piece here, Ziro. Huttan Oak was expensive even before the export was banned. But there's few enough that would appreciate it on Coruscant."
Ziro caressed the wood, lost in thought for a minute. "It's for me, Beldorion. I never thought that anybody else this deep into the Republic would know it for what it is. It's not something meant for others to recognize, not really. What it cost to bring here, what it means that I went against the Council for it. I see it every day, I work over it, and so it reminds me of myself, my goals, my ambitions. It represents the path I have decided upon, you see?" He raised his glass. "Like you, I am Hutt, but I stand apart from them." He downed his glass, and Beldorion did likewise, both gathering their thoughts. Then Bel refilled both their glasses, and raised his in a toast. "To freedom then, and to remaining Hutt still." They drank, and Beldorion decide to start his intervention.
"It is true enough. We want to remain Hutt even as we live and work away from the Rim, strive for success, companionship, even love, in our own way. Never losing ourselves." He took another sip from his glass, and continued. "We are a longevous folk, blessed with hundreds of years to most sentients' hundred and change. It's an enormous advantage to be sure, a life's work dwarfing what even generations of others might achieve." He gestured to his saber, holstered on his synth-leather belt. "What human, what Twi'lek could possibly gather so much knowledge on a paltry one hundred years? Create a cartel spanning dozens, hundred of worlds?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer, then slammed his glass on the desk. "None! The work of one of our lives is equal to generations of their own." He served one last glass, then stoppered the bottle. "It is inconvenient that they out breed us so handily. Else our Empire would extend throughout the heavens." He swirled the drink in his glass, then took another sip. "Let me tell you about Jabba, back when he was a Huttlet." Ziro tensed minutely when the name reached him, but Beldorion wasn't looking at him and he slowly relaxed.
"Jabba was a rambunctious little slug, it is so. Precious like all children, all the more because there are so few of ours. He had a nasty streak, and you know how lenient some get with the little ones." He drank again from his glass, and continued. "But he lived, and is now a succesful businesshutt. And even a father. You never know what a child will group up to become, don't you think?" Ziro had become quieter while Beldorion talked, his breath hitching as he finally alluded to Rotta. "He has a beautiful baby, charming where Jabba was grating, with a disarming smile, and a melodious voice." He finished his glass and took the Ice Blaster bottle, heading to the bar to return it. His back to Ziro, he continued. "Yes, precious like a glorious jewel, like all children. Certainly more valuable than, say, a mere business."
He turned to Ziro, a serene smile on his face. "But to the point now, that's enough rambling from me." He laughed as he went back to the desk. "I will be going to Tattooine to meet Rotta in person in a few days, and I hoped you could make the time to come visit. Surely Jabba will be happy to see us again. What do you say?" Ziro swallowed, his throat dry. He turned to his drink, now empty, and served himself with unsteady hands. He forced himself to drink, and worked to compose himself. "Tattooine you say? Well, you know how it goes. It's a busy season and I can hardly drop everything on a whim, now can I? Let me, just give me the chance, I mean... I need to contact some of my partners and make everything ready, you see? I just need to do this and then... then we can go see Jabba. And Rotta!"
Beldorion looked at Ziro as he gave his best impression of a drowning sentient grasping at a lifeline. Eventually, he nodded. "Of course. There's time enough that you can make your arrangements, and come meet me so we can leave together for Jabba's." He slithered towards the exit, and called to Ziro over his shoulder, before exiting. "Maybe bring a gift. Something small. Don't be late." He left at long last, and Ziro collapsed in a nervous wreck. "Tsill! Empty the club then come back! Right now!" He turned to the tunnel and locked it with the disguised datapad, then began pacing. Two days, he said two days and I need to reply to Dooku tonight. How could he know?! What will I tell them? His pacing became more frantic, and he didn't notice Tsill locking the door behind him. Kriffing bantha fodder, he swore, I'll have to backstab Dooku and trust Beldorion won't burn me with the Council. His pacing slowed as he came to a decision, and began planning a trap for the Separatist leader. It's ok, if I fail, Beldorion will know I attempted it at least. But I must "reveal" Dooku's the call as soon as he cuts it. He went back to his desk to outline his ideas on a secure datapad, already lost in future plans. Far away in Tatooine, Rotta slept in Jabba's pouch, unconcerned, and safe.
Author's note:
Bel has a soft spot for younglings. Ani's rampage is unlikely to happen as scheduled.