Chapter Four: Empire of Worms

"For proof of the humanocentric bias among historians, look no further than Xim the Despot, subject of countless dramas, poems, and scholarly tomes. Yet what did he do to deserve such renown? Rule a tiny kingdom for a few standard decades, pick a fight with a greater opponent, and lose calamitously. In a fair universe, it would be Ardustagg, Boonta and Kossak who captivate countless generations. But why should we expect fairness from bipeds?"

Voluga the Recondite
Heroes and Villains: Another View, 12,603 BBY

Age of Ardustagg, Year 649
537 LE

In ordinary circumstances only a handful were allowed to lay eyes on Ardustagg the Immortal, architect of the Hutt Supremacy, vanquisher of the Wardens, bane to the Demon and conduit of the Holy Light. Once every year the Thrones and Virtues of each host were invited to crawl through three layers of purification before presenting themselves to the Blazing One in his holy sanctum on Varl.

This was not an ordinary time.

Boonta had always wondered what Ardustagg looked like. The Hutt who met his audience on the high dais was over a thousand years old, a colossus of bulging gray flesh laced by scars. His mouth was a tattered slash from which mucus slowly spilled. One eye-socket was a gouged-out pit; from the other peered a vivid orange orb.

A fearsome countenance, especially when that single eye was turned on you.

Boonta tried not to cower. "Blazing One," he said, "there is no accounting for what happened at Moralan. We've examined the event in every way, but the asteroid simply changed course, seemingly of its volition."

Ardustagg's reply was a rumble: "A rock does not have volition."

"No, Blazing One. Which is why we must consider other unlikely causes."

"Excuses."

The entire chamber was silent. Boonta knew his life hung in the balance and none of the others would defy Ardustagg to help him.

"Blazing One," he said, "I am familiar with history. No planechanga has failed in centuries, but they have been deflected before, and by methods we could never decipher. This happened in your greatest hour, during the Demon War."

"The Demon is dead," said Ardustagg. "I looked into the fires of Hell and descended to the lowest circle to scour the ruin. It is dead." A tongue swiped across his jagged mouth, spilling drool.

That terrible orange eye bored into Boonta and he could barely keep from trembling. Words deserted. He felt more terrified than he had in any battle.

Then, to his surprise, one Hutt said: "We cannot dismiss this easily, Blazing One."

It was Churabba, an Inijic Virtue. The plump green-skinned Hutt was one of the older ones present, and a veteran of the Supremacy's founding wars. The Inijic's Throne, Kossak, was also here. He kept silent, but even that lent tacit support to his aunt's words.

Ardustagg's eye turned to Churabba. "The Demon is dead," he repeated. "You were there, Virtue. You saw its final storm."

"And I descended to the ruin," Churabba agreed. "I do not claim the Demon survived, but perhaps some of its Rebel Angels escaped. They may have been waiting centuries, cultivating revenge. Or we may be facing foes with the same power as the Demon. No matter what, we cannot treat them lightly."

Ardustagg growled. "You leap at the most outrageous explanation. When the Demon unleashed its wrath, it ravaged fleets and scoured worlds. The humans have done none of that in four years of fighting."

Boonta decided to buffer his defense. "They may have just discovered this power. We must investigate."

"You must," Ardustagg said. "It was your failure, Dominion, and you will account for it—"

Ardustagg was interrupted by his own hacking cough. Mucus flew in gobs, smacking the Hutts gathered closest to his dais. This was the third time it had happened this audience, and the other Hutts watched stoically as the Blazing One's physician, a slug-like Yahk-Tosh named Urodd, crawled up on six stubby limbs and tended to his master.

Boonta was grateful for the time to think. It sounded like he was being given a reprieve, but he wasn't sure what to do with it. He was a leader of war, not a master of spies. He had no personal resources to investigate the humans.

But Churabba did. As Urodd wiped mucus from Ardustagg's chins, Boonta looked sideways to Churabba, who watched him in turn. So did Kossak.

Boonta admired the two Inijic Hutts for standing together. His own Throne had neglected to come to Varl for this meeting, claiming he'd shore up the Hestilic's fleet in Boonta's absence. The Inijic and Hestilic had shouldered the war against the humans for the past four years, while the other hosts gave tepid support or shrugged it off entirely. Boonta's gaze shifted past the Inijic to Mava of the powerful Patarii host, which had stubbornly sat out the war.

When Ardustagg was finally composed, he did not restart his tirade. His orange eye had lost its focus.

Kossak boldly interjected, "Blazing One, we will of course look into the humans' new weapon— whatever it may be. But we must also continue our attacks. Losses at Moralan were not severe. We can use those ships to launch a new offensive, either at Moralan again or a different target, and as long as we root out the saboteurs—"

"Traitors!" Ardustagg belched. "Heretics! You are lucky they did not do worse damage."

"Very true," Kossak said easily. "My Virtue Axkatta is currently looking for them within our fleet."

"He should do a better job. Bipeds shouldn't be able to harass us so."

"I agree. Therefore, Blazing One, I beg you to declare a Holy War, as only you can! Command all hosts to unite, as we did against the Demon!"

"This again?" blurted Dumak, another Virtue. "The Rumanic have nothing to do with this. Why should we waste resources and slaves just because you cannot handle a few upstart bipeds?"

"Indeed," said Mava. "I've studied these humans and met their envoy. They're rapacious animals, but nothing that can threaten the Supremacy."

"That's only if we hold together," Kossak insisted. "If we are apart, the humans will pick at us host by host."

"Your excuses get tiresome," Dumak rolled his massive green eyes. "You made the same plea after the beasts nearly sacked your throneworld."

"Don't be foolish," snapped Churabba. "Did you all forget Moralan? The humans have weapons we cannot understand, let alone counter. They may even have the Demon's power! If that does not make them a threat to all Hutts, what does?"

"Enough!" boomed Ardustagg. "Do not defile this sanctum with your bickering!"

As soon as he got the words out, he broke into more hacking coughs. The others Hutts shrank, admonished. Urodd crawled forward but the Blazing One waved him off.

After licking mucus off his chins, Ardustagg said, "The Demon has been dust for centuries. Prove to me we face another band of Rebel Angels and I will declare a Holy War. Until then—" His terrible eye swept over Kossak, Churabba, Boonta— "destroy these filthy bipeds. Prove you are Children of the Holy Light and not simpering fools. Go!"

He lifted a stubby arm for the exit, and immediately began coughing again. It was an abrupt and unhappy end to the audience, but at least Boonta got the squirm out alive.

As the Hutts departed the sanctum, Kossak called after Mava and Dumak. While he attempted to pin them in conversation, Boonta wriggled beside Churabba and told her, "Thank you for your support."

"Ardustagg does not take the threat seriously," she said mournfully. "I'd hoped he would see reason… He battled the Demon himself. He knows the danger."

Now that he was out of the Blazing One's presence, Boonta looked back and found himself… unimpressed. Ardustagg might be the holiest of Hutts, but he was refusing to see the obvious. Was he too prideful to admit he might not have vanquished the Demon? Was he simply too old and blindered? The coughing was also worrisome. Ardustagg was ancient and ill health was to be expected, but Boonta wondered if it portended something dire.

"I want to give him his proof," Boonta said, "but I do not have the resources to investigate the humans..."

"I do," Churabba supplied. "And I will do my part. You must concentrate on winning this war." Boonta knew she wasn't being generous; she was truly terrified of another Demon War.

Kossak's conversation was less successful. As Mava and Dumak squirmed off in separate directions he came to Boonta and Churabba, weariness in his deep-blue eyes.

"They think only of themselves," he sighed. "They don't realize this threatens our whole race."

"We must convince Ardustagg," said Churabba. "If we can prove the threat is real, I'm sure he will see reason."

Kossak looked less certain. "Can you do that, Aunt?"

"I have resources," she affirmed. "I'm to meet with Krenn and his Scorned at Sleheyron soon. I will start there."

"Good, thank you." Kossak turned to Boonta. "We must plan a new offensive. Will Rogad give you everything you ask for?"

"I believe so."

"Good. We should discuss further."

Together they three—two Inijic, one Hestilic—wiggled ahead. That Hutts from rival hosts could come together against a common foe should have been encouraging. But they were only three, and three might not be enough.

-{}-

He said his name was Krasmorr, but that was obviously a lie. Reina felt there was something off about the guy as soon as she and her father sat down with him in the private back room of a restaurant at Estaria's port. She didn't need magic Force powers to know that, just a lifetime of meeting new people and sizing them up fast. Kroller was even better at it than her, and he subtly tensed as so-called Krasmorr gave his sales pitch.

"I realize this is an unusual job," he said, "but you're going to have to take a first round of cargo all the way to Far Barseg. From there you'll meet my client. I'll give you his transmission ID, you'll be able to comm him once you reach the station. You'll swap cargo for a second round and go from there."

The man finished took a puff of his cigarette. He wore a yellow long-tail jacket that was a little too bland to be ugly, and his brown hair was a messy mop. His face was smooth-shaven and forgettable.

"This is circuitous, not necessarily unusual," Kroller said. "What kind of cargo am I carrying?"

"I have six two-ton crates of industrial-grade lithium batteries I need shipped to Far Barseg. As long as you keep your hold at a steady temperature there's nothing you need to worry about." He took out a folded piece of paper and placed it on the table. "Here's the comm freq, cargo weight estimates, everything you'll need. Including a starting offer for payment."

Kroller looked at the figure. So did Reina. She whistled appreciatively.

"Is this for the first round of the trip, or total?" she asked.

"Total. You'll get twenty-five percent here, another fifty once you swap cargo at Far Barseg, and the last twenty-five when we get confirmation of receipt from the final buyer."

Kroller folded the paper and placed it between them. "Who's the final buyer, where is he, and what are we carrying on the second leg?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that."

Kroller shook his head. "I'm not gonna sign a contract if I don't know what's on it. You think I'm a fool?"

"Not at all, Mr. Kroller. You come highly recommended."

"By who exactly?" Reina crossed her arms. Malanthazaar had passed a few potential clients their way, but Krasmorr had approached them out of the blue.

"A previous client who's used your services but, for this, wishes to remain anonymous."

"Not good enough," Kroller shook his head. "I've been all over, but never to Far Barseg."

"You've been to the Expansion zone before."

"Yeah, I've been beyond it too. Back when it was safe."

"Trust me, there's no danger here."

Reina didn't trust someone who insisted you trust them. Especially if that person was a total stranger. "Give us the whole thing right now, or we walk away."

Kroller blinked. He wasn't ready to bail, but Reina was, and she placed hands on the table to push herself up.

"Wait, wait" Krasmor held up a hand. "I don't know what the secondary cargo is, or what you're carrying."

"But you know the client?" Kroller crossed arms.

"A man by the name of Dorin."

Kroller and Reina both flinched. They'd last seen Dorin here on Estaria, a dozen years ago, right before Xim invaded. They'd not heard from him since and had assumed him dead. Either Dorin had reappeared, or Krasmorr was taking a dead man's name in vain and trying to con them with it.

His expression was totally blank. Times like these, she wished she still had Erakas around. But there were other ways to get at the truth.

Kroller touched her knee under the table, telling her to hold off. He said, "I haven't heard from Dorin in ages. Didn't know he was still kicking. How's he doing?"

"Better," said Krasmorr. "He got a nice, fresh start at Far Barseg."

"You're telling me he's gone all fat and happy?"

"He's put on a few pounds." Krasmorr added a smile. "That's what good living does for you."

Dorin had been fat, if not happy, the last time they'd met. Kroller kept one hand on Reina's knee and placed the other on the tabletop, palm-up. "If Dorin's in a generous mood, I've gotta ask for more money. I'm sure he won't mind helping out an old pal."

The smile vanished. "I'm the one paying for the first leg."

"Get him to reimburse you. Fifteen percent extra on the first round, twenty percent on the rest."

"Ten percent on the first round. The rest, you'll have to take up with Dorin."

Kroller looked at him hard. That bland smooth face gave away nothing.

"Deal," he said.

They barely exchanged a word as they finished their business. Kroller signed the contract and got his deposit. Krasmorr excused himself, slipped from the booth, and left the restaurant. They watched him as he went.

As soon as he was out the door, Kroller pulled his comlink from his jacket. Reina sat back and listened to him say, "Mal, you there? Yeah. No, not good. Guy's leaving now. Brown hair, yellow-brown longcoat. Find him, tail him, get him someplace private. Yeah, I mean it. Okay, thanks. I'll owe you one."

As soon as he finished, Kroller stood up. Reina followed, and together they hurried for the door.

"Okay, who is this guy, what does he want, and why did he try to reel us in with Dorin?" Reina asked under her breath.

"I don't know, but it was a low blow. I wanna find out."

Kroller's voice was quiet but angry. Krasmorr had picked the wrong bait to dangle. Her father still felt guilt over leaving his old friend to fight and die against Xim's invaders.

As they moved out of the restaurant and into the port's busy promenade, she asked, "Why us? Why the hell would anyone want to mess with us?"

The question wasn't rhetorical. The Gravity Scorned had laid low for years but it had once been packed with five people from all over the galaxy, and sometimes (mostly the Jedi's fault) they'd gotten into tangles and made enemies. But since Santossa Station fell it had been just Ajek and Reina Kroller running simple jobs, keeping alive and keeping out of trouble. Maybe this was some slow-burn payback from an old misadventure.

They didn't have to wait long to find out. Less than ten minutes after leaving the restaurant, her father got a return call from Malanthazaar. She couldn't hear it over the surrounding din, but Kroller quickly finished and led her through the port.

When they met Krasmorr again he wasn't too worse for wear. No bruises, no cuts, but his coat was askew and so was his messy wig. His hands were in the air as he stood in the concrete-walled storage room with Malanthazaar and a Brigian associate both aiming pistols at him. Most interestingly, his trousers were bunched around his ankles. The boxers beneath looked undisturbed, but he'd been robbed of quick movement as well as his dignity.

"Thanks for the save." Kroller patted his friend's shoulder.

"No problem." Malanthazaar didn't take eyes of Krasmorr. "You want some alone time?"

"Maybe. You might wanna hear this. The guy said he'd been working with Dorin."

"Dorin huh?" He cocked a red brow. "Dorin's dead."

"That's what I thought. This guy insists otherwise, but I've got a sneaking suspicion he's full of it."

Her father wanted to play with the captive, to gloat. Reina didn't have the patience. She pulled the gun from the hand of Mal's partner, marched up to Krasmorr, and swung it in is his face.

"Woah, wait!" Kroller called.

She snapped, "Who hired you and why? Out with it. Now!"

"Reina!" Malanthazaar barked, but she didn't lower the gun.

Krasmorr looked the pistol-mouth dead in the eye, then flinched. "I don't know Dorin, damn it… I was told to use this name."

"By who?" she asked.

"By my bosses."

"Who hired you?"

"Nobody!" he snapped, then amended, "I work for the government. Imperial intelligence."

"You're GenoHaradan?" asked Kroller.

"No! I'm just… another department."

"One that doesn't hire the best."

"Listen, I can tell you what you want. I don't know if you'll like it… just get that thing out of my face."

Reina was enjoying his discomfort, enjoying it too much. Her father had to say, "Lower the gun, c'mon," before she did.

Krasmorr breathed easier but kept his hands up. "You want to know what the second leg is? Fine. They'll load you up with febrillium warheads and send you to the Dirha system."

"Never heard of it," said Kroller.

"Me neither," added Mal.

"That's because it's inside the Hutt Supremacy."

That explained why he didn't want to tell them the whole job. Reina asked, "Why the hell do you want us to go there?"

"Listen, those warheads are going to an Imperial-aligned resistance movement that's trying to foment more rebellions against the Hutts, like on Moralan."

"We've heard about those." she said dryly.

"I know." Krasmorr dared a tiny smile. "Your old shipmate, Vaatus, runs with this one."

"How the hell do you know about Vaatus?" Kroller took a step forward.

Krasmorr shrugged. "All I know is what I'm told. Listen, you're not invisible. You saved Xim himself at Ranroon—"

"Don't remind me," grunted Reina.

"—and we know you've had other run-ins with Imperial authority, some of them not so good."

"But you come to us anyway," said Kroller.

"I do what I'm told. I guess the higher-ups thought you'd be good for this mission, since you know the recipient. If things got mixed up inside Hutt territory, you might be able to, I don't know, improvise."

"Doesn't the Empire have gunrunners of its own?" asked Malanthazaar.

"Yes, but the worms have gotten good at finding them and shooting them down. We've got a problem with leaky intel. With the Gravity Scorned it will be different—"

"You think," corrected Kroller.

"—and we'll be sending you in through a new route anyway."

"A new, dangerous route," guessed Reina.

Krasmorr shrugged again. "Don't you want to help Vaatus?"

"You try to appeal to our conscience now?"

"He was your shipmate for over a decade. We assumed you'd want to help your friend."

"He was my brother," she snapped, then corrected herself. "Is my brother."

Krasmorr looked at her carefully. "Well, then. Don't you want to help him?"

She couldn't find words to respond. She was letting this damned incompetent spy was play with her emotions.

Kroller grated, "You could have told us the truth from the beginning."

"Maybe I should have. But my bosses thought—"

"Yeah, you were just following orders." He crossed his arms, looked Krasmorr up and down. "Put your damned pants on."

Krasmorr hesitated, eyes on Reina, the weapon in her hand.

"Do it." She wagged the gun. That put a little fear in him, which felt good. He fumbled, tugged his pants up, and snapped his belt tight around his skinny waist.

"Fix the wig too," Kroller added.

He shifted the brown mop with both hands. Looking between father and daughter he asked, "Well? Will you help him?"

"You mean, 'we will run the Empire's guns for it?'" Kroller asked.

Krasmorr conceded a nod. Reina looked at her father, silently pleading for guidance.

"Hells," he sighed, "We'll do it. But not for your damned Empire."

"We never expected that." Krasmorr said. "But for your friend—"

"And for money," Kroller corrected. "Fifty percent extra on the additional run, twenty-five percent on the rest."

Krasmorr stared, wondering whether to barter again. But he said, "Deal."

"Then let's adjust that contract," Kroller said, and fished it from his jacket pocket.

A few minutes later, in the stark concrete-walled supply room, they completed payment. Krasmorr slunk out of the room, avoiding their eyes, and after the door closed they heard him break into a sprint. Nobody went after him. Silence loomed in the small stark chamber.

Finally Malanthazaar said, "I hope Xim's moved all his best to the front lines. Otherwise I'm going to start worrying about the future of humanity."

Nobody laughed, but Kroller allowed a smile. "Thanks again, Mal."

"Anytime." He looked to Reina. "Think we can have that gun back now?"

"Right," she said, and handed it to his associate. Her palm felt empty without it and she turned hand to fist, digging fingernails into skin.

Kroller stepped beside her and touched her arm. "You got him talking. That was good." Then he asked, in lowered voice, "You weren't really gonna shoot the guy, were you?"

"I liked seeing him scared." Reina looked him in the eyes. We're really doing it then? First Far Barseg and then… this Dirha place?"

"If we're gonna get a chance to see Vatuus and get paid a lot for it… Yeah. I think so. You do want to help him, right?"

Help him wage his doomed war against the worms. "I guess so."

"You should. He is your brother."

"Yes," she said softly, but she wasn't sure anymore, after everyone else she'd lost.

-{}-

The Nikto was a towering Kajain'sa two-thirds of a meter higher than his Noghri opponent. They circled each other on the softened sparring floor, hands up in defensive postures, fingers halfway curled to fists. When the whistle blew, they lunged.

It was over in four seconds. The Noghri ducked under a right hook, slammed his opponent with an upward thrust in the diaphram, then fell back, braced himself on both palms, and knocked the Nikto's legs out from beneath him with a double-kick. The larger opponent toppled back, and the smaller sprung victorious above him.

It would have been more impressive if Vaatus hadn't seen it three times already.

He and the other Morgukai had spent hundreds of hours in this metal drum of a chamber, attached to their base in Ulmatra's largest moon. They'd trained with hands, staffs, and various Nikto blades, and they'd fancied themselves experts at combat and killing. Now these damned Noghri, these Iduxians, were showing them up.

Vaatus, hanging off the net at the edge of the sparring floor, turned to the one beside him and asked in Tionese, "Are you sure none of them have the Force?"

"Only I," rasped Koltatha. "But I have trained them to fight like Jedi."

"I'd like to see you in there."

He looked at the stub of his left arm. "It would not be a fair fight."

"I assume you meant in your favor."

"Sparring like this, perhaps. But I am not the warrior I used to be."

His voice was guttural, his accent thick, but Vaatus could hear the regret. "I'm sorry," he said, "but you've trained great fighters. You should be proud."

"I am." Koltatha lifted his chin.

No Nikto or Noghri crawled into the ring to start another match; the sparring had lulled, with both groups eying each other with wary respect. A good start, Vaatus thought, and a shame they couldn't speak each other's languages.

Morguk, however, was willing to try. The giant Kajain'sa had been watching from the shadowed entrance alcove, but now he walked up to Koltatha and asked in Tionese, "How?"

The Noghri blinked; Vaatus almost chuckled. Since allying with the Empire, Morguk had endeavored to learn its native tongue, but by his own admission he was a slow learner, better at listening than speaking. A detriment of age, he claimed.

"I have trained these men and women for years using tech-niques of the Jedi," Koltatha said. "Do you know of the Jedi?"

"Vaatus explained. Priests. Monks. Warriors."

"None of those, but with shades of each."

"How?" he repeated. He could be eloquent in his native tongue; Tionese did him disservice.

Vaatus cleared his throat. "Morguk is a great warrior among our people, and he's taught us his best. We're all wondering, well..."

"It is not a matter of technique." Koltatha tapped his hand to his heart, then his forehead. "There is a darkness in your people. You fight with it, and it clouds your minds."

Vaatus hadn't expected that, but it rang true. The very first time he'd taken a life, he'd plunged a knife madly into a nameless Weequay, stabbing away with anger and self-loathing over the death of his brother Katorr.

"Bogan corrupts you," Koltatha said gruffly. "It is good you cannot use the Force."

Vaatus remembered long-off discussion with Essan and Erakas. He explained to Morguk, "The Jedi believe that their power, the Force, has a dark side, Bogan, and a light one, called Ashla. Bogan is anger and raw power. Ashla is peaceful."

Koltatha nodded. "That is the summary."

Morguk snorted. "Peace is not my life. You say I am Bogan? I am Bogan."

"Your people will be better fighters if you purge yourselves of the hate inside you. It controls you now but if you learn to control it, to still your heart and head—" Koltatha touched chest and temple— "You will become better fighters by far. You have seen that."

Morguk eyed the empty sparring ring without reply. Vaatus said, "It is hard to get rid of hate. It sits inside you and it starts to fuel you."

"I know this." Koltatha tilted his head. "I know hate. I was betrayed once. I saw a great master murdered in front of me and I could do nothing."

"Did you want justice?"

"Justice and revenge. But the traitors are far away now."

"You are lucky."

"Perhaps. I said Ashla is not an easy path, but I would teach the best I can."

"Will you teach this?" Morguk gestured to the sparring ring.

"I can start there."

"Teach," said Morguk. "Please."

Koltatha bore fangs in a human-like smile. Morguk did not return it, but Vaatus could tell he was satisfied.

The Kajain'sa took Vaatus by the arm and steered him away from the ring. When they reached the entrance alcove he bent close and said in his own tongue, "Do you trust that… Iduxian?"

"I've known Jedi like him. I trust him," Vaatus said. "I think his teaching might have value… and not just for fighting."

"This is a liberation movement, not a meditation seminar," Morguk growled, but added, "There may be something in what he says. I will let him stay. At the least, his warriors will be useful in what comes next."

"What does come next? Does to have anything to do with Vreshan?" That was one of Morguk's most veteran acolytes. He'd been mysteriously absent for two months.

"That is not your concern," Morguk said. "I have another mission for you. You will be going to Dirha."

"Now?"

"Be there within thirty-six hours. Take the sambuk. There's staff at the base who can help you."

"Help me with what?"

"In thirty-six hours, an Imperial agent will pass through." Morguk reached into his vest and drew out a flat, palm-sized datacard. "He will dock. You will hand him this. If he needs any more assistance, give it."

Vaatus knew better than to ask what was on the card. He took it. "Then I return here?"

"No. There is also a cargo ship waiting at Dirha. After the agent passes through—I can't say how long—you will receive a second visitor. This one will be loaded with eighty febrillium warheads. You're to oversee their transfer to the cargo ship, then escort it back here."

With eighty warheads they could do some real damage. "You'll be waiting?"

"I may be elsewhere."

"And the Noghri?"

"They may also be elsewhere."

Morguk's secrecy, however necessary, could be as annoying as Jedi mysticism. Vaatus longed for the simplicity of the Gravity Scorned's tangled innards.

"Do you understand?" Morguk said.

"I understand," Vaatus slipped the datacard into his pocket. "Are you sure you won't send someone else? Pellak, perhaps? You may need me to interpret the Noghri."

"No, I need you to interpret the Imperial agent."

"Fair enough."

"You are very useful, Vaatus. Be careful."

Very useful. Not eloquent flattery, but Vaatus had been an engineer once. He knew it as a compliment. He'd have liked to stay here and learn a little about inner peace from that Jedi, but the mission came first. As always.

-{}-

Churabba had dealt with many kinds of bipeds to earn her title of Acquisitor, and humans might have been her least favorite. They weren't as hardy as Weequay, as gullible as Nikto, as stupidly violent as Vodrans, or as doggishly loyal at Klatooinans. If they were any of those things, they'd be a lot easier to deal with.

She reserved a special contempt for the humans she'd just invited aboard her chelandion, the Theophany. At the start of the war they'd come to Hutt space with their battered ships and pledged allegiance, saying they'd do anything for the Supremacy's cause so long as it unseated Xim. They were so devoured by their hatred for the man, they did not understand the contempt Hutts had for any who'd betray their own race. Even worse, these humans were so proud they made no pretense of recognizing Hutt divinity.

They called themselves the Tionese Free Navy. Everyone else called them the Scorned. They were vile, even for bipeds.

But at least they were useful.

"Moralan took us by surprise," Churabba told them as she reclined in her audience chamber. "We had no idea Xim's people were capable of deflecting a planechanga and we don't understand how." She cast eyes across the three men. "It is imperative you tell me all you can."

Humans all looked alike to her, but she knew the plump white-furred was their admiral, called Krenn. He said in awkward Huttese, "We knew you would ask about this, Acquisitor. Moralan shocked us, also."

Krenn had learned the Holy Tongue but didn't realize he was blaspheming by speaking with an unbeliever's mouth. It grated Churabba, but she'd learned to endure small heresies.

"Have you learned anything useful?" she asked.

"Acquisitor, we have ears in Xim's fleet. They tell us that, before they turned away the asteroid, they were joined by a small group of ships from Idux."

"I have heard of that place. Where is it?"

"On the far edge of the Empire. In the past few years it has gained…" he hesitated. "A following. Of believers."

"Believers in what?"

Krenn hesitated again. "Acquisitor, there are stories. Some say there are… magicians on Idux. People who can perform tricks. Reading minds. Move things without touch."

She did not like the sound of that at all. "And they are gathering followers? Training more people in their magic?"

"The stories, Acquisitor, they are confused. It sounds like many followers, but few magicians."

"Then they are not teaching magic."

"…No."

"But they have magic."

"The stories say so." Krenn put up his hands. "I thought them stupid rumors, until now."

"And so you never reported them to me," she grated.

"I report them now. I tell all I know."

"How many of these magicians were at Moralan?"

"I do not know. A few. Rumors say only a few, total."

"How many is a few? A thousand? A hundred? Fifty?"

Krenn looked uncertain, but ventured, "Less than ten."

Less than ten? If she could rely on Krenn—which she didn't—it was just a fraction of the horde the Demon had mustered. But less than ten had been enough to protect Moralan, and if they were gaining followers they might find more so-called magicians as well. The Supremacy was bigger and stronger than it had been five hundred years ago, but her memory of the Demon War was too vivid for comfort: the maelstrom at M'Hanna, the slaughter at Cyax, Hell's hideous inferno. If the Rebel Angels had returned, they must be stopped before they rose to full strength.

She asked Krenn, "Have these 'magicians' fought for Xim before? If so, where?"

"I do not believe they are loyal to Xim. Not as we are loyal to you," he added.

So many factions, all battling each other. These humans were contemptible. Hutts had their own disagreements, of course, but they settled them with ritual duels instead of endless duplicity.

"They fought for Xim at Moralan," she pointed out.

"Yes. I believe… they also appeared at Karsabeth and Gesrox. Perhaps others."

"Perhaps?" Her tail thumped angrily.

"We will investigate."

"You will do better than that," she glowered. "I want you to capture one of these 'magicians.' Bring it to me alive, so I may interrogate it."

Krenn balked, then nodded slavishly. "It will be done, Acquisitor."

It was clear he had no idea how to do this, so she added, "Soon, Admiral. The war may depend on it."

"It will be done," he repeated.

The human on his right bent close and said something in their chattery language. Krenn chattered back. The second human was smooth-faced, stringy, probably a youth. A subordinate, but Krenn indulged him.

"Is this important, Admiral?" Churabba asked.

"Nothing that can't wait." Krenn cast a glare at the youth. "Is there anything else you require, Acquisitor?"

"Return to your ship but remain at Sleheyron. Kossak is planning a fresh assault that may request your services."

"As you command, Acquisitor." Krenn bowed. So did the others. They marched out of the chamber together.

Churabba sunk back, glad to be rid of them. She was glad, too, that Boonta and Dojundo were tackling martial matters. She'd proved herself in her youth but had no desire to fight again. War was for young Hutts; the task she had now, for good or ill, might be more important to the Supremacy's survival than any battle.

-{}-

The meeting of the Moralan cabinet to which he'd been invited dragged on and on, and Jaminere was thankful that he was attending remotely from a cabin aboard the Ascendant. These Moralans were as punctilious as the most boring Cronese bureaucrat, and he idly wondered what they'd done while enslaved by the Hutts. They weren't heavy muscle like Weequays or Iotrans; perhaps they'd been a race of scribes.

As soon as the meeting finished and he closed the connection with the surface, his personal comm lit up. Captain Qail had been keeping an eye on him.

"This is the Viceroy," he said as he rose from his chair. "Is there an emergency?"

"Not an emergency, sir, but I thought you'd like you know, your guest arrived while you were in the meeting. He wants to speak with you personally and I sent him to the suite on Deck Eleven."

Jaminere rubbed his temple; the meeting had left him with a headache. "I'm sorry, Captain, but to whom are you referring?"

A tiny pause. "The Special Plenipotentiary, sir. He said you were expecting him."

The headache was about to get worse. "Deck Eleven, you said?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how long has he been waiting?"

"About forty minutes." Another little pause. "You said you weren't to be disturbed at the conference, sir."

"Yes. Very good, Captain. I'll take it from here."

As he left the cabin and strode through Ascendant's halls, Jaminere wondered whether to stop at his cabin before seeing Oziaf. He could use a pill for his headache, or a strong drink for that matter. But no, best be done with it.

He expected to enter the conference room and see a meter-tall rodent dressed in dapper hat and vest, sitting insouciantly atop the waist-high table, hairless tail twisting curiously over-shoulder. He got exactly that.

And as expected, Oziaf began by chiding him. "Goodness, Viceroy, I actually fell asleep for a few minutes. You must have been kept by very important business."

"If I'd known you were coming, I could have arranged my schedule better." Jaminere crossed his arms. The T'iin T'iin looked at him with those black, inscrutable eyes. They'd been serving Xim together for thirty years and relied on each other many times. After all they'd been through he still didn't understand Oziaf. If Xim did, he refused to explain.

"Don't worry, Viceroy. You know I don't need pampering," Oziaf said. "I'm merely stopping for a little chat. And to refuel my ship before I take an excursion into Hutt territory."

Jaminere frowned. "How far in? And for what purpose?"

"Can I have only one? For a start, I'm going to rendezvous with certain friends of ours sowing discord within the Supremacy."

"Are you talking about the Morgukai? Were just had several of them here."

"Yes, but those ones didn't have what I need."

"Which is?"

"Vital intelligence I'm not at liberty to discuss. You understand."

Jaminere didn't understand, but he was used to that. Oziaf was always running some special task or another, and he answered only to Xim. Jaminere knew you couldn't spread secrets too wide, but he got more and more frustrated with being out of the loop. After all he'd given up for Xim—one family he'd hated, another he'd loved—he deserved better.

"In any case," Oziaf said breezily, "you can expect things to get more exciting very soon."

"Moralan has had excitement enough."

"True, but Xim will be setting off from Barancar soon. Kadenzi's fleet at Ko Vari is preparing to muster out. A two-pronged campaign is afoot."

"I'm aware." Jaminere had been told that much. "My charge is to defend Moralan and maintain our alliance. I don't have the ships to launch a third assault."

"True. But I wouldn't expect the Hutts to give up on Moralan. They're a prideful race, and you've bested them here twice." Oziaf's tail curled. "Tell me about the Iduxians."

"Two of them stayed behind on the Moralan flagship. They're keeping a proper distance from me, of course."

"Yes, it's wise to distrust you," Oziaf said evenly. "You don't trust them, I'm sure."

"Hardly. But it seems increasingly likely that we'll need them. And that worries me. With the Moralans we're clearly the dominant partner. But the Iduxians..."

"They're very few."

"And wield disproportionate power."

Oziaf considered. "Xim's been depending on the Red Witch for years. Difficult as their relationship's been, it has garnered us a few victories… though not enough to turn the tide."

"That was the Red Witch alone. In the last fight there were less than ten of them, and they pushed aside an asteroid. It's like the more they gather, the more powerful they become."

One ear flicked. "That's quite possible. Though who can say the limit of their power? It defies reason."

"It's unjust," Jaminere vented. "They're mortal men and women but they have the power of gods. The rest of us have to muddle through at their mercy."

"You sound like Xim," Oziaf observed.

"Our daritha is wise." Just a touch of bitterness.

"I suppose you have a point, but have you ever considered their perspective? You have what everyone wants but can't get, so inevitably they envy and hate you for it. You are forced to live among creatures who despise you and are themselves despicable." He gave a fluttering sigh. "Oh, I bet it's hard to be a god."

Jaminere couldn't tell if the rat was serious. "That's all the more reason not to trust them. They'll only ever be out for themselves."

His whiskers twitched. "But we do need them, don't we?"

"I hope we won't. But I'm afraid we will."

"Then I suggest you play nice, Viceroy. You have Xim's example to follow, after all."

He'd been following Xim's example all his life. On that path he'd killed one family, built an empire, then killed another family to complete the circle.

Jaminere tried so hard not to think of Marco and Erissa. He asked Oziaf. "Does Xim want to use the Iduxians for his new offensive?"

"He does. Will they comply?" He shrugged tiny shoulders. "We shall find out. Or rather, you will. I doubt you'll be seeing me for a while."

Was that a touch of sadness in his voice? "You say that like you aren't planning to come back."

"Oh, I hope to come back. I even hope to see your scowling face again, Viceroy. But I'll be gone a while, I think. I have a difficult road ahead."

Was that a plea for sympathy? It was very unlike Oziaf. "I don't suppose you'll say where that road leads."

"Of course not, Viceroy. I have my path, you have yours. We twist and curve and intersect and split, and all the while dance around Xim's arrow-straight line." A twinkle showed in his black eyes. "Isn't that the way it's always been?"