Darth Plagueis - James Luceno [30]
Qayhuk’s wide nostrils flared. “What’s a decade when we have been patient for a century? Are we not sentients? Or are we required to embrace the conditions along with accepting them?”
Damask shook his head. “No one is asking you to applaud the arrangement.”
Qayhuk’s expression softened somewhat. “Then we have an accord?”
“We will draw up a contract,” Damask said. “In the meantime, I want some assurance that I can call on you for a personal favor should the need arise.”
Qayhuk stared at him. “A personal favor? Of what sort?”
Damask showed the palms of his hands. “Of whatever sort I require, Secretary.”
The Yinchorri and his brethren traded uncertain glances, but Qayhuk ultimately nodded in agreement. “Done, Magister.”
“A favor?” Hill asked as the Yinchorri were being seen out.
“Nothing more than a test,” Damask told him.
Next to be admitted for audience were two Gran; the larger of the pair, a Republic Senator named Pax Teem, represented the Gran Protectorate. Teem had scarcely taken a seat when he said, “Promise me, Magister Damask, that you haven’t entered into a deal with Gardulla.”
“Our dealings with the Hutts,” Hill said, “are no less confidential than our dealings with you, Senator Teem.”
The Gran’s trio of stalked eyes twitched in anger. “Rumors abound of Gardulla’s plans to refurbish the Podrace course on Tatooine and enter into direct competition with Malastare.”
Damask regarded him blankly. “Surely you haven’t come all this way to hear me address rumors.”
Teem worked his big jaw. “Promises were made, Magister.”
“And fulfilled,” Damask said; then, in a calmer voice, he added, “As a means of offsetting losses in revenue derived from Podracing, the cost of Malastare’s fuel exports could be raised.”
The Gran ruminated. “That sounds more like a possibility than a guarantee.”
Damask shrugged. “We will take it up with the steerage committee. But for now, consider it a starting point for discussion.” Reclining in the chair, he appraised Teem before saying, “What else is troubling you, Senator?”
“The favoritism you show to the Trade Federation.”
“We merely helped them secure full representation in the Senate,” Hill answered.
Teem grew strident. “The directorate was doing perfectly well for itself without full representation. And in exchange for what—surrendering some of the shipping monopoly they enjoyed in the Outer Rim?”
“What’s fair is fair,” Hill said evenly.
Teem gave him a scathing glance. “Fairness has no part in it. You’re interested only in having the directorate do your bidding on Coruscant.” Abruptly, he got to his big feet and ground his square teeth. “Even a rate hike for Malastare’s fuel will profit Damask Holdings and the Trade Federation more than it will me!”
The Gran showed the Muuns his back and began to stamp toward the door, leaving his aide to stir in confusion for a moment, before he, too, rose and hurried out.
Hill’s mouth was open in surprise. “He can’t—”
“Let him go,” Damask said.
The elder Muun compressed already thin lips. “If we’re to benefit from the power they wield in the Senate, we’ll need to find some way to placate them, Hego.”
“I disagree,” Damask said. “We need to find a way to show Teem that he is expendable.”
By the time the guards had ushered in the quartet of Gossams who managed Subtext Mining, his ire had risen so high in his throat he could taste it. Typical of their diminutive species, the three saurians had reverse-articulated legs, fish-shaped heads, and long necks Damask knew he could snap with two fingers—and perhaps would, for how they had double-crossed Tenebrous.
“We were stunned to receive your invitation, Magister,” Subtext’s chief operating officer said. “We had no idea we were even on your scanners.”
Damask smiled thinly. “We keep a close watch on galactic events. I trust you’ve been enjoying our food and entertainment?”
“More than you know, Magister,” the chief Gossam said with