Darth Plagueis - James Luceno [40]
“Welcome, sir, welcome,” the manager began in a flustered voice. “Colliders is honored to have you as a guest, though may I say that you are the first being from Muunilinst to have used the casino’s public entrance. The private entrance—”
Plagueis raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m not here on bank business.”
The Sullustan stared. “Then this isn’t an impromptu audit?”
“I’m here regarding a private matter.”
The manager cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “Then perhaps we could begin with your name.”
“I am Hego Damask.”
The Sullustan’s jowls began to quiver again. “Magister Damask? Of Damask Holdings?”
Plagueis nodded.
“Forgive me for not recognizing you, sir. Were it not for your munificence, Colliders would be in bankruptcy. More to the point, Lianna City wouldn’t be the hub it is today, and the pride of the Tion Cluster.”
Plagueis smiled pleasantly. “Then if we might adjourn to your office …”
“Of course, of course.” The Sullustan signaled the guards to form a phalanx, then waved courteously for Plagueis and 11-4D to follow. “After you, sir. Please.”
A turbolift carried them directly into a large office that overlooked the casino’s main gaming room, which was crowded with Mid and Outer Rim species patrons seated at tables and individual machines, or huddled around ovide and jubilee wheels and other gambling devices. The manager gestured Plagueis into an overstuffed chair and settled himself at a reflective desk. OneOne-FourDee stood quietly at Plagueis’s side.
“You said something about a private matter, Magister Damask?”
Plagueis interlocked his hands. “It’s my understanding that Colliders played host to a big winner a week ago.”
The Sullustan gave his head a mournful shake. “Bad news travels fast, I see. But, yes, he nearly wiped us out. An uncanny run of luck.”
“Are you certain it was luck?”
The Sullustan considered the question. “I think I understand what you’re getting at, so allow me to explain. Species known to have telepathic abilities are barred from gambling at Colliders, as is the case at most casinos. In addition, we have always operated under the assumption that ninety-nine percent of beings strong in the Force belong to the Jedi Order, and that Jedi don’t gamble. As regards the remaining one percent—those who may have fallen between the cracks, as it were—well, most of them are probably off somewhere doing good deeds or locked away in monasteries contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”
“And the remainder?”
The Sullustan planted his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “On those rare occasions—and I emphasize rare—when we have suspected beings might be using the Force, we have demanded that they subject themselves to a blood test.”
“Have you ever unmasked a Force-user?”
“Not in the twenty years I’ve been the administrator of this facility. Of course, in this business you hear stories. For example, there’s one about a casino on Denon that employed a Forceful Iktotchi as a cooler—someone capable of breaking a gambler’s winning streak. But I suspect the story is apocryphal. Here at Colliders we rely on the standard methods of making certain that the odds are always in our favor. Regardless, from time to time, someone proves an exception to the rule.” He paused for a moment. “But I’ll admit that I haven’t seen a winning streak like this last one in years. It could take us months to recuperate.”
“Did you demand a blood test?”
“As a matter of fact we did, Magister Damask. But our resident analyst said that the winner’s blood didn’t contain … well, whatever it would have contained if the player was a Force-user. I confess to having a poor understanding of the chemistry involved.”
“I myself wish I understood more,” Plagueis said. “Would you happen to have an image of the winner?”
The manager frowned. “I don’t want to pry, but may I ask why this is of personal interest?”
Plagueis sniffed. “It’s a tax matter.”
The Sullustan cheered up. “Then by all means.” His small fingers flew across