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Gunray made a slight hand gesture designed to convey no more than polite interest. “By all means.”

“In my offices for the Trade Federation I have had occasion to encounter a number of people with singular attributes and abilities.” He adjusted the crossed points on his cowl. “I refer specifically to a certain human female named Mahwi Lihnn. For a prearranged fee she searches for and retrieves people who have strayed from their duties or who have committed crimes.”

“You are speaking of a bounty hunter,” Gunray said. He saw Haako restrain himself from smirking, and realized belatedly that by admitting knowledge of the term used for someone of such crass abilities he had lost face before his subordinate. He didn’t care, however—he was too excited at the possibility the attorney’s suggestion presented. “We could hire this Mahwi Lihnn to track down Monchar and bring him back before Sidious convenes with us again.”

“Just so.”

Gunray noted the veiled contempt in Haako’s tone. He adjusted his own collar and took his time replying. His initial excitement at a potential solution to the problem had calmed slightly, and now he decided to show Rune Haako that one did not lightly play games of position with a commanding viceroy of the Federation. “And you … know this personage?” he inquired, his tone and expression conveying just the right amount of disdain that anyone of Haako’s station would admit to having had actual social intercourse with such a low individual.

Haako’s look of smugness wavered. His fingers plucked nervously at a bit of filigree. “As I said, in the course of my duties as attorney and diplomatic attaché for the Federation …”

“Of course.” Gunray infused the two words with equal parts pity and haughtiness. “And the Trade Federation is most grateful to you for your willingness to fraternize with such … colorful … characters, in hopes that their abilities may one day somehow be of use.” He watched Haako’s lips purse together as though the barrister had bitten into a rotten truffle, and continued. “To be sure, desperate times call for desperate measures. Though I regret having to ask this of a person of your stature, I hope you can find it within yourself to once again contact this Mahwi Lihnn, in order that we may satisfactorily resolve the Monchar situation.”

Rune Haako muttered an acquiescence and left. After the door closed, Nute Gunray nodded in satisfaction. Not bad, not bad at all. He had managed to implement a possible solution to the question of Monchar’s disappearance, and at the same time had taken that insufferable prig Haako down a peg. He listened in pleasure to a faint rumbling in his gut sac that signified the return of his appetite. Perhaps he would give his dinner another try.

“Had th’ Hutt primed for this,” Lorn said. “Was ready t’part with a great deal o’ cash for a real Jedi Holocron. Would’ve paid twice as much for one from th’ Sith.” He gazed dejectedly into the depths of his glass, swirling the remaining blue-green Johrian whiskey that had recently filled it. “Fifty thousand credits, th’ cube was worth. Now’ve lost it and the fifteen thousand. All I had.”

“It does put us in somewhat desperate straits financially,” I-Five said.

The two were sitting at the bar near the back of the Green Glowstone Tavern not far from one end of the infamous Crimson Corridor section of the city. They were regular patrons, and the droid’s presence there no longer caused much controversy, despite the sign at the entrance that proclaimed NO DROIDS ALLOWED in Basic and several other languages.

“ ’S all my fault,” Lorn muttered, more to the drink-stained counter than to I-Five. “Hadn’t lost m’temper …” He fixed the droid with a somewhat bleary gaze. “Dunno why y’ stay partners with me.”

“Ah, now we come to the maudlin stage. Will this take long? I may want to put myself in cyberostasis until it’s over.”

Lorn grunted and signaled for another refill. “Y’can be a real bastard, y’know that?” he told I-Five.

“Let’s see … according to my data banks, the primary definition of bastard is ‘a child born of unwed