• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

That, Lecersen had not expected. A member of a species that had formerly been slave owners on Qaras, but who now were removed from such positions of power over others. Who, in fact, were themselves facing exile. Why would such a being come to him? And why in so clandestine a fashion? The little mystery that had started with the piece of low-tech flimsi was becoming more and more intriguing … and potentially dangerous. He thought for a moment.

“Show him in, and then leave us alone until I summon you.”

“Are you quite certain, sir? The fellow has a rather shifty look about him. I don’t know that I’d give him the time of day, let alone—”

“You are qualified to comment on his manners, Eethree, not his personality,” Lecersen said sharply. The E-3POs, which had been developed for Imperial use many years earlier, had a reputation for arrogance and haughtiness due to their proprietary TechSpan I module. This allowed them to interface with various Imperial networks denied to other protocol droids, and the cursed things thought themselves superior. Eethree had served Lecersen well for many years, and he often found the droid’s snooty attitude amusing. However, tonight it irritated him.

“Very good, sir,” said Eethree promptly, though not without the droid equivalent of a “hmmph!” of injured pride. He turned around and left the sitting room.

Lecersen continued to sit in his chair, sipping a glass of Hapan gold wine, his mind racing a thousand kilometers a minute. He did not bother to rise when Eethree returned, escorting the first Minyavish whom Lecersen had ever seen in the flesh. Of the two sentient species that lived on Qaras, Lecersen had to admit that the Minyavish were by far the less attractive.

They were bipedal, feathered, and squat; humanoid, but only just. A large head sat atop rounded shoulders and a chunky torso, but that head sported some of the largest, most intense golden eyes Lecersen had ever seen, with darker gold, slitted pupils. The being wore little in the way of clothing; the bright green, purple, and gold feathers were more than sufficient for modesty. His barrel chest was, however, crisscrossed with two pieces of fabric as colorful as his feathers, and he sported an armband inlaid with four large, winking blue gems. Lecersen had found it was often difficult to read the expressions of members of an alien species unless he was familiar with their mannerisms. This one looked irritated and pugnacious, but for all he knew, he—she?—could be wearing the Minyavish version of a large smile.

“Moff Drikl Lecersen,” said the droid, “may I present Tiyuu’cha Mahlor.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Lecersen. He still did not rise. “Have a seat. May Eethree offer you something to drink?” Whatever the Minyavish’s poison might be, Lecersen was confident he had it. He had one of the largest exotic liquor collections on Coruscant, having found early on in his career that any credits expended thus were sound investments when it came to dealing with other beings.

“No, thank you.” The voice was gruff, hollow sounding. The Minyavish—Mahlor—sounded as irritated as he looked. He trundled to one of the larger overstuffed chairs by the holographic fireplace and eased himself down gingerly until he was certain the chair would hold his weight.

“That will be all, Eethree. I’ll call for you if I need you.”

“Of course, sir.” With a whir of servos, the droid left the room, and the door automatically closed shut behind him.

“To what,” drawled Lecersen, sipping his wine, “do I owe this rather peculiar visit?”

Mahlor chuckled. At least, that’s what the raspy noise sounded like to Lecersen. “I think you will be grateful that I chose to be so … peculiar … when you hear.”

“Please, I am all ears.”

The Minyavish blinked, three times. “For more than seven thousand years, my people have quite happily managed Qaras, with the Jessar serving us.”

“If by managed you mean ‘dominated’ and if by serving you mean ‘enslaved to,’ then I am already well aware of this.”

The feathered brows, a startling purple over the yellow