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Jos nodded. "Probably would be," he said, "except for this little problem called interstellar war."

"Well, yes, that." Dhur paused. "Let me buy you a drink, Doc."

"Let me let you."

They stepped over to the bar. Dhur waved at the ten-der, who lumbered toward them. "Two Coruscant Coolers." As they waited for the drinks, Dhur said, "What do you know about Filba?"

Jos shrugged. "He’s the supply sergeant. Processes requisitions, changes in orders from upstairs, that kind of thing. Smells like he uses the swamp for cologne. Outside of that-nothing, really. Who knows anything about Hutts? And why do you care?"

"Reporter’s instinct. Hutts make news, more often than not. Also, Filba and I go back a ways. I don’t want to be speciesist or anything, but you know the old say-ing: ’How do you know when a Hutt is lying? His-"

"-lips move,’" Jos finished. "Yeah, I heard that one. They say the same thing about Neimoidians."

"And Ryn, and Bothans, and Toydarians. It’s a tough galaxy, or so I’ve heard." The reporter grinned at Jos, who grinned back. Though he came across as sarcastic and irascible, still there was something likable about the scrappy little fellow.

The bartender brought their drinks. Dhur dropped a credit on the bar. "Hate to break it to you, but I’ve heard it applied to humans, too."

Jos drained his mug. "I’m deeply shocked and of-fended. On behalf of humans across the galaxy, I’ll have another drink." He signaled the tender, then added, "Filba can be a pain in the glutes, but he seems to do his job pretty well. Or maybe I should say ’jobs.’ He’s got his pudgy little fingers into everything, seems like. He’s even in charge of the bota shipments."

Dhur was about to take a sip of his second drink; he stopped and lifted an eyebrow instead of his mug. "Ex-cuse me?"

"That’s what I hear. Bleyd’s given him full control over processing, harvesting, and shipments."

"Imagine that." Dhur seemed suddenly nervous. "Hey, did you hear about Epoh Trebor and his HoloNet Entertainment tour? Looks like Drongar’s on their list."

"I’ll make a note to get excited about that later." Jos had never been overly fond of the popular HoloNet star, although he seemed to be in a minority, judging from Epoh’s ratings.

He was still curious about Dhur’s inter-est in Filba, but before he could say anything more, the Sullustan drained his cup and said, "Align with you later, Doc. Thanks for the drink."

"You paid for it," Jos reminded him.

"Right, so I did," Dhur said. "Well-you’ll get the next round," and then he headed for the door as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.

Jos looked around, wondering if Filba had come in while they were talking. He didn’t see him, and the Hutt was pretty easy to pick out in a crowd.

He frowned. Obviously something had gotten Dhur’s dewflaps in an uproar, and it seemed to have to do with Filba. The base was expecting a few hours of relative peace and quiet before the next wave of wounded ar-rived, unless there was an emergency evac from the front lines, which was always a possibility. Jos had in-tended to spend the time getting some sleep. Sleep was even more precious than bota on this world. Maybe, though, he would stop by the supply hut, see how Filba was doing.

First, however, he would finish his drink.

7

The spy had been on this miserable soggy mudball of a planet for more than two standard months now, and was intensely, seriously sick of it already. Two months since the agents in the higher echelons of the Republic military had arranged for the transfer to this Rimsoo. Two months in the heat and the sun, besieged con-stantly by all manner of flying pests... and the spores! Those irritating spores, constantly clogging up every-thing.

There were days when a filter mask was a neces-sity, or he would strangle before he could walk the length of the base.

The spy missed home with an unnerving desperation. The mild weather, the ocean breezes, the subtle scents of the fern trees... the nostalgic ache was dismissed with a growl and a headshake.