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"Insults," Filba sneered, waving his jug about. "All I ever get. I deserve more for my part in this. I deserve-"

Bleyd was suddenly across the room and at the Hutt’s throat. He’d moved so fast that the moon moth had only registered a blur. "You deserve," the Sakiyan hissed, "to have your innards rearranged, you swamp-sucking-"

He stopped abruptly. Filba’s eyes were even more bul-bous and distended than usual. His wide gash of a mouth opened and closed, either questing for air or try-ing to speak, and apparently not succeeding at either. The small arms were waving about in panic. The jug slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

Filba lurched forward, drawing more and more of his bulk upright until it seemed impossible that he could maintain his balance. He swayed, a mottled tower of flab and slime-then toppled, crashing down to the floor. Bleyd had to leap out of the way to avoid being crushed as the Hutt’s considerable mass struck hard enough to shake the building. It nearly vibrated the moon moth off its perch.

Maker’s eyes! He’s fainted! Or worse...

Den, watching, could not believe his eyes-or, rather, the moon moth’s photoreceptors. What was going on? Had the admiral actually scared Filba into having heart failure-or whatever the Hutt equivalent was; hard to believe Filba even had a heart-by appearing to attack him?

Bleyd bent over the motionless form. He touched the Hutt’s back, perhaps feeling for some kind of pulse.

Then he turned to the broken ale jug, lifted a shard, and sniffed it.

A peculiar expression spread over his face-equal parts understanding, anger, and bafflement. He stood frozen for a moment, then hurled the fragment to break against the wall.

The entrance chime activated. A muffled pounding was heard, as were concerned shouts.

Filba’s collapse had probably been noticed by everyone in the area - Den would have been surprised if the Separatists hadn’t felt it as well.

Bleyd turned to the door. He smoothed his uniform, made sure no medal hung even slightly askew, and then opened it.

Den knew it was time to go. The moon moth was im-mune to most detection devices, but shortly techs would likely be going over this chamber with gadgets that could hear an electron shifting shells. He made the moon moth fly off the shelf, toward the entrance, which was already filled with confused and shocked faces-A hand came out of nowhere, moving so fast it just seemed to appear. Den gasped as his point of view shifted violently. And then, suddenly, the moon moth was being held close to Bleyd’s face. The admiral was staring, it seemed, right into Den’s eyes.

A second later the hand closed into a fist. There was a flash as the piezoelectrics shorted out-and then blackness.

Uh-oh...

24

Barriss Offee was just finishing her meditation when she heard the commotion, and felt a simultaneous ripple in the Force. She settled to the floor, unlocked her legs, and stood.

Outside, several people were running back and forth. This in itself wasn’t unusual for the base, but the rever-berations she had felt were not the familiar ones of in-coming wounded. She followed these new feelings, and the excited crowd, and saw a knot of people animatedly talking outside Filba’s office in the large central admin-and-requisition center. Zan Yant was among them. She stepped up alongside him.

"Doctor Yant."

He smiled at her. "Healer Offee. Looks like we all felt Filba’s passing, one way or another."

"The Hutt is dead? How?"

"Hard to say for sure. Apparently it was very sudden. I had a word with one of the techs, who sometimes sits in on our card game, and the indication from him was poison."

A tech emerged from the large cubicle with an anti-grav gurney, upon which was a large body sack, sealed shut and obviously filled to capacity. The lifter’s gyros and condenser whined under the load as the tech guided it outside.

"That would be the late, and fairly heavy, Filba, un-less I miss my guess. I wonder who’s on medical exam-iner duty today? Whoever it