Star Wars_ Tales From Jabba's Palace - Kevin J. Anderson [102]
“Signs point to yes,” said the mechanical voice.
All five Weequays gasped. “O Great God Quay,” said the president hoarsely, “we, your true believers, thank you! We will use the gift of your prophecy to protect your servants, and we praise your wisdom and power.”
One of the newly arrived Weequays came to the table. “What does this mean?” he demanded.
“Ak-Buz dead,” said the secretary.
“Bomb aboard the sail barge,” said the president.
“We must find it,” said the third Weequay.
“We must disarm it,” said a fourth.
“We must punish … who?” asked the fifth.
The secretary looked at the president. “Does the murderer’s name begin with the letter A?” he said to the quay. The secretary didn’t say anything; he just squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his aching forehead. It was going to be a very long day.
Barada wouldn’t let his workmen quit for the midday meal until the AE-35 unit had been repaired and replaced in the sail barge. It wasn’t a difficult job, but Barada was an extremely exacting supervisor. He had to be. If there were the slightest malfunction, if any mechanical breakdown interrupted the Hutt’s pleasure cruise, Barada himself would be the next corpse to be found on the scrap heap. He didn’t intend for that to happen.
He checked the fittings and connections carefully, then slid the AE-35 hatch cover into place and slapped it closed. “Good,” he said. He wiped his perspiring brow with one hand. “Anything else?”
Mal Hyb, Barada’s capable human assistant, glanced at a datapad in her hand. “All the diagnostic tests turned up green,” she said.
The mechanic nodded. “Nothing more we can do now, I guess. All right, let’s take an hour for lunch. We’ll check out the barge again later, before the Hutt gets here.”
Mal Hyb frowned. She was recognized in the workshop for her skill with a welding torch. Although she was two feet shorter than Barada, and compactly built, she was also a good ally in a brawl. Her fighting ability always surprised her opponents—once. “More tests?” she asked.
Barada grunted. “You haven’t worked for the Hutt as long as I have. If I could make this crew do it, I’d be running diagnostics all day and all night. I’ve seen the Hutt execute a crewman because a shutter squeaked.”
Mal Hyb shook her head and walked away. Barada heard a sound, turned, and saw a party of five Weequays enter the barge’s hangar. He wasn’t pleased.
The Weequays approached him. One of them gestured toward the sail barge.
“You want to go aboard?” said Barada. “Why? You still trying to figure out who killed Ak-Buz?”
The Weequay spokesman nodded.
“Not a chance,” said Barada. “We’ve got the barge all tuned up and I don’t want you leather-faced bullies wrecking it.”
A second Weequay held out a paper sack. Barada took it, opened it, and looked inside. “Beignets,” he said, surprised. “Porcellus’s beignets?”
Another Weequay nod.
“All right, I guess,” said the mechanic. “You’ve got to do your job, too. Just don’t touch anything.”
The five Weequays formed up in single file and boarded the sail barge. Barada sat down stiffly on the concrete and took the first beignet from the bag.
• • •
The Weequays poked around the sail barge, not entirely sure what they were looking for. A bomb, of course, but what kind of bomb was it? How big? And where? There were a million places to hide one.
The Weequay president carried the quay with him, and murmured, “Does the murderer’s name begin with the letter V? Vader? Valarian? Venti Paz?”
The quay began to stammer. “W—”
“Yes?” the Weequay prompted.
“W—”
“O Great God Quay, what are you trying to tell us?” The Weequay president rapped the oracle ball with an astonishing lack of piety. “ ‘W.’ Wookiee? Is that it? The Wookiee is the assassin?”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” said the secretary.
“W—” said the quay.
“Weequay?” asked the president. “It cannot be! A Weequay, guilty of murder?”
“W—”
A third Weequay listened