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The image gave way suddenly to that of a vast chamber lined with shelves and strange machines, and on those shelves, glass domes where disembodied brains pulsated in an eerie pink light …

Then his center eye cleared and Ree-Yees realized he was actually standing in the chamber of the brains. B’omarr monks. The room was quiet, dimly lit except for the display lights and the rosy glow from the containers. His heart, which had taken a sudden lurch with the vision of the flames, slowed once more. He ran his narrow tongue over his lips.

The brains were nothing to fear, he told himself, relics of those degenerate two-eyed monks who’d hollowed out these tunnels centuries before Jabba discovered them. Their naked brains couldn’t do anything except sit there, each in its own glass prison, motionless except for their slow pulsation.

A whisper, cloth over stone, made Ree-Yees spin around. A figure in a voluminous robe glided from the shadows and halted in the center of the room. Ree-Yees could make out nothing of its form, not even its species, nor whether it was male or female, so completely did the hood conceal its features. As he gaped at it, the figure raised one arm. The sleeve fell back, revealing a humanoid hand, skeletally thin, the pale skin stretched over grotesquely deformed knuckles.

A voice issued from the secret darkness beneath the hood. “The fire is but a warning,” it rasped. “Take heed and tell your vile master to leave this place forever.”

Then the figure disappeared.

Ree-Yees’s eyestalks quivered. He bleated in surprise, but quickly recovered himself. A warning, was it? Or an omen? A promise of things to come?

He didn’t understand the other images, but the firestorm—it had seemed so real. What did it mean?

Elation surged through Ree-Yees’s belly. Doellin’s own luck was with him. He would succeed, it had been foreseen! The loss of the detonation link would prove but a minor setback. Jabba would perish in a blast of cleansing fire and his repulsive two-eyed crew with him. Imperial Prefect Talmont would clear Ree-Yees’s way to go home to Kinyen.

Belching in happiness, Ree-Yees hurried from the chamber of brains and somehow found his way back, ascending to the familiar levels. He was en route to his own quarters to savor his success when another Gamorrean guard bustled past him, weapons drawn.

“Hoy!” said Ree-Yees. “How about a nice game of Rumble-pins?”

“Someone try steal Jabba pretty-thing!” the guard bellowed. He was more articulate than the hapless Gartogg. “You come!”

Ree-Yees hurried after the Gamorrean. With his mission assured, he could relax and enjoy himself. Perhaps Jabba would feed the thief to the rancor—that was always good for a few bets on the side.

Over the next day a heady certainty stayed with Ree-Yees through the discovery of the bounty hunter’s true identity. The girl who took Oola’s place was as repellent a two-eyes as he’d ever seen, but what did that matter? He wouldn’t have to look at her for too much longer. Not even Ephant Mon’s blustering could rouse Ree-Yees, and Tessek was looking worried about something.

From his accustomed place in the audience hall, Ree-Yees watched the antics of the young Jedi. The tussle with the rancor was particularly amusing, although Ree-Yees had to pay out a pocketful of credits in lost wagers. No matter, he’d win it back, for Malakili, the rancor keeper, would be distraught over the loss of his pet for months to come and would make an easy mark.

“You should have bargained, Jabba,” the young Jedi said as he was being led away. What kind, of maggot-brained threat was that? Not even a curse, “May a thousand Tusken sand-grubs gnaw your entrails from within!” Or an excuse, “Sorry, I’m allergic to rancor dander.” Or something innovative like, “Congratulations, for that correct answer, you have won a complete set of Imperial Encyclopedias!” Not that it would do much good in this case, although Jabba had been known to pardon those who particularly amused him, as Ree-Yees well knew.

Besides, Jabba was destined