Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [22]
Tension dissolved after the first few rounds of drinks. In the company of his fellow conspirators, Mousul was also able to relax. He would be more relaxed still after he reported to Shu Mai on the one member of their group whom he felt they could no longer trust. A lack of trust was a bad thing in a conspiracy. It poisoned the atmosphere of cooperation. It could prove fatal.
Especially to the individual in question.
Soergg was well pleased with the final plan that had been devised. It had been carefully thought out, honed and refined, until he could see nothing wrong with it. It possessed the twin virtues of simplicity and directness. He explained it assertively to Ogomoor. His majordomo listened carefully. Only when the Hutt had finished did the Ansionian timidly venture to comment.
“It certainly sounds most promising.”
“Promising?” the bossban rumbled. “It’s perfect!” He glowered down at the complaisant biped. “Isn’t it?”
“Well, the only obstacle I see lies in this ability of the Jedi to intuit danger coming their way. To sense trouble as a disturbance in the Force.”
Soergg nodded as much as one could who had no neck. “I am all too aware of the cursed Jedi abilities. So to carry out this plan I have engaged two who are immune to such Jedi perceptiveness. Two of your own kind who possess unique qualifications.”
“Not to dispute your expertise, but how can any thinking, feeling sentients be impervious to Jedi acuity?”
“Meet them, Ogomoor, and judge for yourself.” Looking off to one side, he clapped his large, flabby palms together and raised his voice. “Bulgan, Kyakhta—come and meet my majordomo!”
Expectant and curious, Ogomoor turned toward the doorway that led from the bossban’s audience chamber to a side waiting room. The aspect of the two Ansionians who entered in response to Soergg’s call did not fill him with overwhelming confidence.
One had a ripped and ragged mane of splotchy auburn and a crudely fashioned artificial arm. The other was completely shorn from head to spine, bald and pallid of skin, with a patch over one eye and a back permanently bent from some incurable childhood disease. Neither was especially tall or strong. Together, Ogomoor decided, the pair would have been hard-pressed to kidnap the offspring of an elderly water carrier.
So astonished was he by the sight of the forlorn duo that for a moment he forgot his fear of his employer. “Bossban, you’re going to send these two to capture a Jedi?”
“Not a Jedi, Ogomoor. One of their Padawans. With one of the two youths in our custody, the Jedi will be forced to parley.” He puffed himself up to his full, impressive—if loathsome—size. “We will demand they withdraw from all negotiations involving Ansion’s domestic and galactic disputations, and that no new Jedi come to take their place. Once they agree to that, they will be helpless to affect the outcome of the vote for secession. One Jedi’s word binds all Jedi.” He all but rubbed his hands together. “This is even better than killing them. They will be forced to leave in disgrace and failure, with their tails tucked between their legs. At the same time, the Jedi Council will not rise up in rage against the deaths of several of their Order. They will simply have been outmaneuvered, and out-thought. By me.” He puffed up so much that Ogomoor thought the Hutt might explode. Unfortunately, it remained nothing more than a wishful image. “Sometimes humiliation is more effective than death.”
“I do not disagree, Bossban.” Recovering some fortitude, Ogomoor indicated the two proposed hostage takers. The one called Kyakhta was gaping openmouthed at the room’s luxurious furnishings, while his bent-backed companion Bulgan stood staring blankly at the floor, flagrantly picking his single nostril. “But seriously, you are sending these two to overpower a Jedi Padawan?”
Instead of roaring, Soergg held his patience. “Look at them, Ogomoor. Take a good, close look. What do you see?” Clearly,