Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [3]
Stymied by and angry at the casual venality and suffocating bureaucracy that had come to rule the Republic—and to complicate his business dealings—the Corellian industrialist could purchase entire companies and whole territories with a mere touch of his imprinting finger. But for all his wealth, he could not buy a glimpse into the future. At that moment, he would have gladly signed over a few billion for the answers to one or two questions.
“I hope you are right, Shu Mai. I hope you are right.”
“Of course she is.” Having agreed to this meeting somewhat reluctantly, the Twi’lek was feeling far more confident of the future following their host’s detailed explanation. “I am both impressed and moved by the full scope and subtlety of President Shu Mai and Senator Mousul’s strategy. As they have so eloquently pointed out, this world is far too unimportant to attract anything in the way of significant outside attention.…”
“Haja, sweet scent—what’re you hiding under that big ol’ robe?”
Luminara Unduli did not look up at the large, unshaven, rough-hewn, and unpleasantly fragrant man or his equally coarse and malodorous companions. She treated their knowing grins, the eager forward tilt of their bodies, and their leering eyes with equal indifference—though their collective body odor was somewhat harder to ignore. Patiently, she raised the spoonful of hot stew to her lips, the lower of which was stained a permanent purplish black. A series of interlocking black diamonds tattooed her chin, while more intricate markings decorated the joints of her fingers. The olive color of her skin contrasted strikingly with the deep blue of her eyes.
These rose to regard the younger woman who was seated on the other side of the table. Barriss Offee’s attention shifted between her teacher and the men crowding uncomfortably close around the two of them. Luminara smiled to herself. A good person, was Barriss. Observant and thoughtful, if occasionally impulsive. For now, the young woman held her peace, kept eating, and said nothing. A judicious reaction, the older woman knew. She’s letting me take the lead, as she should.
The man who had voiced the impropriety whispered something to one of his friends. There was a ripple of crude, unpleasant laughter. Leaning closer, he put a hand on Luminara’s cloth-draped shoulder. “I asked you a question, darlin’. Now, are you gonna show us what’s under this lovely soft robe of yours, or d’you want us to take a peek ourselves?” An air of pheromone-charged expectation had gripped his companions. Huddled over their food, a few of the establishment’s other diners turned to look, but none moved to voice outrage at what was happening or to interfere.
Spoon pausing before her lips, Luminara seemed to devote greater contemplation to its contents than to the insistent query. With a sigh, she finally downed the spoonful of stew and reached down with her free right hand. “I suppose if you really want to see …”
One of the men grinned broadly and nudged his hulking companion in the ribs. A couple of others crowded closer still, so that they were all but leaning over the table. Luminara pulled a portion of her outer robe aside, the intricate designs on the copper- and bronze-colored metal bands that covered her upper forearms glinting in the diffuse light of the tavern.
Beneath the robe was a metal and leather belt. Attached to the belt were several small and unexpectedly sophisticated examples of precision engineering. One of these was cylindrical, highly polished, and designed to fit comfortably in a closed hand. The aggressive spokesman for the group squinted at it, his expression slightly confused. Behind him, a couple of his heretofore hopeful cronies abandoned their leering expressions faster than a smuggler’s ship making an emergency