Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [72]
It was one of the most private of all the smugglers’ sanctuaries, invisible from orbit and well defended against intruders. Even the three landing clearings in the forest that covered the valley floor were concealed, hidden by retractable military-grade camouflage nets with infrared screens.
It was also one of the most exclusive sanctuaries, open only to the elite veterans of the trade, to the well-connected rather than the well-heeled. Or, at least, it once had been. When the Millennium Falcon arrived there, Esau’s Ridge was more crowded than Chewbacca could remember ever seeing it. Parking clearances in the landing area were down to half a meter, and the floating berth fees were accordingly high.
[Peace did not seem to have hurt the trade,] he growled to the berthing collector as he paid the first day’s fee.
“When they are not busy fighting wars, governments amuse themselves by forbidding things,” said the collector. “There will always be work for us. Welcome back to the Ridge, Chewbacca. By the way, I threw two of the kids out of here to make room for this trash heap you call a ship.”
Chewbacca paid without complaint the expected bribe for that privilege of seniority. [Is Plothis still here?]
“Shot four years ago in a squabble with a customer. Bracha e’Naso took over the business.”
[What about Formayj and the brokerage?]
“Same old place,” said the collector. “Be sure and look up Armatin the Dread while you’re here—he retired and bought the slava bar. He’ll be glad to see you if you can catch him sober.”
For their own protection, Chewbacca instructed Lumpawarrump and Jowdrrl to stay inside the ship. With Shoran and Dryanta standing guard, the Falcon was as safe as it could be in a port of thieves—but Esau’s Ridge could be as dangerous as the Shadow Forest for the inexperienced.
Chewbacca had come there for information and for specialized supplies. The former proved more costly than the latter, and the latter came dear enough. e’Naso treated Chewbacca like a celebrity, then tried to overcharge him by half, as though he were some star-eyed pupling who’d never run a picket line.
“It’s almost impossible for me to keep these items in stock,” e’Naso protested when Chewbacca growled threateningly. “You’ve seen the berthing line—demand is very high, and replacing my stock will cost me a premium. You want a better price, you get Maniid and the others who run my shipments to take less for their risk.”
Another customer, an old Kiffu male browsing through the catalog of bootleg holos, overheard the conversation and intervened. “Haggling with a Wookiee,” the customer said, shaking his head. “That shows courage, e’Naso—even Plothis wouldn’t have dared it. Have you decided who will inherit the shop?”
Chewbacca showed a toothy grimace, all the more ominous for the hint of a smile it contained.
e’Naso quickly countered his own best offer, cutting the total by twenty percent. When that did not change Chewbacca’s expression, he let the Wookiee name his price.
[And you deliver it all to my ship,] he added.
“Of course. Of course.”
Outside, Chewbacca paid the Kiffu his third of the savings.
Dealing with Formayj was another matter altogether. The long-lived Yao had not only seen all the tricks, he had gotten in early enough to invent several of them. Besides that, Formayj did not haggle. His memories and his connections, both carefully built up over more than a century of brokering, were his stock in trade. He carefully appraised the worth of each before parting with it.
“Koornacht Cluster,” Formayj said, nodding. “Maps, inhabitants, hyperspace routes, ship designs, planetary defenses, sensor grids—very rare. Expensive.”
[I will pay your price.]
“Come back