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Zavval’s message continued, inexorably, “Accept our gift as a peace offering, or meet with grim consequences—among which your own death will be the least. Jiliac, I appeal to you in the name of Hutt brotherhood to cease hijacking and terrorizing our vessels. We can make a much better profit if we work together, instead of contending with each other.”

By this time, Han and the Sullustan were backing away in terror, because Jiliac was swelling up like a poisoned wound.

“Heed my warning, Jiliac. Cease your—”

“AiiiiiieeeeeeaaaaaaarrrrrrrRRGGGGGGGGGG

HHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Jiliac’s scream of fury made Han and Nebl leap behind the buffet table. The Hutt Lord’s tail lashed out in a giant sweep to strike the recording device, sending it flying. Zavval’s image vanished.

Jiliac slid forward. Han watched in horrified fascination. It was the first time he’d seen a Hutt Lord move under his own power.

“Messengers!” Jiliac screamed. “Come forth!”

Slowly, reluctantly, Han and Nebl crawled around the edge of the table and got shakily to their feet. “Yes, Almighty Jiliac?” Nebl quavered. Han was incapable of speech.

“I send you back to that worm-ridden parasitical infestation who calls himself Zavval,” Jiliac raged, tail lashing, as he moved back and forth. “Tell him he has maligned me and my kin, Jabba. Tell him this lack-witted attempt to incite me into a precipitous attack has failed utterly. I will bide my time. He is a dead Hutt, but for the moment, by my grace, he may pretend to be among the living. I alone will decide when he is to die—and it will be at my convenience. Do you understand, messengers?”

“Yes, Almighty One!” Han said, having recovered his voice. It was obvious that Jiliac was letting them go, and he wanted nothing more than to get off this world. He bowed, then bowed again. “I’ll tell him exactly what you said!”

“Good! You may go. Take my message to Zavval—immediately!”

Bowing, Han and Nebl backed from the audience room. Once outside, they hastily leaped into their transport and ordered the droid driver to return them to the spaceport immediately.

Han had never been so glad to see the Ylesian Dream waiting for him. He and Jalus Nebl ran across the landing field, scrambled up the ramp, and threw themselves into the control cabin.

Only when they were out in space, and Han was pulling the lever to send them streaking into hyperspace, did enough of his sense of humor return that he was able to grin feebly at the Sullustan. “Well, Nebl,” he said, “that went well, didn’t it?”

The Sullustan rolled his large, wet eyes. “You still don’t understand, Vykk,” he said. “When one is dealing with Hutts, there are wheels within wheels within wheels. It’s entirely possible that Zavval sent that message because we are vulnerable, to keep Jiliac from attacking more openly. We’re just underlings. We only see part of the picture. All you can do is pray to any gods you believe in that you never anger a Hutt. One would be better off dead, and that is no understatement.”

Han nodded. “I believe you. Still, if I were Zavval, I wouldn’t rest too easily at night. He may not have long to live …”

Muuurgh glided through the jungle in the dimness of the short Ylesian twilight. It had taken him a day and a half to travel the 147 kilometers to Colony Two. Part of his slowness had come from the perilous crossing of the Gachoogai River. He’d been so exhausted by struggling through the rapid current that he’d had to take two hours out of his trip to hunt and then another hour to sleep. He was still tired from his ordeal … but he was finally here.

He listened for the sounds of chanting voices as he skirted the perimeter of the compound. Colony Two followed, as far as he knew, the same schedule as Colony One, so the pilgrims should be at the evening devotions.

His nostrils flared as he tested the wind, constantly sniffing for any Togorian spoor. Several times, Muuurgh got down on his hands and knees and moved forward, sniffing, drinking in the scents left by the pilgrims