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The High Priest made soothing gestures with his tiny hands. “Of course, Your Excellency. You shall have your nala-tree frogs, never fear. I do not relish them myself, but I know that Zavval did. I shall order an expedition of guards to collect some today.”

Kibbick relaxed visibly. “That’s much better,” he said. “Oh, and, Teroenza, I require a new bath slave. The old one hurt her back when she was lifting my tail to oil it, and I ordered her back to the factories. Her whimpering was getting on my nerves … and I have very delicate nerves, as you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Teroenza said soothingly. Inwardly the High Priest gritted his bite-plates. I have to remember that Kibbick, although a whining nuisance, allows me complete autonomy. If I must have a Hutt overlord, he is the best choice … “I shall see to it right away.”

Privately, Teroenza knew that he could run the Ylesian spice and slave operation with no Hutt involvement. In the year following Zavval’s “untimely” death at the hands of Han Solo, this had become clear to the High Priest. But the Besadii criminal enterprise, the kajidic, was ruled by a powerful old Hutt named Aruk, who clung to tradition. If a Besadii undertaking was to prosper, a Hutt from their own kin, the Besadii clan, must be in charge.

Thus, Teroenza found himself saddled with Kibbick. He repressed a sigh. It would not be wise to let his impatience show. “Will there be anything else, Your Excellency?” he asked, forcing himself to assume a servile, almost obsequious demeanor.

Kibbick thought hard for a moment. “Yes, come to think of it. I spoke with Uncle Aruk this morning, and he was checking last week’s accounts. He wanted to know what is this five-thousand-credit bounty you’ve placed on this human, Han Solo?”

Teroenza rubbed his small, delicate hands together. “Inform Lord Aruk that only a few days ago I discovered that Vykk Draygo, Zavval’s murderer, whom we had presumed to be dead for the past five years, has resurfaced! His real name is Han Solo, and he was drummed out of the Imperial Navy just two months ago.” Teroenza’s protuberant eyes were suddenly moist and glittering with anticipation. “By offering a sizable bounty and specifying ‘no disintegrations,’ that will ensure that they’ll bring this Hutt-slaying monster back here to Ylesia, so he may pay for his crimes.”

“I see,” Kibbick said. “I shall explain that to Aruk, but I don’t believe he’ll go along with paying the extra credits for a ‘no disintegrations’ bounty. That’s not necessary, under the circumstances, really. Simple proof that it’s indeed Solo’s body—genetic material, for example—would suffice, wouldn’t it?”

Teroenza lurched up out of his lounge-sling with an awkward, fierce movement. He began to pace his spacious, sumptuous apartment, his long, whippy tail slashing the air. “You fail to understand the nature of Solo’s crime, Your Excellency! If only you had been here, to see what Solo did to your uncle! His death agonies were horrible! His moans! His spasms of agony! And all because of that wretched little human!”

The High Priest took a deep breath, realizing he was shaking with anger. “An example must be made, an example that will be remembered down through the ages by anyone of an inferior species who even contemplates harming a Hutt! Solo must die, die in agony, die screaming for mercy!”

Teroenza halted in the middle of his room, panting with fury, little hands balled into fists. “Ask Ganar Tos!” he cried passionately, knowing he was making a spectacle of himself in front of Kibbick, but unable to stop. “Ask him about Solo’s audacity, his arrogance! He deserves to die, doesn’t he?”

The High Priest’s voice scaled up toward hysteria. The old Zisian majordomo bowed humbly, but his eyes were also glittering in their rheumy sockets. “My master, you speak the truth. Han Solo deserves only death, as painful and long-lasting a death as you can contrive. He has injured many sentients, including myself. He stole my