Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 03_ Rebel Dawn - A. C. Crispin [17]
Durga waved a small, impatient hand at Bidlor, and addressed the man in Basic. “You are late. I was expecting your report two days ago. What have you learned?”
“I regret, your Excellency, that the test results were somewhat delayed,” Bidlor apologized. “However, this time, unlike our other rounds of tests, we have discovered something I believe you will find very interesting. Unexpected, and unprecedented. We had to contact specialists on Wyveral and they are currently checking to see if they can discover where it was manufactured. The morbidity factor has been difficult to test, since we have no pure quantities, but we are persisting, and when we tested the PSA count of the specimen’s—”
Durga slammed his small hand down on a nearby table, sending it crashing over. “Get to the point, Bidlor! Was my parent murdered?”
The scientist drew a deep breath. “I cannot say for certain, Your Excellency. What I can tell you is that we have discovered a very rare substance concentrated in the tissues of Lord Aruk’s brain. The substance is not natural. None of my team has ever encountered it before. We are running tests even now to discover its properties.”
Durga’s birthmarked face grew even uglier as his scowl deepened. “I knew it,” he said.
Myk Bidlor raised a cautioning hand. “Lord Durga, please … allow us to finish our tests. We will continue our work, and we will report back as soon as we have something definitive to report.”
Durga waved a dismissive hand at the forensics expert. “Very well. See that you report to me instantly when you discover what we are dealing with here.”
The man bowed. “You have my assurance, Lord Durga.”
With a muttered curse, the Hutt Lord broke the connection.
Durga was not the only unhappy Hutt on Nal Hutta. Jabba Desilijic Tiure, second-in-command of the powerful Desilijic clan, was both depressed and displeased.
Jabba had spent the entire morning with his aunt, Jiliac, the leader of Desilijic, trying to finish the final report on the losses to Desilijic that had resulted from the Imperial attempt to raze Nar Shaddaa and subjugate Nal Hutta. The Empire’s attack had failed, mostly due to Jabba and Jiliac’s successful bribe of the Imperial Admiral, but it would be a long time before business on Nar Shaddaa was back to normal.
Nar Shaddaa was a large moon that orbited Nal Hutta. The other name for Nar Shaddaa was “the Smuggler’s Moon,” and it was apt, for most of its denizens lived there because they were connected with the illegal trade that moved through Nar Shaddaa every day. Running spice, running guns, fencing stolen treasures and antiquities … Nar Shaddaa saw all of that and more.
“Shipping is down forty-four percent, aunt,” Jabba said, his comparatively small, delicate fingers touching the data-pad expertly. “We lost so many ships, so many captains and crews when that thrice-cursed Sarn Shild mounted that attack. Our spice customers have been complaining that we can’t move our product the way we used to. Even Han Solo lost his ship, and he’s our best pilot.”
Jiliac glanced at her nephew. “He has been flying our ships ever since the attack, Nephew.”
“I know, but most of our ships are older models, aunt. Slower. And, in our business, time equals credits.” Jabba did another calculation, then made an exasperated sound. “Aunt, our profits this year will be the lowest we’ve experienced in ten years.”
Jiliac replied with a mighty belch. Jabba looked up and saw that she was eating again, some high-sustenance goop she smeared on the backs of her swamp-wrigglers before stuffing them into her enormous mouth. Ever since becoming pregnant last year, Jiliac had been undergoing one of the typical Hutt