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In the space of a year, Jiliac was nearly a third again the size she had been before her pregnancy.

“You’d better be careful,” Jabba warned. “Those wrigglers gave you terrible indigestion the other day. Remember?”

Jiliac belched again. “You’re right. I should cut back … but the baby needs the nourishment.”

Jabba sighed. Jiliac’s infant was still spending much of its time inside its mother’s pouch. Baby Hutts depended upon their mothers for all their nourishment for the first year of their lives.

“Here is a message from Ephant Mon,” Jabba said, seeing that his “message” indicator was blinking on his comlink. Quickly the Hutt Lord scanned the communiqué. “He says I should return to Tatooine. He is running my business interests as ably as he can, I am sure, but the Lady Valarian is taking full advantage of my prolonged absence to try and move in on my territory.”

Jiliac turned her bulbous eyes on her nephew. “If you must go, Nephew, go. But see that it is a quick trip. I will need you to handle the conference with the Desilijic representatives from the Core Worlds in ten days.”

“But, Aunt, it would do you good to handle it yourself. You have gotten rather out of touch with those reps,” Jabba pointed out.

Jiliac burped delicately, then yawned. “Oh, I shall plan to attend, Nephew. But the baby is so demanding.… I will need you to be there and handle things when I must rest.”

Jabba started to protest, then forced back the words. What good would it do? Jiliac simply wasn’t interested in the affairs of Desilijic the way she had been before motherhood. It was probably hormonal.…

For months now, Jabba had been working to recoup the losses the Desilijic kajidic suffered in the Battle of Nar Shaddaa. He was getting tired of shouldering—speaking figuratively, of course, for Hutts did not really have shoulders—the burden of running Desilijic.

“Here is a note that should interest you, Aunt,” Jabba said, examining another message. “Repairs to your yacht have been completed. The Dragon Pearl is fully operational again.”

In the old days, Jiliac’s first question would have been “how much?” but she did not ask it. The bottom line was no longer her primary interest in life.…

Jiliac’s yacht had been hijacked by some of the defenders of Nar Shaddaa, and had suffered considerable damage in the battle. For a long time Jabba and his aunt had thought the ship lost altogether, then a Hutt smuggler had spotted the vessel drifting among the abandoned hulks that were scattered in orbit surrounding the Smuggler’s Moon.

Jabba had ordered the Pearl towed into spacedock, and had spent a goodly sum in bribes, but he’d never been able to discover which of the smugglers had hijacked the vessel and used it in the battle.

In the old days, Jabba reflected sadly, news of her precious ship would have been of major concern to his aunt. But the Dragon Pearl had been damaged because Jiliac had forgotten to have the ship brought safely to Nal Hutta before the battle. “The stress of motherhood,” as she’d put it.

Well, the “stress of motherhood” had cost Desilijic well over fifty thousand credits in repairs. Just because Jiliac had been careless.

Jabba sighed, and absently reached for a wriggler from his aunt’s snackquarium. He heard a snort, then a buzzing nasal rumble, and turned to see that Jiliac’s massive eyes were closed, and her mouth was half-open as she snored.

Jabba sighed again, and went back to work.…

That same night, Durga the Hutt was eating his evening repast with his cousin, Zier. Durga did not like Zier, and he knew that the other Hutt lord was his chief rival for the leadership of Besadii, but he tolerated him because Zier knew better than to oppose Durga in any overt fashion. Remembering Aruk’s advice to “keep your friends close … and your enemies even closer,” Durga had informally made Zier his lieutenant, entrusting him with matters pertaining to the administration of Besadii clan’s vast Nal Hutta enterprises.

Durga kept Zier on a very short leash,