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Chewbacca roared his approval of Han’s suggestion so loudly that Han’s ears rang.

Minutes later, the Falcon was nothing but a rectangular streak traveling through hyperspace on the first leg of her long journey.

“Aunt,” said Jabba, staring at the screen of his datapad, “at this rate Desilijic will be bankrupt in forty-four years.”

Jabba and Jiliac were in Jiliac’s office in her island palace on Nal Hutta. The Desilijic leader had been dangling bright streamers of Askajian silk for her baby to focus on and lurch toward. Of course the baby Hutt could not reach for the vivid streamers—it still did not have arms, though over the past three months, its stubs had grown longer. These days it could spend two or three hours at a time outside its mother’s pouch—much to Jabba’s irritation. The only time he could gain Jiliac’s full attention was while her baby was sleeping in her pouch.

Hearing Jabba’s pronouncement, the leader of Desilijic turned from playing with her infant to regard her nephew with mild surprise. “Really?” Jiliac said, and her great forehead furrowed, “that soon? I would not have thought it possible. Still … forty-four years, Jabba. We should be able to reverse this trend long before then. What reports are you looking at?”

“All of them, Aunt. I have spent much of the past week doing a complete financial portrait of Desilijic finances.”

“Where are the credits going, then?”

“Among other things, I have here the invoice from Shug Ninx’s spacebarn,” Jabba said, touching a key on the datapad and bringing up the document. “Upgrading all of the sublight and hyperdrive engines on our ships has set us back fifty-five thousand credits.”

“That seems a bit excessive,” Jiliac said. “Was upgrading all our ships really necessary?”

Jabba sighed so loudly and exasperatedly that flecks of green drool spattered on the floor before him. “Shug Ninx is a rarity among Nar Shaddaa denizens, aunt. The price is fair. And, if you’ll recall, we lost three smuggling ships to Imperial patrols over the last six months, and another to privateers. Our ships sublight engines were old and outmoded, and they couldn’t elude Imperial tariff ships or pirates. And their hyperdrives were so slow that we were getting complaints from customers about their deliveries being delayed! So, yes, the upgrades were completely necessary, to avoid losing more ships.”

“Oh, yes, I do recall that now,” Jiliac said, vaguely. “Well, if it is necessary, nephew, it is necessary. I trust your judgment.”

My judgment is that I should be running things around here in name as well as fact, Jabba thought, grumpily. Aloud he said, “At least the job is done. With any luck, our ships can now haul more spice, faster, and we can begin making back some of our investment. If only Besadii will hold the line this time on its new announced prices for processed spice. This is their third increase in three months.”

Jiliac began to laugh, a great, booming sound that echoed in the huge, nearly deserted office. (Ever since she’d had her baby, the leader of Desilijic had dismissed many of her former hangers-on and sycophants, for fear one of them would seek profit by kidnapping her baby and holding it for ransom. These days her opulent throne room held only her most trusted minions, compared to the way it used to be, when Jiliac was a male, childless Hutt. Jabba, of course, still enjoyed being surrounded by raucous crowds, music and dancing girls in his palaces on Nal Hutta and Tatooine.)

When Jiliac stopped laughing she exclaimed, “Nephew, of course Besadii will not hold their line! Their strategy lately has been to reduce the amount of spice on the black market, to drive prices up. Simple economics. Highly effective, also.”

“I know,” Jabba agreed, morosely. “But they have to slither a fine line, Aunt. If they charge much more, they’ll be competing with the Imperial spice market. And that might bring them to the unwelcome attention of the Emperor.”

By Imperial decree, all spice, especially