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“Agreed,” Jiliac said. “The only reason he left us alone after the battle of Nar Shaddaa was that the Council voted to voluntarily double the amount of taxes we pay to the Empire. Nal Hutta has fifty times the wealth of most planets, and our wealth buys us a certain amount of protection. Not to mention the bribes we pay to the new Moff, and to some of the Imperial Senators and high-ranking officers.”

The cleaning droid had finished its efforts, and the floor gleamed again. Hutts kept their floors scrupulously clean and, if they were uncarpeted, highly polished. It was easier to glide around on them that way.

“They say that the renegade Senator, Mon Mothma, has convinced three large resistance groups to ally. They signed a document they’re calling the Corellian Treaty,” Jabba said. “It is possible that a widespread rebellion may be in the offing. And Aunt,” Jabba waved his datapad, “in war, there is profit to be made. We might be able to recoup our losses.”

“Those so-called Rebels have no chance against the might of the Empire,” Jiliac scoffed. “It would be foolish for us to take sides.”

“Oh, I was not suggesting that, Aunt,” Jabba said hastily, scandalized by the suggestion. “But there are times when profits could be made from aiding one side against the other. No permanent alliance, of course.”

“Better to stay out of galactic politics altogether, mark my words, Jabba.” Jiliac was holding her baby, bouncing it fondly. Good way to make it upchuck again, Jabba thought cynically.

Sure enough, the baby Hutt did just that. Fortunately, the cleaning droid was still within call.

“Aunt …” Jabba said, hesitantly, “since times are becoming so … complicated, perhaps you might consider sending the baby to the communal nursery for each day? Then it would be easier to concentrate on our business. The child is well able to spend long periods outside your pouch. Besides, they have surrogate pouch-mothers at the nursery.”

Jiliac reared up, tail twitching, her expression one of shocked indignation. “Nephew! I am surprised that you would even suggest such a thing! In a year, perhaps, I might consider that, but now, my little one needs me continually.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Jabba said, in as conciliatory a manner as he could manage. “In order to bring Desilijic’s finances back to the level they were before Moff Shild’s destructive raid on Nar Shaddaa, a great deal more time and effort will be needed. I am putting in copious amounts of time these days.”

“Ho-HO!” Jiliac hooted. “And just yesterday you spent half the afternoon watching that new slave-girl cavort all over your throne room, while your new band of jizz-wailers played for you!”

“How did you—” Jabba began, stung, then he subsided into silence. So what if he’d taken a few hours off to amuse himself? He’d been up at dawn, working with the clerical droids and scribes on Desilijic’s financial records, getting them in order so he could prepare a complete report on the implications of the new Besadii price hikes.

“I have my ways, Nephew,” Jiliac said. “But of course I don’t begrudge you your leisure time. All work and no amusement makes for a dull Hutt indeed. However, in turn, I expect you to respect my need to be with my baby.”

“Yes, Aunt. I do. Of course I do,” Jabba said, seething inwardly. Hastily, he changed the subject. “I believe Besadii should be called to account for these increases in the cost of their spice. It is possible that we may be able to rouse the other clans against them.”

“To what purpose?”

“Possibly official censure and a fine. I have heard enough grumbling among the other clans to suggest that they are suffering from this price increase nearly as much as Desilijic. It is worth a try. Aunt, can you request that the Hutt Grand Council call a meeting of the kajidic leaders?”

Jiliac nodded, evidently wishing to be conciliatory, too. “Very well, Jabba. I will request such a meeting before the end of the week.”

Jiliac was as good as her word, and three days later, Jabba, along with the Desilijic