• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Malik Carr sniffed arrogantly. “I suggest you reduce your business to zero.”

No sooner had the Yuuzhan Vong entourage left the palace than three Hutts hurried into Borga’s court. A young Hutt, uniformly tan in color, slithered in on his own power; an older one, with a stripe of green pigmentation running down his spine and tapered tail, was borne in on a litter supported by a dozen leathery-skinned Weequays; and an even more aged one, sporting a wispy gray beard, made use of a hoversled.

The latter Hutt, Pazda Desilijic Tiure—uncle of the celebrated Jabba Desilijic Tiure—was the first to voice his outrage.

“Who do they think they are, making demands of the Hutts, as though we were some trifling species concerned only with escaping bloodshed? That Malik Carr, he reminded me of the worst of Palpatine’s Imperial moffs. And the one who calls himself Pedric Cuf was equally treacherous—speaking out of both sides of his mouth.”

Pazda showed Borga his most austere expression. “The Desilijic would never have permitted such indignities to take place in their court. Jabba would have fed Malik Carr and Pedric Cuf to a rancor and taken his chances with the Yuuzhan Vong fleet.”

“Like he took his chances with Jedi Master Skywalker?” the young Hutt, Randa Besadii Diori, remarked. “Personally, I always felt that Tatooine’s aridity wreaked havoc with Jabba’s judgment.” Elevating himself on his powerful tail, he nodded at his parent, Borga. “You handled them expertly.”

“Impertinent pup,” Pazda wheezed. “What do you know of judgment or strategy, growing up as you have in wealth and privilege?”

“One thing I know, old Hutt, is that I will never lose my wealth and privilege,” Randa told him now.

“Enough of this,” the littered Hutt, Gardulla the Younger, chimed in, impaling Randa with his gaze. “Respect your elders—even when you don’t agree with them.” He ordered his muscular bearers to steer him closer to Borga, nodding in regard as he neared the chief Besadii’s levitated couch. “To deceive an enemy, pretend to fear him.”

The grin Borga had worn for Malik Carr and Nom Anor had been replaced by a look of narrow-eyed fury. “Better to have the Yuuzhan Vong overestimate our subservience than our shrewdness.”

Gardulla laughed without mirth. “You succeeded in tricking them into revealing their next targets.”

“As I promised you I would.”

“Such intelligence is potentially invaluable. Do we now inform the New Republic of the invaders’ designs?”

Borga shook her head. “New Republic Intelligence operatives have already been making overtures. Let us wait and see what they bring to the bargaining table.”

“It had better be an offer of great worth,” Randa said.

Gardulla ignored the comment. “No doubt the Yuuzhan Vong will expect us to reveal their plan.”

“No doubt,” Borga agreed. “That’s why we will make no move. The New Republic will have to come to us.”

She lowered the couch to the floor. “When Xim the Despot and his droid legions attempted to invade Hutt space, the great Kossak defeated them at Vontor and sent them fleeing for the Tion Hegemony. And when Moff Sarn Shild attempted to blockade Nal Hutta and destroy our moon, the great clans set aside their differences to manipulate weak Imperials and send their forces fleeing, as well.”

She paused to glance in turn at Pazda, Randa, and Gardulla the Younger. “We have weathered many storms, and we will weather this one, as well. With care, we can play the New Republic against the invaders for the betterment of the Hutts.”

“And we won’t need a bungled Death Star to do it,”Pazda muttered, in reference to Durga’s failed Darksaber Project.

Borga glowered at him. “Insult my family again, and this court will no longer be available to you.”

Pazda mustered a chastised look. “Excuse the grumbling that comes with advanced age, Your Highness.”

Gardulla shook with sinister laughter. “As my parent used to say, ‘There’s always enough to divide—enough to keep, enough to spread around, enough to be stolen