Loic Monerat & The Lizard Brain Spice Smuggling Syndicate, Chris Herron, Greg Provan [drm ebook reader txt] 📗

as ferocious and terrifying as the Trandoshan, but the majordomo seemed unruffled by the burly bounty hunter.

 

‘I must sleep,’ Bossk informed the Chiss in a husky whisper, ‘I will arise when we exit hyperspace, hit the alarm if you need to wake me for anything.’ Maax just nodded curtly and continued his manicure. ‘Keep an eye on this one,’ croaked Bossk, with a flick of his forked tongue. And with that, the coldblooded reptile slunk off to his heatmat and basking lamp, to get some rest and restore his body temperature to its comfortable setting.

 

After some time, and once he was satisfied that they would not be disturbed, the Chiss stood up from his stool, and, looking at Loic for the first time since they boarded the ship, he approached the bars. ‘You’re a pickpocket,’ he whispered through the green, shimmering vibrobars, ‘so you must have a secret pocket of some sort, one that is undetectable by a simple patdown, correct?’ Loic just observed the blue alien angrily and suspiciously through slit eyes and said nothing.

 

‘Nevermind, I assume the answer is yes, do you still have the laser-cutter you used on the bars at the palace?’ Loic’s heart sank sorrowfully, the Chiss somehow not only knew about his safepocket but also about its fucking contents. The laser-cutter was useless against vibrobars, but it would serve to reopen Loic’s surgical wound and remove the bomb. Being a multifunctional medi-tool it would also serve to cauterise the wound and replace the stitching, so nobody was any-the-wiser. He had only been waiting for a moment of privacy to implement the first steps of his plan, but some-fucking-how this blueskinned bastard was a few steps ahead of him!

 

‘Just kill me,’ whined Loic, ‘I’m through trying, just end it now. Just fucking put a blastershot in my brain, please.’

 

‘Listen,’ said Maax, ignoring Loic’s despondent whimpers, ‘here’s what you’re going to do. Remove the detonator then stitch yourself back up. I’ll plant the device on this ship, when the bounty hunter is a safedistance away and he presses the remote-device to detonate the bomb designed to eliminate Okkra, he will detonate only himself. Meanwhile, I will rescue you from the Hutt lord. Understand? You just need to hold out till then, I know you’ve been through so much, but here is the light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel.’

 

‘Why,’ asked Loic, ‘why would you do this? I don’t understand.’

 

‘It pays to have friends in highplaces,’ replied the Chiss. Loic just fixed him with a puzzled expression. ‘His Royal Highness, The King, His Exalted Majesty,’ Loic still stared blankly, the Chiss sighed, ‘Jaster Durane of the House of Elgoid, of Sacred Csilla.’ Loic startled at this new information.

 

‘But… Jaster… He’s not…’

 

‘Blue? No. of course not, much like the accursed Sarkraa, he is an albino. The prophecies said a white-skinned, red-haired Chiss would be the mightiest ruler of his people that the Galaxy would ever see. But alas, the Chosen One absconded.’ He glanced at Loic who still looked bewildered. ‘Nevertheless, I am still bound in his service. He got a message to me some time ago, pre-empting your imprisonment at the hands of Sarkraa, he had me positioned there in her vile service, I’ve been through a lot to be here for you. But at last, here you are.’

 

A new hope burst forth in Loic’s battered chest cavity, beneath the gnawing pain that indicated he had a broken rib or two, a wonderful feeling of relief washed over him, as a way out of this sordid mess finally presented itself, and an escape plan began to formulate. The last-ditch attempt, the finale, do or die Loic, do or die.

 

Fuck.

 

The Hound’s Tooth, a beacon of agony, drenched in misery; for the enchanters of Sacred Csilla would oft say that a man leaves little pieces of himself wherever he travels, little echoes of his soul song that float off him like speckles of dust. Maax could sense these echoes, prickling the edges of his awareness like scurrying insects, unutterable, torturous, soul-jarring vibes, forever encased in this monstrous ship. The cargo hold was void of comfort, but there was a small viewport on one wall. Maax gazed into the nacreous chaos flux of hyperspace, an iridescent veil masking the nebulous infinity of the void. When he was a youngster, his biggest fear was space itself. The enormity of the universe was wondrously petrifying. With horror he imagined floating in space, disembodied, being driven mad by the vastness, the opposite of claustrophobia.

 

The smuggler was curled in his wretched little cell, unconscious, his sweaty face milk-white. The removal of the detonator from his insides was an unwelcome, gruesome, and delicate task, but it was done, and the smuggler slept. The small man had endured much. What madness had driven him to try and assassinate Okkra? The act of a desperate man, a man so twisted and narcotized to have shattered his eggshell-grip on reality. A man who became lost to all but danger, deceit, and despair. To the damned, tumbling into the seductive abyss of spice addiction was as irresistible as an ardent lover’s velvet embrace. What had his rightful king seen in such a man to warrant such elaborately-designed rescue plans? Though, it was not his job to ponder the why, but rather only the execution of those plans.

 

Maax – of course not his real name – had infiltrated Sarkraa’s palace with ease. He undermined the previous majordomo at every turn while cementing his importance in Sarkraa’s circle. When his predecessor had been fed to the Nexu, Maax had been the only choice to fill the vacuum. It was an unusual assignment to be sure. Maax had infiltrated institutions which dwarf back-water spice-syndicates, from governments hellbent on bloody internecinal civil wars, to corrupt bureaucracies, and even the galactic Empire itself. He was a spy, shock troop, diplomat, assassin, saboteur, ghost… whatever he needed to be. And what he needed to be now, was patient.

 

The Chiss were the galaxy’s hidden hand, working from the shadows, their aims shrouded from outsiders, forever weaving intricate, delicate webs of intrigue and subterfuge. There was no potential gain to seeing what else the ship had to offer, only the likelihood of a torture chamber and the singularly terrifying prospect of Bossk finding him snooping around. Maax had been trained to master and mask fear, he had braved peril many times and faced long odds alone on alien worlds, but he knew the Trandoshan would make a peculiarly formidable foe.

 

Bossk was intelligent for his species, possessing a serpentine cunning, utterly ruthless, skilled in battle, physically indomitable. Bounty hunters were a-dime-a-dozen the galaxy over, only a scant percentage of them were decent hunters, fewer still were top tier. Bossk made the cut and more, he was uncommonly successful among the uncommonly successful. His reputation was fearsome and legendary.

 

That was why Okkra had to know Bossk had collected the bounty on Loic Monerat, Bossk always collected. He had blasted his way past a host of Okkra’s henchmen specifically to collect that bounty. The Hutt would then want to know why Sarkraa had not killed the smuggler. It was Maax’s job to convince him that she was gifting Loic to him as a gesture of goodwill – to highlight that the smuggler’s failed assassination attempt was not sanctioned. As majordomo, Maax’s presence would lend weight to this claim. He would assuage Okkra with words of peace, of desire for uninterrupted business, and Okkra would listen. Why? Because he would want to believe. He knew Sarkraa had more muscle behind her, more ships, but prolonged strife between them would benefit neither. Profits would disintegrate, mercenaries would flit from one camp to the other, or disappear altogether seeking easier-gotten spoils. He would throw in some fanciful talk of fruitful joint criminal ventures to come, and greed would sway Okkra’s spice-addled mind.

 

Getting Loic into the palace would be easy, getting him out was another matter. And moreover, there was the Bossk situation. Not even Maax was allowed into the private antechamber in Sarkraa’s palace as she had haggled with Bossk. The increased bounty the Trandoshan had demanded had been the easiest thing to cede, but why had Bossk allowed Sarkraa to corrupt his mind until it eventually unravelled. They both wanted Okkra dead! If the incendiary device failed to kill him, Bossk was the backup plan. Who knew what exorbitant rate they had agreed on for Okkra’s murder? Afterwards, Maax counselled Sarkraa that he was better carrying out the mission alone - that Bossk was too much of a wildcard - but she had insisted, stubbornly and foolishly. For there was, of course, the small matter of Bossk and Okkra’s recent enmity.

 

The likelihood of the whole situation descending into bedlam was an itchy trigger finger away. Bossk was to pretend to be there to end hostilities, a peace offering, accompanied by Sarkraa’s own majordomo, to vouchsafe for an end to the madness the smuggler had caused. It was conceivable, Bossk was a valuable asset to both Hutt crime syndicates and a seasoned-killer like him going rogue was no good for anyone. Bossk too would benefit, for he could get back to working for Okkra again. On the surface Okkra would not see anything too out of the ordinary. Fallouts and feuds between such villains were commonplace, usually Okkra would just hire killers, but few would be daring enough to hunt Bossk. And if Okkra was actively seeking Bossk’s death who is to say the Trandoshan would not eliminate him first? Some bounty hunters were simply too damned dangerous. It was delicately poised.

 

Why the hell Bossk was wanting to go the palace at all was the biggest source of consternation for the Chiss. Why risk it? The detonator could be activated from the safety of the Hound’s Tooth. Maax had - more than once - offered to go alone, drop the smuggler in Okkra’s clutches, and return to give the signal to Bossk. The stubborn brute had always refused, saying he wanted to look in Okkra’s eyes. It did not make sense.

Ultimately, Maax just had to rescue Loic, but Bossk would be watching him closely. Maax had acted offended when Bossk had not permitted him to bring weapons onto the Hound’s Tooth, ‘you’re coming to talk, not fight,’ the bounty hunter had said. Maxx’s protestations were cut short by a menacing snarl. And so it was, his mission grew more convoluted at each turn. He hoped the smuggler was worth it.

 

Loic slowly returned to consciousness, voices muffled by his drowsiness became clearer and much more frightful as his wits returned. Bossk and the Chiss were arguing in the cargo hold – about him no less. ‘We can’t allow him to talk,’ Bossk hissed.

‘I will not see you rip out his tongue,’ Maax said.

 

‘Why? He could give us up at any moment. He has nothing to lose?’

 

‘Okkra will want to hear his screams. A mute man, well, there is little fun in that.’

 

‘Stand aside,’ Bossk warned, ‘I’ll tear it out myself.’ The Trandoshan loomed over the Chiss threateningly. Violence was imminent. The Chiss stood his ground looking into Bossk’s saffron eyes.

 

‘This is your ship, bounty hunter. But it is not your mission. It is Sarkraa’s. I am Sarkraa’s voice. I am majordomo. I will not have this wretch tongueless – Okkra is not the fool you take him for, he will sense something amiss. I will not risk it. There must be another way, gag him if you must, or mask him.’ It was a bold gamble on the Chiss’s part. Bossk could break his neck like a toothpick, but the bluster paid off.

 

‘So be it,’ Bossk relented, ‘we will be landing soon. A hangar has been assigned to us.’ Bossk moved to return to the cockpit.

 

‘Yes, Sarkraa has sent word. We will be received and taken to the palace. Though I still do not know why you wish to attend? You are better remaining in the ship. Okkra may still harbour ill-feeling, you said so yourself. I will return once