Slave Ship

6

"Here is the report, Your Excellency."

Slouched in the form-chair in his private quarters, Prince Xizor extended his hand and took the single sheet of flimsiplast that the bowing lackey offered to him. The lackey tucked the silver tray under his arm and withdrew, still bowing. The creature's existence was already banished from the Falleen prince's mind, even before the tall, ornately worked doors closed once more.

Xizor preferred solitude in moments such as this. Not so much to maintain secrecy-the throne room was surrounded by minions who were, out of fear or loyalty, as dedicated to the Black Sun organization as he was-but to have the course of his thoughts undisturbed by the clatter of other creatures' words. Those from different planets and genetics-they were for amusement or profit. Xizor had had ample reason to congratulate himself in the past, for having found ways of combining those goals. Falleen pheromones had a powerful effect on the female members of most of the galaxy's sentient species-and enough of those were sufficiently satisfying to Xizor's tastes that he could pleasure himself with these easy conquests. If at the same time, he could advance his own and Black Sun's agenda by overpowering a high-ranking female diplomat or envoy, either from the old Republic or this new upstart Rebel Alliance, then so much the better. But when everything he wished had been accomplished, the same cold smile would cross the sharp-edged angles of his face, the deep violet of his reptilian eyes vanishing behind mocking slits, as with a simple gesture of farewell he would make it clear that the female's desperate obsessions were no longer any concern of his. For a Falleen, sexual conquest was best savored in memory, like a trophy installed in the labyrinthian corridors fortressed inside his green-hued skull.

As cold-blooded as the reptilian Falleen physiology was, there actually was a hot-blooded element to their psyche. In this, the species was similar to the Trandoshans, however grossly ugly those creatures'

scaly and large-fanged appearance. By contrast to a Trandoshan, a Falleen such as Xizor exhibited a haughty, fine-boned elegance that was as much a factor in their legendary sexual prowess as the powerful pheromones exuded from their silk-grained skin. What the two species shared, though, was the speed with which their satiated appetites returned, as hungry as ever. For Trandoshans, hunger was centered in their gut; their brains, what there were of them, were servants to a basically primitive carnivore nature. To best an enemy was to eat him. We Falleens, thought Xizor, are a little more subtle than that. . .

The anticipation of his next pleasures would have to wait, there was more immediate business at hand. Words were already forming on the surface of the flimsiplast, darkening into legibility.

While a species characteristic, the exuded pheromones differed enough from one individual Falleen to the next that they could function as a coded trigger for security devices. The chemical reaction taking place in the fibers of the flimsi could only have been initiated by physical contact with Prince Xizor's fingertips. He raised the sheet in his hand, holding it at a comfortable distance from his gaze.

It was a report from one of his chief lieutenants in the Black Sun organization, the Kian'thar named Kreet'ah. Vigo Kreet'ah, to use the title of honor he had earned through his faithful service; always loyal, occasionally cunning, and often violent. Kreet'ah had some excellent sources of information planted throughout the galaxy; Kian'tharan family and liege relationships were so intricate-their reproductive processes required fertilized ova to be handed down through three generations of nonconsanguine affiliate clans before birth-that outsiders had little chance of sorting through all the levels of cousin and sibling status on the Kian'tharan home planet. At the same time, the entire species had deceptively honest faces, which made it easy for them to work their way into other sentient creatures' trust. As had more than one of Kreet'ah's sub-a kin, inside the various widespread financial institutions that serviced the galaxy's less-than-savory business enterprises. Those businesses included the arachnoid assembler Kud'ar Mub'at's activities as a go-between for bounty hunters and their clients. Kreet'ah's agents reported to him on a regular basis, about every significant piece of information that came past their multilensed eyes.

This particular datum was one for which Prince Xizor had been waiting. He had specifically ordered the information to be determined by Kreet'ah's sources. It pleased him to know what other sentient creatures were up to, especially when the data was stolen right from beneath their noses, if they had them.

BOTH REMAINING FACTIONS OF BOUNTY HUNTERS

GUILD IN COMMUNICATION WITH KUD'AR MUB'AT

Xizor appreciated brevity and conciseness in such reports.

OTONDON OF TRUE GUILD AND BOSSK OF GUILD REFORM COMMITTEE SIGHTED

ABOARD WEB.

How intriguing, thought Prince Xizor. Not that the news surprised him. More than anything, it confirmed both the excellence of his own plans and his ability to predict just what the other players in this game would do. All that was left was for him to decide his own next move.

Only a few seconds had passed from Xizor's examination of Vigo Kreet'ah's report to his complete understanding of all that it meant. The subtle pheromones exuded by his body had another effect on the keyed chemicals imbedded in the flimsiplast. All the words were suddenly hidden by a burst of flame, as the flimsi's fibers self-ignited. In a moment, the report was a rose flower of black ash, curling in Xizor's palm. The momentary heat was a trifle, barely a test of his rigorously maintained self-control; his martial training had inured him to pain much greater than this. Even before the flames had died, he crushed the remnants of the burning flimsi into a smear of dust inside his fist. The message it had contained was now safely extinguished from the universe.

Or almost gone. The words still resided in Prince Xizor's memory-and that of his trusted lieutenant, Vigo Kreet'ah. There was power in knowledge, especially the knowledge of secret things. Other creatures' secrets; and when the information was something that was of interest and importance to Emperor Palpatine, then the secret was very powerful indeed. A shame, mused Xizor, that it should be diminished by anyone else being a party to it. Secrets had finite energy; each sentient creature added to the knowledge diluted that strength. Even a Black Sun Vigo such as Kreet'ah, who supposedly had the organization's interests at heart just as much as his overlord did-Xizor would have to make a strategic decision about that. A personnel decision; granted, Kreet'ah's loyalty was proverbial inside the Black Sun ranks. . . but there were younger, up-and-coming foot soldiers who would welcome the chance at a promotion. If a vacancy at the top should some day appear. . .

Xizor brushed the vanished report's ashes from his hand; the black flakes drifted, almost weightless, against the folds of his cape. For another few seconds, he weighed Vigo Kreet'ah's existence in the delicately balanced scales of his thoughts-and made his decision. Kreet'ah would live, at least for a while longer. An underling's unswerving loyalty deserved some consideration, after all-at least enough to purchase someone like Kreet'ah a little more life and breathing space.

Besides, there were other matters to think about, even just in connection with what Kreet'ah's report had told him. The lids of Xizor's violet eyes drew down to mere slits as he turned the datum over in his mind, as though he were examining every facet of a rare but toxic gem. In his own private vaults, separate from Black Sun's treasure-laden coffers, were inert-metal cylinders that safely held inside the rarest of green diamonds. There were other gemstones in the galaxy that were even rarer, more valuable, and more beautiful-a diamond, after all, was nothing more than carbon. But to hold one of these on the palm of one's hand for even thirty seconds was to receive a lethal dose of radioactive emissions. That was what made them so precious in Xizor's estimation.

On a few occasions, he had bestowed one as a gift upon one of his mistresses, when the affair had been over in his mind but not in hers. At a safe distance, of course-the tiny box would be sent by an expendable messenger, who would also perform the service of hanging the gem on its platinite chain around the female's elegantly formed neck. And then, at the appropriate time, a more valuable Black Sun member, a stealth-burglar with expertise in hazardous materials, would fetch the green diamond back, when it had done its task of creating such a beautiful corpse.

It had occurred to Prince Xizor that some types of valuable knowledge were exactly like those toxic gems in his collection. Much to be desired, and with their undeniable uses-but sometimes deadly to those who held them. A truism throughout the galaxy: corpses were the best sharers of secrets.

Xizor nodded slowly to himself, his hands nervelessly still upon the arms of the form-chair. There was a risk to himself that came with such valuable knowledge. Emperor Palpatine still seemed to be unaware that one of his own most trusted lieutenants was also overlord of the galaxy's supreme criminal organization-even though Lord Vader had voiced his own suspicions in that regard to the Emperor, and more than once. But Palpatine must know, brooded Xizor. It was impossible to believe that the Emperor, with his near omniscience about everything that happened in the galaxy, would not know something like that. So, thought Xizor, he must have his own reasons for wanting it to appear otherwise. Emperor Palpatine was a master of subtle strategy; perhaps it suited his purposes to allow Black Sun a free hand for the time being. If Palpatine were to make a move against the criminal organization at a time like this, he would find himself in that worst of all possible military and political situations, a two-front war; even the Empire, with all its resources, could find itself grievously stretched by combating the Rebel Alliance and Black Sun simultaneously. And Palpatine could not eliminate Prince Xizor from his court and at least the appearance of his confidences without triggering hostilities with Black Sun.

Obviously, for Emperor Palpatine it would be better to leave Xizor untouched-for now. But Xizor was not such a fool as to think himself thereby immune from all danger. Any indiscretions on his part-if the galaxy at large were to learn of his being the head of Black Sun-and the Emperor's hand would be forced, no matter what the cost. Palpatine's control over his dominions was not yet so strong that he could risk the Empire appearing to have traitors at its very heart.

He knows, thought Xizor, but others don't. That was the important thing. It was not for the sake of deceiving Palpatine, but for maintaining the galaxy's ignorance, that it was crucial no connection could be made between Vigo Kreet'ah's network of spies and the ultimate recipient of their information, Prince Xizor himself.

If the trail of data could be determined, from Kreet'ah's sources, then to the Black Sun organizationthen it would be very difficult to avoid having the connection made, even without any hard evidence, between Black Sun and Xizor himself. The Emperor might ignore it, as he had ignored other evidence before. But others-such as the Rebel Alliance-might not. And that might be the point when Emperor Palpatine would finally act, with swift and fatal results.

There were more difficulties involved in keeping these matters secret, Xizor knew, than just keeping his own silence. A link in the chain leading to him had to be destroyed, vaporized as if struck with a blaster bolt. He had already decided that Kreet'ah was still worth more to him alive than dead. So some other link would have to be eliminated. Kreet'ah himself could

take care of that; a Black Sun Vigo could easily arrange for the sudden disappearance of a few of his own information sources. Then it would just be a matter of Kreet'ah rebuilding his network of spies inside the Rebel Alliance, with a few more barriers between them and Black Sun-troublesome, but not impossible.

Xizor had already made a mental note as to what instructions he would give to Kreet'ah. He expected no objection from the Kian'tharan; it was more a matter of standard operating procedure than anything else. Standard. . . and familiar. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. Even, thought Xizor to himself, somewhat enjoyable.

That was his one regret about sparing Kreet'ah's life. Now he wouldn't have the pleasure of taking it.