As heir to the Royal Throne of Hapes, Tenel Ka had faced trained assassins, as had her father, Prince Isolder, before her. If she could do that, surely she could handle a little spaceport cantina.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the arm he offered. “I am ready now.”
Luke slid a pass chit into a small slot in the door. “Let’s try to keep a low profile.” The door slid open.
The first thing that caught Tenel Ka’s eye when she stepped through the door was the insectoid bartender, Shanko, who stood over three meters high.
The room was filled with indescribable odors she could not begin to identify—not actually pleasant, but not quite offensive either. Particulates hung in the air from a multitude of burning objects: pipes, candles, incense, chunks of peat in blazing bog-pits, even clothing or fur from the occasional customer who got too close to one of the fires.
Without speaking, Luke gestured with his chin toward the bar. Even if he had spoken aloud, Tenel Ka could not have heard him above the noise of at least half a dozen different bands playing hit tunes from as many different systems.
Fortunately, they had decided before entering where they should start their inquiries. Knowing that on Randon the female ward-cousin was highly honored—mainly for her potential inheritance—and was always served first, Tenel Ka stepped up to the bar to place her order.
“Welcome travelersssss,” Shanko said, folding three pairs of multijointed arms and bowing until his antennaed head nearly touched the bar.
“Your hospitality is as welcome as the prospect of refreshment,” Tenel Ka replied.
“Sssso, you have been well ssschooled,” Shanko said. “Are you perhapsss a sssscholar? A diplomat?”
“She is my ward-cousin,” Luke put in smoothly.
“Then it iss indeed an honor to ssserve you,” Shanko said, raising himself to his full three-meter height.
“I would like a Random Yellow Plague,” Tenel Ka said without hesitation. “Chilled. Make it a double.”
“And I would like a Remote Terminator,” Luke said.
The covering membranes of the bartenders multifaceted eyes nictated twice in surprise. “Not often requesssted. A ssstrong drink, iss it not?” He seemed flustered for a moment, then made a gurgling buzz deep in his thorax that Tenel Ka could only interpret as a laugh. “Will that be preprogrammed or randomizzzed?”
“Randomized, of course,” Luke replied.
“Ah, a rissssk taker,” Shanko said, tapping two forelegs on the bartop in approval.
Then his arms became a blur of motion as he pulled levers and pushed buttons, filling cups and vials, mixing their drinks in less time than it had taken to order them.
“There is no profit without risk,” Luke said, accepting his drink from one of Shanko’s many hands.
Tenel Ka leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We seek information,” she said, drawing out a small string of Corusca gems that she had kept hidden under the rough material of her robe until then.
Shanko nodded in understanding. “We have the finessst information brokerss in the Sssector. There iss even a Hutt.” He gestured toward an area to the right of the bar. “If you do not find what you ssseek here,” he said with obvious pride, “it isss not to be found on Borgo Prime.”
They thanked Shanko and headed in the direction he had indicated. The music of the bands faded slightly as they pushed into the milling throng of patrons, each imbibing its favorite form of refreshment. The crowd was so thick, Tenel Ka could not see where they were going.
Beside her, Luke paused and closed his eyes. “A Hutt information broker, huh?” he mused aloud. “They’re the best you can get.”
Tenel Ka felt a slight tingle as she watched him reach out with the Force to touch the minds around him, searching. She searched, too, but with her gray eyes open. A quick glance revealed nothing of interest. She looked up the open center of the hive’s cone and at the curving stairways that climbed its ridged sides, which—judging from the signs on the walls—led to gambling rooms and lodgings.
Luke opened his eyes. “Okay, I have him.” He took Tenel Ka’s arm and pushed his way through the crowd. They passed a bank of stim lights, where a cluster of photosensitive customers wriggled and bounded to silent strobing “music.”
They found the Huttese information broker ensconced behind a low table near the wall of the hive. A small Ranat with gray-brown fur stood at the Hutt’s elbow, whiskers twitching. The Hutt was thin by Huttese standards and could not have had much status on his homeworld. Perhaps that was why he did business on Borgo Prime, Tenel Ka thought.
“We have come for information, and we are prepared to pay for it,” Luke said without preamble.
The Hutt picked up a small datapad that lay on the table in front of him and punched a few buttons.
“What are your names?” he asked.
“What is your name?” Tenel Ka asked, raising her chin slightly.
The Hutt’s eyes narrowed to slits, and Tenel Ka had the impression that the broker was revising his opinion of them. “Of course,” he said. “Such things are unimportant.”
Luke shrugged. “And all information has its price.”
“Of course,” the Hutt repeated. “Please sit down and tell me what you need.”
Luke sat on a repulsorbench, adjusted the height, and motioned for Tenel Ka to sit beside him, next to a planter holding a tall, leafy shrub. Luke took a long gulp from the drink in his hand, but when Tenel Ka raised her cup to her lips, he sent her a warning look. When the Hutt bent to confer with his Ranat assistant for a moment, Luke took the opportunity to whisper, “That drink could knock you from here to the Outer Rim.”
“Ah,” Tenel Ka said. “Aha.” She set the drink down with a small thunk.
When the Ranat scurried off on whatever business the Hutt had assigned it, Luke and Tenel Ka began telling their fictional tale, carefully offering only as much information as they thought was needed.
As they rambled on, taking turns embellishing the details, the other patrons in the hive supplied the usual chaos of a busy, seedy bar. Several different blaster battles rang out from dim areas, while huge armored bouncer droids trundled in to bash heads together and eject any customers who did not pay for the messes they made.
A group of smugglers played a reckless game of rocket darts, missing the prominent target on the wall and launching one of the small flaming missiles into the side of a fluffy, white-furred Talz. The creature roared in pain and surprise as his fur ignited, then took out his misery on the drunken Ithorian sitting next to him.
Large customers tried to eat smaller customers, and the bands kept playing, and Shanko kept mixing drinks. The Hutt information broker was distracted by none of it.
As they spoke, Luke continued to sip his drink and Tenel Ka cast about for a way to dispose of hers. When the Ranat returned and conferred again with the Hutt, Tenel Ka reached over to the planter beside her chair and dumped half of her drink into it.
It was only after the stalk began to shudder violently and the leaves curled up that Tenel Ka realized that the shrub was not a decoration but a plant-alien customer! She whispered an apology and turned back just as the Ranat hurried off with the Hutt’s datapad and a new assignment.
The Ranat came back in a moment, followed by a heavily bearded man who walked with a limp.
“This Ranat here said ‘no names’ and that’s fine with me,” the bearded man said, sitting down at the table. “Ranat tells me yer in the market for an industrial-grade Corusca gem? Ain’t no one else can arrange that fer ya. Industrial-grade gems … sooner er later they hafta come through me.”
“Are you the purchasing agent, then?” Tenel Ka said without thinking.
The bearded man snorted. “How ’bout we jes say I’m a middleman.”