Chapter Eight

Skeet ran his hand over the fuselage of his speederbike as he checked it over. The shell had been roughly plasma-welded back to almost its original shape, its engine rebuilt and its components replaced. Kirrich had obviously done a very quick job of repairing it whilst Skeet was out celebrating so that he could get it down to the warehouse where it would be shipped off-planet.

Although the work had been rushed it was admirable. Skeet strangely found himself thanking the Tuffutian for the work, especially now that he had the speeder back. It would probably only take him a few hours to get the vehicle back up to racing specifications.

Brey sat watching, his face downcast and a half-empty bottle of a beverage Skeet had turned his nose up at in his hand. Skeet looked over at him as he sighed.

   “You drink too much, Bay,” he said.

   “Yeah,” Brey stood up and sauntered over, “and you’ve got a real problem remembering people’s names.”

Skeet picked up a flask of water and took a gulp. He offered it to Brey who waved it away and took a shot of his bottle. Skeet looked at him in confusion.

   “Okay, what’s wrong?”

Brey leaned against the speederbike and Skeet took hold of his lapel and pulled him off it.

   “Eilen told the Newsnet of the bike thief arrests, hoping to get the attention so that other potential stealers get the message.”

   “And?”

   “Skeet, that warehouse was owned by a Hutt! She kind of mentioned my name and yours to get across the help she’s getting off the locals and to let the masses know of you’re one in a million shot.”

He remembered that shot and the several nods of approval he received off some of the other officers and with a small smile Skeet turned back to his vehicle.

   “Well, it appears my fame is spreading further. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of attention...”

   “Aren’t you listening, Jonas? The warehouse was owned by a Hutt! That kind of attention I don’t want. He’s gonna be annoyed. Very, very annoyed.”

   “What, and you think he’ll get mad at us?”

   “Oh, yeah. We were there, and he’ll find it easier to make an example of us than anyone in the constabulary. You don’t know Hutts...”

Skeet looked at Brey with a lop-sided gaze.

   “Bay, I’m from Tatooine. I know quite a lot about those gangsters, thank you very much. Look, I couldn’t let them take my bike. It’s my livelihood. My life. What, don’t you think I thought about that when you mentioned it before? I did and it made little difference. Besides, we’ve got the attention of everyone now. If something happens to us everyone’ll guess he had something to do with it and even I know that Hutts aren’t that stupid. By the time he formulates revenge I’ll be long gone from here.”

With a heavy thump Brey dropped to the floor, re-sealing the bottle and tucking it away in his jacket pocket.

   “Why, where are you going?”

Skeet knew that Brey wasn’t going to like what he heard.

   “I’m going to try and get into the Tatooine Ten Thousand.”

   “Ooh, no,” Brey stood again and took a step towards Skeet, waving his finger. “It’s invitation only. You’ve got to win a certain amount of races around the Mid-Rim and get noticed before you’re approached. There’s no way you’re getting into it.”

   “What, you think I’m not good enough? Bay, there’s always a way. I know some people on Tatooine, it can’t be that hard.”

   “But no one’s supposed to know about it. You don’t have a vehicle good enough to make it and if you go there they’ll want to know how you found out. If it’s traced back to me then I’m out, too. I’ve been racing far too long and trying far too hard to get disqualified now. I’m not going to wait another five years for the next race. Forget it.” With a slashing motion of his hand Brey indicated that the conversation was over and that Skeet should leave the Ten Thousand out of his dreams for now.

There wasn’t much more Skeet could do to his speeder until he acquired the relevant parts and he started putting tools away. He decided not to say anything more about the race. But if Brey was right, that this Ten Thousand basically indicated who the best speeder racer in the galaxy was, then he knew he should at least try.

Actually, he thought, maybe the indication of the best racer in the galaxy is a little over the top. What’s the point in risking life and limb in a secret race if the promise of the title couldn’t be told to anyone else? He knew why Brey, why every other racer, was doing it. To prove to themselves that they could do it. The prize money was a huge incentive, of course, and the weapons were probably included for the sick entertainment of the Hutts, but nowhere else in the galaxy could racers come together for the ultimate challenge. Ten thousand kilometres over some of the most dangerous terrain any world had to offer.

He had to get in it. Convert his bike, somehow, make it last longer with lower fuel consumption, find a way to minimise degradation in the fusion coils over long distances, food for a couple of days, water packs...

   “What are you thinking about?” Brey inquired, noticing that Skeet was just stood still, his thoughts of the race causing him to stare at the wall blankly.

Skeet adjusted his composure and shrugged.

   “Nothing. Just what I need for the bike. Look, if I go to the spares and repairs on the central peak, do you think...” Skeet let the sentence trail away as a look of shock passed over his features.

   “What is it?” Brey asked.

   “Emag Retsam!” Skeet exclaimed. “It’s been hours since he asked to see me! What will he think?” He immediately started unbuttoning his dirty tunic and headed for the personal quarters at the back of the garage.

The two speederbikers walked from the garage and headed quickly down the side of the racetrack to the robohack ranks. The roar of the crowds and the screaming of racing speeders drifted over the high walls separating them from the racetrack and they ignored it as best they could. They knew of several upper class races of the day were going to be good and it took all their willpower to postpone the meeting with the governor even further to watch a few of the heart-stopping contests.

The robohacks were busy this morning, with many spectators coming and going from the track. They pushed past crowds of beings and finally got to the front of the queue, Brey raising a hand to summon one of the automated taxis. As the small open-topped speeder started to decelerate it braked sharply as another speeder cut in front of it.

Brey and Skeet jumped back and several other beings scurried away as the vehicle virtually slid sideways to park next to the two men. The hovering triple-engine speeder whined softly as the motors wound down, and the three occupants stared at the two men with narrowed eyes. Brey took Skeet’s arm and slowly started to back away.

The driver of the speeder, a huge muscular Barabel, revved the engine a couple of times to make sure the biker’s attention stayed on the vehicle. The Quarren in the back, a strange alien with a head that resembled an inverted squid, leaned over the side and gurgled something in their direction. The human occupant leaned over and adjusted his headscarf so that his harsh voice was audible over the other noises.

   “Get in the speeder,” he instructed.

Skeet looked at him with surprise.

   “Why?”

   “Komag the Hutt wants to see you.” He adjusted his lower robes to reveal a blaster pistol tucked neatly away in his belt. The Quarren did the same but with a little less subtlety and other beings by the scene gave startled exclamations and moved further away.

Brey and Skeet looked at each other and then slowly climbed into the vehicle. They knew better than to start a problem, especially when the adversaries they were facing were armed and they complied with slow movements and made sure their hands were visible at the human’s instruction.

   “What’s going on?” Brey asked.

   “I’ll leave that for Komag to explain,” the human replied and tucked his hand into his robes, giving the impression that he had his hand on his weapon. Skeet looked at Brey nervously and Brey returned the look with equal feeling.

The speeder shot off at illegal speeds down the lanes and entered the base of the central mountain, coursing down the tunnels and then up several ramps to the higher areas of the peak. The shops and buildings passed unnoticed by the occupants as they all continually watched each other. Finally the vehicle came to a stop outside a large gambling emporium, with huge holographic signs denoting the place as Komag’s Betting Syndicate, in huge wobbling blue letters spelled out in Huttese. The place was single storied but still huge with massive double plastiglass doors that continually opened and closed to admit a multitude of individuals.

As they all climbed off the vehicle it seemed as though they were going to go straight in through the double doors to the loud noises and the gathered voices within, but the human indicated they should head for a side door that was tucked neatly away down a small alleyway to the side of the main building. They passed through, down a long winding staircase until their were no windows to give a decent view of the outside and then to a large blast door guarded by another Barabel which seemed almost the identical twin of the one that had been driving the speeder. He nodded to the human and opened the door for them all.

The first thing that assailed both Skeet and Brey’s senses was the closeness of the large converted storage basement they entered. It was filled with smoke and moisture, giving them an incredibly claustrophobic feel especially with the lack of windows. Artificial light from the roughly raftered ceiling gave the room a stark white appearance. Only the Hutt ahead and the guards behind occupied the room.

Komag the Hutt rumbled as the men were motioned to approach the floating sled he was laid upon. He faced the two directly, his long tapering tail stretched out behind him and his large arms hanging loosely, seemingly useless, over a huge pile of cushions that helped support his sluggish form. He narrowed his eyes and his eye-slits widened as they approached.

A ‘droid, a floating polyhedron the size of a man’s torso and equipped with several aerials and appendages that protruded from the surface like needles, zipped out of the shadows to hover in front of Skeet and Brey. It beeped and squealed as it observed them

Komag rumbled, his voice low and humourless as he communicated what was obviously displeasure. Skeet, able to speak Huttese quite fluently, tried to capture the Hutt’s words but was confused by the peculiar dialect. The ‘droid translated.

   “His Excellency would like to welcome you to his apartments but he feels the circumstances are too grave to offer any kind of hospitality.”

Skeet cleared his throat, not wanting to reply in Huttese as his own dialect may have angered the Hutt even more.

   “Tell your master we understand his anger but wish to know what this is all about.” Skeet knew that being formal was the best way to speak to a Hutt. Besides, this was no time to get annoyed or start making demands.

After a long sentence from the Hutt the ‘droid spun back to face Skeet.

   “Komag is most upset at his loss of profits after his warehouse was raided by the constabulary. He holds you both responsible and wishes to hand you this bill for his inconvenience.” A small beam of blue light shot from the ‘droid’s lower body and expanded to reveal a holographic datapad.

Brey looked at the pad, as did Skeet, and their eyes widened and their mouths hung open. They had been charged for the loss of the warehouse, the ship, the employees, and even charged for the hiring of the beings and speeder used to bring them to the Hutt’s basement.

   “Where the freck are we supposed to get those kind of credits?” Brey exclaimed, not able to grasp the six figure number that hovered in front of him. Skeet placed a calming hand on his arm and shook his head. He looked directly at the Hutt.

   “His Excellency must understand that we were only acting to retrieve stolen property. If we had known the thieves were working for him...”

The ‘droid cut him off with a sharp whistle.

   “The bill has not been presented so that you could negotiate. That is what you will be charged for the incident.”

Brey shook his head looked down at the floor.

   “We’re done for,” he whispered and looked at Skeet with desperation. “We’re done for.”

   “There is, however, one way out of this situation,” the ‘droid said, capturing the racer’s attention. “His Excellency requires a starship to collect a cargo from a vessel orbiting this world. The cargo is very important to him and he will gladly wipe the debt if you supply a ship to make the pickup.”

Skeet shrugged and looked at a loss. “A ship...?”

   “The Happy Contriver, Brey Yard’s vessel which is docked on level five, bay seven. This ship will be sufficient to collect the merchandise.”

Skeet looked over at Brey who he could tell was perplexed at the offer but also thinking it over. If the could make one simple trip, pick up this cargo and get it back to the Hutt then they would have no problems. Skeet twinged inwardly, feeling responsible for Brey’s decision that he would have to make because of a situation that he created, but before he could say anything to his friend or the Hutt, Brey said,

   “Very well. Surface to orbit and back can’t be that difficult. I’ll do it.”

   “You will both do it to pay off this debt.”

   “What do we have to do?” Skeet asked.

Komag rumbled again, strangely quiet for a Hutt and Skeet wondered at the possibility of some kind of injury to the being. That would certainly explain his strange position, as if he was waiting for a back massage.

   “You will take off immediately and dock with the Imperial Star Destroyer Malevolent which is currently orbiting the planet. I will supply you with docking clearance supplied by the Imperials.”

Brey groaned. Skeet sighed heavily, and they both looked at each other with worried expressions.

   “Why didn’t we say ‘no’?” Brey whispered.