Star Wars - Kenobi

toward the durasteel doors of the town house. It was an unassuming place—a pourstone blockhouse in the shadows of the Mos Eisley Inn, with a large dome to the left of the front entrance. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all. And while he had an escort, there were no guards outside the building. It didn’t make sense.
    Or maybe it did. Who’d be crazy enough to attack here ?
    Boopa pointed him to the main entrance. Orrin walked up the steps, ready for anything. He nearly fell back down them again when a black sensor orb jabbed out from an iris near the doorway.
    It spoke in Huttese, and then again in Basic. “Identification and purpose!”
    Orrin took a deep breath. “Orrin Gault.” He looked at his hands and flexed his fingers. “I have important business to discuss—with Jabba the Hutt!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
    HUMAN SWEAT DRIPPED ONTO finely carved ceramic tiles. Jabba’s foyer was as richly appointed as the building’s exterior was modest. Orrin wasn’t surprised. He’d heard Jabba kept a presence in Mos Eisley, apart from his mountain palace; the Hutt seemed to want to convey a benevolent paternal presence to the locals.
    There was nothing benevolent about the place, though. This was where the guards were, Orrin realized. Four more Gamorreans stood here, two at either side of the door, large poleaxes at their sides. They looked bored.
    Bojo Boopa and Jorrk followed Orrin in, blasters at their sides. As they marched Orrin left down a wide hallway, he again felt the empty space in his holster. Boopa had even taken his comlinks; Mullen and Veeka had no idea where he was.
    The audience chamber loomed ahead, behind a roll-away blast door. A silvery bipedal droid emerged and scanned Orrin’s body, confirming that he was unarmed. Orrin felt like everyone was watching. Why did they put people through this? Was this really necessary?
    The droid said in guttural tones, “Jabba will see you now.”
    Great suns, Orrin thought, pulse racing as he urged his feet to move. How did it come to this?
    He inhaled deeply and walked through the doors. In the center of the rotunda, atop the long wooden platform built for a Hutt’s power sled, Orrin beheld …
    … something else. In place of a sled, a small figure in a light green business suit huddled over a desk. The pink-and-brown creature punched numbers into a datapad. Credits of all colors sat stacked in orderly piles on the desktop. A squat safedroid wobbled on its wheels nearby, its maw open and ready to accept currency.
    Orrin didn’t recognize the desk worker’s species. He had an almost simian face, his cheeks accented by two straight, finely coiffed tufts of quill-like whiskers. Large, studious black eyes remained fixed on the calculations before him as he entered each new figure with zeal. And like the Gamorreans at the gate, he paid no mind to the new arrival.
    Jorrk shoved Orrin toward the center of the room. Behind, Orrin saw three more Gamorreans along the room’s perimeter—and Boopa, who placed Orrin’s comlinks and blaster on a small table.
    Orrin looked up into the dome above the room. Slivers of light from vents cut high in the bowl filtered down through heavy wire mesh netting, suspended meters above the floor. The metal web made no sense architecturally; the only break in the pattern was at the focal point of the dome, where a square mass sat over the center of the room. Orrin squinted. Was something up there?
    With a cautious last look at the guards, Orrin removed his hat and spoke. “I’m here.”
    “Indeed you are!” The being at the desk looked up and smiled toothily. “I like this human. Observant.”
    “They told me Jabba was here,” Orrin said, feeling some blood reentering his limbs. “Either they were wrong, or you’ve lost weight.”
    “Ha!” The suited alien slapped the desk for emphasis. “Observant, and with a sense of humor.” He set down his datapad and stood. “Yes, I like this! I want to be in business with such a person, I do!”
    “But who are you?”
    “Ah. Mosep Binneed, your humble servant,” the creature said, bowing. He was a full head shorter than Orrin. “I manage Jabba’s portfolio when he’s not here.”
    Clutching at the brim of his hat, Orrin shifted uncomfortably. “Boopa said this was Jabba’s place, so I assumed—”
    “His Immensity is a busy creature,” Mosep said, lifting a small tray of money. Like cleaning crumbs from a plate, he slid the credits into the safedroid’s innards.