Star Wars - Kenobi

operation is goodwill. I’ve worked twenty-odd years to build it. If your thugs start showing up, I lose that.”
    “Indeed?”
    “You bet,” Orrin said. “People will start to measure the water coming out of Gault drums, to see if I’m shorting them.”
    Mosep rose from the desk and began pacing. “It’s too late for such concerns. You comprehend that, Orrin—you’re a good businessman. Or you were one. You know we can’t let this continue.”
    Orrin looked around, wary of any movement. “Look, this year’s harvest is going to be big. Real big. It’s taken a while to get the new vaporators set up right, but it’s about to turn around—”
    “I don’t understand much about agriculture, I’m afraid,” the accountant said. “But I know arithmetic. Even if we kept to the payment plan you were on, I don’t see any way you could make poor Jabba whole again. Not even,” he added, “if you tap your other resources.”
    The comment threw Orrin. “Other resources? What are you talking about?”
    Mosep tapped the datapad and smiled knowingly. “Pretty clever, what you boys are doing out there. Even if Jabba thought of it first, more than a decade ago.”
    “I don’t know what you’re—”
    “Fine. Play innocent.” Mosep pitched the datapad to the desk, where it disturbed the credit stacks. “I guess it’s so easy, anyone can do it. Though this year’s Tuskens aren’t much for fighting back.”
    Another ruckus from above. Orrin shook his head, trying to register everything. “Wait. Did you say you were going to change the payment plan?”
    “Yes,” Mosep said. “You might say that we want out.” He fingered his vest buttons. “Double your usual payment for tomorrow—and the full balance in two weeks.”
    Two weeks? Orrin gulped. Even the first condition was impossible. “I’ve tried to keep up. You’ve seen it! It’s just this last couple of payments that have been short. Why now?”
    Mosep grinned. “I thought you wanted it to be over.”
    “It’ll never be over,” Orrin said, enraged. “I know you people! You get your claws into someone and you never let go!”
    “In another time,” Mosep said, “we’d be perfectly happy to have … a long-term engagement with your business. We find you to be rather inventive, for a rural. But the truth is Jabba is in need of cash, now, not investments.”
    “In need of—” Orrin looked around. Apart from the macabre mess of a ceiling, the rest of the room stank of money, right down to the finely woven tapestry hanging behind the platform depicting a scene from Hutt history. “You seem to be doing pretty well!”
    Mosep looked at the credits on the desk and chuckled. “No, Jabba needs quite a bit more. It’s this Galactic Empire the Republic became. It’s quite the change. Until we see how it’ll deal with the Hutts, Jabba wants as much cash on hand as possible.”
    “To bribe the new people, you mean!”
    “Or whatever is necessary. No business likes uncertainty.” Mosep looked at his pocket chrono. “So, twenty-four hours for the penultimate payment, shall we say?”
    Orrin slouched, feeling the weight of the galaxy. He stammered. “I—I have some plans. I can get it. But I might need more time. If you could take a little less tomorrow—”
    In the center of the room, Mosep snapped his fingers, suddenly reminded. “Yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten about that. We’ve taken a little less already, these last three payments. It’s why we sent you Bojo.” He looked to the guards. “Well, as you’ve done us the convenience of coming here, you can be punished for that right away.”
    Orrin dropped his hat. “What?”
    “Smash his hands,” Jorrk said, cackling. “He won’t need that swank drivey-drivey anymore.”
    “Naw,” Boopa said, slapping the Klatooinian in the chest with the back of his hand. “Smash his legs. He spends time in that store. Everything he needs is just a crawl away.”
    “No, no, no!” Mosep shook his head vigorously, his face disappearing in a blur of whiskers. “This gentlebeing still has a day to find payment. We can’t allow punitive measures, however just, to impede his mobility.” Mosep looked Orrin over. “We’ll give him an hour with the nerve disruptor in the basement. Sir, what shape is your heart in?”
    Orrin’s eyes bulged. “I—I—”
    “I suppose we’ll find out,” Mosep said, nodding to the guards. “One for the show, please.” Then he beckoned toward the