It was a small, simple, but comfortable room with a pair of couches, a table, a liquor display, and a large holoscreen on the wall which was currently showing a Rancor fight on Nar Kreeta. Njon wasn't inside—as a rule, he always kept his guests waiting rather than the other way around—but there were a pair of guards, a Weequay and a Trandoshan, who searched Netan as a precaution for any weapons or communications devices. These would be confiscated from him, temporarily. As he waited for Njon, he was free to enjoy the entertainment and pour a drink for himself if he so desired, or for Kaylie if she was with him.

Some moments later, the Rancor fight on the holoscreen went blank and was quickly replaced by the smiling visage of Njon the Hutt. "Bo shuda, Netan," he said, his deep voice booming over the speakers in the lounge. Behind him, on the image, was a durasteel wall that appeared to belong to a starship of some sort; Netan might surmise that wherever the Hutt was, he was probably in space. "Welcome to Sriluur," he went on, "I'm sure you are eager to enjoy your stay, so let us proceed to business? I am told by our Toydarian friend that my people have begun work on your ships. I am not, how you say, a charitable being, as you know. So, what have you to offer me in exchange for my services?"

As long as it didn't backfire on Njon. The Hutt had seen a lot of impulsive, human ideologues like Netan and he was never comfortable doing business with them. Humans, Njon thought with scorn. Their adrenal glands were too large and their prefontal lobes too small. They lived for mere decades, but thought so highly of themselves. They were all the same, only some were sufferable and some weren't. He hadn't decided about Netan.

"Yes, we have an agreement," Njon said, a moment later, "With one more condition—your Strike Cruiser, the Injustice, belongs to me until you've finished your errands for us. I trust that this is agreeable? As we speak, our Toydarian friend has the vessel locked down in the port. Your crew, who I suspect is rather drunk on my free rum and brandy, have been told the locations of the finest prostitution and gambling establishments on Sriluur—the Injustice, I'm told, is quite empty now except for my men. The other ships are still yours, of course, and you'll have the Strike Cruiser returned to you when your work is completed to my satisfaction."

Another image appeared on the screen beside Njon, this one showing the Toydarian that Netan had met a moment ago. His demeanor was nowhere near as friendly as he had been before. "Mr. Anjiliac," he reported, "our maintenance people have powered down the reactor on the Injustice, disconnected its drive motivator, and the—"

The Hutt's brow furrowed. It was apparent that he was displeased, and it was apparent why.

"—oh, uh, what I mean to say," the Toydarian went on, "is that the ship isn't going anywhere."

Njon's displeasure vanished. "Good," he said.

"Also," the Toydarian added, "there's a girl here who isn't talking to us. But one of Netan's men told us she's a prisoner they picked up a few worlds back."

"Is that so?" Njon said mischieviously, his gaze drifting back to Netan. "Here I have been so rude, when all this time you had a gift for me! You're too kind, Netan. Bring her to the lounge," he told the Toydarian, "I wish to see her." The Toydarian nodded and vanished from the screen, leaving Njon and Netan alone once more.

He took a long, deep breath. His doctor had told him that he had high blood pressure and mustn't exacerbate his condition. He realized, also, that he wasn't truly mad at Netan but, rather, at the miserable failures to touch Jamulon Tiure. It was the simplest task that Njon could imagine, but Bruder didn't get it done. Kyrum didn't get it done. Sledge didn't get it done. He didn't even remember the others. But no, he was not upset with Netan. His goal had never even been to kill Jamulon, but rather to intimidate him. The fact remained that Njon's rant, volcanic though it was, was also correct; there were many ways that Netan could intimidate Jamulon Tiure.

Njon was about to make this point to Netan when the door to the lounge slid open with a hiss and the girl was deposited inside, fighting all the way. Even on the holographic transmission, Njon could see that she was beautiful. For her species, anyway. And fiesty. The Hutt's anger seemed to vanish from his face as he looked her up and down, and formed the beginnings of a broad, despicable smile. His cool, almost charming demeanor was back. "Very fine," he mused. "Where did you find her, Netan my friend?" he asked, then found himself glancing once again at Netan and was reminded of the business at hand. "And I demand to know what possible use is she to your plan to intimidate Jamulon? I will be most reluctant to part with her, you understand."

Their conversation went on uninterrupted, since it was highly, highly, highly unlikely that the Ebon Fist would happen to be "on the edge of the system" when the Lucian Alliance arrived at Sriluur, for three reasons; 1.) they had no reason to expect Netan to arrive at Sriluur versus any one of thousands of other ports throughout the galaxy, 2.) even if they were convinced that their spies at Sriluur would be successful, they would have had to sit on the edge of the system for weeks, and weeks, and weeks on end waiting for the Lucian Alliance to arrive, and 3.) Njon had placed a very large number of his own ships at the edge of the system because he actually was expecting Netan in advance and anticipated that the Lucian Alliance might resist his seizure of the Injustice with force. Nevermind that the Ebon Fist would have been sighted as it drew anywhere near Hutt Space—it certainly would have been sighted in this particular system.

The Ebon Fist were welcome to follow up on their lead, of course. But it was too fantastic to believe that they just happened to be nearby when this lead, one of potentially hundreds, turned out to be the correct one. It was reasonable to assume that it would be some time, therefore, until the Ebon Fist arrived. However, they would be very poorly advised to do so uninvited; the shipyard at Sriluur and its accompanying Golan platform would open up on any fleet that appeared unexpected or uninvited, whether it be pirate, mercenary, or even New Republic or Imperial. As Drasek Cale knew, and so too, surely, did the pirates in his employ, Nar Shaddaa was the place to approach the Hutts with business propositions. Not Sriluur.

There were endless tales of the miseries that Njon the Hutt inflicted on those who did not respect the Cartel or its borders. Enough to make Bryce Routhe, or the Ebon Fist, or its members stranded on Lehon shudder and studder in fear far more so than Atropos. If any man ordered them to trifle with the Cartel, they would undoubtedly think twice before doing so.

He glanced between the two of them for a moment, seeming to enjoy the tense silence in the room. "A reasonable compromise, no?" he asked Netan.

Meanwhile, the transmission from Lim Hejin was recieved, but Njon's aides knew better than to interrupt him in his mischievious moments. Hejin would be asked, politely, to hold for a moment until the Hutt was available. Njon had indeed wished to speak with Hejin for some time now, and his conversation with Netan was nearing its end.