A Practical Man by Traviss Karen

Author:Traviss, Karen [Traviss, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“And that’s what you have in mind for the whole galaxy, is it?”

Don’t say a word, Beviin. “All of us.”

Nom Anor’s eyes darted across Fett’s visor. They still looked like the trapped remnants of a human, and Fett kept thinking cyborg, and how ironic that would be for a species that found machines an abomination.

Abomination. Religious word. And he didn’t trust cults any more than he trusted politicians and accountants.

“Not necessarily as slaves,” said Nom Anor.

“Good. Because it’s going to be a tough sell.”

“Some will see the truth and become Yuuzhan Vong.”

“And those who don’t? Let me guess.”

“They’ll be Yuuzhan Vong, or they’ll be dead.”

This was the point at which Nom Anor ceased to be simply unpleasant business and became something Fett hadn’t really seen before: a threat he might not be able to handle.

It was as if the executor changed before his eyes, shifting subtly from just a hideously disfigured face made worse by its few vestiges of normality into something totally alien he had to be able to kill. It felt personal tor a moment, and that was anathema. The trick whs to understand the enemy without identifying with him. Now he’d name his higher price.

He knew exactly what he had to demand.

“As long as we work for you,” Fett said, “you leave the Mandalore sector alone.”

Nom Anor stared into Fett’s visor and Fett stared hack, his helmet cam recording, even if the executor couldn’t tell that. The creature’s face was a nightmare, a corpse from a battlefield: nose and lips missing, leaving a hole in the center of his face set above teeth that were every bit as human as his own. His skin was a mass of puckered but regular scars and intricate tattoos. A thick ridge of bone or scar tissue-Fett wasn’t sure which-ran from under his sunken eye sockets to the back of his hairless, scarred, tattooed scalp. It was just the eyes and the teeth.

They were utterly human, as if someone were trapped in a monstrous suit and trying to get out. The image clicked into place almost like an overlay on a holochart. Fett suddenly imagined what Nom Anor might have looked like with a nose, and a mouth, and regular skin. He imagined what the warriors would look like: because these invaders all had the same terrible faces.

They mutilated themselves deliberately.

Fierfek. If that’s what they do to themselves…

“You still try to bargain with me,” said Nom Anor.

“That’s my price. It goes up when I find clients haven’t been totally open with me.” Like not mentioning a galactic invasion. Fett was the one doing the buying now, though: he was buying time. “You’re going to have to fight for every meter of ground here. Thousands of sentient species, countless worlds, and every one will put up a fight. You need us. If only to deal with the Jedi.”

“And I could kill you now, of course.”

“I’m one man. The clans will find a new Mandalore right away, and then they’ll tight. Your call.”

Beviin muttered irritably, “Thanks, ‘Alor.

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