Trouble on Cloud City

8

Ord Mantell had been his home, his base of operations … his lair, for many years, but Czethros knew well enough never to get too attached to any one place.

The true mastery and skill of running an important part of the ultrasecret Black Sun organization meant that he had to be flexible—as flexible as an Umgullian blob. He had two completely separate lives: one as a well-respected and influential businessman on Ord Mantell, and one as a powerful lieutenant of the insidious criminal organization that had infiltrated many important industries and businesses in the New Republic. He was a mixture of light and darkness, a man no one truly knew. He lived in the shadows.

Czethros sat at his cluttered desk in a high warehouse tower on Ord Mantell. Outside in the anteroom, computer screens and robotic receptionists diverted the common business activities, aboveboard correspondence, and trivial conversations that allowed Czethros to run one of the most successful shipping and packaging companies on the entire planet. Everything had been set up for him through Black Sun.

But these legitimate activities were a mere cover-up, the tiniest fraction of the income he contributed to the hidden coffers of the underground criminal group. After all this time, he found it somewhat bothersome to keep such a clean public face for inconsequential people like Han Solo and the other nosy officials of the New Republic. In a way, however, the pretense amused him, and he would keep it up for now.

Soon though, once his plans were completed, his arm of Black Sun would be so solid and so influential that no one in the New Republic would dare question anything he did.

Czethros had been a lieutenant in the once-powerful Black Sun, a henchman, a hired killer, a bounty hunter—an expediter for the plans of powerful leaders such as Prince Xizor and Durga the Hutt. He had learned how to be ruthless, how to kill, how to take care of difficult situations before they became real problems.

Yet numerous crackdowns and disasters had forced Black Sun to go underground, into hiding. Some thought the criminal organization had been mortally weakened. But now Czethros and a few other lieutenants were working to build a newer, more powerful organization. This new Black Sun would become dominant, because Czethros knew how to work both sides of the law, the dark and the light.

Keeping track of the many ongoing threads of his master plan put him under constant pressure.

He sat back at his desk, touched a hidden control under the front drawer, and his flat image screen flipped over to reveal a secret terminal. Tweaking a volume control, he turned up the dissonant Sullustan opera that had been playing in the background. The squeaky, overlapping tones gave most people instant headaches—at the very least, the noise kept strangers out of his office. Coincidentally, Sullustan opera had the added benefit of being particularly effective at jamming all known listening devices.

Czethros focused his cyber-eye on the secondary screen and scratched at the moss-green hair that covered his scarred head. Then he adjusted the visor over his eyes, tuning the reception spectrum deeper into the infrared. He nodded with satisfaction as a formerly invisible series of letters and words suddenly appeared on the screen. Human eyes could not read them, but with his visor Czethros could pick up every letter as perfectly as if it were written in fire.

He knew he would not be disturbed. In the reception area outside, his two beautifully polished female-form receptionist droids handled the incoming calls and correspondence with their protocol programming. Dimly, he could hear their sultry voices repeating the familiar phrases: “Master Czethros is in a meeting,” “Master Czethros is unavailable,” “You’ll find that Master Czethros has already attended to that matter.”

Meanwhile, he sat back and called up the encrypted files that showed summaries of the most important Black Sun activities. This was how he got his real work done.

His weapons-running business had shown a great profit over the past few years, especially with the dragged-out civil war on Anobis. But sales of destructive devices had taken a recent downturn there, thanks to the cursed peacemaking efforts of that meddling Han Solo and the young Jedi Knights.

Czethros had tried to have Anja take care of the meddlers, but since he’d been forced to keep his involvement in Anobis gun-running activities a secret—especially from her—he could hardly explain to Anja why it was important to him. Anja was so volatile, such a loose cannon, that she might even turn against him, if she ever found out he had kept the war going on her home planet to increase his profits.

Czethros sighed. It was merely a temporary setback in the overall picture. He was certain Black Sun operatives would be able to start wars and revolutions on several other planets. It usually wasn’t hard. Scapegoats could be found everywhere—an unattributed comment here, an anonymous bomb planted there—and before long, two uneasy factions would be at each other’s throats (or whatever other breathing mechanisms their species used). His stockpile of weapons would soon be back in demand.

He fine-tuned his plans for digging Black Sun’s claws into the gambling and entertainment activities on various planets such as Bespin and Borgo Prime. Everything was proceeding quite satisfactorily. Now that he had gotten rid of the main opposition on Cloud City, Czethros knew the way was clear for him. Black Sun operatives would soon be raking in profits from all those establishments, as well as infiltrating the floating gambling casinos and resorts on the oceans of Mon Calamari.

On the spectrum-shifted screen a star map displayed bright points that represented Black Sun strongholds; the galaxy looked very bright indeed. After such a long buildup, his operatives were in place preparing for the great revolt. It would not be long before Czethros could give the signal. But first he had to cement the rest of his plans.

The illicit spice-running market continued to grow. His pirates and smugglers hijacked shipments of glitterstim, andris, and ryll spice, selling the contraband substances at greatly inflated prices to waiting customers. Shortly before the brief battle and its utterly assured victory, Czethros would place himself in control of the famed spice mines of Kessel.

From that point on—within days, if everything worked out right—the rest of the galaxy would be in his hands. His financial and political power would be firmly established. The banner of Black Sun would fly proudly beside the flag of the New Republic.

Czethros switched off the spectrum-shifted terminal, hid it beneath the normal innocuous screen again, and stood. Taking two quick strides toward the wide window, he gazed across the equatorial band of metropolis that girdled Ord Mantell. So much out there, so many possibilities.

But he dared not let his involvement be exposed yet. The timing was too delicate. If the wrong people learned that Black Sun activities were being controlled in part by the respected businessman Czethros, he might lose everything. His laser eye flashed from right to left in his visor, burning red.

Within weeks, though, when he sent his signal, and the battle cry went out to all their infiltrators, the grand coup would establish Black Sun’s power in countless places at once. The victory would be so sudden, simultaneous, and far-reaching that the New Republic could never extricate the criminal organization, short of declaring outright war on its own worlds.

Unfortunately, the news Anja had just sent him from Cloud City meant that the young Jedi Knights would not rest until they had meddled in all of his affairs. He knew he’d have to take care of the situation quickly and cleanly. His choice was clear, and his conscience—if he still possessed one—would not trouble him. Besides, Czethros already had plenty of blood on his hands. A little more would make no difference.

Without a second thought, he dispatched orders that would neatly dispose of Han Solo’s twins and their companions. He had scores of operatives already in place on Bespin who would be eager for the extra assignment, the overtime pay.

Rubbing his hands together, Czethros moved on to the next challenge. He fixed a smile on his face and signaled his receptionist droids that it was safe to begin admitting regular visitors. Czethros and his shipping company were now open for business.

He had a skill for presenting a polite and friendly facade to prospective customers, but it remained quite an ordeal for him. He hated to smile.

Soon, Czethros hoped he would never have to feign a smile again.