Nestled as I was between two naked and fantastically babelicious green-skinned Twileks, who didn't seem to mind being fondled, and who, in fact, encouraged me to do so with pleasant, inviting squirming and rubbing, I had to confess that I had finally realized my dream of becoming the happy sausage in the middle of a smokin' hot lady-sandwich. Taking a long drag from a spliff one of the girls held to my mouth, I reveled in the joyous, freeing feeling of having my accumulated tension, worries and traumas evaporate into thick plumes of fragrant smoke. Temporary bliss though it was, I had not a single complaint regarding Londo's hospitality.
Perhaps, I shouldn't have been so surprised that “Cloudy City” was so named not because of its physical location in the clouds, but because of its effects on its guests. Being legitimately located in remote parts of the galaxy, mining-colonies provided excellent covers for the rambunctious lawlessness, ample drug-use and whoring of smuggler centers. Considering its size and the sophistication it took to have it hidden so effectively, Cloudy City was one of the larger centers where smugglers, dealers and those working outside of the Imperial law could meet and do business.
Perhaps too, I shouldn't have been that surprised when, as Londo's workers began streaming industriously past us, ferrying my delivery of packaged green bricks, a distinctly familiar skunky fragrance drifted past. Noticing my bewildered sniffing, Londo had given me another strong whack on my shoulder, and laughed as he said something about how he loved how the Rebels always gave him the “good stuff” that was so good that, no matter how much wrapping around it, you'd always smell the green. From a brief glance, it looked like I'd delivered a good half-million credits of high-quality weed, which Londo assured me was well-worth the “crazy price you Rebels asked for.”
High in the clouds of fuzzy happiness that I was, it took some time to figure out how they could have possibly grown that quantity of weed at the base without us knowing. Could they have hidden it away somewhere? Impossible. The base was large, but it wasn't infinitely large or riddled with dimensional portals; certainly, there was nowhere to hide a large-scale grow-op, even considering the few places that were off-limits, like the hangar-bay and armory. The hydroponic equipment alone would have encompassed five complete hangar-bays, not to mention the areas needed to process the bud. More significantly, there would have been an inescapable smell that would have stuck to everything and permeated the air and everyone's clothes, had the operation been anywhere near the base. And, in any case, who would have done it? We were all busy with our separate tasks, and none of us would have had the time to tend to some high-maintenance plants.
Who indeed? Who would have the skill and the knowledge to grow such a large crop? Who were renowned as excellent cultivators, and could be trusted to be quiet and discreet because they would fundamentally prefer to keep to themselves and avoid the Empire anyway? It made even more sense then why the Rebellion would bother setting up shop on a barren, frozen planet like Hawth with no strategic value – except that it had a whole population of secretive, highly-skilled underground Wompa farmers.
Exhaling a plume of warm tingly smoke followed by a long draught of a deliciously spiced brew, I found myself rather at peace with the whole idea – as I squeezed a yielding breast and fondled a firm nipple. I suppose the Rebellion had to fund itself somehow, and, as far as illicit drugs went (though it had been legalized in several planetary districts, not to mention it's general dispensation for medical uses), weed was on the mild side. Certainly, it wasn't anything like the brutally nerve-burning synthetic crystals that were usually dealt by the hard-edged criminals. No, no, no, no, no. The Rebellion wasn't a criminal organization. They did what needed to be done to get the job done, and it just so happened they managed to do it with a widely accepted, though officially (and unfairly) persecuted recreational drug.
“Tim, my friend! Feeling more refreshed, I see!” Londo's way, way, waaay too loud voice intruded on my stoner zen. He'd left me here an indeterminate time ago amidst over-sized bean-bags, munchies, and an assortment of rollies, pipes and two kinds of vaporizers, all administered by the previously mentioned buxom, very much aiming to please (and already did so with great eagerness and gusto on my part) Twileks – again, no complaints – as his workers finished unloading my shuttle and prepared it for my next delivery.
“Londo, hey...” I grinned stupidly. “Good to see you. Don't tell me the shuttle is ready already?”
“You mean after, six hours? When it should taken those lazy bastards two?” chortled Londo glowing amidst his omnipresent golden aura, as he sat down next to me, and accepted the toke I offered him. “Yep, it's ready to go. Doesn't look like you are though.”
“Well, with your hospitality, who can resist?” I said, causing us to laugh, then wheeze on our smoky coughs.
“Stay! Stay!” Londo waved magnaminously, as he basked in the folds of plush couch (I had to suppress an uncontrollable fit of the giggles, as I couldn't help but imagining him as some kind of smoking golden walrus basking in the sun). “Stay a few more days! Who will know?”
Who? Alice would fucking know. Then the whole fucking evaluation board would know. Fuck, they would even know if I was a few minutes late, and it would be duly noted on my record, and pointed out with her pompous I-told-you-so voice that that's what you get for assigning someone to a operational task when they're not properly approved – by her and her bullshit criteria that she made up and that conveniently gave her a vice-like grip on the personnel department.
As I stroked the lovely, smooth skin of the ladies lying beside me and elicited lusty moans, it was painfully tempting to stay. It would be so easy to believe the ladies' dreamy sighs and wistful smiles were genuine, and get lost in a haze of drugs – which, in itself, was neither undesirable nor unfamiliar. I could stay, right? Get my brains fucked to nirvana and back again. Considering the last few days, I fucking should. Did I belong to them anyway? What did I owe those guys? Or was I fooling myself? Maybe there was a reason it all happened the way it did. The Powaah did move in mysterious ways... but Carla... Greido... Damn it. Don't think about it.
But, in spite of my wavering loyalty to the Rebel cause, I knew that staying was simply impractical – not on a moral level but on a financial one: I was spending the Rebellion's credit right now with every toke, sip and diddle, and lest I end up having their debt collectors come after me to settle up a mounting bill, it would be wise to move on.
“No, I do have to go,” I sighed mournfully, as I reluctantly stood up to a great many sad, pouty complaints from the Twileks, to whom I promised to come back as soon as I could. All too quickly, Londo was by my side, squeezing my arm too tightly as he guided me to the door.
“If you must leave, then you must!” Londo making the well-practiced disappointed-but-that's- ok-because-I-got-your-credits-already face he gave the customers he had fleeced. “I'll show you to your shuttle.”
As soon as we left the room and onto the colony's main causeway, we waded through a thick crowd of slow-moving revelers and hawkers. Judging by the dizzying array of multi-hued and multi-shaped bodies, as well as any number of unregistered weapons and any conceivable mind/mood/body altering substance completely unhidden and out in the open, I could have easily satisfied any exotically deviant desire had I lingered a bit longer.
Ordinarily in this crowd, we would have been constantly pestered by salesmen and pimps, but, with Londo's guards acting as an effective deterrent, I had the rare opportunity to walk through a market such as this and observe with comfort – which was probably how I noticed him standing in the middle of the causeway,
“Whoa! Haan is here! Hey Haan! What are you doing here!” I called out to Haan, who was just a few feet away, grinning into the distance in his particularly lackadaisical way. Strange, he wasn't answering. Could it not be him? Now, I was going to be the jerk who called out to random people. It had to be him though: the man was unmistakable with his black, half-opened vest and his ruffled hair that was always ru
ffled in exactly the same way. Wait a minute... Was it the lighting or did he have a weird metallic sheen around him? And he sure was standing incredibly still with the crowd moving around him...
“Oh, I see you know Haan too,” Londo said wistfully, as he walked ahead and put a rather possessive hand on the incredibly life-like statue of Haan. “I guess he is pretty irresistible.”
“Well, I wouldn't know...” I said uncomfortably, as I watched Londo cup his hands around Haan's statue's (statuesque) ass.
“Before he was with the Rebellion, he was with us, you know” Londo continued, as he stared longingly at the statue, making me vaguely concerned he would start rubbing himself on it or make out with it.
It was with more than a small note of bitterness that Londo explained, “He and I started this place together and made it what it was. But he wanted something bigger. He wanted more excitement. And, so he took off to build his massive business with the Rebellion.”
“Oh, I see... I didn't realize...” I said tentatively, never sure what to say in these kinds of messy past lover/business partner situations that had the tendency to blow up unpredictably.
“We left on good terms, of course, it's always good to break things on good terms, right?” Londo added quickly, putting away the streak of jiltedness that had come up, and then briskly had us move along again. “It was a great loss for Cloudy City, but I got over it, and, besides, we still do good business together. Ultimately, I really wanted to celebrate his memory and my time with him, so I had a few of these carbonite statues of him made, and I put them all around the colony to remind everyone of one the founders of the place. Frankly, it's my favorite decoration here, if I do say so myself. It adds a sense of history to the place. Wouldn't you agree?”
“Uh, yeah. Absolutely,” I echoed. Weird. So weird. I didn't want to think about what kind of statue of Haan the guy might have made for his private quarters, though I guessed it had particularly correct anatomical features. Creeeeeepy. I guess gold-fetish man has some unresolved issues. It was definitely a good thing I was leaving.
When we reached the landing bay, I was pleased to find that my shuttle was not only ready to go, but completely clean on the inside and out; it would have been pretty sucky to be flying around in a vomit-scented cockpit. However, now that I knew what the cargo was, I had a growing concern for my safety, since, if I was caught, the Empire had strict no-tolerance policy for smugglers that would promptly have me executed on the spot.
Pausing in front of the shuttle's cargo-trunk, I wondered how well hidden the delivery was, and, more importantly, whether it would pass an inspection test should be I stopped along the way. Was there a false compartment or something? Was it plated so the screeners won't see through it? What if they took apart the fuselage? Shit. I felt my palms moisten as I freaked myself out.
“Uh... Londo... About the delivery...” I asked nervously. “It's hidden, right? I won't be caught, right?”
“Tim! Tim! Tim!” Londo guffawed, at my complete non-joke that I wasn't too crazy about not being taken seriously. “Don't worry! You worry too much!”
“You know the Empire has the policy to shoot smugglers...” I said, still looking warily at the shuttle. Shit, this was my life we were talking about.
“Don't worry! It's taken care of!” Londo said, as he gave me two ludicrous thumbs up. “Trust me. Would I lie to you? We're professionals.”
“Okay...” I gingerly accepted the delivery datapad Londo pushed into my hands.
“Ha ha ha... Look. If you must know, the shipment is perfectly legal. You're just making a medical shipment, ok? We even got rid of the smell of weed that was there before. No worries! No worries!” Londo smiled, as he firmly turned me in the direction of the shuttle door. Sensing I was slipping to his side, he sealed the deal with, “Here, take a couple of ounces for good measure. On the house.”
“Well, okay, if you put it that way...”
I guess, in the end, I wasn't hard to convince. All in all, everything seemed quite good indeed with a hefty pack of weed in my pocket and a well-serviced crotch. And with that, and another set of not-to-worry thumbs-up from Londo, I was off.
CHAPTER 16