They called the world Glorious Jewel.
That was all the proof anyone could ever want that Hutts had a sense of humour, for the world - Nal Hutta to the non-Hutt denizens of the galaxy - was far from a jewel. It was a foul place, a pustulent, oozing cesspit of a world that only a creature as throughly disgusting as a Hutt could love. Assuming, of course, that a Hutt could love anything.
Despite this, the expression upon Irulan Shae's features as her craft - a Punworcca 116-class interstellar sloop named the Empyrean Dancer - swept into the Y'Toub system could only be described as sanguine, for though the world visible beyond the furling solar sails of her sloop was a vile and wretched place, it was also a place where hope might bloom for the Confederation of Independent Systems. Odd, that, when Nal Hutta was a place that had marked the cessation of hope for so many sentients over the millenia, but the young diplomat did not dwell overlong on the obvious juxtaposition of her mission and location. After all, what did it matter? She was not one of the millions of slaves who had been shipped to the throneworld of the Hutts during their fifteen thousand year rule, and the person she had come to see was no Hutt.
Reaching out with one delicate finger, Irulan activated the Dancer's communications system, broadcasting on an encrypted channel that had been prearranged between her colleagues in the diplomatic corps of the Confederation and her contact's myriad minions. "This is Irulan Shae of the Confederacy of Independent Systems," she called across the interstellar void, "I come with sincere greetings for Vigo [member="Domino"] of the Black Sun, and request a meeting at your earliest convenience." Irulan had chosen her words carefully, and her tone was cordial as she spoke them. Nothing betrayed the flickers of unease and excitement that alternately toyed with her as she spoke, and had she her way, nothing every would.
After all, this assignment was too important to risk spoiling with unwelcome emotion.
That was all the proof anyone could ever want that Hutts had a sense of humour, for the world - Nal Hutta to the non-Hutt denizens of the galaxy - was far from a jewel. It was a foul place, a pustulent, oozing cesspit of a world that only a creature as throughly disgusting as a Hutt could love. Assuming, of course, that a Hutt could love anything.
Despite this, the expression upon Irulan Shae's features as her craft - a Punworcca 116-class interstellar sloop named the Empyrean Dancer - swept into the Y'Toub system could only be described as sanguine, for though the world visible beyond the furling solar sails of her sloop was a vile and wretched place, it was also a place where hope might bloom for the Confederation of Independent Systems. Odd, that, when Nal Hutta was a place that had marked the cessation of hope for so many sentients over the millenia, but the young diplomat did not dwell overlong on the obvious juxtaposition of her mission and location. After all, what did it matter? She was not one of the millions of slaves who had been shipped to the throneworld of the Hutts during their fifteen thousand year rule, and the person she had come to see was no Hutt.
Reaching out with one delicate finger, Irulan activated the Dancer's communications system, broadcasting on an encrypted channel that had been prearranged between her colleagues in the diplomatic corps of the Confederation and her contact's myriad minions. "This is Irulan Shae of the Confederacy of Independent Systems," she called across the interstellar void, "I come with sincere greetings for Vigo [member="Domino"] of the Black Sun, and request a meeting at your earliest convenience." Irulan had chosen her words carefully, and her tone was cordial as she spoke them. Nothing betrayed the flickers of unease and excitement that alternately toyed with her as she spoke, and had she her way, nothing every would.
After all, this assignment was too important to risk spoiling with unwelcome emotion.