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sinisterexaggerator · 1 year

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Hondo Ohnaka’s Not-So-Big Score can be found in this book, which I did in fact purchase, however:

I am posting this here because access to the short story is so hard to come by. THIS IS NOT MY WORK. I did not write this. This is canon/legends material. Transcript by @queenevac. Thank you for allowing me to use it for this post!

Written by Jason Fry / Art by Chris Scalf / Featured in Star Wars Insider #144

It was a summer’s day on Florrum, which meant the plains were baking, the generators were overloaded, and the last place Hondo Ohnaka wanted to be was a messy office crowded with unwashed Weequay pirates. And on top of everything else, the holoprojector refused to work no matter how many times the pirate boss whacked it with his fist.

“Master, you’re hitting the off switch,” objected 4A-2R, attempting to squeeze between the leathery-skinned Finn Tegotash and Goru. Tegotash, annoyed, shoved the bug-eyed protocol droid into Goru, who threatened the hapless mechanical with immediate disassembly.

“Four-aye, as soon as you’re done provoking the gentlemen we’ll get down to business,” Hondo said.

One of Hondo’s blows connected with the activation switch, and the pirates hooted appreciatively at the glossy, needle-nosed liner that now hung in the air above his desk.

“Our target is the Salin Mariner, traveling from Lianna to Botajef,” Hondo said. “A C-One liner with eighteen passengers in first class, enjoying the finest hospitality that Salin Excursions has to offer.”

Hondo raised his goggles and grinned.

“Oh, the sights they’ll see along the fabulous Salin! The Fire Rapids of Mazuma! The Carpastor Comet Swarm! And at the end, a few lucky ones will visit the plains of Florrum and get an up-close look at a real working pirate base!”

Most of the pirates laughed and cheered ― only Hondo’s hasty warning kept Dagu Flask from firing a celebratory pistol shot into the light fixture. But a few of the Weequays looked confused.

“The trip to Florrum will come after we kidnap them from the ship and hold them for ransom,” Hondo said, more slowly this time.

Now everyone was cheering ― including the Kowakian monkey-lizard Pilf Mukmuk, cackling merrily from his usual perch on Hondo’s shoulder.

“Be a pleasure blowin’ a hole in that pretty boat,” the massive Goru grunted. “We’ll stop her dead then plunder her at our leisure!”

Hondo cut short the other cheers.

“Whoa now ― an operation like this requires subtlety and finesse. We shall select our guests through personal inspection during the cruise. Once we have them picked out, we’ll arrange a diversion, bring the Mariner to a halt, and be in and out before sector law enforcement can arrive.”

“But I wanted to blow a hole in ‘er,” grumbled Goru.

“Who’s gonna pick the lucky passengers, boss?” asked Tegotash.

“Ah,” Hondo said. “For that job we’ll need someone sophisticated and cultured, a refined traveler who can blend in with the upper-crust of galactic society.”

The Pirates looked baffled.

“Hey, I’m talking about myself of course,” Hondo said. “Behold Rondo Rosada, import-export magnate and art collector!”

“But boss, won’t you need back up to take the hostages?” asked Flask.

“Our associate at Salin Excursions has arranged for three slots aboard the Mariner. Turk and Piit will be joining me on the cruise.”

The pirates stared enviously at Turk Falso and Peg Leg Piit.

“Now that’s some high-class piratin’!” Sabo said, then began to guffaw. “Imagine ol’ Piit here decked out in the finery of a Sakiyan princess!”

Piit tossed her pigtail, offended. “I clean up jes’ fine. Unlike a grimy spice-goblin like yerself.”

Hondo whistled to cut short the resulting argument.

“Alas! There is only one opening in first class. Turk and Piit shall be posing as crew, and assisting me ― no doubt heroically― from belowdecks.”

“Belowdecks?” Turk wailed, jowl frills drooping.

“Belowdecks,” Hondo said. “Sanitation, to be specific.”

---

Hondo straightened the lines of his black velvet doublet, buffed his crystal monocle on his sleeve, then stepped onto the promenade deck of the Salin Mariner. Outside the transparisteel windows, the churning chaos of hyperspace swirled and seethed. But inside, a quartet from Far Dostany was playing a stately waltz, while liveried attendants hovered around the three tables, bringing cocktails and trays of dainties.

“Mr.Rosada?” asked a young human female wearing the ship’s livery. “Your tablemates are already awaiting you, sir. And can I get you something from the bar? Perhaps a Corellian Reserve?”

“Splendid,” Hondo said, blinking sleepily. Finding his well-appointed suit to his liking, he’d arranged for a pedicure ― the better to show off his gabberwool slippers― and then enjoyed a long afternoon nap between shimmersilk sheets. “In fact, my blossom, let’s make it a double! I’m celebrating!”

“A double it is,” the attendant said with a smile, pulling out a chair at the center table. “And here you are, sir.”

Hondo settled himself in his chair and beamed at his tablemates ― a blue-skinned, near-human young Wroonian female and a fat older male in a maroon overcoat; a balding, bearded and horned Gotal; a grumpy-looking Siniteen with beady eyes and a bald head that looked like an exposed brain; and a salmon-skinned Bivall wearing jeweled clasps on his swiveling eyestalks.

“A fine evening to you all, gentlebeings.” Hondo said. “I am Rondo Rosada, from ― GREAT MOTHER OF QUAY, I AM BEING DEVOURED!”

Hondo hopped away from the table, one slippered foot in his hand.

“Got your toes licked, did you?” asked the older Wroonian, chuckling. “Higgs and Twiggs were just saying hello. Come out, you naughty boys!”

He lifted the tablecloth and two long, green-furred heads appeared, purple tongues flicking at the air.

“Daddy loves his Kobarian swamp dogs almost as much as he loves me,” simpered the Wroonian female. “Higgsie and Twiggsie are show dogs ― a wedding present for me and my fiancé.”

“Worth a fortune,” her father said. “Part of my darling Pelf’s dowry. The marriage is arranged, of course ― we’re not commoners.”

Hondo sat down again, waving away the attendants’ hands smoothing his doublet, and tucked his slippered feet safely behind the legs of his chair. His brandy arrived, and over appetizers he met his tablemates. The Wroonians were Pelf Pachoola and her father Fume, on her way to Botajef for her nuptials. The Siniteen, Sibs Monchan, was an entrepreneur who designed HoloNet interfaces, while the Bivall was Usk Haffa, who proudly proclaimed himself the largest owner of commercial real estate on Protobranch. The Gotal, Dix Tarfait, grunted that he was a small businessman and resumed a truculent silence.

“And what do you do, Rosada?” asked Fume, making kissing noises as he fed giblets to Higgs and Twiggs.

“Oh, I dabble,” Hondo said, signally for another brandy. “Import-export, shipping and, ah, personal acquisitions. It’s not much, but it’s enough to pay for the occasional pampering like this.”

“Don’t work myself,” Fume muttered, brushing a speck off his long coat. “Grandfather’s fortune spared me the indignity. Find the idea demeaning.”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbled Monchan without looking up from his datapad. “My firm, Monchantics, cleared half a billion credits in net profit last fiscal quarter. Our initial public offering hits the Mileva Stock Exchange next month. All the product of hard work and vision.”

“I obviously haven’t worked enough,” Haffa said. “You may feel pampered, Mr. Rosada, but I am not impressed by our accommodations. The cabins are practically threadbare, the holos are last month’s, and while the bottles say Corellian Reserve, what they’re pouring is Vasarian.”

“I like Vasarian,” the Gotal grunted.

“Agree― this cruise is like camping,” Fume grunted. “At least we’re not losing the common touch.”

His tablemates chuckled and Hondo glowered at his brandy as attendants appeared with covered dishes. He decided not to assess the jellied gherks until informed of their deficiencies.

Hondo realized his napkin was still on the table and swept it into his lap. It seemed like there were far too many forks ― goodness, the table was covered with them― and he peered over at Pelf, waiting to see which utensil she picked up. But she was warbling at her father about floral arrangements, while Haffa and Monchan were arguing about Trade Federation excise taxes. Nobody was eating, or showing any signs of doing so. Hondo’s stomach rumbled.

Clearly this called for another brandy, whatever the quality.

---

The next morning, his cabin spinning, Hondo staggered into the refresher’s sanisteam, where he decided after some debate not to drown himself. He donned his green velvet doublet, searched half-heartedly for his missing monocle, and made his way tentatively to the Mariner’s Vista Walk, cringing at each shockingly loud greeting from various attendants.

Outside the view ports, hyperspace was bright and nauseating. He checked to see he was alone and extracted his combination comlink and locator. The device was top of the line, designed to send an encrypted signal to Goru and the trailer ships.

Goru answered at once, and at a deplorable volume.

“Louder― they might not have heard you on Coruscant,” Hondo said. “We’ll stop the ship tomorrow night― after dinner, of course. Are the mass mines ready for deployment?”

“Yeah boss,” Goru said, more quietly this time. “They’ll haul ‘er right out of hyperspace. But we’s having trouble finding suitable medic uniforms.”

Hondo sighed. “Uniforms? Why do you need uniforms? Once you’re aboard the ship you’re allowed to be pirates! Paint one of the attack shuttles in emergency-response colors and memorize the script I gave you. You remember, the one about the quarantine on Phindar. Goru? Are you listening?”

“We could just blow a hole in the ship,” Goru said plaintively.

Hondo sighed and leaned against the viewport, thinking he’d rest his eyes for a moment. Then something hit him in the chest, sending him staggering into the path of an exuberantly fleshed Ruebeqni matron who honked in alarm.

“HIGGSIE! BAD HIGGSIE!”

“Am-Shak’s mattock! What fresh hell is this?” yelped Hondo, as the Kobarian swamp dog leapt on him again, leash trailing uselessly. His comlink flew out of his hand and Higgs snatched it from the air as Hondo fell on his backside.

“Higgsie! Sit this instant!” commanded Pelf.

Higgs belched and obediently settled on his haunches, while Twiggs began to lick Hondo’s face with long swipes.

“Twiggsie! Sit!” Pelf said. “The boys are just glad to see you, Mr. Rosada! And so am I! You were so funny last night! You kept pinching my cheeks and saying I was precious!”

Hondo rose shakily, offering the comlink-devouring Higgs a murderous glance. “Well, so you are, my little blue dumpling.”

Pelf tittered and shook a finger at Hondo. “ You said you wanted to kidnap me and hold me for ransom! I don’t think my fiancé would like that very much, Mr.Rosada!”

“Ah,” Hondo said. “Heh. You shouldn’t listen to dinner-party chatter― it’ll go to your pretty cerulean head.”

“Over dessert you announced you adored the entire table and planned to kidnap us all!” Pelf said. “That was before you decided it was time to speak to the band.”

“Speak to the band?” Hondo asked.

“Oh yes! You announced that if you had to suffer through another dull minuet you’d seize the helm and fly us into the nearest sun. Then you threw a stack of credit chips at the band and ordered them to play nothing but scrak and smazzo. You never said you could dance, Mr.Rosada!”

“I have been known to cut a rug or two,” said Hondo, wandering over to give Higgs an experimental smack in the ribs.

“I’ll say! You put on quite a show ― well, at least until you catapulted Dame Malitikis into the dessert cart. But the surgeon says her shoulder will be good as new.”

Higgs, tired of being thumped, growled at Hondo.

Hondo arrived as lunch was ending, his thunderous headache reduced to a dull throb by a late-morning nap and a carafe of caf. The banquet hall fell silent as he walked in, and the quartet missed a cue. Then the chatter picked up again and the musicians pivoted into a sunny waltz. Glowering, Hondo stalked to his seat. The Pachoolas were arguing about invitations, while Higgs and Twiggs snored contentedly in the aisle.

“Ah, Mr. Rosada,” Monchan said with a smile Hondo found slightly mocking. “Usk and I were just discussing union troubles. We figured a cultured businessman such as yourself must have an interesting take on employee relations.”

Hondo decided two things right then and there: He wasn’t in the mood to be mocked, and he was doubling the ransom on Monchan and Haffa.

“Get yourself a gundark,” he growled. “You want an established matriarch― as in every culture, they’re the meanest. Take the trouble maker with the least talent and throw him in the hole with her while everyone else watches. After she’s torn off his arms, complaints will magically cease.”

“You’re speaking metaphorically of course,” said Dix Tarfait.

“Metaphors, bah― I am a man of action!” Hondo said, bringing one first down on the table and making the excess forks jump.

The surly Gotal smiled showing his flat yellow teeth.

“I distribute liquor and spirits ― my territory covers five sectors. A gundark would prove useful on sales calls.”

The female attendant appeared at Hondo’s side. “Mr.Rosada! What an eventful cruise you’ve had so far, sir!”

“Eventful? Heh! I’m just trying to keep things interesting,”

“We’ve arranged a surprise― a holographic exhibition of Saffa paintings over dessert. Now don’t be bashful, Mr. Rosada! You did say on your passenger questionnaire that you were an expert on Saffa paintings!”

A waiter tripped over one of the swamp dogs, sending a tureen flying.

Monchan stared at Hondo. “Saffa paintings? Really? You don’t seem the type, Mr. Rosada.”

“Oh, I hate to brag. Humility is a virtue― that’s what Mom taught me.”

“I’m sure.” Monchan said. He whispered something to Haffa, who smirked.

Three attendants guided in levitating terminals displaying shimmering paintings, all slashing lines and whorls and colors that made Hondo’s head hurt worse.

“Ooh, pretty,” Pelf said, peering at the paintings.

Hondo cursed whatever whim had brought Saffa paintings into his brain when confronted with the empty spaces of the questionnaire. But then the talk of art reminded him of an annoying Nouane philosopher Sabo had grabbed off a passing liner.

“Swamp dog got your tongue, Mr. Rosada?” asked Monchan. “Please enlighten us about what we’re looking at.”

Sabo had looked stunned when Hondo explained that fancy talk didn’t mean a being had two credits to rub together, while the philosopher’s babbling had proved so annoying that he really had wound up in a gundark hole. But what had been his name? Hondo couldn’t remember.

“Mr. Rosada?” Monchan inquired. “I asked if you recognized the period of this Saffa painting.”

Hondo decided to triple the ransom on Monchan.

“Your question, Mr. Monchan, reveals the difference between looking at art and understanding it,” Hondo harrumphed. “What period is this? What medium is that? These annoying little facts are not knowledge, or wisdom! They are just noise! Which is the opposite of appreciation! Pelf, look at this painting here. Tell me what you see, my delectable azure cupcake.”

“Um, it’s red? Red and green and squiggly! Is it a deek-pa-neek out for a swim?”

“Ha― there you have it, Monchan,” Hondo said. “A what-she-said out for a swim. That is artistic sensitivity ― not your scavenger hunt for facts. You asked me to explain Saffa paintings and I cannot ― for no one can! But I’m afraid Saffa paintings have done an excellent job of explaining you.”

Monchan blinked at Hondo, who folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, smiling.

Then Pelf began to shriek, arm extended, mouth a horrified O.

“Who is that?” she squeaked, pointing at a woman on the other side of the room in an elaborate orange dress that reminded Hondo of a carnivorous night-flower from Forlonis Minor.

“Why Miss Pachoola, that’s the Mariner’s apprentice pastry chef,” the attendant said. “She’s just bringing in the new dessert cart.”

“DADDY!” wailed Pelf. “HER DRESS! IT’S THE SAME DRESS AS THE BRIDESMAIDS’!”

The sleeve of Fume’s maroon coat was instantly wet with tears. He whispered something consoling to his daughter.

“NO, IT WILL NOT BE ALL RIGHT! A PASTRY CHEF ON A THIRD-RATE LINER IS WEARING THE SAME DRESS AS MY BRIDESMAIDS!”

“Apprentice pastry chef,” Hondo said helpfully, signaling for a brandy.

“MAKE IT STOP, DADDY! MAKE HER GO AWAY FOREVER!”

Higgs and Twiggs roused themselves and began to howl. Hondo plugged that ear with a finger and leaned across the table to Dix Tarfait. “Liquor distributor, eh?”

---

With Pelf still in distress, Hondo volunteered to take Higgs and Twiggs for their afternoon constitutional around the Vista Walk. The swamp dogs alternated snuffling at things and leaping on Hondo, who fended them off with Huttese impreciations while waiting for the steward to arrive.

Hondo decided not to kidnap Pelf― the thought of her shrieking in a cell on Florrum made his head pound all over again. But Tarfait would make a fine substitute. A liquor distributor, a Wroonian aristocrat, a HoloNet magnate and a real-estate mogul― yes, those four would do nicely. Now if only the idiot steward would shake a leg and ―

“Mr. Rosada?” asked a young, goggled-eyed human in Mariner livery. “I heard your animal companion needs an emetic?”

“Urgently,” Hondo said, taking the vial and slipping the steward a credit. “Always eating things he shouldn’t! Higgs, you rascal― didn’t I tell you your tummy would get you into trouble?”

He wasn’t sure how one convinced a Kobarian swamp dog to take medicine, but the two beasts spotted the vial and started to yip eagerly. Hondo tried to remember which was Higgs and which was Twiggs, then threw up his hands.

“What am I, a veterinarian?” he asked, uncapping the vial and emptying it on the floor.

Higgs and Twiggs lapped up the emetic, then wagged their tails and licked their chops. Nothing happened for a minute or so, but then the two swamp dogs stopped swishing their tails, looking more puzzled than usual. A moment later, Hondo had retreated to the end of the leashes, eyes squeezed shut, while the other passengers were fleeing the Vista Walk as if a gang of Merson slavers had just smashed through the viewports.

Hondo opened one watering eye wide enough to spot his gleaming comlink in the mess regurgitated by Higgs and Twiggs, who hung their heads apologetically. He took a step forward, one hand fumbling in front of him, then began to gag.

“What do those people feed you?” Hondo gasped. “Mynock knuckles marinated in speeder lubricant?”

That was it: Fume and his valuable swamp dogs were staying behind too. Higgs and Twiggs digestive fluids might render half of Florrum uninhabitable.

Hondo spotted the horrified-looking steward on the other side of the Vista Walk, plotting his getaway.

“Don’t stand there like a stunned nerf!” he yelled, snapping his fingers. “Call Sanitation!”

“Did you hear that?” demanded Tarfait. “We’ve come out of hyperspace.”

“I’m sure it’s routine,” Hondo said with a yawn.

He was almost sorry that his time with his tablemates was ending. He’d spent the third day not fretting about forks, not allowing Pelf’s meltdowns to jangle his nerves, nor dissecting Monchan’s questions for concealed insults. Instead, he’d strolled the Vista Walk and napped and told Porla the Hutt stories and dined and had many refills of Vasarian, which he decided he liked just fine.

And now it was all ending, he thought, checking his cronometer.

Hmm. In fact, it should have started ending already.

Hondo excused himself and ducked into the refresher, where a doleful attendant in Mariner livery was stationed by the sink.

“Is the very concept of privacy extinct?” Hondo demanded. “Shoo!”

“It’s my job,” the attendant objected.

“Behold the miracle of opposable thumbs! That means I can wash my own hands and get my own Cardellian mint!”

A flung credit chip hastened the attendant’s departure and Hondo extracted his comlink― which still bore a disagreeable whiff of swamp dog stomach.

“Goru? What’s taking so long?”

“Mines fired as planned, boss,” Goru said. “But the captain ain’t allowin’ us on board. Think he don’t believe us.”

“If there’s one thing I dislike it’s a skeptic. Did you follow the script?”

“Well … some pages got lost, so me an’ Gwarm improvised.”

“What have I told you about improvising?”

Goru sounded alarmed. “Boss! Sector forces are inbound!”

Hondo sighed. “I’ll take the captives out in an escape pod.”

“But the diversion― “

“Oh, just blow a hole in the ship.”

---

When the Mariner shuddered, Hondo was ready.

“That was a missile impact or I’m a bantha cub,” he said, fishing his brandy. “Everyone follow me. Quickly and quietly― let’s not cause a panic.”

Tarfait was on his feet. Pelf gasped and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Monchan and Haffa exchanged a worried look.

“Nothing to fear, gentles― everyone remain calm while I investigate,” He told the rest of the first-class passengers, then lowered his voice. “Make for the escape pods in the starboard companionway.”

To Hondo’s annoyance, Pelf clamped herself on to his arm, eyes wide with terror. Sensing her distress, Higgs and Twiggs began howling.

Hondo thumbed open the escape pod hatch. In the distance, he heard shouting and footsteps.

“Mr. Tarfait, follow me to freedom!” He said, seizing the startled Gotal and flinging him into the pod. “Monchan! Haffa! Make haste!”

“Eject into a combat zone?” Monchan asked. “Are you mad? I’m heading for the safe room at Junction Besh.”

“As am I,” Haffa said.

“No time to argue!” Hondo said.

“Agreed,” Monchan said. “So long, Rosada.”

“You’re right― take Miss Pachoola with you,” Hondo said.

“That screeching lunatic?” Monchan said over his shoulder. “She’s your problem.”

“I want off this ship!” Pelf wailed. “Women and children first!”

“Pelf my sapphire treasure― “ Hondo began, but Pelf had already scrambled into the pod.

Higgs and Twiggs began to bark. Turning, Hondo spotted Turk and Piit hustling down the passageway, pistols raised. Before Hondo could call out to them, they dodged around Monchan and Haffa.

“No! Stop those two!” Hondo yelled.

“No time, boss!” Turk yelled. “The captain’s handed out weapons! And Sector Patrol just came out of hyperspace. Run for it!”

Turk and Piit pushed passed him into the now crowded pod. Scowling, Hondo followed them. Fume, eyes wild, remained in the corridor with Higgs and Twiggs.

“Pelf!” Hondo yelled. “Stay with your father!”

“NO! DADDY! DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“Let me out!” complained Tarfait.

“Turk!” Hondo yelled. “Hit eject!”

A frantic Fume shoved his way into the pod. Hondo tried to push him back out into the corridor, only to be knocked flat by Higgs and Twiggs, who pinned him down and began to lick his face.

“Turk, hit eject,” Hondo said with a sigh, activating his comlink.

The pod rocketed away from the Salin Mariner, then began to tumble.

“We made it!” Pelf screeched. “I hope Higgsie and Twiggsie don’t get space-sick!”

“Oh no,” Hondo said.

---

Hondo and Turk watched as the freighter disappeared into the sky above Florrum. The captain who’d delivered the Vasarian brandy had protested mightily when ordered to tak Fume, Pelf and two swamp dogs in addition to Tarfait, but an impressive number of guns aimed in his direction had halted his complaints.

“How many credits did we pay and how much time did we waste in exchange for eight cases of grog?” asked Turk disgustedly.

“Bah― math is for schoolboys and accountants, not dashing pirates like us,” Hondo said.

“The girl’s fiancé said we could keep her. The old man said he’d rather die here than pay us. The swamp dogs ate ten kilos a day. And the Gotal lied about having money.”

“Hey he was rich enough to fetch eight cases of grog,” Hondo said. “Plus Mr. Pachoola was persuaded to leave behind this excellent overcoat.”

“I forgot about yer fancy garment,” Turk snorted. “Guess that makes this a triumph, then.”

“The difference between you and me, Turk, is that I am a boundless optimist,” Hondo said. “ Today, Florrum― and this coat, and this grog. Tomorrow, the stars!”

“Yer an optimist because yeh didn’t have to work Sanitation. Or clean up swamp-dog sick.”

“Try not to live in the past, Turk,” Hondo said. “It’s bad for your disposition.”

#Hondo Ohnaka #Hondo Ohnaka's Not-so-big-score #Star Wars #Star Wars insider #short stories #Weequay #Pirates #Star Wars Legends #Fiction Collection #Clone Wars #Tcw

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