Ledger of Power
Posted on Sun Feb 1st, 2026 @ 9:27pm by Hesk Scivo & Zorbo the Hutt
3,346 words; about a 17 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter VIII: Broken Chains
Location: Hutt Space
Timeline: Between the missions to Bespin and Alderaan
The Zorbaline emerged large from hyperspace.
Traffic control across the system adjusted without complaint. That was the first sign Hesk Scivo noted, eyes flicking once to the data stream reflected faintly across the inside of his retinal lenses. No automated challenge or flurry of objections from local authorities clinging to outdated priority hierarchies. The algorithms had already done the sums and come to the same conclusion every sentient observer eventually did.
Yielding was cheaper.
The Zorbaline hung against the star like a thought given form, vast, layered, architected rather than built. Its silhouette resisted simple geometry, preferring instead a series of interlocking planes and recessed spines that suggested both ceremony and violence without committing openly to either. Docking arms unfolded in deliberate sequence, each movement slow enough to be unmistakably intentional.
Scivo allowed himself the smallest adjustment of posture within the private shuttle’s acceleration cradle, long fingers smoothing the seam of his sleeve as though it might object to the moment. Undervos Holdings dressed well now - not just Scivo, Tailoring had become a quiet language of authority in his organisation.
Behind him, his staff stood in disciplined silence.
There were six of them, all Muun, all chosen carefully. Not merely competent, but compatible. Each wore the muted charcoal and bone livery that Undervos had standardised following the Sleheyron incidcent, their garments threaded with almost invisible filament that marked them as financiers rather than courtiers - there no jewellery and no affectation. The only indulgence Scivo permitted was the faint metallic sheen at the collar, denoting rank within the organisation rather than wealth.
They watched him rather than the viewport.
The shuttle locked into the Zorbaline's receiving cradle with a softness that would have unsettled lesser engineers. Scivo felt the shift through the floor rather than heard it, a deep, reassuring resonance that spoke of mass and redundancy layered atop one another like a balance sheet designed to survive audit and siege alike. He approved.
A soft chime followed. Atmosphere equalised. Gravity adjusted, fractionally heavier than standard, just enough to slow the careless.
Well played.
The boarding ramp extended, revealing a reception corridor that was neither ostentatious nor bare. Polished stone composites lined the walls, veined subtly with gold. Light fell from recessed panels at angles chosen to flatter height and diminish girth, an aesthetic choice Scivo found faintly amusing given the ship's master.
Security was visible only by implication. No ranks of guards - no raised weapons. Instead, architectural blind corners, layered sensor fields, and the unmistakable presence of watchers who did not need to announce themselves. The Zorbaline did not display power overtly.
Scivo stepped forward, and his staff followed in perfect cadence, the sound of their footfalls absorbed almost entirely by the deck beneath them. The air carried a faint, deliberate scent, something expensive and neutral, chosen to offend no species and excite none. Somewhere far above, music drifted faintly through the superstructure, its rhythm distant and carefully contained.
This was not a merely a casino or brothel - it was a capital, or perhaps a capital-in-waiting.
A tall attendant awaited them at the end of the corridor, Near-Human, augmented discreetly, clad in ceremonial black with the Zorbaline’s sigil - something that once adorned the Casino Zorb, Scivo recognised - worked into the fabric at the shoulder. He inclined his head, neither bow nor challenge.
"Director Scivo," he said smoothly. "The Master of the Zorbaline welcomes you aboard. Your presence has been anticipated."
Scivo acknowledged him with a slight nod and nothing more. Names were unnecessary at this stage. Hierarchy was already established by proximity and preparation.
As they moved deeper into the vessel, the architecture unfolded with calculated generosity. Open galleries revealed glimpses of the Zorbaline's public decks, gaming halls vast enough to swallow starship hangars, pleasure courts arranged as living art, and clusters of sentients whose wealth expressed itself in a cacophony of ways. Yet, conversations were subdued and laughter measured. Even indulgence here obeyed rules.
The Zorbaline allowed excess - was still cultivated for it - but only the kind that paid dividends. It was a lesson learned from the Hutt's insult and loss the previous year, no doubt.
Scivo’s mind moved, as it always did, in parallel threads.
The bounty had gone live around a standard fortnight ago: forty million credits, with bonuses structured carefully enough to draw every independent hunter, Cartel-aligned syndicate, and opportunist mercenary group within three sectors into a frenzy. Dead or alive and no partial claims. A masterstroke of Hutt legal engineering, crude on the surface but devastating in effect. Entire crews would tear themselves apart before ever laying eyes on their quarry.
And all of it, Scivo reflected, directed at a ship whose pioneering Human no longer really existed, as best as the Muun understood the semantics.
"Thane of Caanus," the bounty had declared. Former Jedi Knight. Underworld associate. A lie precise enough to function.
Scivo knew better.
He had known the moment Undervos received confirmation that the vote in the Senate had broken as predicted, their preferred candidate installed not through spectacle or coercion, but through inevitability. That had been Serus' doing, whether the galaxy understood it yet or not. It was influence applied at the correct points - a pressure without fingerprints.
The galaxy hunted ghosts, while the reality of power moved elsewhere, and Hesk Scivo was comfortable with the part he had played - and would continue to play.
A junction corridor opened into a vast antechamber, its ceiling lost to shadow. At its centre stood a table of polished obsidian composite, surrounded by seating arranged to accommodate beings of radically different physiologies without compromise. Data interfaces lay dormant along its surface, awaiting activation. This was not a room designed for pleasure, but where numbers were decided.
Scivo halted and his staff arrayed themselves behind him without instruction, forming a quiet, symmetrical backdrop that spoke of unity and preparedness. He felt, rather than saw, the subtle shift in the room as attention reoriented and unseen systems re-calibrated. Someone, somewhere deep within the Zorbaline probably updated a ledger.
Then, the far doors opened.
Zorbo the Hutt entered without announcement - a rarity amongst his species, and another reflection, Scivo deduced, on what had befallen him the last time he had encountered the Cult of Axion.
He was younger than many expected for a Hutt of his power and bearing, thick bodied but not yet swollen with decadence, his broad shoulders draped in tailored finery that accommodated both his species and his self-image. A remarkable and rare beard framed his face, braided with care rather than ostentation, and his eyes were sharp with a calculation that had been earned the hard way.
As the near-bicentennial Hutt - positively youthful by their standards - arrived, the two powers regarded one another across the polished floor. On one side, the financier who had made himself indispensable, and on the other, there was the Hutt who had learned what indispensability truly cost.
Scivo inclined his head, precisely once.
The meeting had begun.
"It has been... not without its challenges."
Zorbo reclined his wide frame on his chaise longue a he recounted, as a courtesy to the Muun who was probably already well aware of Zorbo Consortium's dealings.
"The Hutt Cartel did somewhat compensate me for my losses on Nar Shadaa but the real heroes of the story were my insurance brokers," he chuckled and patted his chest, before frowning slightly, "Of course, there was never any real penalty for Grogga's involvement in what transpired. While he gets to pick up where he left off, I was set back decades."
The Hutt reached for a glass at his side and took a sip of a sparkling amber beverage before staring down into it for a moment too long and adding:
"Of course, every setback is an opportunity to learn and I have diversified my assets beyond one singular, though-spectacular casino. Now the Zorbaline is the face of a grand business empire: Not just an entertainment industry, but a network of property, asset and financial trading with deep connections cultivated in every sector of influence. No longer is it about territory; why, the whole of space is my territory now. Zorbo comes to you and Zorbo fixes your problem."
He raised the corners of his mouth into the best smile a Hutt could manage as he looked directly at Scivo.
"The personal touch," the Hutt said slyly, "That's where the real power is forged. That's what people will remember."
Scivo inclined his elongated head by a fraction, hands folding together with deliberate neatness as Zorbo spoke. He did not interrupt. He did not smile. When the Hutt finished, the Muun allowed a small pause to settle, just long enough for the words to be properly accounted for.
"Your assessment is accurate," Scivo said evenly, speaking in flawless Huttese. His voice carried the faint, measured cadence common to his kind even so, smooth and unhurried, every syllable chosen rather than discovered. "The events on Nar Shaddaa were not merely a financial loss. They were a reputational rupture. Insurance can replace structures - it cannot restore confidence."
He shifted one thin finger against the other, appearing an unconscious gesture of calculation rather than anxiety.
"That said, the Zorbaline represents a corrective approach. Mobility reduces exposure. Diversification mitigates shock. The personalisation of service creates dependency." His dark eyes lifted to Zorbo again. "These are sound adaptations. You are showing yourself a wise and durable Hutt of renown, mighty Zorbo."
Scivo leaned back slightly, posture still immaculate.
"Indeed, our existing arrangement on Sleheyron demonstrates these principles in practice. Synthspice production has remained stable despite heightened scrutiny, and distribution has continued without interruption. Returns have exceeded conservative projections." A pause. "This is not incidental."
He allowed the implication to breathe before continuing.
"The Cult of Axion, however, does not operate according to these principles. It corrodes trust. It introduces volatility. It poisons otherwise functional networks through association alone. As you have experienced personally, its presence renders legitimate Hutt commerce untenable in the long term."
Scivo’s tone did not harden. It did not need to.
"There exists, therefore, an opportunity. One that aligns with both Undervos Holdings' interests and your own. By systematically identifying and severing the Cult's residual ties within underworld finance, logistics, and protection rackets, we can achieve what open confrontation cannot." His head tilted a degree again. "Isolation. Irrelevance. Eventual collapse."
He folded his hands again, precise as before.
"You do not require territory to exert influence, Zorbo. You require cooperation. I believe the clans can be encouraged to remember which partnerships endured, and which nearly destroyed them." The Muun inclined his head once more, but this time it was almost deferential. "And I believe the Zorbaline is an ideal venue from which to begin that recalibration."
Zorbo's brow furrowed at the mention of Axion and his grip on his glass tightened in a quiet rage.
"That man..." his voice dipped into a Huttese twang from its previous refined accent, "That sleemo is a degenerate virus that I should never have allowed into my vicinity. It irks me greatly that his name keeps cropping up in my business dealings."
He thrust the glass down, a tiny wave of the golden liquid splashed out onto the side-rest before the Hutt turned a chubby finger upwards.
"I have given you a wide market in which to distribute your Synthspice," Zorbo stated defiantly, while still taking the opportunity to boast, "Pushed as both a premium product and also re-packaged for the common market; I haven't heard you complainin' about it. Zorbo fixes your problem and Zorbo does not forget who profits from his generosity. What did you just say: 'Returns exceeding projections'?"
He brought the finger down, as though prodding an invisible table before him and peering at the passive-looking Muun, "Now why would you spoil this party by bringing talk of that man in here? Don't flatter me on one hand, while insulting me on the other."
The Muun allowed the Hutt's words to crest and break of their own accord, his expression remaining placid, his posture unchanged. Only the slightest narrowing of his eyes betrayed that the outburst had been registered and categorised. There was some internal processing, visibly to the Hutt only due to his carefully-cultivated talent of reading non-Huttoid species.
When Scivo did speak, his tone was calm, measured, and entirely free of offence.
"I am not insulting you," Scivo said gently. "Nor am I diminishing the value of your contribution. The success of the synthspice venture is, in no small part, a product of your distribution networks and your willingness to take calculated risk. Undervos Holdings recognises that. We would not be seated here otherwise."
He inclined his head a fraction, the gesture respectful without submission. "The parties I represent hold Axion in similar regard," he continued, voice even. "They have suffered financial disruption, reputational damage, and operational interference as a result of his activities. Some have suffered losses far less recoverable than a casino." A pause, precise. "Their desire for redress is not merely ideological. It is practical."
Scivo folded his long fingers together, the motion neat and deliberate.
"Revenge is a rare motivator in that it requires no trust - only alignment. One does not need to believe in a partner's virtue to rely upon their grievance." His gaze remained steady on Zorbo. "In this case, the grievance is mutual."
He shifted slightly, leaning forward by a marginal degree, as though adjusting the angle of a negotiation rather than escalating it.
"The Cult of Axion persists because it exploits fragmentation. It uses isolated operators... Unclear affiliations... Plausible deniability, of a sort. Some agents would not appear to even recognise their affiliation, or are somehow incapable of speaking upon it." His voice remained smooth. "But, by denying it access to Hutt controlled markets and territories - both inside and out of formal Hutt Space - and by rendering its holdings commercially radioactive, we force Axion himself into the open. There is nowhere for such a figure to exist without infrastructure."
There was a faint emphasis, intentional, before the Muun continued.
"And when that infrastructure collapses, its assets do not vanish. They are absorbed. Redistributed... Profited from." Another pause. "This would be a visible demonstration of your Consortium's authority, Zorbo. Not through spectacle, but through outcome."
Scivo allowed himself a small, controlled nod.
"I would not propose this if it endangered our existing arrangement. On the contrary. Its success would deepen our financial interdependence - shared investment tends to encourage shared discretion."
He sat back, hands returning to rest.
"There is no party being spoiled," Scivo concluded calmly. "There is an opportunity being refined."
Zorbo made a grumbling sound in his throat that seemed half pondering, half-frustration. His stubby, ochre tail coiled inwards, as though shrinking away from an unpleasant stimulus.
His large eyes fell down to the glass and the droplets that had spilled out onto his shining tabletop before raising them back to the Muun. His body relaxed and he allowed himself a hearty chuckle.
"You're quite used to getting what you want, aren't you Scivo?" he took a deep breath before leaning forwards and adding, "Reminds me a lot of my kin."
He retreated a little and gestured to his attending Twi'lek to tend to the spilled drink. She shuffled forward in her loose, sequinned dress and hurriedly cleared the surface as Zorbo continued in a more relaxed tone.
"Very well, tell me what this 'opportunity' is then," the Hutt stroked his beard as he spoke, "I may just be in the mood for a little payback, if the price ain't too high."
Scivo nodded. "The price is leverage, not tribute," he said, and folded his long fingers together, the movement economical, almost ritualised. When he spoke again, his tone was faintly instructional, as though outlining a model already proven elsewhere.
"The opportunity is not a single strike, nor a declaration. It is a sequence. A tightening." His dark eyes did not leave Zorbo.
"Undervos already maintains visibility across several non-aligned logistics networks. Shipping cooperatives, shell distributors, insurers, refiners. Many of them operate at the margins of Hutt commerce without ever formally entering it. These are the spaces Axion favours. We begin there."
He allowed the idea to settle before continuing. His hands moved along with his speech.
"Credit is withdrawn. Insurance premiums become unmanageable. Cargoes are delayed, misrouted, or quietly seized under technical violations. Intermediaries are pressured into silence or reassignment. No announcements are made. No banners raised. The Cult simply finds that every transaction becomes more expensive, slower, riskier."
A faint narrowing of his eyes suggested calculation rather than menace.
"When Hutt space follows suit - selectively, surgically - the message becomes unmistakable. No cartel decree is required...only consistency." He gestured lightly. "Those who trade with Axion lose access. Those who distance themselves prosper. Eventually, the Cult will be forced to consolidate. Assets centralised. Personnel exposed. Supply chains shortened." His voice remained level. "At that point, names emerge. Locations stabilise. Axion himself must either intervene directly or accept irrelevance. Whatever remains after that is liquid. Facilities. Stockpiles. Debts owed but unpaid. These would be apportioned according to contribution." A small emphasis. "Your contribution would be decisive."
Zorbo’s brow tightened, the faintest ripple running down the ridge of his back.
“My contribution…” he repeated, the words flattening under his tone, “That makes it sound like I’m just a bit player in this game.”
He leaned forward, the movement slow but heavy with intent.
“I’m not your free pass to stroll through the Hutt Cartel as you please, Scivo. You might breathe business and finance, but don't ever think you could swim with the Cartel.”
For a moment, the air thickened: not with threat, but with the weight of a line being drawn.
Then Zorbo exhaled, a low rumble settling into something steadier.
“You’ll have my support,” he said, “but the Cartel dealings stay with me. You tell me which markets to squeeze, which assets to freeze, which routes to choke and I’ll do it.”
His eyes narrowed, the humour gone.
“But if I catch wind that you’ve been playing me off against other Hutts… especially Grogga…”
A slow shake of his wide head.
“And I’ll sink Undervos so deep that your next investment opportunity better be in shovels."
Scivo regarded the Hutt for a moment longer, as if committing the terms to memory rather than disputing them. Then, deliberately, he executed a deep, exaggerated bow, his tall, attenuated form folding with ceremonial precision, long arms sweeping outward in a gesture more often reserved for sovereigns than partners. It was a performance, but a calculated one, offered without irony.
"Grand and munificent lord of the Hutts," Scivo said smoothly, his voice resonant with formality. "Wise in adversity. Generous in victory. Undervos Holdings would never presume to trespass upon the Cartel's internal harmonies."
He straightened slowly, meeting Zorbo's gaze again without haste.
"Your dominion over Hutt dealings remains inviolate. We will not swim those waters uninvited." A pause, respectful and absolute. "We will simply ensure the currents favour you." His hands folded neatly once more. "This alliance will serve us all. Profit will follow discipline. Stability will follow resolve. And those who mistook chaos for power will find themselves without shelter."
For the briefest instant, something colder passed behind Scivo's eyes, quickly banked and gone.
"The galaxy has been accommodating Axion for far too long," he concluded. "That accommodation is ending."
Somewhere deep within the Zorbaline, unseen systems adjusted and ledgers updated, as if the ship itself acknowledged the shift. What had once been an abstract ambition now possessed weight, shape, and momentum.
The destruction of Axion was no longer just a desire.
It was merely a matter of process.
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