Berrille Ada keeps an office across the speederway from Mama’s.
Berrille Ada hangs in the corner of its office – from a heavy silk web. A man-sized arachnid, Berrille is black in color and slick in texture, glistening wetly. It speaks by clicking its mandibles together sharply; Han gathers that the key to the language lies in the length of the pauses between clacks. Luckily, Berrille usually does business with smugglers that do not comprehend its language. A beautiful human translator sits at a desk in the middle of the room.
“Berrille Ada says that outfitters who discuss the affairs of clients soon have an empty web,” the translator interprets.
“Outfitters that help kidnap my friends don’t usually have a web for long,” Han answers. “Tell Berrille Ada that.”
The translator’s face pales.
“Say it!” Han insists, fingering the butt of his blaster pistol.
The translator makes a few clicking noises. Berrille Ada scurries across the ceiling and stops directly above Han. It clicks its mandible non-stop and watches Han. Han thinks he detects both anger and fear in at least two of the arachnid’s eight eyes.
“Berrille Ada insists that you leave immediately,” the translator says. “Please do,” she adds. “You’re about to be bitten. Berrille Ada had nothing to do with your missing friend.”
“Thanks,” Han says. He leaves, never dropping his gaze from Berrille Ada’s eye stalks.