"This is not what was agreed upon," Fortuna says, sharp teeth flashing as he leans forward, wearing a grimace on his face instead of a smile.

"Jabba will not be pleased."

But he slides his own hand over object anyway -- probably a beacon of some kind -- and tucks it away into a fold of his multi-layered robes.

The Quarren tries not to stiffen, tentacles writhing over each other for a moment.

"And our payment?"