The Nazzar's eyes widened. The Bothan, after a hesitating moment,gestured to the Nazzar with his fingers after he finished waving his hand over the guards. She nodded and walked in front of the door, holding her Westar out at the bounty hunter.
"I do, indeed I do," the Bothan said quietly, not a hint of a slur in his voice any more.
"Poison-- at least not in the usual sense-- doesn't work on Hutts either. The damn slugs have a liver that could process raw cynanide without so much as a hiccup. But suppose for a moment, there was a box," he said, and made a little cage with his hands.
"Not a box you and me can see-- a molecular box. A protien megacomplex with about seventeen million different amino base pairs, and them combined with special ligand clamps, scaffolded enzymes, a lipid membrane, and then all bound together by membrane bound cyctoskeleton anchors."
He opened and closed his hands like a clamshell. "Can you picture it? Then suppose you go one step further: you put membrane bound proteins into the lipid bilayer surface of this hypothetical molecular box. Protiens rich in glutamate and aspartame to get a structure that forms bonds so easily that it'd stick to Tefflon... or intestine walls... Or metal."
The Bothan raised a finger at his companion and stood up. "I changed my mind, Sedy. There's no need for the gun threats-- this fella spooked me badly, but I still think we can trust him."
The Nazzar scowled and lowered her weapon, but didn't budge from that door.
"Now, Mr. Force sensitive bounty hunter, what would one put in this convoluted molecular box? You've created a sealed environment so tight that you've virtually sealed it in what we like to call 'laboratory conditions'. Well, I'll tell you what I put into it, anyway," he said with a humorless smile.
"Chemicals normally too unstable to exist in any environment for long, if you catch my drift-- not 'poison', in the usual sense, unless you consider eating a bucked of lit cherry bombs 'poisonous'. And let's say that you've designed this protein envelop around your nasty chemicals so it'll slowly decompose by random thermal motion in a fifty configuration degradation process-- one week after it's synthesis, to be exact-- wherein this box loses it's integrity and releases it's contents."
The Bothan pointed to the bottle. "That bottle you drank is a type of Wine called Grapelli. It supposedly goes very well with what the dugs call 'cuisine'."
"Sebulba's gonna need an excuse to get out of there," Sedona warned, and the Bothan nodded rather frustratedly.
"If this man truly wants to help us, this shouldn't take much longer... You, a contact of mine, and Jabba the Hutt have ingested these little boxes along with the wine. Now these boxes can be 'locked' so the degredation of the box doesn't take place with a chemical antidote of mine. I already have a bottle set aside for my contact, so he can drink with Jabba without arousing suspicions, and I have one spare bottle set aside in case anyone accidentally poisoned themselves by picking Grapelli from the shelf over at the bar."
The Bothan leaned on the wall. His hand was in his pocket, grasping something.
"Now first thing's first, and don't you dare lie to me: who are you really? Did Vader pay you to come after me? How the hell is it that some random bounty hunter cavorting with filth like Jabba the Hutt happens to have experience with the force?"
