Poggle the Lesser descended along a path long familiar to him. This was the fifth time in recent memory that he had gone down into the most sacred and secret place on Geonosis. The Archduke was followed by a pair of droids pushing a gravity platform, upon which rested a massive wooden box decorated with precious metals and gemstones. But its contents were even more precious. Obtaining it had required tremendous effort on Poggle's part, but… the will of the Hive was unyielding.
Entering the Queen's vast, dimly lit throne room, the Geonosian bowed respectfully and looked around. Karina the Great, as always, was impressive—huge and majestic, she seemed to occupy all the free space. Faithful servants stood frozen near her enormous belly, carefully receiving the eggs emerging from her ovipositor.
Before the Queen stood the figure of… a human woman. By her tattered garb and the lightsaber hanging at her belt, she could unmistakably be recognized as a Jedi. She had been purchased from a mercenary named Durge; her name was Aubrie Wyn. However, there was nothing to fear. From now on, this Jedi served the will of the Hive.
"Did you-u-u bri-i-ing wha-at I-I aske-e-e-ed fo-o-or?" Karina drawled.
"Yes, my Queen!" Poggle snapped his fingers, and the droids rolled the platform forward.
In an instant, the Jedi was standing beside him. Poggle flinched—the bright yellow of her eyes frightened him. The woman ran her hand over the wooden lid, then threw it open. The room filled with a reddish glow. Inside the box, resting on soft cloth, lay three blood-red pyramids emitting a dim light.
"Is-s thi-is wha-a-at you nee-e-ed?"
The woman took the first pyramid into her palm. The light intensified.
"This one is useless," came the strange sounds of Geonosian speech from the woman's throat.
The pyramid returned to its place, and the Jedi picked up the second.
"This holocron is empty."
Poggle froze in alarm.
The third pyramid ended up in the woman's hands. Suddenly, it tore free from her grasp, flying into the air and hovering at chest level. The woman arched her back, tilting her face upward. This continued for several seconds, after which the Jedi laughed and smiled.
"This is what we need!"
Poggle breathed a sigh of relief. However, these ancient artifacts had cost him a staggering amount of money, and it would have been deeply disappointing if it had all been for nothing.
"Ca-an you-u-u do I-i-i-it?.."
"Yes. I'll begin immediately. I'll need two weeks, after which I'll present you with the results."
"Yo-o-o-u-u may go-o-o~," Karina said, graciously waving her forelimbs.
After that, the Geonosian Queen turned her gaze to the Archduke.
"I am plea-a-a-sed with youu-u-u-u. Ho-o-ow is the ma-a-atter progressi-i-i-ing?"
"Better than we expected. The first two hundred and fifty ships will be launched in a month. We have enough manpower and slaves to feed the newborn warriors. New fighters have been manufactured to our order…"
When Poggle finished his report, Karina the Great dismissed him.
Walking through the corridors leading to the surface, he noticed a light at one of the turns. He stopped and looked closer. The Jedi was standing beside one of Karina's dead warriors, who lay motionless on a stone slab. Mercilessly cutting him open with a specialized medical cutter, the woman indifferently rummaged through his insides, occasionally pulling out and examining internal organs and performing mysterious manipulations on them. The red light emanating from the pyramid hanging above the stone slab flooded the entire chamber, making the scene even more eerie.
Poggle hurried on his way.
***
"Thank you, sir!" Ephant Mon bowed respectfully. Then the Chevin turned awkwardly and hurried out of the main hall of the B'omarr Monastery complex, located on Tatooine and belonging to Jabba Desilijic Tiure for almost five hundred years.
The Hutt himself lay lazily atop a massive dais opposite the entrance, sprawled across a mountain of pillows. Two new slaves—blue-skinned Twi'leks—lay nearby. Farther back among the cushions, Salacious B. Crumb, a Kowakian monkey-lizard, Jabba's favorite jester and universally despised by the palace's inhabitants, snored loudly. This often amused the Hutt…
Ephant had just reported that another deal to sell weapons—blasters salvaged from battlefields between the Republic and the CIS—had been successful. Jabba would receive his share in full-value credits.
In truth, everything was going as well as it possibly could. Consumed by the war, both sides of the conflict paid little attention to smugglers, pirates, and slave traders, who—sensing weakness—had taken their activities to a new level. And where else but with the Hutts could one sell goods without anyone asking where they came from? Credits flowed like a river.
Among other things, Hutt Space had managed to establish control over a dozen more insignificant planets, expanding its already sizeable Zone of Influence. The Hutt Council was discussing final control over Sakiya and the conquest of Riileb. In the spice trade—ryll and glitzerstim—the Hutts, and Jabba personally, had seized another small portion of the market, estimated by the same Republic economists to be worth hundreds of trillions of credits. So that "small portion" was a very tasty acquisition indeed.
With a gesture, Jabba summoned his majordomo, the Twi'lek Bib Fortuna, and inquired:
"Is that all for today?"
"Yes, great Jabba. That despicable one was the last to request an audience with you."
"Good. Prepare everything for the evening," Jabba said, then slid off his dais and headed deeper into the palace, toward the inner chambers…
Jabba Desilijic Tiure was born more than five hundred and fifty years ago on Nal Hutta. His father was Zorba Desilijic Tiure, a crime lord and the leader of the Desilijic kajidic. He was one of the few Hutts who possessed hair, the result of a genetic abnormality. Zorba was… a poor leader, with few supporters, largely due to his bizarre schemes and inept financial management. Nevertheless, he remained the head of the kajidic for over four hundred years and still managed to raise his son well.
When his time came, Jabba assumed leadership of the clan and lifted it from obscurity. Once merely one among many kajidics, the Desilijic kajidic became one of the eight great Hutt families that formed the Grand Hutt Council—the ruling political body of Nal Hutta, which governed the Hutt species as a whole.
Yes, the Hutts were antisocial by nature, and two Hutts rarely got along—especially those who were part of the Council. However, everyone understood that unity was their strength. They met, conducted business, communicated, and even participated in celebrations, however grudgingly.
Still, Jabba needed to prove that he deserved his place. And soon, he was given the opportunity.
Thirty years before the Great ReSynchronization—as the new galactic calendar would later call it—the Hutts turned their attention to Tatooine, a planet in the Outer Rim, south of Hutt Space. It had been uninhabited for many years, but seventy-eight years earlier, the ship Dowager Queen had crashed on the planet's surface, at the very site where Mos Eisley would later be built. The survivors were from Bestine IV, and they founded the settlement of Bestine, making first contact with the Jawas, the planet's indigenous inhabitants.
Fort Tusken was soon established, but its settlers were slaughtered by the Sand People a year later. It was after this incident that the Sand People—another enigmatic species native to Tatooine—came to be known as the Tusken Raiders, or simply Tuskens. Seven years later, the fort was rebuilt and repopulated. Five years after that, humans and Rodians founded Mos Eisley, and four years later, the Mos Espa spaceport came into existence.
At one point, attempts were made to mine metals on the planet, but the venture failed. What's more, all the equipment—machinery, crawlers, and mining tools—was abandoned where it stood. The planet's remoteness led to all manner of rabble gathering there. The scent of money was in the air.
The Hutts initially sent one of their representatives there—drawn from the younger families—but even after six years, he had failed to establish control over the planet. Jabba proposed sending himself instead. The Council deliberated it, then agreed.
On the one hand, if he failed, his seat would become vacant, and another could take it. If he succeeded, the Hutts would gain a vast new source of income, and their influence would expand. And in any case, one of the Great Hutts would be removed as far as possible from the center of powe, and the overall intensity of political strife would diminish.
And so Jabba arrived on Tatooine—and imposed his order.
Money and influence allowed him to accomplish much. He ruled boldly and without fear, seizing an enormous and luxurious monastery and enslaving the servants of a cult he neither understood nor cared to understand. He turned it into his Palace. As a result, for twenty years now, his business—his empire—had flourished, bringing in enormous profits. And it was no surprise: the planet lay at the intersection of multiple hyperspace routes, making Mos Eisley Spaceport a convenient transfer point for countless traders.
Far from the watchful eyes of the Republic and the Jedi Order, Tatooine became a haven for all kinds of adventurers—smugglers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters.
However, there was another reason that made Tatooine the perfect place.
It was here that Jabba could safely raise the one who would one day inherit his empire.
Twenty years ago, he had a son. To outsiders, this might have seemed unusual, but not to the Hutts—gender distinctions meant nothing to them. Lesser species built entire civilizations around such concepts, but the Hutts determined their own gender, changing it when and if they saw fit. Still, most Hutts preferred consistency.
At last, Jabba reached the inner chambers reserved for his son. The luxuriously furnished rooms, maintained at precise temperature and humidity levels, were the most heavily guarded location in the palace. At the slightest alarm, dozens of ferocious Gamorreans and hired mercenaries were ready to tear any intruder apart.
Glancing at the sleeping Rotta, drooling softly and gurgling, and at the pair of maids frozen on a nearby bench, Jabba nodded in satisfaction. Everything was in order. The child was healthy, under the care of loyal servants—though Jabba trusted no one completely and frequently rotated his staff.
Everything is as it should be. My son is growing. My wealth is growing. My influence is growing. He will inherit all of this in time—after all, I am not eternal. But the Desilijic kajidic will be great and famous. It will not fade into oblivion. Never.
Satisfied, Jabba returned to the throne room. His entourage and guests were already seated along the walls. Settling onto his throne slab, the Hutt took the mouthpiece of his hookah and inhaled deeply. Music filled the chamber, and Twi'lek dancers leapt onto the platform before the dais, spinning into a mesmerizing dance.
"Everything is ready, great Jabba," Bib Fortuna reported.
Jabba waved him away and took another drag. Sometimes everything felt too simple. Sometimes… one day blurred into the next—decade after decade, century after century. To pass the time, he looked around for new sensations. Other Hutts considered him a pervert for his tastes—though none would ever dare say so aloud.
And Jabba didn't care about empty words.
He had lived too long for anything to truly excite him—or rather, to hold his attention for long.
At last, the musicians began to earn their keep. For a time, he allowed himself to be captivated by the harmony of sound…