The palace greeted us with… liveliness. Lights blazed everywhere; hundreds of sentient beings filled the corridors or gathered in the central throne hall, where Jabba lay sprawled upon his dais. Music drifted through the air—light and unobtrusive.
At the entrance to the main hall, a pale-skinned Twi'lek met us.
"Follow me, honored guests."
Bib Fortuna led us up a narrow staircase to… an attic, maybe. Or a balcony overlooking the central hall. As it turned out, there were two more such boxes positioned to the left and right of ours.
"Make yourselves comfortable. You are honored guests this evening. Rest, enjoy yourselves," the Twi'lek smiled, displaying his sharp, sharklike teeth.
"We thank Jabba for the honor he has bestowed upon us," I said, dismissing Fortuna with a nod before dropping onto a luxurious couch. Ahsoka carefully sat down beside me.
"Wow, there are so many different species here," the girl murmured, turning her head from side to side; the balcony offered an excellent view. "Oh, Master, who's that?"
"Some kind of croco-thing," I replied thoughtfully, staring at… What in the world is that supposed to be?!
"A croco… what?" the Togruta looked at me in confusion.
"I have no idea what that oddball is. But it's definitely sentient—listen to the Force."
"Yeah…" A minute later, the girl nodded in agreement. "But why don't you know what it is?"
"The galaxy's a big place," I replied vaguely, and my Padawan seemed satisfied with that answer.
A few servants entered our box. While one lowered the curtains slightly, the others carried in dishes. Several plates and transparent pitchers filled with drinks were set before us. In the center of the table, they placed a tray of lightly cooked shellfish that were still wriggling.
Down below, the musicians struck up a rhythm—and music swept through the palace. I wasn't exactly a connoisseur, but it sounded like a blend of jazz and rock 'n' roll. Live music… it had been a long time since I'd heard it. Several dancers ran out into the open space in the center of the hall, spinning into their performance.
"Master, is this even edible?" the Togruta whispered.
"You've got to be kidding! And you call yourself a predator," I teased the Togruta, reaching for the tray. Taking one of the shellfish that was trying to crawl away, I examined it. Funny little thing. Seems edible, though. Yeah, definitely. I knew that much, though my memory refused to supply the exact taste of this peculiar 'delicacy'.
Breaking off its head, I sucked out the contents, bracing myself for something unpleasant, but—
Holy hell… This is… This is instant chicken ramen! Damn it… The taste, the texture… I nearly choked on my own saliva. If only there were a bit of sausage to go with it—and a mug of black tea… with sugar!
The music played on, and memories flooded me—of my life before I ended up here. And the memories formed after that. Those were the brightest of all, and therefore the most… painful, because in these past seven-odd months, there had been far too little that was pleasant.
Hutt… It's only in moments like this—when you allow yourself to relax and loosen the reins a little—that you realize just how exhausted you truly are. No joke: I've been here for over seven months, and so much has happened in that time… and most of it unpleasant. The Star Wars Galaxy turned out to be anything but a fairy tale—it was a harsh reality. They tried to kill me, to maim me; I lost an arm, and scars remain on my face that likely can't be removed. Wounds inflicted by the Dark Side are difficult to heal—or so Barriss Offee once said, and I see no reason not to believe her on that point.
Ahsoka, sensing my mood, quietly placed her small hand on my shoulder, reminding me she was there.
Damn. I didn't think it would be this hard… It would be nice to step away from all of it, even for a little while, and just rest… From the war, from training, from all these petty obligations… Yeah… Dreams are dreams because they're hard to achieve—and when you do achieve them, you risk losing your purpose in life.
With a faint smirk, I poured myself a full mug of… something alcoholic and drained it, chasing it with whatever fruit happened to be within reach.
And there's nothing to be done about this situation. I'll have to go against everything, overcome every obstacle, and maybe, someday, I'll be able to… I don't know exactly what I'll be able to do, but I know one thing for certain—it'll be my way, and no other.
I was pulled from my thoughts by Ahsoka's voice.
"Master," the girl said, pointing toward a servant entering the box. Behind him came… a breathtaking Twi'lek with a yellow tint to her skin.
"Lord Jabba sends you his finest dancer, that she may delight your eyes with her performance."
At that moment, the musicians changed the melody, and some singer—or perhaps even a duet—launched into a cheerful tune. The Twi'lek began to spin in her dance, not overly complex, but so graceful and beautiful that it took one's breath away. For a time, we simply watched in silence—even Ahsoka was captivated, gazing at the dancer's pirouettes with open admiration.
After a while, the girl asked:
"Master, that girl… is she a slave?" she said, hinting at the Twi'lek's distinctive collar.
"Most likely."
"But… shouldn't we do something? It's our duty…"
"What duty?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"Well… to the Republic! The Jedi don't approve of slavery!"
"The Jedi—perhaps. The Republic, on the other hand, does."
"How can that be?!"
Oh hell… looks like I'll have to give a lecture.
"So you know, despite all its lofty declarations about opposing slavery, the Republic quite willingly accepts into its ranks societies that have long since become infamous across the Galaxy for their slave trade. For example… take the same Ryloth. Slavery there is effectively legalized and serves as a state source of income. And Ryloth has been part of the Republic for more than ten thousand years. The Republic is perfectly satisfied with that arrangement."
"But…" Ahsoka looked thoroughly bewildered, and I hurried to soften the blow a little.
"Yes, the Jedi do fight against blatant cruelty toward slaves—take, for instance, the operation against the Zygerrian slavers, who are notorious for their undisguised brutality. But that was only a particular case. As for slavery in Hutt Space, the Republic has no complaints."
"Why not?"
"For the Hutts, a slave isn't an object—it's… money. Big money. And sometimes very big money. A dancer like that"I gestured toward the Twi'lek"could cost several hundred thousand credits, and at auction, if an especially outstanding specimen shows up, competitors might drive the price up into the millions. But even the cheapest slave costs money. And money is not something to be thrown to the wind, nor is it wise to covet another's wealth. In Hutt Space, no one in their right mind would dare beat another person's slave—it brings serious trouble, both from the owner and from the Hutts themselves. Individuals like that aren't… appreciated here."
After a brief pause, I continued.
"Besides, many enter slavery willingly—sometimes entire species," I said, focusing as I searched my memory. "Take the Klatooinians. According to an ancient treaty, their species became the Hutts' slaves forever. For more than twenty-five thousand years, they've remained in that role, serving as soldiers and not considering their status degrading. The Hutts protect them, care for them, feed them… The Vodrans were the same way—under the same legal foundations as the Klatooinians, they were the Hutts' eternal slaves for many millennia and don't lose sleep over it. There were other races and peoples as well. Hell, most of the Hutt fleet is crewed by slaves—and they'll fight fiercely for their masters."
The girl looked somewhat stunned. Yes, her image of the Republic as some ideal state had just taken a serious blow.
"But why?.."
"Why would they take such steps, you mean? The reasons vary. The Klatooinians, for instance, sought protection from the Hutts—and they received it. For an appropriate price. As a result, their species didn't go extinct; they're actually thriving now, unlike many less fortunate species. Or take the Twi'leks. They're remarkably healthy and fertile; every child born survives, despite the low level of medicine on their homeworld. Over time, they faced the problem of overpopulation and food shortages. Very little grows on Ryloth, and buying food requires money. The Twi'leks found a solution: they began selling their women, who enjoyed wild popularity across the Galaxy. Some sentients, meanwhile, hope only to become slaves. Otherwise, they'd simply be killed—or starve to death."
The girl didn't comment on my explanation, and I decided the conversation was over.
Meanwhile, the celebration below was gaining momentum, and before long Ahsoka began to feel uncomfortable here—even for her, this was… too much. Heh. If only she'd seen one of our old-school discos.
"Master, I think I'll go."
"No problem," I nodded, reaching for another piece of fruit.
***
After Ahsoka left, the festivities only grew wilder. By local time, full evening had fallen—both of Tatooine's suns had slipped below the horizon, and the hour of true revelry had begun.
Alcohol flowed like a river, and the slave girls' dances became increasingly provocative. As for me… I relaxed a little more than I probably should have.
Glancing at the smiling Twi'lek, who moved slowly and gracefully in time with the music, I mentally spat. And why the hell not?.. And indeed—no sooner had I beckoned her with a finger than she was instantly on my lap.
"Did my lord enjoy my dance?" she whispered, leaning close to my ear.
"Undoubtedly," I replied, gently lifting her chin and kissing her. She responded eagerly, and within a minute I realized a decision had to be made. And so… I began searching for the fastenings of her rather modest attire, at the same time assessing her proportions. The Twi'lek merely giggled at my actions. My evaluation—both tactile and the visual inspection that followed—confirmed the highest level of quality…
Notes:P@treon: SadRaven
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