Once she returned to the ship, Ahsoka managed to calm down fairly quickly. And yet, a lingering unease refused to leave her. Entering her cabin, she began preparing for her evening meditation—but the moment she sank into it, a sudden realization struck her. The Togruta had finally found the source of her unease—she couldn't feel her Master. He had likely closed himself off from her.
And he used to scold me for that! That's not fair!
Reaching out to him—using the bond between them—she managed to sense his emotions. They were… strange. Ahsoka tensed—and suddenly she could see him. See him in the literal sense: an image, blurry but distinct enough, formed directly in her mind. She barely had time to marvel at this new ability before she felt blood rush to her face.
Her Master and that Twi'lek dancer… They… They…
With tremendous effort, she tore the connection apart, though the intrusive image remained burned into her thoughts. However, even after "switching off" the vision, she couldn't escape the sensations and emotions still drifting faintly through their bond.
Ahsoka sprang to her feet and began pacing the room. He… He… He's my Master! Then she flushed again. Well, yes, he's my Master. But nothing more. He treats me kindly, and he said I'm like a daughter to him… But, but still—he's mine! It's unfair!
Then her Master's words surfaced in her mind, something he had once told her:
"It's up to you. I can't impose my will on you."
Ahsoka sat down on her bunk and wrapped her arms around her knees.
Well… yeah. I can't force him… That would be… stupid. And anyway, tomorrow he won't even remember her, and I'll still be his Padawan. If he needs this, then… I won't stand in his way.
***
When I woke up, I grimaced. I'd returned well past midnight, and now it was already late morning. My head still throbbed after last night's celebration. No surprise—I'd really cut loose. Damn, after a day off like that, I need a vacation. And instead, I've got negotiations. Hm… I wonder if that Twi'lek could be considered a bribe?
After taking a painkiller from the medkit and grabbing a bite to eat, I went over the data the Jedi had sent me once more. In truth, there wasn't much there that I didn't already know. The document from the Chancellor's office, however contained a draft version of a potential agreement with the Hutts. Or rather, it was a set of key theses on which the treaty could be based—things the Republic might agree to, and things it absolutely could not.
A few hours later, in the early afternoon, I was back at Jabba's palace. I was led into a small, dimly lit chamber. The Hutt gestured to a seat opposite him. I settled into the chair, suppressing the urge to prop my feet up on the low table between us—it practically invited it.
There were no refreshments laid out. Instead, servants brought in… a hookah. Jabba took the mouthpiece and inhaled deeply. A second mouthpiece was presented to me. Damn Indian, I thought.I had to light up the "peace pipe." Hopefully there wasn't any spice in it… ah, but something was definitely mixed in. A tricky hookah.
After this ritualistic prelude, we began the negotiations. We didn't need a translator, so we spoke in Huttese—a somewhat coarse language, but dense enough to convey an entire sentence in just a couple of words. It's particularly beloved by those fond of strong language; in my opinion, it yields only slightly to the language I am used to in that department—occasionally less expressive, perhaps, but overall richer and juicier.
In short, we spoke in private. And our conversation was very… interesting. And substantive.
"Jabba Desilijic Tiure. It is a great honor to speak with you."
"I have not met with Jedi in a long time, nor spoken with your kind. You are the first to visit my palace officially. In the past, we—the Republic and the Hutts—have had many disagreements and spoke the language of hostility. But now, I hope we move from that bird language to a proper one. And speak of the true state of affairs, Jedi."
"The Republic has always been… double-minded," I nodded. "And the issue is not personal animosity or 'xenophobia.'"
Jabba took a deep pull from the hose.
"You are correct. The issue is not so much xenophobia as spheres of influence." The Hutt traced a vague shape in the air with the mouthpiece. "That is precisely why most conflicts began; other causes were secondary. Surely one cannot count people's religious preferences as a true reason?"
"Humans?" I asked. "Not the Republic? As I recall, it was the Republic that started the war with you. Or am I mistaken?"
"Indeed. We Hutts live long enough to know. I am too young to remember the era you call 'before Ruusan'—but my mother did. And judging by her words, little has changed since then. Humans have always stood apart from the rest. There are simply more of you than anyone else. And that is why no one likes you. Though for the Republic, that is normal. Bothans dislike Twi'leks, Sullustans dislike Malastarians, Caamasi and Mon Calamari like no one but themselves, Duros—those wandering nomads of space—quietly and silently despise everyone else, Neimoidians hate the entire primitive world unlike themselves, Trandoshans see Wookiees as slaves, and those poor defective cloned fools from one of the hightech worlds are despised by absolutely everyone."
"Do you mean the clones?" I started to bristle, but the Hutt clarified:
"No. Are you unaware that most Kaminoans are descendants of clones? Or first-generation clones themselves? That they conduct meticulous selection within their species based solely on eye color?" The Hutt's vertical pupils studied me carefully.
"That's the first I've heard of it," I admitted honestly. "Although… no, excuse me, I may have heard something along those lines."
"It is exactly so. Their species stood on the brink of extinction: natural cataclysms devastated their planet, and all the continents of Kamino vanished beneath kilometers of water. Their population dwindled to a few hundred thousand individuals, and so they turned to cloning. They developed the technology successfully, which allowed them to survive—and later to profit from it. Yes…"
Jabba fell silent for a moment, catching his breath.
"You humans are an enterprising species—and a prolific one. Over tens of thousands of years, you have spread across so many worlds that there is simply no room left for others. All the vital segments of the hyperspace routes are controlled by humans; most of the Galaxy's industrial capacity is concentrated in human hands: Kuat, Corellia, Alsakan, Rendili, Denon, Humbarine, Alderaan, Naboo… The list could go on indefinitely."
"And all the other species just watched silently?" I looked at him with interest. Jabba hadn't said anything I didn't already know… well, almost nothing. But I had never considered all those facts in quite this context.
"It becomes obvious to those who are willing to look, Vikt. Anwis Eddicus, Signet Mezzileen, Eixes Valorum, Vaila Pecivas, Thoris Darus, Frix Pecivas, Kalpana Eddicus, Finis Valorum, and now Sheev Palpatine. All of those were your Chancellors, Jedi, who came and went during the time I have lived in this world. And that's only the ones I remember. You no longer remember them—they are history to you. But the important thing is that not one of them was non-human. There was a Rodian, some five hundred years ago, but that is all."
That's a lot of repeating surnames. And wasn't the first Chancellor after Ruusan also… a Valorum?! Isn't that too many coincidences?
"Hm. I wouldn't be wrong in saying they're related? Well, all those Valorums?"
"You are correct, Jedi. Members of that distinguished family have held the office of Chancellor for many generations, alternating with other families. Quite possibly, ten years ago your Palpatine was elected by a majority precisely because they wished to rid themselves of hereditary democrats."
"But… if humans aren't liked, why are they chosen as Chancellor?"
"It is quite simple. Humans are not liked, but you have at least been studied over this abyss of years. You are familiar. If a human holds the office, then all are—conditionally—equal."
Jabba laughed. At least, that sound was meant to resemble laughter among Hutts. I offered a diplomatic smile in return, drawing more deeply on the hose. The smoke we exhaled had begun to gather thickly beneath the ceiling. The entire atmosphere of seclusion suited our conversation. And though we had strayed far from the formal subject of negotiations, I did not rush to interrupt Jabba. First, it would have been rude. Second, he was saying things that were both important and fascinating—and I have no reason to hurry. It was quite interesting to look at everything from the outside, to assess the situation through someone else's eyes.
"But to choose someone of another species? And at the expense of one's own? No, Vikt, no one would do that. Especially since humans invented this thing you call 'democracy,' and now you are forced to abide by it. Which means that while humans hold power, the other species retain relative autonomy and freedom. Whenever one species grew economically strong, all the others lagging behind would immediately help the humans drag them down. Remember Malastare—when the Gran finally overstepped all bounds, the Senate voted by majority against their actions and unleashed you Jedi from your leash. That is how you live. Who can outmaneuver whom. Who can outvote whom."
Well, yeah, I can practically see the Senate chamber from Episode I in front of my eyes. And Episode II wasn't any better. And Episode III, with its "thunderous applause"… Jabba's right. Oh, he's right… The Galaxy doesn't revolve around the Sith alone.
"And now?" I leaned forward slightly.
"Look at what is happening in the Galaxy, Jedi. What is it, if not a war born of xenophobia? The Separatists are supported primarily by the Outer worlds—the planets of the Mid and Outer Rims. The Republic is backed by the Core and the Colonies. Look at your current leaders, those at the height of their power: Palpatine, Organa, Amidala… And look at the leadership of the Confederacy: the Neimoidian Nute Gunray, the Skakoan Wat Tambor, the Geonosian Archduke Poggle the Lesser, the Gossam Shu Mai, the Muun San Hill, the Koorivar Passel Argente, the Quarren Tikkes, the Aqualish Po Nudo… Shall I continue, Jedi?" Jabba regarded me with patronizing calm.
I drew silently on the hose and, tilting my head back, exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. It hit me, as they say. Like a giraffe. A stupid, long-necked mutant giraffe…