Saga - OT The Bridge Over Ser Louis Canyon

The Bridge Over Ser Louis Canyon
Based, plagarised, on a literary classic, The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder.
A beautiful read, if you are curious.

It is set on Tatooine around Jabba's court, which substitutes for Peru in the 1700's.

So here we go...

 

The Bridge Over Ser Louis Canyon


There was a time, many thousands of years ago, when Tatooine was a greener land and a raging river smashed it’s way through the rocks of Ser Louis Canyon. Indeed, if you are adventurous and curious, one can spend a pleasant day down on the dry river bed, fossicking for the bones of long extinct water creatures. But today, water is a rare feature on Tatooine, and all that remains is a deep rocky scar, two hundred meters wide and several hundred deep, a final obstacle on your journey from the wildlands to the east into the relative civilisation of Mos Espa.

I sat on a ridge overlooking the bridge, absorbing the harsh beauty of the land that I had wandered this past year. I took a sip of my filtered body fluids from the tube tucked away in my cloak, and wiggled my fingers as deep into the sand as I was able, feeling the energy within. The Force had delivered me safely home again, as it always had. “You are with me and have protected me and I will serve you always.”

The Tusken nomads had not welcomed my message. Indeed they left me broken and dying in the sands, but The Force protects and I was found by a passing clan of Jawa. They healed me, and I healed them in return. I taught them the Rituals of the Force. I translated the mantras into their tongue. To see a dozen Jawas, all naked and lying upon the sand, whispering “The Force Is With Me and I am One with The Force” in their high pitched dialect and feeling the Force flow between the land and their bodies, and actually crying with the depth of their emotion... Oh, it was a beautiful sight. I travelled with them over the dunes in their rusting Sandcrawler, collecting and selling scraps, and turning hearts towards The Light when I could.

But eventually one must go home.
The bridge over Ser Louis Canyon had been built unknown hundreds of years ago, probably by Jawanese traders from some forgotten empire when the planet could support such a society. Made of ropes woven from Bantha fur, and planks from the now exceedingly rare Molacc tree, it swayed and creaked slowly with the breeze. It took a moment of commitment to decide to step out upon it. From my cliffside seat, I could see the dots of distant beings as they walked out on the bridge, some with hesitation. The groan of a reluctant dewback being nudged onwards echoed out across the desert. As the travellers reached the middle of the bridge, I heard a twang, like that of a musical instrument string breaking, and the rope of one side of the bridge snapped, dropping the planks and sending six surprised dots falling to the rocks below.

Now, another person may jumped their feet in shock and thought, “Oh those poor people. Thank The Maker that I was not among them. If I had been here but an hour earlier…” and so forth. But I had been at that time absorbed in my thoughts about the Intentions of the Force. As The Force flows within us and around us, it directs us towards the Greater Good of the Galaxy. As Master Luke had told me, The Force had placed him where he needed to be so that he would do what was needed of him. Oh that one evening by a campfire listening to The Jedi filled my heart. He opened my eyes and gave me a purpose, as of course The Force wished it to be.

And so I sat and watched those dots fall and wondered, “Why has The Force chosen this fate for these people? Does this tragedy have a higher purpose?” It could not be a simple random act. They disappeared from sight, and I stood up and prepared for the much longer journey down the winding paths of the canyon. The Force has a purpose for us all. The sad fate of these poor people had purpose. When I returned to Mos Espa, I would begin my search for a reason. I would investigate the lives of the fallen, and prove to all the Wisdom the Force. The Doubters will See. The Deaf will Hear. And the Wonder of The Force will be revealed.

 

Melba The Hutt

Spoiler

The Holograms of Melba the Hutt, as you know, are a widely revered masterpiece of Hutt literature. Perhaps they are even the only worthy literature their society has ever produced as they are generally a people prone to indulge in their baser appetites. But the messages from Melba to her daughter fill the reader with the powerful love of a mother Hutt for her grub, and also help in understanding why the Hutts, a rather moist species of monopod, feel a deep connection to this unforgiving desert planet.

Melba was an ugly child, if I may be blunt. Small and unusually lumpy, and a tongue that was brown and short. She was mercilessly teased by her cousins and ignored by her parents. Her nurse, the now ancient and somewhat shrivelled Gertrula the Hutt, told to me “She was such a disappointment really. None of that Hutt cunning. None of the... that sense of Enterprise. But she had her purpose in the family.” Which of course was marriage. She was eventually married to an import-export trader who had business dealings with her uncle Jabba, thus bringing their two fairly illegitimate operations into alliance.

Tarku the Hutt was a cold and remote, but quite successful, husband. As with Jabba it was unsaid but fairly clear that violence was a regular element of his day to day business activities, and that was where his true heart lay. The husband and wife lived a comfortable life in their villa on the outskirts of Mos Espa. An impeccably tasteful villa built of imported white alabaster bricks from Arcadia, a green yard of imported lawn and flowers kept alive by a couple of dear old slave gardeners and hugely expensive imported water. A small greenhouse enclosing a swamp to house those little tidbits a Hutt enjoys. Frogs, slimes, ikets, meizels. Sometimes Tarku would entertain his unsavoury clients, filling the house with noise as they drank potent reptile juices and smoked toxic spices. Melba would be required to be present and gracious as the evenings steadily descended into barbarity.

A rare intimate moment together after one of these nights of business networking found Melba egg-bourne. Their first child, little Edwina the Hutt, soon hatched and for a while Melba found simple motherly happiness.

Perhaps Melba could have adjusted to this sordid life of a mobster's wife, but around a year after Edwina’s hatching Tarku found himself the victim of a spectacularly gruesome misunderstanding between himself and his Tusken customers. The natives insisted on examining a shipment of thermal detonators, and buttons were pressed that were best left unpressed. Naturally after a few days of mourning, Jabba took control of Tarku’s former business concerns and promised to oversee his niece's wellbeing.

Jabba provided for Melba and Edwina’s needs, but “Ah my dear child, I cannot pay for such luxuries.” The garden slaves were sold, and her water budget was severely reduced, and that rare backyard oasis of green quickly turned to dead twigs and sand.

Melba however maintained her dignity. Jabba allowed her to retain a single slave, a small female human child called Pepita who would accompany her on regular shopping visits into Mos Espa. Melba would trundle along in her Huttese travelcouch with dozens of little brass millipede legs skittering along in the gravel. Little Edwina slithering around her mother’s bulk, always kept close underneath their parasol shade. Pepita walked along side with a bottle containing mix of water and scented oils. Every now and again she would spritz a mist over the Hutts to keep them moist and wipe away excessive dust.. At the market she would pick up goods and hand over coins to stall owners at the command by her Lady. And so this simple life for these three servants of the Force proceeded for a while.

As she grew older it became clear that Edwina had inherited the cold nature of her father. She was growing into a smooth, sleek monopod with a long bright pink tongue. A desirable young Hutt of beauty and powerful connections. She spent more and more time around her Grand Uncle Jabba and the illicit entertainments of his palace. Her mother's love felt smothering, sickly sweet and when the time came she chose from amongst her suitors a husband who would take her offworld as far away as possible from her mother and the unrefined isolation of Tatooine. A fine young male of inherited wealth named Denbo Benbella The Hutt whisked her away to the uncounted nightclubs of the party planet of Coruscant.

------

“See here. Isn’t she beautiful? Oh show it closer Pepita”.
“Yes Ma'am”, and the slave, now a young woman herself, reluctantly held a little holo-image in front of the leathery old lady sitting beside a durran fruit stall.
“It’s my dear Edwina. And look. See here.” Melba took off her wide brimmed hat, almost as wide as the fruit seller was tall. “Pepita!” and pushed it into her servant’s hands. “She sent me this from Draays Emporium in Skyline. That’s the most stylish district. The most expensive. Only the finest people can afford to shop there… such as my daughter. See. She loves me. She sends me the most wonderful things.”

Melba took her hat back, smiling to herself, lost in her inner fantasy of mother and daughter.

A gust of wind rattled the tarpaulin over the fruit stall. Melba gripped her hat, it almost flying away. The old lady lifted her scarf up over her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment to protect against the sand. As the wind died down, Pepita spritzed Melba with a little water. She noticed the stall holder repress a look of disgust at such an extravagance of water.

The old lady tapped the little rusted dome of a droid sitting on the stall, calling “Hep Hep!” The droid sprouted six legs and picked up a brush and got to business dusting the fruit.

“Your Grace”, said the weathered old stall holder, “She is a loving daughter indeed. A child’s embrace is a long drink from a deep well.” and then she returned to business. “That will be 5 credits, my dear” as she placed a dozen durrans in Pepita’s bag.
Pepita looked into her eyes and said softly, “We will pay three."
“Certainly” the old lady replied, a little surprised at herself agreeing.

------

“Dear mother. I wish you well. I hope you are keeping moist.”
The hologram from Edwina showed her standing in a grey, tasteful minimally furnished apartment in a good part of Coruscant. You could tell it was a good neighbourhood by the quality of the speeders that whizzed by the window. High quality imports from Hosnian Prime.

“Your son-in-law Denbo is healthy and very busy nowadays. He sends you his wishes. I am afraid we cannot spare the time for a visit to Tatooine this year. So many people depend on him and he simply cannot leave his business for even a day. Perhaps we will come next year.” Melba’s heart sank a little with those words.
“Please give my love to Uncle Jabba, and pass onto him the hologram in this package.”
Edwina gave a short bow and spoke to someone off-screen. “There. Done. Pack that up and send it,” and the hologram ended.

This was a typical message. Short, and usually containing an apology, and always some business matter that meant an excursion to Jabba’s Palace was necessary. The holograms left Melba feeling a bit unworthy. She suspected her daughter saw her as an Outer Rim yokel, incapable of any sophistication. She would spend days pondering a response that she hoped would finally impress and endear her. Poetry and Allegory and Wisdom of the Desert, often taken from the folklore of the various peoples of Tatooine. Proverbs from the fruit sellers of Mos Espa.

The next morning Melba and Pepita began the long walk to the Palace.

It was about time to beg Jabba for a little more water. There was no point in being prideful about it. Her household was in a state of crisis in the last days before the monthly tanker rolled in. Surely those filthy Gamorians were syphoning a bit off for themselves. She would deliver Edwina’s message and then beg as revoltingly as necessary.

Her millipede couch shuffled along the crushed stone road away from Mos Espa with Pepita walking alongside, blaster on hip to deter unwanted encounters. Traders and farmers occasionally passed in both directions. In floating speeders, or carts pulled by a variety of creatures or by the farmers themselves. Sometimes briefly bowing “Your Grace,” as they passed by. A Hutt is given due respect. Then the slow frightening walk over the canyon bridge that swayed and bounced. Her couch millipede legs deftly avoiding gaps and balancing it’s top heavy weight.

And then a long hot day around battered rock hills, Pepita spraying mist over her mistress to keep away the dust and whispering reassurances at every rattle of wind or falling rock. “Be calm you Grace. It’s just scrum rats. They won't hurt us.” All the while hoping that it really wasn’t some unpleasant Tusken.

They reached Jabba’s Door at dusk.
The door droid poked out it’s metal eyeball on a stick, and after a few sharp words, let them in.

 

Spoiler

“Aaahhh! Esta Awanga-wanga Grande Mollusc Melba de wife o’ Tarku di Hutt!”

In the dim dusty corridor inside the door, Bib Fortuna gave that pink gummed smile that struck terror into pets and small children, and delivered a dramatic long fingered hand gesture of welcome. His head tentacles gracefully swept around the chest of his long formal cloak.

“My dear Mister Fortuna! Kiss him for me Pepita dear.” Pepita stepped forward gave the Twilek a careful air-peck, to the inner disgust of both.
“I am so glad to see you again. You look so much healthier. Your colour seems to be returning.” A horrible growth of some Twilekian disease still bulged and throbbed on Bib’s neck, but Melba chose to ignore it. She was sure dear Jabba was providing him the best possible medical care. “And how are your lovely daughters? Ema and Yett, if I remember correctly…”

Bib exposed his jagged toothy smile, and hid the inner pain the question created. His daughter Yett had danced for a while in Jabba’s court, which did not end well. It rarely did for dancers. “Good. They good. Your hat, Grande Melba! So, uh words, uh, Megnificente! Much Mengificent hat you have! Where did you buy?”

He knew exactly where, and prepared for Melba's onslaught.

Melba beamed joy at the question. Pepita sighed and dropped herself onto a corner of the millipede couch. She needed a bathroom, but this could be a while.

“Oh, dear Mister Fortuna, it was a gift from my daughter Edwina. All the way from Coruscant. From Draays Emporium, do you know if it? The finest department store in the entire Galaxy. She and her husband are so successful now. His business is booming.” Bib knew all about the less savoury side of Master Denbo the Hutt’s Financial Services operation. “Edwina says that she will come visit as soon as she is able…” And on Melba went for a good while.

Eventually Pepita’s bladder reached bursting. She squirmed in her seat as Melba was in the middle of reminiscing about baby Edwina adorably screaming in terror at the noises of a Podrace event. “... and she spat slime all over our viewing booth, the poor dear…”

“Master Fortuna!”, Pepita pushed into the conversation, “I am very sorry your Grace for interrupting.” Melba snapped back to the present day, looking a bit stunned. “We have a message from Master Denbo Benbella The Hutt that we need to deliver to Grand Uncle Jabba. Perhaps we could see him now?”

“Oh yes.” Melba realised that she should be taking charge of this request and summoned up a more assertive tone. “I need to see Master Jabba right away. We must talk about the water situation!”

“Ein Grande Mollusc Melba, now my lady, you know he is unagara busy hutt.”
Bib eyed the small hologram cube Pepita had pulled out of her backpack. His long slender fingers gracefully reached out. Sharpened blue nails aching to grasp the prize, which Pepita carefully kept out of reach.
“I give holo to Jabbawanga...”
“But, but I have to see him. We have to discuss the water…” Melba looked flustered. Her imperious attitude was easily deflated.
“I am sorry Grande Mollusca, no Jabba see you ta. He very busy now.”

“Housemaster Bib Fortuna!" Pepita loudly declared, "Madam Melba will see her Uncle immediately! They are blood relatives and that is of greater importance than any orders you may have. You will obey the wishes of Madam Melba the Hutt!” Pepita’s abrupt words pierced through all argument as if the words directly entered their brains.

A little stunned, Bib Fortuna bowed, and motioned to the pair of Gamorian Guards to step aside. “Tak you Jabba now.” he said softly, surprised by the words were coming out of his mouth. The three of them, pale old Twilek, Grand Mollusc, and bladder bursting human woman proceeded down the smoky dim corridor to the tak-tak-tak-tak of brass millipede legs echoing on the stone floor.

As they walked, Pepita eyed a door bearing the standard galactic logo for body waste disposal. A silhouette of a creature with lots of tentacles. “My lady, I will be with you in a moment.”

---

Bib Fortuna whispered into the great Jabba’s ear. “Masterwanga, ariana grande Melba be here with holomessage from financier Denbo di Hutt.” after a moment of no reaction from Jabba, he gave the slug a nudge on the side of his head. “Master Jabba? You hear me?” Another thump.
The old slug’s head slumped, deep in a haze of spice and reptile juice.

The room choked with the sickly smell of spice and general uncleanliness. Smugglers, Thugs, Dealers, Hangers On, many in a similar mental state to Jabba filled to room. They Drank and joked, or just sat sagging in chairs or on the floor semi-conscious.

As a Womp Rat is attracted to its doom by the smell of rotting meat into a Sarlacc, so men were absorbed into Jabba’s Court. They came for business, but they stayed for the illicit pleasures, and often found themselves digested by it's chemicals, never to see the daylight again.

In one corner, a small blue Orotan tinkled a quiet tune on his organ with his feet, while a beautiful round Askagian dancer twirled slowly about the floor. “Miss Yarna, you are especially graceful tonight”, Melba complimented.

The dancer did a quick bow of gratitude, her hair decorated with bones and twigs clacking, and replied “Why thank you dear lady. And how is your daughter?” Yarna threw out her arms dramatically and did a little spin for Melba, slightly stumbling as she came to a stop. Behind them Jabba shuddered and woke up with a groan, “Auuugh! No! Huh?” and jiggled himself awake.

With blearly half opened eyes Jabba licked his lips “Melba my dear. Ahhh… Your daughter…” and Jabba began to fade off again. His eyelids drooped towards oblivion.

“Thank you for seeing me Uncle.” Melba began, trying it sound cheerful, “I have a message… Uncle?” Bib gave him another gentle bump to the side of the head. “Uncle, can we discuss my monthly water allowance? It is wholly insufficient for my purposes.”
Jabba grunted a quiet "yes" let it flow over him, unable to absorb her words through the fog.

“Masterwanga, Lady Grande has holograph from Denbo of Coruscant” Bib repeated softly.

"Denbo" Jabba repeated, then seemed to awaken a little, forcing his eyes open and lifting his head again.

“Denbo? Ahhh? Ah yes Denbo." His head clearing.
"Yes, yes, I have been expecting this. My dear child, show me."

“Can we discuss my water first Uncle? I..”
“Please my dear. The hologram.” Jabba was awake now, calm and presenting the illusion of sober control. Melba nodded at Pepita, who gave the little cube in her hand a squeeze and placed it upon the floor.

A small flash of light, and a semi-transparent image of Denbo The Hutt appeared before them. Slim and symmetrical for a Hutt. Holding his head high. Dressed in a jacket that was quite un-Hutt-like, but befitting with the business customs of Coruscant. A handsome Hutt indeed. Despite being her son-in-law, Melba naughtily imagined his beautiful long pink tongue.

“Greetings Master Jabba.” A quick bow. “As requested, this is a report on the inventory provided to the space freighter Freeborn III and its captain Yon Sm.”

Amongst the crowd of drinkers at a round table, the head of a small human looked up, recognising his name.

“The inventory was as follows:
Five hundred parcels of Kessel Spice. 75 crates, each containing 8 bottles, of Numerian Whiskey.
A single crate containing 6 bottles of vintage Alderaan wine for your private collection, Mighty Jabba.
Twenty five crates, each containing 200 satchels of Geonosian Bug Powder.
One cage containing 30 infant Smezzels.
And one parcel containing six hundred thousand Imperial Credits in small denominations.
I wish you good health Master Jabba and good evening.”
And with a bow, the hologram disappeared.

Bib Fortuna had been following the report while examinibg a paper list, comparing numbers.

The human, most probably Yon Sm, stood up and edged along the back wall towards to door. Bib saw him and pointed at two Gamorian Guards and then at the door. Yon stopped, fear in his eyes, touching a blaster on his belt.

“Masterwanga, we only receive five hundred thousand credits.” Bib Fortuna said quietly to Jabba, then turned and declared loudly, “Capitain Yon Sm! Why do we not have all money? Why?”

Melba trembled. She had seen where this could lead in the days of her husband’s parties.

Yon stared wide eyed silent for a moment. “It, it must be a mistake. Mister Fortuna, I have…

Jabba snorted contempt, and sipped on his reptile juice, getting more agitated.

“Awwww… Ha Ha Ha”, Jabba’s little pet sitting by his tail let out a harsh high laugh.

“Mister Fortuna… Jabba.. You have in your hands inventory I was given. I have delivered everything I was given. Please sirs, I have always been straight with you. Ask anyone, I am always..."

“AUUAGH!” Jabba roared, now wide awake. He turned his massive slug bulk with surprising speed and power and slid off his lounge chair. His lizard pet jumped away in surprise.

“WHERE IS MY MONEY!” He slid down into the crowd knocking away chairs as people scrambled to get out of the way. “YOU CHEATING, LYING SMUGGLER THIEVES!” Sliding directly at Yon, fast, terrifying. “YOU STEAL FROM ME. YOU ALL STEAL! AHHH! I SHOULD KILL YOU ALL!”

And there, Jabba had pushed Yon cowering up against the wall. “GIVE ME MY MONEY!” His huge face, his huge mouth and tongue, up close, breathing, spitting on the tiny fragile human. He looked like he would swallow Yon whole.

Pepita whispered to Melba, “Ma'am, we should go.” Melba was staring in horror. “But we haven’t discussed the water.” she said trembling. “Mister Fortuna?” but Majordomo Bib Fortuna was not listening. He was staring wide eyed at the spectacle before him, grinning his frightening grin, twisting his fingers in joyful excitement.

Yon was hard against the wall mortally terrified, “Jabba, please, I… I… I…” deep breath, “have always been square with you. I have delivered everything... great Jabba... I... uhh”

“YOU LIE!” And Jabba crushed his weight into Yons’ body. Yon gasped as the wind was pushed out of him. Jabba’s huge tongue licked across his face.

“Do you see what I do with thieves, little human?” Jabba breathed into his face, his mouth almost engulfing the terrified humans head. “You see?” and pointed over at a big black stone slab hanging on another wall. Some poor human had been encased within it, his face a frozen statue of pain.

“YOUR SHIP IS MINE.”
“Jabba, no! I can repay you…”
“YOU HAVE NOTHING TO REPAY ME WITH NOW. YOUR CO-PILOT IS MINE.”
Bib pointed at a surprised Ithorian, and the guards stomped over and grabbed onto the shaking, grunting creature.

A grating in the floor began to rumble open. The roar of some huge beast echoed up from the pit. The poor Ithorian made the panicked sub-bass clicking sounds of it’s species.

Jabba’s pet monkey-lizard laughed at the spectacle.

“Come, mistress. Come. Please.” Pepita insisted and finally got Melba’s attention, and her couch shuffled out of the room, as the guards lifted the Ithorian off his feet. No one gave them any notice.

As the millipede chair scurried up the corridor towards the Great Door, they heard the Ithorian scream, the Pit Beast roar, and the crunching of bones.

Jabba’s deep laugh followed them up the corridor.
“AND NOW THIEF, WE HAVE FUN WITH YOU.”

“Ahhh ha ha. Fun yooo”, laughed his monkey-lizard.

 

Spoiler

The trip back was rough. They had run out of the palace without restocking their water, and Melba’s wide brimmed hat had been dropped somewhere in the escape. The sand and wind blasted her mollusc skin, hardening and cracking and burning. Sand embedded painfully in wounds. Finally back in her villa, she entered her greenhouse, and slid into her personal swamp. Deep amongst the slimes and frogs and miezels she absorbed their healing properties and pondered. Her swamp needed a refill. It was getting shallow and drying on the edges. She hoped Mister Fortuna had listened to her plea for more water. But most of all, she wished her daughter would call her away to Coruscant.

“Pepita, set up the recorder.”
That evening she recorded her message to Edwina. She spoke of the dramatic beauty and power of a Tatooine sandstorm, filling the horizon and blocking the twin suns. She compared it to the regal authority of Grand Uncle Jabba holding court in his palace, uncovering criminals and delivering harsh but honest justice. And how his Justice was as firm as the love of a mother for her daughter. Unstoppable. Unwavering. Pure and Deep.
“Beautifully said, your Grace”, and Pepita tucked away the little hologram cube in her backpack for their next trip into Mos Espa.

---

The monthly water delivery did not arrive.
“Those Gamorians have stolen it all. I just know it! When Uncle Jabba hears of this, well, you know what he thinks of thieves. Just you wait!”
The water didn’t show in in the coming days, and there were no messages from Jabba’s Palace. Slime around the edges of her Glasshouse swamp was drying and crisping. And even more importantly, the household supply was very low. Both Hutt and Human need to drink.

When Pepita made enquiries in Mos Espa to purchase a 10,000 litre tanker of water, she only received mockery and astronomic prices. Nobody bought 10,000 litres. Were they filling a swimming pool? “Well, our swamp is going dry…”

After a week on indecision and growing desperation, there was only one thing to do. Another trip to Jabba. Another long walk over the canyon bridge, through the badlands. A few blaster shots fired to scare away curious Sand People and to convince a few Jawa to take a wide path around them.

---

The Great Door was open and the Door Droid hung snapped and broken from it’s socket.
The two travellers stood at the door, wondering what was within. Should they just walk in?
“Ma'am, wait here.” and Pepita drew her blaster and stepped into the darkness, wide eyed and careful.

Melba sat in the shadow of the palace stone wall, and took out a frog to chew on. She watched the hills, listened for desert dwellers, listened for sounds from within the door. Was that a Gamorian squealing somewhere in there? Was it in pain?
Blaster shots. The feet on Melba’s couch jittered nervously with an instinct to run. Perhaps…
Pepita came dashing out. “Ma'am, let’s go. Right now.”
“But. Is Uncle Jabba home?”
The couch shuffled along the stone road.
Pepita kept looking back at the door nervously. “Can your couch move quicker?” The little legs shuffled faster. “I didn’t see him Ma'am. I don’t think he is there.”
The distant sounds of more blaster shots and painful squeals echoed out of the doorway.
“But we need our water, Pepita. We should go back. Maybe Mister Fortuna is there. He always listens to me. Such a nice man, though maybe he should have some dental work done.”
“Ma'am! Please! People are dead in there. Dead. There’s droids in pieces. Do you understand? Your dear Uncle Jabba is gone.” Pepita took a deep breath and calmed her rising panic. She stopped walking and tapped the couch to bring it to a halt. She looked into Melba’s huge Hutt eyes. “My dear lady, do you understand? We are on our own.”

“But…” the implications of Pepita’s words began to sink in.
“Very well.” Melba said, “Couch! Home as quickly as possible.” and they scuttled away.

A few hours into the journey Melba seemed to have reached a decision.
“My dear Pepita. I don’t know what I would without you. You have protected me all these long years. Fed me and washed me. But if as you say we are now alone, then I have only one option. When we return to Mos Espa, you will buy for me passage to Coruscant. I have no choice but to place myself at the mercy of my daughter. She may despise me. She may turn me away, but, there. It must be.”

The road now travelled along the ledge of Ser Louis Canyon and in the distance the bridge hung as a grey arch between the canyon walls.
“I will have your Service Chip removed before I leave, for course.” The chip was the small explosive traditionally placed in the necks of all slaves. They were sensitive to Hyperspace so that a slave attempting to fly away would be inflicted with bloody consequences upon the first Jump. Removing the chip effectively freed a slave.
“And then you can decide whether to accompany me.” Melba sighed. “I hope… It is for you to decide, of course.”

“I understand Ma'am”. Pepita replied, and sank into silence.

And soon, deep in their thoughts, they found themselves at the bridge.

 

Wik’cha and Hekk

Spoiler

Their reptilian dewback clawed it’s way to the top of the dune, and the little Jawa by the name of Wik’cha looked with delight at the rolling sands beyond. He stood up on his saddle, raised little furry hands to the sky, and joyously called out to the world ahead of him.
“IKEE HAZAMUZEE TI PERUPA TI JA’BO’BA!”
“TI FACHA CIRKOZ EJAWA TAI STINKO TI TOMO-EYEEEEEEETA!”
“IKEE WALISA NGA’TI GOMJAM WAFF’MLA EEEEEE SASA! HAI!”
(“I sing the prayers of the Jedi! The Force surrounds me like the scent of a Lover! I am filled with the whole world and I rejoice!”)

The hiss of the sand blowing over the dunes. The smell of moisture and sand worms on the breath a dewback. The virile stench of his young brother sitting behind him. The heat of the suns above, white and yellow, filling the world with life, may one day a Jawa scavenge their gold.
It was a wonderful day.

Their clan was heading towards Mos Espa, their Sandcrawler filled with the scrap of the crashed sail barge of the Great Hutt. Such a tragedy, such a tragedy. But the pickings had been excellent. Little luxuries such as rare bottles of drink, expensive furniture, engines, some very nice weapons and clothing. Good money. But so sad for those who died and those still lost and doomed to die in the sands.
The Force had provided for the Clan however, and one should be grateful for that.

Wik’cha had suggested to his Elders that he and his brother Hekk should go on an expedition to the Great Hutt’s Cirkosa, his Palace, to discover what is happening there. Is there a new Master we should introduce ourselves to? Or perhaps, Force willing, the Palace is now abandoned and offering an opportunity for salvage. This was considered a very wise thing to do. Their shaman read the stars, and agreed the journey would lead to great rewards. And so the two brothers were free to travel the open dunes.

“Oh sit down.” Hekk called up to his over enthusiastic brother. “You are attracting the Urr People.”
His brother Wik’cha had this frightening urge to expose himself to the world. A madness brought on by that wild eyed human with his talk of The Force and the Energy of the land. The man should have been thrown from the Sandcrawler as soon as he healed, or even sooner.
A sensible Jawa stayed close to his Sandcrawler. He always had a place to run to when an attack came. He didn’t stand high on a dune and yell “Come and eat me!”
Hekk had agreed to accompany his brother for his own reasons. The delights of The Hutt’s Palace. The drinks and spices and talk of worlds other than this. Worlds made of nothing but water. And, ahhh, the dancers.

Wik’cha settled back in his saddle and jabbed the dewback in the back of the neck with a stick and a “Het!”, and the creature let out a hiss and resumed its lumbering walk. The Palace was only an hour or so away.

---

A scream. A human scream. “Ahh! Get away!” And then on a gust of wind was definitely the smell of human panic. Both Jawa were hit by the scent and instinctively tensed up and looked about for a threat and for a place to hide. Against all common sense, Wik’cha stood on his saddle and scanned the dunes with his binoculars. “There!” He pointed at a crashed land-scooter, a human, and a zarkatt growling at it’s potential dinner.

“Het! Het!” still standing on the saddle, Wik jabbed at the dewback, which leaped into a gallop.
One hand on the reins, the other reaching for the Ion blaster holstered on his back. Hekk just held on tight.

The zarkatt is a long feline, sand coloured creature. Long pointy ears for detecting distant prey. Wide paws for both running on soft sand, and also burrowing down when the day is at it’s warmest. And of course a wide grin of many many sharp snapping teeth. Its prey was an unusually round human woman in dangerously minimal clothing for the desert. Her hair entwined with bones and feathers and other decoration. She lay on the ground, perhaps injured if the state of her land-scooter was an indication. She kicked at the zarkatt as it pounced, getting a lucky hit in it’s face that knocked it away for a moment.

The dewback came to a stop on the top of the dune, pushing a spray of sand into the faces of the human and beast. Wik jumped off, landing just a few meters away. “Hey! Careful! They can scratch you up!” called Hekk. He more calmly dismounted intending to find the net hidden in the various bags strapped to their dewback. A zarkatt was probably worth selling for a few credits to someone. Maybe as a pet.

“Peace, beautiful creature. Peace.” Wik said calmly as he walked forwards. “Child of the Force.” He knelt down and pushed his fingers into the sand. “Feel the Energy between us.”
“Oh no no. Not this Force nonsense.” Hekk muttered. “Just blast it, your fool!” he yelled at his brother and fumbled for his own Ion blaster.

The zarkatt glared at the Jawas and the huge snorting dewback, then at the large woman screaming and kicking at it. It let out a snarl, scratched the sand with one paw, turned, and bounded away. Wik sat down and smiled to himself. The Force had protected everyone. Even the beast.

Hekk walked over the to woman, who began a fresh round of screaming as the little hooded man with a blaster approached her. “Do not fear us, large human lady. We will not harm you.” He reached to touch the ornaments in her hair, and she slapped his hand away. “Ahh. Just bones. No resale value. Do you have anything valuable? Rare metals? Gemstones? No? Ahh well.”
The human’s limited Jawaese was of no use in her distressed state. All she saw was a jabbering little hooded Jawa sniffing about her, trying to touch her clothing.

“Get away!” She swatted at him and then looked over at the noises being made by Wik. “Oh no! Please don’t take it! I’ll die out here!” She painfully tried to roll and push herself up onto her knees, the sand shifting under her and making the ordeal much harder. Her hip shot pain. It had been a hard tumble. Panting, she managed to get herself at least sitting.

Wik was looking at her land-scooter. It was never meant to be used out here on the dunes. It was only really intended for short journeys on flat surfaces. The woman had tried to fly it over a particularly steep dune and hit the sand, thus tumbling into her current predicament.
He gave it a tug, pulling the scooter’s nose out of the sand, and gave bit of a look over. The front repulsor unit just need a bit of a kick to push it back in place. Perhaps a with spot of paint it would sell for a handful of credits as a runaround for some town dweller. Teenagers loved this things.
He pressed a button down on the base of the handlebars and, click-clack, the scooter folded up into a nice carryable package.
“Hekk! Help me carry this.” It could be tied onto the side of the dewback’s saddle.

Hekk gave the injured lady a sniff. She was someone she recognized. He walked around her, dodging her hand swats. The smell of her sweat, her breath, her armpits.
“Ah! Of course! I know you!” He chattered incomprehensibly to the woman.
“You are a dancer at the Great Hutt’s Palace! You dance for Jabba! Jabba! Yes!”
The woman picked out a few key works in his gibberish. “Jabba” “Dan-seeah” Enough to realise that she had been recognised.
“Yes! I know you! You are… Yes, I remember! You are Yarna. Yarna the Dancer. You dance so beautifully.” And the hooded creature did a little hopping spin, waving his hands and blaster in the air.

“What are you doing out here in the dunes by yourself, dancer lady?” Hekk asked.

 

Yarna

Spoiler

Jabba and his entourage had left on his sail barge two days ago. If his plans followed the usual itinerary, they would fly out to his favourite Sarlacc pit, and drink copiously as they threw their captured Jedi and a few other unfortunates to their doom. An afternoon of entertainment, then returning home for more drinking and spice huffing and ogling of dancers. All rather depressingly boring really.

But a week or so had gone by with no one returning and no messages, and while that was enjoyable at first, the remaining staff in the Palace were starting to wonder what they were supposed to do. If nothing else the huge Rancor Beast in the pit was starting to rot and the smell was shocking. Yarna and the other dancers were running low on small talk, and had drunk most of the cheap stuff. Drinking the quality juices of course could have Mortal Consequences, so that was left alone.

The Gamorian guards were getting hungry, as they tended to do, and much of cooking staff had left with Jabba. So, starving, they had broken their discipline and raided the kitchen. Like the big hungry pets that they were, they rampaged through the kitchen devouring and tearing the place apart, as escaping frogs jumped about.
The dancers watched from a distance, at first amused, but then realising “And what will we eat?”

It was the droids in the dungeons below who finally received a message of the whereabout of Jabba. A maintenance droid from the sail barge had been picked up and repaired on a Jawa Sandcrawler. It transmitted a plea for rescue in the moments before a restraining bolt was installed. The dungeon droids realised that they no longer had a master and sent up to the ground level a negotiator to discuss the future of the Palace. The negotiator was a thick grey metal clanker over two and a half metres tall whose primary role was the intimidation and sometimes murder of farmers who refused to pay their dues.

HEH-V-B stomped onto the Jabba’s reclining platform, and blared out of his speakers,
“ATTENTION ALL ORGANIC LIFEFORMS! ATTENTION! YOU WILL COME TO THE COURTROOM IMMEDIATELY. THERE WILL BE MORTAL CONSEQUENCES FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT ATTEND THIS MEETING.”

Slaves and dancers, maintenance workers and guards, who had largely fallen into a lethargy of inactivity, were shaken awake by the harsh electronic voice and gradually made their way to the Jabba’s courtroom.

When the room seemed to contain most of the remaining Palace staff, HEH-V-B spoke.
“ATTENTION ALL STAFF. LET IT BE KNOWN THAT OUR MASTER JABBA THE HUTT IS DEAD. LET IT BE KNOWN THAT MAJORDOMO BIB FORTUNA IS DEAD. LET IT BE KNOWN THAT CAPTAIN GORT OF THE GAMORIAN GUARD IS DEAD. LET IT BE KNOWN THAT CHEF ALLEMANIA OF THE PALACE KITCHEN IS DEAD.”
The listening crowd rumbled. Someone called out asking how this had happened, but HEH-V_B offered no explanation.
“ATTENTION. LISTEN TO IMPORTANT INFORMATION. AS OF THIS MOMENT ALL PEOPLE OF AUTHORITY ARE DEAD, THEREFORE AS OF THIS MOMENT THE PALACE OF JABBA THE HUTT IS NOW THE PROPERTY OF THE DROIDS OF THE PALACE OF JABBA THE HUTT. ALL ORGANIC STAFF WILL LEAVE THE PALACE OF THE DROIDS OF JABBA THE HUTT BY SUNDOWN. FAILURE TO DO SO WILL HAVE MORTAL CONSEQUENCES. END OF INFORMATION.”

And with that the enormous droid clanked out of the Jabba’s courtroom to the stairs winding down to the dungeon.

The Gamorians, about twenty of them, immediately began grunting at each other. All muscular porcine machismo. Thumping their spears on the ground, squealing and snorting into each others faces. Obviously they had no intention of accepting the ultimatum.

“Hey! Morko!”, called Mina, the young green Twi’lek dancer. A guard in the huddle turned around. “You think you can take ‘em?” she asked. The Gamorian grinned and grunted and gave a cocky nod.
“Smash ‘em up boys!” she yelled. “Damn clankers. Smash ‘em!”
The maintenance guys also yelled encouragement and talked about getting into the armoury and grabbing some blasters.

Yarna looked on with more fear than excitement. A buzz of madness filled the Palace. Everyone with bad plans. Well, they could do what they wanted but she was going to get out right now. Go find her children after all these years, if they were still alive. She would get to the kitchen and fill a skin with water, then find transport and get away.

Some of the Gamorians began venting their aggression at the furniture, throwing chairs, kicking ornaments. Mina yelled “You’re my boys!” in delight. And then one Gamorian squealed something loud and probably inspiring, and together they stomped towards to the wide curving stone staircase downwards, spears waving.

Before they even reached the stairs, HEH-V-B came running up with floor shaking steps and swinging a vaporator condenser tube. He smashed into the surprised Gamorians, knocking down several of them. Behind him followed a group of perhaps a dozen droids of various makes and capabilities. Armed with circular saws, iron girders, welding equipment.

The Gamorians struck back stabbing spears and swinging axes. Three of them grabbed onto HEH-V’s arms and neck and used their own considerable bulk to drag the droid backwards with a crash, then ripped at his optic sensors with their bare paws as it punched and kicked. Maintenance workers came running in with whatever heavy objects they could lay their hands on. Hammers, chairs, power drills. Without any grace or skill they hacked at each other. A brutal slaughter of droid and beast and human.

A short domed barrel of an astromech, unable to roll itself into the killing, spied the dancers back at the doorway arch of the courtroom. Waving a kitchen carving knife in it’s spindly manipulation claw, it dropped it’s middle motivator and wheeled around the carnage and rolled directly at them. The Twi’leks scattered with frightened squeals, and the astromech aimed itself at Yarna.

“Oh dear.” She ran back into the courtroom with the astromech charging after her, bleeping and blooping hate. Narrowly avoiding a knife swipe, she jumped up onto the high stone pedestal Jabba once lounged upon as he held court. The droid rolled around the pedestal, bashing against its stone edge and jabbing it’s knife, but Yarna managed to keep her distance. Hopefully the droid didn’t have a jetpack. Then, when the droid rolled into just the right spot, Yarna lunged at a button on Jabba’s feeding table and the trapdoor fell open, dropping the droid into the Rancor pit below with a clank and clatter.

Delighted with her victory, she bowed. “Thank you. Thank you. You’ve been a lovely audience.” and performed a graceful spin on the edge of the pedestal, awkwardly putting her foot down on the air in front of her, losing balance, and dropping into the pit herself.

 

Malakili

Spoiler

Malakili, the Rancor Keeper, and fellow beastmaster Giran listened to the chaos happening upstairs.
“Should we go see?” asked Malakili nervously. He rubbed his bare pot belly as he listened upwards and hearing a distant swine squeal. “Did you hear that?”
“They’re murdering each other up there. We’re safer down here.” said Giran, the rather more green and reptilian of the pair replied. “ We need some weapons, Mal. Something to defend us with.”
The clatter grew closer. They were fighting in Jabba’s courtroom just above them. Mal could see shadows up through the pit trapdoor.
“Well I’ve got this long axe on a pole.” said Giran, thumping it’s end on the ground.
“And I have… well… “ and Mal picked up his trusty Rancor poop shovel and gave it an awkward wave in the air. It was too large and heavy to be a precise weapon, but it was something.

Filling the room before them was a 15 foot dead Rancor monster, smelling worse and worse every day. A week ago Mister Fortuna had come down to see them. “You must clean this up, eh wah. Cut! You Cut! You make small pieces. You put in hole!”
Mister Fortuna mimed a knife stabbing motion with his hands with surprising emotion as he spoke.
But she had been Malakili’s baby. How could he do that to his beautiful Mandhi The Rancor? How, I ask you? “Could we hire a crane? I’d like to give her proper burial”
Bib just gave Makakili a red eyed stare of contempt. “Your job it is! You Cut.”
And now Master Jabba and Majordomo Bib Fortuna were nowhere to be seen. He didn’t know what to do. Giran could see tears welling up in Mal’s eyes again. There’d been a good deal of that over the past week. “I know, I know, Mal” he said automatically.

Then into the pit clattered a droid.

The two beastmasters jumped in surprise and edged past the Rancor’s head in the doorway to see the stumpy astromech righting itself with a few dazed bleeps. “Are you alright?”
The droid looked about and saw it’s carving knife in the dirt. It rolled over and picked it up with it’s extendable manipulation arm. Malakili considered walking over and helping the droid out. Then, properly armed again, it charged at the two men, squealing insanely.
“What?” They jumped in surprise, backing up.
Giran shoved his halberd at the droid, the point sliding off its curved body with no effect. The astromech just charged directly at Giran swinging it’s knife randomly, and slashed his hands. Bleeding, Giran yelled and dropped his weapon and ran.

Then into the pit dropped Yarna.

She bounced off the snout of the dead Rancor, landing in the dirt.
Dazed, she clamoured to her feet, to see Malakili swinging a large shovel at the astromech while blubbering the whole time “Go Away! Go Away!”

“Hey! A5! Why you be so foolish, eh?” Yarna yelled.
The droid’s domed head swivelled around.
“Brrrt Scweee Skwii Skweeeee!” it screeched angrily, and with that distraction, Malakili managed a solid whack on the droids manipulation arm, snapping a joint and dropping the knife.
Unarmed but furious, it’s dome swivelled back and rolled unarmed at Mal, hitting him in the shins. He gave the droid another clang on the dome. It stopped and screamed more electronic abuse.
“Really A5, what are you thinking?” Yarna scolded, and gave it a hand slap.
“Wwrrrr boot”, A5 replied dejectedly.
“Really? Sorry? You think that will do it? huh.”
“I got the muck out of your wheels. Picked that nasty crap out with a stick.” said Mal. “You wouldn’t be rollin’ without me.”
“Wrr-r”, and then A5-D8 let loose a long babble of squeaks and boops and beeps of self justification.
“The torture droids? Why are you listening to those freaks?” said Yarna.

Up from the edge of the trapdoor, came a basey low quality speaker voice “Yo que ti ack shoo?”
A5 blooped what was in effect “You better run meat woman”, and then squealed loudly “Help! The humans are oppressing me!” A silver insectoid droid head looked down.
“Mal!”, called Yarna, but Malakili was already running. “Oh dear.” and she ran as the droid dropped. She ran past the rotting dinosaur, under the jagged gate that had crushed its head into the rancor sleeping quarters, full of the bones.
“Que sik ti!” called the Insectdroid.

From there, Yarna ran through a door with a barred window, which fortunately Mal had left open and dropped down the bar that locked it tight. Malakili’s workroom held his shovels, repair tools of various sorts, a couple of metal workbenches and a coffeemaker. Then at the other side was the door to the outside. Mal stood at the exit, tears in his eyes.
“I can’t leave her.” he said to Yarna. “I have to protect Mandhi.”
He picked up a long electric prod and tapped it on a bench, emitting sparks and crackles.
“There!” he pointed quickly at a folded up land-scooter. Something used to get about the Palace grounds quickly.
“I’m coming baby!” he cried.
“Mandhi!” and he pushed the door bar upwards, just as the droid rammed it open, knocking Mal onto his back. The Insect-head droid reached to grab him, and Mal shoved the electric prod into it’s face.

Yarna jumped on the scooter and, with the outside suns startling her eyes, she hit the power button and zoomed off into the desert.
“Who’s Mandy?” she wondered.
All she had to do was ride over a few dunes, and she would soon be on the main road to Mos Espa.

 

Wik’cha and Hekk again

Spoiler

Wik’cha and Hekk climbed back onto their dewback, with the land-scooter tied onto the side of the saddle. And with a snort the beast carrying it’s Jawas lumbered away.

Yarna sat on the sand. She screamed at the Jawas, alternating anger and pleading, until they disappeared out of sight. Then she just screamed for a while. Eventually that grew tiring.
She couldn’t walk. She had no water. Nothing to do, except wait for death.

She sat there waiting for the zarkatt to return for several hours. Dying was quite hot and a little boring. She thought of her children. Strong hunters, surely now with a clan of children of their own. Emmar, her daughter was so pretty. Always happy with a big smile. She loved decorating her hair with trinkets. Yarna smiled at her old memories. It would have been so nice to see them again. To dance for them.

Then with the groan of a large reptile, and the shush of shifting sand, the dewback lumbered back over a dune with Jawas in the saddle.

One jumped down and detached the scooter, clicking it so that it floated in readiness. He waved a big womp-rat bladder of water at Yarna and then attached that to the handlebars. Finally he walked over to Yarna with a medical dispenser gun. She tried to pull away, but the Jawa gave a soft calming “ut-ut”, and she let him inject it into her leg with a soft hiss. Warmth in her muscles replaced the pain as medicine floated up her leg into her hip.

And with that all done, the Jawa looked at Yarna and with some hesitation gave her as much of a hug as his little arms allowed. He climbed back into his saddle, and with a loud “UTINNI!”, the Jawa’s mount crawled over the dunes again and they were gone.

---

The Jawa’s had seen the carnage inside of the Palace. Even before they walked in, the smell of many dead creatures filled the air. The smell of violence. A feral medical droid ran at them carrying a Gamorian spear picked up from one of the many dead guards lying about the halls and rooms. Hekk immobilized it with a few shots from his Ion blaster. This was definitely not a safe place for two small Jawas alone, but it was clear that if their clan acted quickly, there was an enormous bounty of salvage to be had. They had to get back to Mos Espa and their Sandcrawler and get them moving before humans or the Urr People beat them to the prize.

But Hekk was having a rare emotion for a Jawa. He felt guilt.
“She was such a graceful dancer. Did you never see her dancing for Jabba? An artist.” he said to Wik’cha. Wik felt the Grace of the Force in the moment and agreed to a small detour to give the woman a chance at life. The Force would smile upon them for this act of charity. And so they visited the dancing woman again, and gave to her small mercies. Free of charge. Then onwards they rode towards Mos Espa.

As they approached the bridge over Ser Louis Canyon, Wik’cha imagined the Palace converted into a temple of meditation and enlightenment. A place powerful with the Force. Perhaps for the first time in generations, his clan could find it as a place to settle from their endless roaming of the sands.

At the bridge, their mount was reluctant to step onto its swaying planks. Another traveler ahead of them was making the bridge rock and sway. Their dewback needed a gentle prodding. “Forwards!” and Wik gave it a slap on its hindquarters. “Ahuna!”

 

Yon Sm

Spoiler

“Jabba! This is your last chance. Free us or die.”
Outside, some fool claiming to be a Jedi was making grand speeches before he was pushed into the Great Sarlacc.

Yon stood, tied to a post in a room at the back of the sail barge. A stupid blubbery green Gamorian Guard sat in front of him on a small wood stool. Grinning and dribbling. He’d gotten drunk with this idiot many times in Jabba’s Palace. Good times they’d been, for a while anyway.

“Hey, Gorgo!” Yon grinned back, “This is your last chance to set me free. How about it, eh?”

The guard stood up, intending to give the prisoner a slap.

Blaster fire! Screams and yells, and people running. It sounded like a shootout had erupted. The guard ran out of the room. Through the open door he could see blue and red blaster bolts flying, and… was that a lightsaber swishing about? There are no Jedi anymore. Who as a lightsaber?

Yon pulled at his ropes. They were fairly incompetently tied. Gamorians and their big fat fingers. With enough wriggling and a good deal of pain, maybe he could get a hand out. Almost there, the joints of his thumb needing a brutal push to get through. The barge shook with explosions. Boom. Boom. Boom. Then everything exploded and the room was falling.

---

Yon awoke in the sand with his hand still attached to a wood pole, also now lying in the sand. His arm was twisted horribly and screaming pain. Pieces of the barge and the broken bodies of the crew scattered about in dying flames. He tried to pull his arm free, immediately making him gasp at the increased agony. He clawed at the rope with his other hand, wildly, desperately. He looked about for something sharp. Nothing was to be found, and he fell back onto the sand exhausted. Several tentacles of the Great Sarlacc felt his thrashing about and shot into the air. The giant fingers fell on the sand a few meters short on him. They wiggled and strained to grab their prey. The Sarlacc’s beak crowed with desire for another morsel of meat in this rare feast, but Yon was just too far away. The tentacles lifted and flopped on the sand, gradually finding bodies and dragging them in.

The suns fell low and the sky turned a beautiful deep red-orange for a while as shadows stretched over the dunes. In the distance the sound of a combustion engine grew louder. The ground gradually rumbled with more intensity, and then there was a Jawa Sandcrawler in sight rolling towards him. With a loud hiss, it’s engine shut down, and the forward loading ramp dropped. A single brave little Jawa stepped out, surveyed the scene and yelled back “Mumbayee!”. With that a dozen more Jawa tottered down the ramp and began investigating the wreckage. They Picked up pieces of machinery and furniture, weapons and clothing. Sometimes they paired up to carry heavier items.

One Jawa began a little song in that high sharp Jawa pitch. “Hi Ho! Off to work we go!”, and soon the others joined in. This was a joyful time for them, hopping about and making new profitable discoveries under the wreckage. They stumbled upon a great bounty.

One fellow took up the grim job of examining the dead. He walked from body to body, pulling off rings and sometimes removing shoes if they were of good quality. As he gradually came closer, Yon pondered momentarily if he should play dead, but instead he called out, “Hey! Jawa boy! Here! Here! Help!” he yelled.

The Jawa jumped in surprise. “Hai!”. He trotted over, careful not to get into grabbing range. His glowing yellow eyes looking Yon over, he sniffed and said something in Jawaese to the effect of “Your arm is buggered.”
“Hai. Ibana. Buggered.” said Yon.

The Jawa pulled out a knife, “Ho. Nyeta. Relax.” said the Jawa, and cut the rope. Yon felt the relief of being able to move his upper body more freely, but his arm just dangled uselessly.
“Aheeta!” the Jawa called to the others. They turned and came trotting.

There was a good deal more scavenging to do, but eventually the little creatures lifted him up onto a floating trolley and pushed him into their Sandcrawler.

---

Yon gradually floated back into consciousness as the pain shot wore off.
He lay on a rug on a metal floor. The whole room rumbling, sometimes jolting, as the Sandcrawler traveled along.

Around him lay scavenge from the sail barge. Piles of armor and weapons seemed to be their favourite bounty. Through his drug induced mental fog, he realised that his arm no longer hurt. He managed to turn his head a little, and with a sigh, he understood that the arm was gone. So be it. It would upset him more later when his head was clearer.

After weeks locked away as Jabba's prisoner, thoughts of escape hazily wandered through his head.

Yon managed to sit himself up. Not an easy task with only one arm and still forgetting that the other was missing, but eventually he got himself sitting up wobbly. With great pain he managed to roll over into a crawl of sorts. On his knees, but having to do an exhausting push and jump with his single hand. He hop-crawled towards the open iron doorway. Somehow heading to freedom.

There was the noise of quiet Jawa muttering beyond the door. Low to the ground, he peeked around the doorway to see with blurry eyes a mother talking to a child. The child had his hood back, and face-filter with protective yellow goggles pulled down as his mother lovingly wiped away dust and sweat from his face with a rag. She was telling him stories of cowardly humans and their fear of the desert and how that pathetic human in the other room should have been pushed into the Great Sarlacc. He was such a beautiful child, with wide all blue eyes. The child heard Yon’s clumsy movements and looked at the doorway and then, startled, directly at Yon.

The child let out a gasp, “Aknay!” at seeing Yon peeking around the corner.

“Nyeta! Boko Hoomen!”, his mother hissed at Yon. No! Bad man! And she stormed over and gave him a kick in the face. Yon fell back, as mother chattered angrily at someone out of sight. “Ibana. M’mbay. Mambay.” An older Jawa was apologising.

“Hey! Back! Go to your bed!” the old Jawa shouted as he stood over Yon and poked him with a stick. “Go! Go!”

Yon crawled back to his mat and collapsed, his plans of eascape easily defeated.

The Jawa disappeared for a moment then came back carrying a bladder of water and a bowl of dried vegetables of some sort. He placed them beside Yon and said in Jawaese, “My name is Hetfet.” He bowed. “Here. You should eat.”

“Thank you Hetfet. Taa Baa. Thank you for my life.” Yon whispered back. He struggled to sit up again and picked up the bladder, pulled the stopper, and drank greedily. The Jawa said nothing of his impolite wasteful spillage.

“I will ask you to remain in this room of now. I believe that The Force delights in our generosity towards others, and so we have healed you. But there are limits to our generosity. There are things a good person should not wish to see. You must respect that.”

Yon nodded and kept drinking. He knew that viewing a Jawa child's uncovered face was indecent.

“Your arm. I am sorry. It smelled as a dead thing, so we removed it. If you wish, we can replace it. One moment.”

Hetfet left the room again and returned with a scratched black protocol droid arm. It was far larger than his natural arm and absurdly heavy.

“A good price yes? We install cheap too. Good deal, yes?”
But despite the Jawa's insistent attempt to haggle the price, Yon was polite but firm and declined the offer.

Hefet explained that they were heading towards Mos Espa. The Sandcrawler would take the long winding journey down into Ser Louis Canyon, it being far too heavy for the bridge. Yon sat on his mat and stewed in his hate for Jabba and the cruel death of his Ithorian copilot. Poor Unthm. That hammerhead never hurt no-one. He was cheered a little by Hefet’s description of seeing that fat slug’s body being dragged by tentacles into the Sarlacc, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to be repaid for what had happened to him, preferably with gold. And he knew where that gold was. Oh yes. Those stupid Gamorians, when they have a few pints in them, they tell you things. Yon knew where Jabba stashed his luxuries. The Gamorians couldn’t resist telling tales of Jabba’s private swamp up in the tower, and what disgusting things he got up to with Twi’lek dancers in there, and all of its shiny expensive, decorations. There would be chaos at the Palace now. No one in charge. And he was going to rage even more chaos on whoever remained, mark my words.

And so he stewed and plotted until the Sandcrawler crawled to a stop on the outskirts of Mos Espa. As he walked down the gangway, squinting at the suns for the first time in days, Hetfet called after him “May the Force bless you and protect you.” and gave a quick bow.

“Fifty credits for the arm! My last offer.”

 

Spoiler

To his surprise his ship, the Freeborn Three, was still docked at the Spaceport.
The ship was an ugly thing. Scratched, burnt grey paint. A large metal cube of a backside, with four thrusters bolted onto the top, looking far too small for the craft they were supposed to push. The Freeborn was never going to break any speed records. A small half egg of a cockpit was strapped to the front with barely room to seat two pilots. It had no weaponry, which was fine by Yon. He had tried only meddle in low level illegality, avoiding trouble. Except for one stupid, stupid decision in keeping Jabba’s money. A grab at just a bit too much. Ahh well you can’t go back. “But who’s sitting in the belly of a Sarlacc, old Jabba?” He yelled to his ship and laughed. “You think you throw me in? Who walked the plank, eh? Who?! Ha ha! It always works out in the end. Yes sir.”

Yon stood laughing before his ship in the early evening, the shadows growing long on the half dozen merchant ships arranged on a circle around the central control tower. His shirt and trousers shredded, one sleeve limp without an arm and caked in blood.

“Hey!” Yon turned, looking for the voice.
“HEY! Yes you!” The Port Master was walking towards him. “Get outa here ya filthy bum!”
The Master waved a stunner rod, ready to give a jolt of encouragement to leave the property, but as he got close he realised who this wreck of a human was.
“Captain Sm? Oh man. What happened to your… you’ve had a rough time it looks like.”
The Master looked over him. “Want a drink?”

---

Yon showered in the Port Masters quarters, and dove into a meal of canned spiced bantha on toast. The Port Master gave him a greasy pair of overalls that he had worn when refuelling ships. Yon collected some credits from his hidden hundred thousand stash on the Freeborn, and from that paid the anchorage fee of eight thousand credits.
“Fill her up. I’ll be leaving in a few days, and I might be in a rush.”

At a local bar he found an unemployed Ithorian pilot, called Mo’op’ol’mp. Something like that. Yon had collected a translation headset from the Freeborn, and that was the best it could interpret of his deep throat rattles.
“I’ll see you here in a few days”, said Yon. “I’ve got to visit someone first.”
“I’ll be here drinking.” Mo’op rumbled and lifted his glass. “To Jabba! May that slug give the Sarlacc indigestion!” Around the bar drinkers called out expletives in their various species dialects. The news of Jabba’s death had spread quickly with the arrival of the Sandcrawler. He had to hurry.
“How about a few credits to tide me over?” asked the Hammerhead.

Next, Yon bought an old speeder bike. Hopefully it was small enough to take over the Ser Louis bridge and save a few hours journey. And a some water and desert rations, and a couple of good, powerful, blasters.

And off he zipped on his speeder, a cloud of dust kicking off the road behind him. Others would be following very soon. He would grab the prettiest trinkets and get out before too many tourists arrived.

As he left the township, flying past the parked Sandcrawler, another cloud of dust followed behind him. An orange and white landspeeder that maybe was just going his way for the moment, but maybe it was following him all the way to the Palace. He leant forwards on the handlebars, twisted the throttle with his single hand and pushed faster. For an hour the landspeeder followed, and panic began to rise in Yon.

He could see the tall wood supports of the bridge ahead. If he abided by the rules, he would slow and dismount, look for travelers already on the bridge, and wait his turn to cross. There was long established etiquette surrounding the bridge. But that speeder was getting closer. What if they were after him? What if they had blasters? This was Yon’s treasure! He deserved it after what Jabba had done to him, damn it! Compensation!

He roared past farmers resting with their animals at the edge of the canyon, and blasted onto the bridge not slowing. The repulsors of the speeder bike ripped up planks behind it. Ahead of him, already about a third of the way across and coming in the other direction, was a Hutt lounging along on a travel couch. The sight of another fat slug added fire to Captain Yon Sm’s rage. He revved the bike faster.

“How rude.” said Melba The Hutt, hearing the whine of a speeder engine in the distance.
“Pepita? Should we go back, or insist that he turns around? This is most impolite of him.”
But the Bridge made the final decisions for all concerned.

 

Conclusion

Spoiler

My dear reader. Blessings upon you.
After a year of talking to people of the desert, survivors of the incidents at Jabba’s Palace, Droids and pilots and Gamorians and Jawas, the shocked farmer who drove the landspeeder that followed Yon Sm to his fate, I found myself no closer to understanding why The Force allowed this tragedy to occur.

Fellow devotees stated that my search for meaning was somewhat heretical. “The Force does not work that way”, said one in a night ended in angry shouts and threats.
From then on, I found myself shunned by other devotees.

Indeed, the closer I looked into the stories of each person, it seemed that the Will of the Force would have been greatly enhanced by their survival.
A mother reunited with her daughter, and her seemingly Force sensitive servant freed to achieve her full potential. A blossoming of Force devotion amongst the Jawaese people that may have arisen at the Palace.

My suggestion at the end of my investigation that perhaps The Force does not influence the fate of life in the Galaxy after all, that The Force left us to be thrown about by the random collisions of time, was received with even deeper anger from my brethren.

The Force remains mysterious. I still believe and I remain devoted, but its intentions remain forever mysterious to me. I hope that it forgives me for my presumptions and accepts me into its arms when my days are over.

May The Force be with you and your children always.

 

Edwina

Spoiler

Denbo the Hutt, the son-in-law of Melba, had landed his cruiser with a small private mercenary army in Mos Espa Spaceport several days ago. They had rolled off in a surplus Imperial troop carrier towards Jabba’s Palace to reclaim his rightful property. Everyone in town knew their short run of freedom was soon to be over. The Hutts were back.

Edwina went in search of her mother. She soon heard the stories of the tragedy of the Bridge, and with tears accepted that her dear mother was indeed gone. But who had seen her in her last days? She learned of a dancer who had survived the violence at the Palace, so that evening she went to a local cantina to watch her perform.

The bar was loud and crowded, smelling of the sweat of a dozen species and their favourite alcohols. A live band played raucously amongst the talk and laughter. Edwina slithered in the door with an imposing bodyguard dressed in black body armor beside her, quickly killing the noise. A path opened up for them, people keen to get out of her way. Everyone stared with a little fear in their eyes. With some hesitation the barman stepped forwards to greet them.

“Your Grace. It is an honour.” and the normally gruff barman gave an small bow. He looked at the nearest table, and the people sitting around it jumped up and pushed themselves into the crowd.
Edwina nodded lightly, and slid over to the table and wrapped her tail around it’s leg. Her bodyguard marched over stiffly, and stood beside her. “Oh do sit down Reggie. Relax. I’ll order you a drink.”
“Ma’am”, the guard tersely replied through his helmet’s speaker system, and pulled in a chair and sat scanning the crowd for threats. Edwina had learned that there was no point in asking him to remove the helmet.

The barman waved his fingers at the band, “Go on. Play.” and the music started again. People and creatures gradually returned to their conversations and drinks.

The barman took a dish cloth from his pocket, gave his face a wipe and then flicked it across the table to clear off crumbs and puddles.
“Thank you good sir”, said Edwina, repressing her instincts. “Reggie my dear, could you…” and the bodyguard unhooked a bottle from his utility belt and gave the table a little spritz of disinfectant. He then pulled a few tissues from another little box on his belt and wiped the table dry.

“What can I get for you, your Grace?” the barman asked “On the house of course.”
“Oh I always pay my bill good sir.” Edwina replied “Hmmm. I will have one of your local wines. I will leave the choice to you. Something sweet. And he will,” she looked at the bodyguard and thought for a moment, “He will say that he cannot drink while on duty, but get him a beer. Yes. I think he looks like a beer person, don’t you think?”
The barman looked at the silent military figure, wondering if he could drink without taking his helmet off. Perhaps he should bring a straw. “Uh, yes. I think so. I will be back in a moment.”

But before he could leave she said, “Oh, and could you ask that fine lady to bring our orders.”
She pointed a finger at a large beautiful waitress pushing through the crowds with a tray, laughing with customers as she moved about collecting empties.
A little confused, the barman gave a simple “Uh huh” and walked off yelling “Hey! Yarna! Come ‘ere!”

Edwina watched to crowds enjoying the evening, full of noise and smells. The nightclubs of Coruscant were not that different, to be honest. Louder and perhaps the clientele were better dressed.

Yarna dropped a bottle and a glass on the table and began walking away.
“No no my dear. Stop for a moment. Please.” Edwina called.
The bodyguard stood up. “You’re going to threaten me?” Yarna turned angrily.
“Oh no. That wasn’t my intention. Reggie dear, go dance or something will you? The band is quite peppy. Give the two of us a moment.”
“Ma’am”, and Reggie the bodyguard walked off, the crowd parting to give him plenty of room.
“Please sit down. I think I remember you. Yes. When I was young I used to watch you dance. You put on quite a show.”
Yarna stared at her and said bluntly, “I won't go back, if that’s what you are here for.”
Confused for a moment Edwina then laughed, “My dear, I want nothing from you other than a little conversation. Sit. Please. Do you like beer? Reggie hasn’t touched his.”
So, against her better judgement, Yarna pulled up Reggies chair and sat.

“I seem to remember my mother was quite taken by your dancing. You were a highlight of our visits to our dear Uncle. The band, that little blue fellow on the keyboards, you always made her smile.”

“Lady Melba. Yes. She always gave her little compliments to me. Not a typical Hutt at all.” said Yarna.
“Sadly no. My mother was a sweet lady, but no… no oomph to her. She didn’t take charge of what was rightfully hers.” Edwina lifted her massive slug head high. “A Hutt takes charge. Uncle Jabba always said that.”
“But she looked after you.", said Yarna. "Raised you safely around Jabba. A lot of people who he touched didn’t do so well. I could tell you stories of dancers. All someone's daughters. But you escaped.” Yarna touched the ornate necklace of gems and precious metals around Edwina’s enormous neck. “And did rather well for yourself I’d say, while your mother dried up on this dust bowl.”

Edwina licked her lips with her huge graceful pink tongue, reminded that she needed moistening. She took a sip of her wine, and sucked in her lips. “Even your wine is dry. Awful. Enough of that for tonight.” she pushed the glass as far away on the table as she could and looked at Yarna again. “She would send me letters, you know. Lovely little holograms, full of sweet messages about how much she cared for me. How she missed me. It was impressive what she’d come up with sometimes.”

“She always talked about you.” Yarn replied. “Always excited about your life on big wonderful Coruscant. You went to see this show. You bought that dress. Always talking like you were right here in Mos Espa. Living next door. And you were always coming to see her soon, but you we always busy right now.”

Edwina found herself silent for a moment. “Yes. Always…”

“At least she had your letters. ", said Yarna. "I haven’t heard from my children in ten years. Has it been that long? To be honest, I don’t even know if they are alive. Old Jabba wasn’t keen on us talking to outsiders, you know.
I think they’d be married now. Yenni had her eye on this boy from Yotani tribe. Maybe that worked out. Our planet was a regular target for Slavers. We Askajis make fine strong servants, I guess. But little Yenni was smart. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.”

The evening wore on. The bartender let Yarna keep talking to the Hutt. He knew it was worth his while to get on the good side of the gangsters.

The the band finished their set and packed their instruments and the crowd steadily thinned. The barman put a on tape of classic dance hits for those who still wanted to party.
“Reggie has some moves on him. Look at him go.” Edwina smiled at her boogying bodyguard. “Underneath that Deathtrooper helmet he’s really quite a sweetie.” And the two ladies drank bad Tatooine wine into the night.

Finally, when the bar was nearly empty, Edwina wished Yarna well and called Reggie over from the dance floor. “Reggie, I think she’s earned it.” Edwina said, and nodded.
The bodyguard, pulled an Imperial credit chip out of another pouch in his utility belt and handed it to Yarna.
“Go home my dear. See your children.” she said softly.
“Reggie! I need a bath. Too much sand on this rotten planet. It gets everywhere. Take me home.” and off she slithered.

Yarna looked in her hands at the ten thousand credit chip.

 

Mo’op’ol’mp

Spoiler

“Listen, I’m not a crook,” said the Port Master, “but that ship has been sitting there for months now. It’s too expensive to just leave there.”

Mo’op’ol’mp rumbled into his translator something about it not being his ship.

“Oh don’t be so honest. He’s not coming back. If he was, the ship would be long gone. It’s simple. Pay the five thousand credit anchorage fee, and congratulations, you are the proud owner of the Freeborn Three. Go find yourself a customer and a cargo, and make yourself some money. Or, I’ll just sell it. But it can’t sit there forever.”

In the middle of this conversation, the Port Master looked out the window casually to see a large woman walking on the tarmac, looking lost. He stepped out of his office and waved to her.

“Hey! Lady! Can I help you?”

 

Yarna

Spoiler

The Freeborn landed in a clearing in a forest, not far from a smoky little village.
Simple wood shacks, animal skin tents, abundant healthy vegetable gardens. Little two legged goat-like creatures grazed in what might be called the streets.

A few dozen people dressed in skins, and with sticks and bones decorating their thick matted hair, ran to see this rare visitation of a huge cube of a sky-ship.

Yarna d'al' Gargan stood on the gangway, looking for familiar faces.
She could hear them talking in her native Askaji, and it felt like pure cool water.
She took a deep breath and walked down, arms out wide.
“My children! Are they here? Yenni? Alma?”
An old lady gave a gasp of recognition. “Yarna! Oh my dear! You escaped? Oh my!”
The lady took her hand and walked with her towards the village, but Yarna pulled her forwards into a jog. “Where? Which one? Hurry!”

They arrived at a simple log cabin. Smoke from the chimney. A simple woven blanket as a door.
“Hello?” Yarna called.
“Hello? Who’s that?” a woman’s voice came from inside.
The blanket pulled aside and a young lady stepped out of the shadows. Long hair, large brown eyes.
The woman looked at Yarna with a moment of confusion and then gave a deep gasping shock of recognition.
And Yarna’s daughter threw herself into her mother's arms.

The End.

 

An experiment in making something far too long more digestible.