Chapter Nine

Taylor was impressed, and that alone was enough to make her stomach churn and her bile rise.

The slave pens, because that was what a place for animals was called, were nothing if not efficient. Each cage had thick bars in front of it, but solid walls on either side. The lights were dispersed enough that you could see into each cell, but just barely.

Maybe some of the guards were aliens that could see better in the dark. She was still wrapping her head around aliens being somewhat humanoid.

A series of pipes linked up each pen, a single drop falling into a little saucer by the door with a staccato beat. Pat-pat-pat. Enough, Taylor estimated, to fill a cup every few hours. She didn’t see how they were fed, but it was probably with the same bored efficiency.

Her skin crawled as she entered the frankly enormous room and walked down the rows of pens. Her power was grabbing each person, human or otherwise, as she passed. She was used to ignoring the pain of whatever she controlled, of ignoring the senses that weren’t immediately helpful to her. Here, it was impossible to do so. These people were in pain. Cramped legs, bowed backs, bruises on the sides of heads, between their thighs, on the soles of their feet.

Her fists were clenched by her sides, and even with her head down she couldn’t not see them. The bugs alone, from the gut worms to the flies, were telling her more than enough.

Once she was rid of her collar, she was going to have to do something about this. The problem was what. “Hey, HK-47,” she began. “Do you know if there are any groups that help slaves like these?” There had to be someone out there.

“Comment: Some soft-hearted organics sympathize with the suffering of slaves. In all likelihood there are groups willing to ship slaves off planet to rehabilitate them. Assessment: A waste of resources.”

Taylor didn’t comment on HK-47’s attitude. She still wasn’t sure if he would continue with her, and right now, she needed him. “We’ll have to do something about this,” she said.

“Query: Do you intend to lead a rebellion? Statement: Oh, how wonderful. Rebellions are always bloodbaths. So much well fermented anger and desperation.”

“We’ll have to see,” she said. “My collar first.”

Through her bugs, she could feel the rough layout of the room ahead of her. There was what looked like an operating room next to a place with a few beds where other slaves were laying down. None of them were human, not unless the humans of this world were green and covered in fine scales. And had tails.

Beyond that, behind a thick door, was a sweltering little room filled with screens and what were probably computers. A single non-human was sitting back in his seat, mouth wide open and probably snoring. “I’ve found the control room, I think,” she said.

They crossed the medical rooms without fuss. The only occupants that weren’t knocked out were medical droids and her experience with those so far led her to believe that they were mostly innocent when they weren’t tearing an arm apart like a ripe fruit.

The person napping in the security room slipped into her range as her little group approached the door, but she didn’t do anything about it, just moved the secretary she had taken over to the door while her Gamorrean escorts took up positions where they could keep an eye on things for her.

She might have had a few thousand bugs to work with, but the vision and sense of smell of the pig men were still far better. That, and they were large, armed, and strong enough to pass as weak Brutes. They would scare off any intruders far better than her rather sparse swarm.

The door was a thick slab of some sort of metal with a large, complex device in the wall next to it with the rough outline of a hand. It seemed that Nimas, for all that she was slowly starting to piss Taylor off, was at least the cautious sort

Her captive pressed her hand to the device and the door slid open. “Let’s get to work,” Taylor said.

***

Sib Nark was a businessman first, an entrepreneur second, and a trader third. The distinctions would be, to most sentients, utterly unimportant. To the Neimoidians it was the difference between being a servant and a master.

Well, perhaps not in the literal sense, he had to remind himself as he faced the Great Nimas, ruler of Mos Ipas and the greatest slave owner on Tatooine and a great portion of Hutt space.

The... throne room, he supposed it should be called, was a disgusting pit, the floors stained with sweat, spilled juices and other filth, the walls, all of them filled with little alcoves where business people, bounty hunters and sycophants were sitting, were once beige but had darkened under the smoke of too many pipes and the dust carried in from outdoors.

Gamorreans stood by every entrance and a few more competent--though that was hardly a feat worthy of praise--guards were patrolling the edges of the domed room.

In the centre, on a pedestal that made sure that all had to look up to see her, was the Great Nimas. The slug was large, as most Hutts of her age were, with faintly green skin covered in a fine sheen of water that was being sprayed from a sprinkler above. A fine show of waste and decadence on Tatooine.

“Great Nimas,” Sib Nark said with a bow, his long robes pulling before him and displaying the marks of his clan, not that he imagined anyone there would have the cultural learning required to understand that he was their better.

“Sib Nark,” the Hutt said. She rolled a little, folds of fat moving so that the water would cover her properly. A pair of young Twi'lek girls were quick to begin rubbing her skin. “It is a pleasure to see you in my humble estate.”

“The pleasure,” he began, “Is certainly all mine.” He didn’t tell her how little pleasure there was, only that it was his.

“Hrm, yes,” the corpulent Hutt said. She rolled back over onto her stomach, one of the slave girls almost tripping off to podium to get out of her way. “You are here to sell me some rusty droids, yes?”

Sib Nark stood tall and proud, robes billowing out around him in a show of injured pride. “Great Nimas, I would never sell any equipment that is less than adequate to any trusted customer. It would sully my good name. No, I am here to sell you droids that we no longer have a use for, but that would be more than adequate to the task of guarding your esteemed person. These are some of Baktoid Combat Automata’s finest OOM-series droids.”

He bowed a little towards the Hutt, keeping his smile to himself. What he said was true. He would never double cross an esteemed, trusted customer. The Hutt was so far from either though, that selling her a thousand rusted pieces of junk wouldn’t rob him of any sleep.

“And what could you want for such a grand bounty?” the Hutt asked. She gestured one fat arm towards the side and a protocol droid carried over a goblet the size of Sib Nark’s head that was filled with sloshing juice.

Sib Nark began to pace, a gentle walk in a small oval before the great Hutt. “I have heard rumours that you recently found yourself in the possession of an entire crop of new slaves,” he began. “The Trade Federation does not often use slave labour, not when out own droids are so much more superior, but this might be an occasion where we make an exception.”

The Hutt laughed, a deep bellowing sound that echoed off the walls and was mimicked by sycophants across the room. “Do not try to play me for a fool, Sib Nark. I was not born yesterday. Your Trade Federation has allied itself with the Falleen. You want the lizards I have.”

Knowing when to change tactics in a negotiation was bread and butter to the Neimoidians. “You are most astute, great Nimas. Yes. We are attempting to curry favour with the Falleen. Your slavers recently captured a passenger ship with some important members of Falleen society. We wish to purchase these from you.”

“Ah, the truth comes out at last,” Nimas said. She wriggled on her throne, mouth opening in a Hutt smile as she poured her drink down her gullet. “Yes, we still have some of these slaves.”

“Some, great Nimas?” he didn’t allow the worry and disappointment to show in his voice. He needed every important member of the Falleen taken. Returning half of them would not be worth half the bounty on their safe return, nor half the praise from the sitting government.

“Some,” the Hutt agreed. “The fitter ones were sold to Jabba. If you want them from him, it is he you will have to deal with. There are plenty that are still here. I could sell them to you, of course.”

“That would be exceptional, great Nimas. Perhaps your senechal could provide my party with a list of names? I would like to enquire about the health of these slaves before I purchase them as well.”

Sib Nark was no expert at reading Hutt body language, but he had the impression that Hutt was eager to begin their negotiations. “Of course, Sib Nark. I will call for Bween and she...” the Hutt trailed off.

Sib Nark heard it a moment later, a low keening noise that rose in pitch, then lowered back down only to rise again. An alarm. His assistants tensed, his pleasure droids reached into their retractable busts and pulled out sonic suppression blasters and he noticed the bounty hunters around the room reaching for weapons of their own.

“What is the meaning of this?” Nimas demanded.

Sib Nark had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

***

“So you’re telling me,” Taylor said as she looked at all the consoles laid out before her. “That without the password I can’t remove this damned thing?”

“Correction: The device can be safely removed without the proper authorization. Removing it that way though would set off the local alarm, and without the passcodes to disable that one, we will set off the fortress’ main alarms.”

Taylor frowned. “And then we’ll have to fight our way out of a base filled with armed enemies out for our blood with nothing more than three pig people, that fish lady, that lazy guy and the two of us.” She pointed at each one of her assets in turn. It wasn’t terribly impressive.

It wasn’t too late to pull out, but that would be a disappointing end to an otherwise successful venture. Then her eyes skimmed over a screen overlooking the slave pens. Most of them looked tired and worn out, but a few, especially the green-skinned lizard people, looked to be itching for a fight.

“Hey, HK-47,” she began. “Where is the armory?”

Hk-47 stood a little taller and she would have sworn that she could feel the smug satisfaction wafting off of him. “Statement: Oh Darth Khepri, few questions have brought so much joy to my circuits as that one.”

***