What Says the Wind? Chapter 1 "Solo, how do you get yourself into these messes?" Han grumbled under his breath as the armored doors ground shut behind him and his two companions, stopping the breeze that swirled the sand into the palace. He knew exactly how he got into messes like this: his lady. He'd won the Millennium Falcon two years before in a game against the notorious Lando Calrissian. The gambler had taught him and his Wookiee partner the basics of the ship, before parting ways. Unfortunately, the basics were not everything and Calrissian had neglected to mention how many ports he had skipped without paying docking fees or the way the Falcon tended to break down when it would do the most damage. They had arrived here, fresh off a stint with the Black Hole Gang: a group of freighter bums, outlaws and hired guns. It had been good company, and the leader, Amazia, was sad to see them leave. "You always have a place here, if you want it, Solo. That goes for you, too, Furball." She had shaken his hand, and hugged Chewbacca. "If you ever need help in the clean world, find these two. They went legit a while back." Found them, he had, on a backwater rim world called Tatooine. A desolate place, with two suns and a Hutt-controlled economy. The main products were sand and pilots. Moisture farms were so large, with vaporators a half-klom apart, that most children learned to fly before they could read. Zora and Talla were an unlikely pair. Unmated human females were a rare enough occurance on the Rim. Zora was tall, square-shouldered and curvelessly slim enough to pass for a man, especially with her cropped red hair, wearing the jumpsuit and large-brimmed flat-crowned hat she favored. Talla was shorter, sandy-haired and stocky. Her taste in clothing was the same as her partner's, sans hat. They were Jabba the Hutt's main pilots for legitimate goods like food and luxuries, and had offered to sponsor him to the Hutt. Between jobs and perpetually in need of credits, Han had agreed. The old girl needed a new motivator, replacement alluvial dampers, and about six hundred credits to bail her out of impound. Again. Han had already decided that the next time he ran into con artiste extraordinaire Calrissian, he would take every credit out of the gambler's hide. The palace was an old monastary, cool and dark inside. A stench like nothing he'd ever encountered assailed him. The stones underfoot were slippery with substances Han didn't want to think about. "Solo, take your hand off your nose. You'll offend our employer. Here, have a whiff of this gunk." Talla passed over a small clay pot. The acrid smell stunned his nose so the stench didn't penetrate anymore. Even the smell of the green smokestick Zora had fired up wasn't detectable. Han had seen Hutts on other worlds, but nothing prepared him for the sight of Jabba. The repulsive slug-like being reclined on a dais, his oily yellow skin shining under the the intermittant torch light. The huge orange eyes watched as his dancers entertained him, half-shut with pleasure. One tiny arm held the mouthpiece of a hookah from which he took occasional puffs. The wide slash of a mouth drooled almost constantly and the pointed tip of a slimy tongue protruded to lick the nonexistant lips. The dregs of space hovered around the edges of the room as the dancers went into the final forms. The fat multi-breasted Askjian spun into the range of the slim boy who moved in the center of the women. He took the chain attatched to his collar in both hands and swirled it over her, catching her in a loop and pulling her close. He wound the chain about them both, and they danced together. His hands moved over her body, never touching her, yet seeming to arouse her anyway. His movements were subtle and graceful, especially for a boy still in the middle of his adolescence. He bent her backward, almost kissed her and then spun her out of his chain and embrace. She resumed her place in the circle that swirled around him. He spurned them all, burst from the circle and danced toward the dais. The spacers stared unabashedly at him as he moved and swirled his slender form, clad only in low-slung black harem pants, toward the dais. His long blond hair, caught in a silver clasp, floated like a ribbon behind him. He dropped to his knees before Jabba, and danced on his knees, lowering his head back to the filthy floor behind him, shimmying his shoulders and seeming to beg for Jabba's attention. He ended, still on his knees, draped forward, one slim hand at the edge of the dais, stretched imploringly toward the grotesque Hutt. Han released the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and tried to calm himself. The dancer had created quite a reaction, one he hadn't had for another man in years. Zora and Talla were tugging at his elbows, urging him forward, as the young man climbed the dais. Han couldn't watch as the Hutt smeared a slimy kiss over the boy's face. By the time the trio reached the middle of the floor, the dancer had settled himself to sit on the dais as Jabba twined his ponytail through absurdly small fingers. They bowed politely, and Zora stepped a little closer and began speaking Huttese. *Mighty Jabba, the least of your pilots bring you a new pilot for consideration. He has a fast ship and none of our useless scruples about the law. We would sponsor him in your service for the standard fee of 10% of his profits.* The Hutt seemed to consider her offer. *You and your lady serve me well, Zora. If your friend can pass a simple test, I will take his service for the standard fees. He will go to Gornak and pick up a load of food-stuffs that even your foolish scruples should allow him to carry. If he is back here within 4 days, I shall accept him.* Zora bowed. *Thank you, mighty Jabba." The great slug boomed at Han. Zora stepped back. "He asked your name," she whispered. "Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon." Jabba said something else, of which Han only caught his name. "Thank him, and bow," Zora instructed. "My thanks, Jabba." Han bowed from the waist. *Teach him Huttese,* Jabba ordered Zora. *Go now. Here is an advance. Your coordinates are on the chip. Four days.* *Thank you, mighty Jabba,* Zora bowed, repeated herself in standard, and Talla dragged Han into another bow. The Twi'Lek majordomo escorted them back to the door, and handed Zora a chip. "Your advance and coordinates. Good luck." Astonishingly, for Han had never seen her so much as look at a man, Zora caressed his lekku and tweaked the tip. "On our return, Fortuna." Talla pulled Han out the door to their speeder. "They're old friends. Sorta. She sleeps with him and we get good jobs and better pay than most pilots, even the illegal ones. I hate seeing Jabba. He's gruesome and I have to be quiet. He understands Standard. I wish I could speak Huttese. Did you see the dancing boy? Isn't he pretty? Jabba's had him for about four years now, and he just keeps getting better. I don't know why they make him dance with the Ugly One." Zora joined them, wiping away a trickle of blood at her mouth from the Twi'Lek's pointed teeth, and Talla piloted them out, her monologue never ceasing. Anything that crossed her mind came out her mouth. "Where we goin', Zora?" "Gornak. Food run." She dabbed at the blood again, this time with a pocketcloth, and Han could see a rather substantial bitemark on her lips. "We taking the Snowstar or the Falcon?" "Falcon. Jabba wants to see how Solo flies." "How long do we have?" "Four dee." "Four days! That's ridiculous. Solo, how fast is your crate?" "Point five past light speed. Zora, you OK?" She smiled contentedly. "Fine. Promised us an extra K." She pressed the cloth firmly to the cut and tipped her head back. "We just might make it." Talla pressed the accelerator a little harder. "Zora, he always does this and you always let him. And we always spend that bonus on synthflesh to patch you back up when you two get done." "Jealous," Zora taunted. Three hours later, three very long hours of listening to the women bicker, Han was ready to lift. Without them. How they managed to argue when Zora responded in single words to Talla's constant speech he still hadn't figured out. The woman could make one word and a raised eyebrow more eloquent than some senatorial speeches he'd heard. Since Zora still had the chip, he decided to take them along. Once back in Mos Eisley, Zora was paid the portmaster and laid in supplies for the trip. Han and Chewbacca ran the preflight, setting up the coordinates and calculating the jump. Talla contacted their shipper and alerted him to their arrival. It was a long trip, for a four day time limit. Zora had set Han with a series of Huttese language cubes, and spent the free time coaching him through the basic pleasantries. Talla put her mechanical skills to work, helping Chewbacca replace alluvial dampers and all the other on-going repairs. Wookiees are incurable gossips, but even Chewie was starting to tire of her running monologue by the time they reached Gornak. A day and a half later, they made the pick-up and started the return trip. The big wookiee coaxed every erg of speed he could from the engines, and they were back on Tatooine in less than three days. *You and the females will offload the so-called food post-haste, Han. I will purge the ship of its reek,* Chewbacca announced as they landed. "Right, pal." He went to the hold to find Zora, smokestick going, unloading the crates with a handtruck. "How we getting this to Jabba's? It won't fit in your speeder." "Repulsor truck," she said around the smokestick. The typically curt answer annoyed Han to no end, not in the least because he had endured Talla's nonstop chatter for three days, in the intervals when he wasn't studying his new employer's language. "Do you ever just talk?" "Nope, Talla does." "Why?" Zora sighed and looked him square in the face. Slowly she began, "Back home, no one uses longspeech, like this, except in school, church or government. It wears me out, and people don't understand shorttalk." She rubbed one temple. "Headache. Talla talks. I think." "What's in that thing you smoke? How high are you?" "Not high. Odor killer. Here." She passed it to him, obviously intending for him to take a drag. He obliged. A blend of several pungent herbs sent his head swimming, but had no other effect. The stench from the food-crates was less noticable. He took a second puff, and handed it back to her before lending a hand with the crates. When the last one was off the ship, Chewbacca shooed the humans off as well while he began the decontamination. Zora leaned against one of the struts, her wide hat pulled down over her eyes to block the glare, smoking while they waited for Talla. Han paced, kicking up the sand in the docking bay, hating the delay. The dust took the shine from his boots and his blaster felt heavier than normal. Talla arrived, they loaded the crates into the back of the truck, sweating in the twin-sun heat, and set out for Jabba's. This time, mercifully, Talla napped while Zora drove. Han drank in the silence like the best brandy. Two hours out, Zora had him run through greetings, thanks and farewells until they arrived. The court was dozing in the high heat of the long afternoon. Zora parked the repulsor truck, and Fortuna inspected the cargo, running grasping hands over it as the brain-tails of his head twitched with delight. He turned beady red eyes on the two women, and spoke. Han followed some of the conversation, but was rapidly lost in the range of metaphor and the Twi'Lek's accent. He tried not to flinch as Fortuna patted him on the back of the head before leading them to the throne room. Jabba was well-pleased by their success, and by Han's ability to greet him in Huttese. He announced a bonus for the extra half-day they were early before calling Han forward. The translator droid stood by. "His Excellency wishes to know if you would fly for him." "Yes, Jabba." "Will you carry spice?" translated the droid. "Yes." "Will you carry water?" "Yes." "Will you carry slaves?" "No. No pay is worth a summary execution." Jabba gave a booming laugh and tugged the leash of the boy on his dais. He said a few things as the boy clambered up his bulk to endure a repulsive kiss. The open sides of his loose trousers allowed easy access for the Hutt's tiny hands. The spacers watched, half-fascinated, half-sick as the dancer undulated against the huge slug, seemingly aroused by his master's touch. "The mighty Jabba wishes to express his disappointment in your scruples, but believes you will make a fine pilot. Master Fortuna will explain the standard rates to you." Without warning, Jabba shoved the boy from him, sending him sprawling on the slimy stones at Solo's feet. "Bonus. Cheelooda." Jabba tossed the chain to land beside him. Han looked puzzled. The youngster pulled himself to his knees and twined one arm around Han's leg, giving a very clear message. "Thank him." Zora's instruction was pitched for his ears only. "Uh, I thank you for the bonus, Jabba." Jabba turned his attention to Zora. *You will stay here. Then, Solo will make a Kessel Run for me. You and Talla will bring in a new shipment of Kleeworms. The shade of my palace is yours for two days.* Zora swept her hat off in the most elaborate bow she could. Jabba had given them a great honor. She expressed her thanks in the most flowery expressions Huttese could manage, and nudged her partner and protoge. Talla bowed and thanked Jabba in standard. Han gave his new Huttese vocabulary a try and thanked Jabba in his own language. Jabba laughed and boomed something else. At a prod from Zora, he thanked Jabba again. They were dismissed, and, at a word from Zora, Han picked up the end of the chain leash. The Twi'Lek took them to guest rooms, one for the two partners and one for Han. He thanked the majordomo and slipped across the hall to the women's room, the boy still on the chain behind him. "Okay, what was that all about? I followed some of it." "Kessel." Zora spoke even more curtly, her tongue sore and her mouth aching from the alien language. "2 dee here, then lift. Congrats on language." "You're to make a Kessel Run for Jabba. We'll spend 2 days here and then go our ways. And Jabba expressed his pleasure that you're learning Huttese." Talla's long experience let her fill in the blanks. "I can do a Kessel. Did one for Amazia a few months ago. So what do I do with Cheelooda here? Do you speak Standard?" The boy glared at him with eyes as blue as Travig skystones. His low-slung, side-slit pants matched them. He looked at Zora and said something in Huttese. She laughed silently. Han looked at her. "He said 'Yes I do, but not to you.'" She listened as the boy let out a few more sentences. "He says you don't have to hurt him, and he'll behave. Quit calling him cheelooda." "Isn't that his name?" "No. A vulgarity." He said some more to her. "He says if he doesn't please you, Jabba will feed him to the Rancor." "Now wait a minute..." Zora slipped back into her customary mode of speech. "Easy. Fuck him or he dies." Han turned and stalked from the room, leaving the boy with the two women. "He'll come around," Talla assured him. "You hungry, pretty boy?" "Don't call me that, either." The boy's voice was sweet, with none of the crackling of adolescence. A faint accent, a trace of Huttese, colored his Standard. "I'm always hungry. Porcellus tries to keep me fed, but Jabba so seldom lets me be away from him. Who can eat leaning against a Hutt?" Zora smiled and pointed to the foodsynth. The boy helped himself. "Kid, cloudfruit?" He punched up a bowl full for her. Talla was already programming herself a meal. Not that the banquet tonight wouldn't be wonderful but the kid had a valid point: few humans could eat in the presence of a Hutt. They ate for a while, Zora silent, and Talla making a running travelogue evaluation of their last trip. "Talla. Solo." Tired, and wanting a nap, Zora knew she had to get her partner out so she could sleep. "Yeah, yeah. I'll check on him after I'm done. Kid, you were really rotten to him, and he's a nice guy." "My name is Luke," the boy snarled before getting up for another plate of food. He returned and began picking at the Bantha stew. "He called me cheelooda like it was my name." "No Huttese," Zora yawned. "Solo doesn't speak Huttese," Talla amplified. "He didn't know it was nasty. You want to die?" "Not really, but I'm not thrilled about living either. What do I have to look forward to except dancing? And one day I'll make a misstep or Jabba won't like what he sees, and I'm Rancor-bait." "Sleep," Zora announced, stretching out on one of the benches in the room. There were no beds. "Wake for revel," she instructed the room's auto-alarm. "I'm gonna check on our buddy." Talla rose and started out. "Wait. I'll go. I'm supposed to be there anyway." The boy caught her at the door, calm resolve on his face. "Good going, kiddo. I think I'll see if Zora wants company for her nap." Han Solo was not given to brooding, or even deep thinking. It interfered with action. But siting in the uncomfortable chair, staring at the grimy stone wall, he was brooding now. The walls should have been damp, but this was Tatooine. He thought of the dancing boy, and wrested his mind from that track. He thought of Zora and Talla, but that brought him back to Jabba and the dancer. He thought about Chewie, but even that line of thought brought him back to the boy. It was the dancer he saw defying the Imperial slave drivers and being condemned to execution. He'd risked everything for a Wookiee whose language he didn't even speak at the time. Had the last five years changed him so much he wouldn't sleep with a boy he found attractive to save the kid's life? He knew what it was. If he used the boy, he was giving tacit approval to Jabba's slave-holding. By giving this approval, he could expect to be asked to do a slave run, even though he had explicitly said he wouldn't. But that was far in the future, and the boy needed his help now. "Captain, sir?" The perfectly pitched voice from the doorway interrupted his thoughts. He saw the dancer standing there, frightened, yet hopeful. "C'mere, kid. I don't bite." The motion was halfway between a saunter and a slink and it brought the boy across the floor in a manner that made him seem infinitely desirable. He dropped to the floor to kneel at Han's feet, awaiting his fate. The moments stretched into agonizing silence. He finally blurted "I'm sorry I was rude to you, sir." "'Sokay, kid. I'd probably be rude too if someone was using a filthy word like it was my name. So, what is your name?" "Luke, sir." "Anything else?" "No, sir. I haven't had anything else since I've been here." Han wondered exactly how long that had been, and asked. "Eight years. I used to work on the speeders, and was the second best pilot. But then Melina saw me five years ago and insisted I was too pretty to be in the garage. She pulled me out and trained me to dance. She didn't let me go to Jabba for a year." "How old are you, kid? Seventeen? Eighteen?" "Sixteen, sir." Han stood up and paced a circuit of the room. This one was just a kid. In the core-worlds he'd still be in school. Out here on the Rim, he was probably old enough to be working and starting a family of his own. He pounded the wall and made another circuit before stopping in front of the boy, who was visibly trembling. "What does it mean, 'cheelooda?'" "The cheelooda is the receptive male partner, sir. In Huttese sexual hierarchy, that puts me somewhere between a human female and a trained caniad." He bowed his head, almost as if the very words oppressed him, defiling him and making him even more of a slave. Han noticed that Luke had made sure his hair was draped across his freshly polished boots. Every gesture was incredibly sexual, and completely rehersed. Han caught his chin and lifted his face up to look at him. Luke was a piece of the bright outside trapped in Jabba's hellhole palace: sand-colored hair and eyes the same shade as Tatooine's sky. A beautiful boy, very talented, and the Hutt had him thinking he was the lowest form of sentient. He stroked the boy's ponytail reassuringly, trying to put him at ease. "On Corellia, nobody's always on the bottom. When two males choose each other, real popular in adolescence, they alternate or find other types of pleasure. I don't think I've forgotten everything." He sat down and pulled the boy onto his lap. "You like to kiss?" he asked before he caught a good whiff. "On second thought, let's wash Jabba off your skin. You reek of him." Luke brightened noticably at this suggestion. "I'll show you where the bath is, sir. Jabba has real water baths, can you believe it? Of course, slaves use a sonic shower belowstairs." "Where's the bed?" Han asked as he followed to the offset room and began to run a decadently warm tub. "Oh, nobody sleeps in these rooms, sir. Jabba insists all members of his court sleep in the throne room. We'll go down there in a few hours, for the revels. There'll be food, and entertainment, and an orgy. You'll be expected use me in front of the whole court, sir." "In, kid. Wash all the Hutt-stink off, and then we'll figure out what to do. And stop calling me sir." "Do you prefer master?" "No. Captain, if you have to show respect. Han, if you possibly can." Han watched, impressed, as Luke shimmied out of the gold pants. He was startled when Luke handed him the chain still attatched to the metal collar he wore. "Put the last link over that hook in the wall, please, Captain. That'll keep it out of the water. Unless, you'd rather hold it? Or join me?" The sidelong seductive glance hit Han like a stunbolt, making him dizzy and too hot all at once. He took the safe route and linked the chain over the hook, before retreating to the uncomfortable chair to think some more. Taking up where he'd left off, he ran through his chain of reasoning, almost admiring the low cunning and quick way Jabba had sized him up. Almost. If he took the kid, Luke he reminded himself, in front of the whole court, it was a tacit approval of slavery in general, and Jabba holding slaves in particular. If he didn't the kid would be killed. The code he had been raised with taught that one could do almost anything to save another's life, but trading in slaves, which he was sure Jabba would ask of him, carried a capital sentence. The Empire was jealous of its perogatives. The sight of Luke, standing naked in the doorway to the bath, decided him. Water still beaded on his body, tracing his smooth limbs in the uncertain light. Whipcord thin, all muscle over bone, the long hair trailing loose down his back, and the chain falling over one shoulder along the line of his body, emphasizing the soft fairness of his flesh against its dark metal, if Desire had a body it would be this one. *Space the future,* Han decided. Not trusting his voice, he motioned Luke over with a jerk of his head. Again, the seductive walk, apparently habitual, left him aroused and wanting. He pulled the boy onto his lap and smelled him. The slime and stench of Hutt were gone, and he smelled of soap and something sharper the smell of Luke himself. "Where were we?" "You asked if I liked to kiss, Captain. I do, but men don't kiss." "And who told you that, kid?" "No one, they just never have. The women, they like to kiss. They kiss and touch and cuddle. I like that a lot, and they say I'm good at it. Men treat me like I'm just an opening for them to use. And some of them like to hurt." "Don't worry about that, I don't. But I do like kissing. Now show me what your ladies like." The boy's lips were warm and soft. They just barely brushed his and were gone, only to return a moment later, in a more lingering fashion. His warm tongue teased the spacer's lips, before coming back for a full exploration of the waiting mouth. Luke pulled a little away, tugging Han's bottom lip with his teeth, as he broke the kiss. "Wow. More." Luke was splendidly eager for more. He straddled his temporary owner's lap, rubbing his slightly damp body against the bare skin revealed by the open-neck shirt. His mouth was everywhere on Han's face, but especially on his mouth, licking, nibbling, teasing his tongue and teeth. Luke looked up, trembling slightly and breathing hard. "That was nice, Captain. I don't get nearly enough from humans. Actually, I like all of it. I have to. If I hated being touched, I wouldn't last." The resigned tone was almost painful, but his eyes were clear and honest. "And I think I like you. I know I want you. If we do this now, will you be able to do more at the revel?" Apprehension and a fear of being insulting played over his face. "I'm Corellian, kid. That answer enough?" His answer was a very warm mouth over his own. Talented kid, indeed. The kiss alone would have been expensive in a Core brothel. He seemed to relish learning about his temporary owner's mouth, and the long-fingered hands were light on Han's neck and chest. "Do you want me now, or shall we wait, Captain?" "Now. Right now. Do your worst." Luke gave a low, throaty chuckle that went straight to Han's groin and raised goosebumps on his upper arms. "My worst? Why not my best?" "Save that for tonight. The Hutt wants a show? By the Sea and Stars, we'll give him one. But this is for us."