"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 mirrored 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 intermittent 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 attached 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, not since before the Academy.
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 servants 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. "On our return, Fortuna." She
smiled as
the bony, taloned hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her closer.
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 Basic.
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 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
up
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 noticeable.
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, a motion that would have
been a stroke of his lekku had he been the proper species, 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 just to be sure there were no misunderstandings.
"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 most of it. Let's
be
sure I got it right."
"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 Basic?" he asked the
boy.
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,
not sure he'd heard what he thought the boy had said.
"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 Basic. "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." Talla brushed his lips lightly. "He'll
treat
you right. If he doesn't, we'll knock some sense into him.
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 that long hair was draped across
his freshly polished boots. Every gesture was incredibly sexual,
and completely rehearsed.
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 noticeably 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.
The boy's body was perfect: slim and toned from dancing, almost hairless,
and smooth. Shame long beaten out of him, he moved as confidently
naked
as most men did clothed. Han was startled when Luke handed him
the chain still
attached 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 the new lessons, 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."