Chapter Twelve

Taylor lowered her blaster pistol. The weapon was hot, barrel almost glowing and far too dangerous for her to allow any of her bugs to land on it. She didn’t know if the strange almost tinker-like weapons could overheat, or stop working if they were used too much, but she didn’t want to risk it.

After all, it wasn’t like she lacked in firepower.

Seven creatures surrounded her, all of them in thick armour and holding onto guns that made hers look cute in comparison. Some were probably human under all the clothes and armour, but some definitely weren’t. It didn’t matter, really, they were hers either way.

“HK-47, you still alive?” she called out.

Her robotic friend pushed aside a table and rose from the ground. There were a few black marks along his chest and one small dent over one eye, but he looked as deadly and ready as ever. “Statement: All systems are nominal. Qualification: As nominal as they were upon entering the room. I still require some maintenance to correct some deficiencies in my killing efficiency. Congratulatory: I do believe you have slain more targets than I have.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said without feeling it. The room, a sort of theater or throne room, was a charnel house. The ground was blackened by missed shots and splatters of blood that covered the entire colour spectrum. It was at once a blessing and a curse that the blasters tended to cauterise any wounds they left. There was less blood around, but now the air stank like a barbeque gone horribly wrong. It reminded her a bit of Burnscar’s work.

There were still some left alive. She could feel them shifting and groaning on the ground, some climbing to their feet and others just lying in wait. More were injured than not, but a few were perfectly healthy. Those that did not try to fight her she had done her best to spare.

The slug was also alive.

The fat creature was moving away, sliding over the corpses of her guards as she moved towards the farthest corner of the room. Taylor had no skill in reading alien body language, and giant slugs were so far from her usual that she had no point of reference, but she did have the impression that the great Nimas wasn’t feeling so great.

She had one of her minions toss its blaster into the air and caught it with a swipe. A few smaller bugs on the barrel, one or two where she wanted to hit, and she lined up a shot.

The whine of the laser crossing the room silenced a few groans, especially when it burst against the stony ground not a foot before Nimas. “HK-47, tell the slug to stop moving.”

HK-47 dutifully translated for her and the Hutt stopped. Its eyes, as big around as Taylor’s head, were cinched in a cruel glare and the creature’s hands were held in two fists at its side. The slug’s language was lilting and heavy, as if the speaker’s lips were puckered out the entire time they spoke. She listened as HK-47 and Nimas went back and forth, then her robotic friend turned to her. “Translation: The filthy Hutt wishes to inform you that because of your actions today she will be overjoyed to watch your eventual downfall and death, upon which she will consume your decapitated body, digest it, and use the excrements thereof to bury your head. Comment: A very impressive insult, yet one that I can unfortunately not carry out myself.”

“I see,” Taylor said. Being threatened by someone that was at her mercy was not the most terrifying thing to happen to her. She could already feel the adrenaline ebbing away and a bone-deep weariness begin to settle in. She was looking forwards to resting her feet and recentering herself, but that was for later. “Tell her that I don’t approve of slavery. That if she’s willing to free all of her slaves, those belonging to her and others, then I’ll let her live.”

Taylor listened as HK-47 translated. She took that time to think. There were literally hundreds of slaves in the palace alone. In the town beyond there were probably twice again as many. If she took responsibility for them that would mean feeding, clothing, and paying them. She didn’t even know how to speak with any of them yet.

Nimas started yelling at her and HK-47, a diatribe that flew over Taylor’s head, but certainly sounded angry.

“Translation: The so-called great Nimas reiterates previous threats and wishes to inform you that she will not kill you immediately, but will use you to breed a whole host of children which she will then eat before you.”

“So that’s a no to my offer, then?” she asked.

“Sarcastic Comment: Oh no, she is more than willing to comply to anything you ask, master. Nimas thinks of you as a great friend.”

Taylor closed her eyes and nodded. The guards around her raised their weapons and suddenly Nimas’ screaming took on a more urgent tone. It was drowned out by a barrage of continuous blaster fire. After all, the slug was large, it stood to reason that one or two strikes would maybe fail to kill her.

“HK-47, can you round up anyone in here that isn’t one of Nimas’ guards?” She was already having her guards drop their weapons and begin to tie each other up with strips of cloth. Her bugs outside of the throne room were pointing the freedom fighters into the room, and the braver ones were already coming in with blasters ready.

She had noticed a few children with head tentacles hiding in one corner, and a few slaves that still wore collars were cowering behind the throne. She was certain that some of the people in the room weren’t actually part of Nimas’ retinue. Or if they were, they would certainly be willing to deny it now.

One of those aliens, a tall gray skinned creature in intricate robes stood up from behind a table and slowly raised his arms. His hands shook, but after taking a few deep breaths the creature moved out from its alcove and talked towards her an HK-47.

“Observation: More meat to the slaughter.”

“Let’s see if he has anything to say,” Taylor said. She had been gunning enough people down for one afternoon. “Ask him what he wants.”

HK-47 lowered his rifle and started speaking to the creature. Soon, they switched from the guttural, slithery language the Hutt had been speaking to the one that Taylor recognized as Basic. They exchanged a few words, the alien being very obsequious for one so richly dressed.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

He, it, kind of reminded her of Alan Barnes, or maybe of Quinn Calle with the way it was trying to appease HK-47 with its calmer words and body language. If it wasn’t for her bugs she wouldn’t even have noticed the way its legs were trembling.

“Liberal Translation: This Neimoidian claims to be a businessperson from the Trade Federation, here in order to purchase all the Falleen slaves the Hutt used to owe.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. Something must have shown even through her goggles because the Neimoidian backed up a step. “Can you politely remind him what happened to the last slave owner I dealt with.” She nodded towards the still smoking Hutt in the corner.

A few of the slaves, mostly those that looked as if they had been enslaved for a long time, were kicking the corpse. She wasn’t going to stop them from having their fun.

She started calling back the squads she had around the palace. The area was clear, as far as she could tell. A few stragglers remained, but those were mostly slaves that had been cleaning or cooking when things went down. She directed some of her freedom fighters towards them.

“Incredulous Translation: The Neimoidian claims that he intended to purchase the slaves in order to free them.”

That had Taylor’s interest. She eyed the alien for a little bit, then faced HK-47. “How did he intend to free them? And why”

HK-47 relayed the question and she could see the alien untensing a little as they went back and forth. “Comment: It seems that he has a space faring vessel nearby capable of transporting all of the Falleen slaves back to their homeworld. Conjecture: He does not hide the greed behind his motivations. I suspect that any empathy you see from this base creature is motivated by greed first. He claims that his Trade Federation are opening negotiations with the Falleen and that the return of captured citizens would earn him a great deal of respect.”

“That’s rather mercenary of him,” she said. “Ask how much room he has aboard his... spaceship. And if he would be willing to take some non-Falleen aboard.”

There was another exchange. Quicker, this time. “Statement: Oh, how interesting. He suspects that you wish to use his vessel to escape the inevitable wrath of the local Hutts. He has no qualms about letting an esteemed Jedi aboard his ship, especially one that saved him so many credits.”

“A Jedi?” The word was oddly familiar. The Jawas had used it to refer to her at one time or another.

“Explanation: The Jedi are a pompous group of religious zealots that are unable to mind their own business. They have a certain base mastery of the force that allows them to do acts that most would consider supernatural. They are the natural enemy of Sith such as yourself, but are far more popular with weak-willed civilians.”

“So they’re heroes,” she said.

“Statement: They certainly paint themselves as such. Suggestion: perhaps using the filthy organic’s gullibility again him would be advantageous.”

She gave it some thought before shaking her head. “Tell him that I just wanted to do the right thing. If he plans on taking the... freed slaves off this world, then maybe we could come to an agreement.”

***

Xarly watched the Trandoshan thrash around on the ground, black blood spilling out from between green hands. The gangster, or maybe it was a bounty hunter, stumbled back, clawed feet scrambling on the cobbled ground where its blaster had already fallen.

He lowered his own blaster, the pistol feeling a whole lot heavier than it had a minute ago.

Then Qarry stepped up next to him, pointed her blaster rifle at the lizardman, and snapped off a shot that planted between his eyes with a sizzle. “Trandos are hard to keep down,” she warned. “Shoot them, twice if you have to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. Xarly stepped aside as a few of the other slaves moved past, all of them following a scorpion that was scuttling across the floor in a straight line.

“You okay?” Qarry asked.

He straightened his back and gave her his most winsome smile. “Always, baby.” At her look he decided that changing the subject might be best. She did have a blaster in hand. “What’s going on now?”

Qarry looked after the slaves moving deeper into the palace. “I don’t know. Khepri doesn’t seem to have anything for our group. Maybe we should head outside. There are other slaves in the city. We can start clearing it out.”

“That sounds like a bit much,” he said.

She glared at him. “Would you rather stay here and die?”

“Don’t think that’ll happen. We have little miss dark and mindrapey with us, and she has her pet mudercol droid.”

“You’re an idiot, Xarly.” She said. “I don’t know why I haven’t kicked your ass yet.

“Because such a perfect ass should be admired, not kicked,” he said.

Qarry looked ready to get on with the kicking when another Falleen ran past. “Darth Khepri wants us in the throne room,” he said. “She found a way to get us off planet.”

“All of us?” Qarry asked.

The messenger shrugged. “We’ll have to see.”

“Well shit,” Xarly said. “I take back any negative thoughts I had of her that I hope she didn’t pull out of my head.” He felt a grin tugging at his lips, and it became easier to pretend that there weren’t corpses in the hallway. “We can get off this dustball.”

“You’re placing a lot of trust in her,” Qarry said. There was a note of suspicion in her voice.

“She just saved us from a life of... I don’t know, pit fighting and acting like concubines.”

“Did you just say I’d have been a concubine?” She asked.

“No, no.” He raised both hands in surrender to ward her off. “You’d be the pit fighter. I would be the concubine. Perfect ass, remember.”

She let out a low breath from her nose and he knew that if she was a normal, none terrifying girl, that would have been a laugh. “I just don’t trust her yet,” she said.

“We’ll see,” he said.

***