Author: DownfallRecords
Disclaimer: Star wars is owned by LUCASFILM, not me
Email: xj220c@hotmail.com
This story takes place around the same time of the Phantom Menace
Seclusion's Scarcity-Part 1
With such a large number of species in the galaxy, there are quite a few that are considerably dangerous to cross. Whether
it's avoiding a Wookie's anger, or fleeing from the wrath of a disgruntled Tusken Raider, it is wise to keep on the good
sides of these beings. That is of course, if they even have one. But of all the sentient creatures that populate the stars,
perhaps the Hutts are the most dangerous when double-crossed. The following is the tale of one such being's folly, and
those affected by his journey.
As it is with most shady dealings on Nar Shaddaa, this one took place in the dark. It was evening on the smuggler's moon and the streets and alleyways were lit only by flashing advertisements and the occasional passing of a skycar. A light drizzle drifted through the night, adding to the ever-present mugginess. The sound of various power generators and distant spacecraft permeated the air, occasionally interrupted by the scream of helpless streeters who found themselves on the wrong end of a confrontation. Jo De'te would be glad when he left his place.
The small Rodian glanced nervously about the dim-lit landing pad. The long green fingers of his right hand rested idly by his blaster hanging on his side. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to use it for quite honestly, he wasn't sure how.
He'd clothed himself in dark clothes, as someone who was trying to hide would. The pants and his vest were a bit too large, but it was the best he could do in a situation that found him with little time and even less credits.
A shining chronometer was attached to his bumpy, green, left wrist. Jo De'te watched anxiously as time crawled by.
Three minutes, he told himself. Three minutes until my ship arrives. Three minutes until I'm free of Borda the Hutt's Grasp.
Jo stroked his long snout as he stared into the polluted sky. The lights of a freighter slowly descended down towards the landing pad where he awaited. The Rodian glanced at his chrono again. His shuttle was right on time.
With an overpowering roar of the vessel's engine, the medium sized, horseshoe shaped vessel sat down gently on the ferecrete landing pad. The Rodian watched in the shadows as it's engines slowly whined down to a dim hum. As the ramp on it's port side slowly started to descend Jo softly wrapped his hand around the blaster by his side. He didn't expect double cross, but over the last few days he'd learned anything could happen.
The ramp touched the pad and a lone figure walked down, wariness in his step. Jo slowly exited the shadows and raised a hand in the pilot's direction. He could now see his rescuer completely, a large Bothan, covered in dark red fur.
"De'te?" Asked the newcomer, a sinister purr in his throat.
"Yes," said the fugitive with no more than a squeak. "Yes, I am he."
The Bothan nodded and turned to his ship, his dark blue cloak twirling. "We should be going, the longer we stay down here, the greater the chance Borda disposes of us." He flashed his teeth and smiled as his fur rippled lightly.
Jo, however, was not amused by the Bothan's joking. "I paid you specifically for protection from such events happening."
"Oh it won't, as long as we leave soon."
Jo pointed towards the Bothan's freighter, "Than let us leave now."
Hendal Gorda sat silently in the cabin of his starship. His large, black eyes stared at the computer screen in front of him. A flashing light indicated the location of his bounty, provided by the tracking device he'd placed upon the Bothan, Ketch Farool's freighter.
Hendal was a Rodian, as was his prey, Jo De'te. But that didn't matter to Hendal. Only credits mattered. Bordo the Hutt had released an open bounty on the poor Rodian's head. 50,000 credits to the first hunter to bring him in, dead or alive. Hendal enjoyed bounties that allowed him the discretion of killing. It made his job much easier. As did the device that was now following the fugitive out of Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere. All Hendal Gorda had to do was wait. And for 50,000 credits, Hendal was a very patient Rodian.
*****
"Blasted, filthy humans! Yelled Foontag as the three children raced from his cart, each carrying a handful of his precious Glimmer Fruit. Kendily Shipping Corporation charged him a small fortune to import loads of the tasty food to Tatooine. The street-children, however, knew his old Sullustan body was too slow and weak to capture them. And they were long gone before he could pull his stunner out of his disheveled robes.
Muttering a string of curses in his native tongue, he began to count his losses. Fortunately the children didn't grab much of the small, oval-shaped fruit. Glimmer fruit came exclusively from the Kendily system, near the core worlds. Though expensive, Foontag Naboon was able to sell the fruit at an even higher price. Glimmer fruit was popular in various dishes used on the backwater planet's holidays. Foontag had ordered his last shipment just in time for the traditional Harvest Celebration. Though not celebrated by the poor, Mos-Eisley crowd, many of the wealthier moisture farmers would come in to town to purchase food for their meals. And for Glimmer Fruit, they'd stop by Foontag Naboon's cart. The only place on Tatooine to purchase the delicacy.
Cursing the street-children again, Foontag rolled his cart down the dusty market street and towards his small flat. The peak of Tatooine's hot afternoon would soon come, and Naboon refused to stay out in the heat. Tatooine was the complete opposite of the cool underground caverns he enjoyed on his homeworld of Sullust. He could only stand so much of the scorching temperature before he was forced to go inside to his chilled quarters.
A five minute stroll led him and his bounty of various foods to his front door. It was a shaded area, the sun was blocked out by the presence of a large hotel. His door was a rusty orange, featureless save for the keypad off to the side. The Sullustan punched in a code and with a confirmation beep his door slip open.
His dwelling was far from sparse, the sign of a successful businessman. It was dark, and most of all it was cool. The walls were as with everything in Mos Eisley, sand colored. He had various furnishings and plants throughout his living room. A fountain in the corner paid tribute to his homeworld and his family with a statue of one of his gods. It's water trickled silently and relaxed him.
Foontag chittered in his language about the insuperiority of humans as he walked over to his holo-projecter to check for messages. He didn't expect any. Not many people had the need to contact him, save an occasional moisture farmer looking for a specialty, or a tax-collector looking to rob him.
The projector however, surprised him. A flashing blue light indicated not just a message, but a message from far out of system. Nar Shadda in fact. Pouring himself a glass of water from a small cooler on the wall, Foontag sat down in his favorite chair, a small-bantha fur covered contraption, and hit the play button. A holographic image swirled out of the contraption with a small hum. Foontag watched as it formed into the image of a Rodian.
"Foontag, my old friend. I am in need of much help," started the Image. The being seemed tense, nervous. "I've gotten myself in trouble with some of the locals. A powerful local to be precise. I'm leaving system and heading towards Tatooine. You are the only friend I have left, Foontag. I need your help. I would not ask if it wasn't of the highest importance." The Rodian looked around warily before he continued, as if to reassure himself he wasn't being watched. "I shall arrive in Mos Eisley two standard days after you receive this message. I will be aboard the vessel Shii'vik. Please my friend, meet me there and give me shelter until my danger passes. I'm sorry this is short, but I will explain my actions further in detail when I arrive." The Rodian rubbed his snout with his long fingers in nervous gesture and the image died.
All was quiet in Foontag's house as he gazed into the emptiness left by the ending of the message. His gray, stubby fingers picked at his brown robes and he let out the Sullustan equivalent of a sigh. His mind was made up though. He had lost a lot in his life on Tatooine, but he hadn't lost his loyalty. In two days he'd be at the spaceport.