Slaver's Story
Two years before the destruction of the first Death Star, a remote, barely habitable planet in the Expansion Region plays host to a footnote in galactic history. Controlled by the Zygerrian slave empire, their hierarchical structure trades servitude for poverty, and a middle-class presides as workhorses for the high-born nobility. In this feudal-like system, the privileged but resentful faux-nobility of Zygerria preside over hundreds of small strip mines, with low-born Zygerrians barely more valuable than the slaves they drive. The system is cruel and efficient. However, in the New Order, not even cruelty goes without Imperial oversight. The Galactic Empire lurks in the background, carrying out the Imperial policy of control and consolidation even here. Within this backdrop, a slaver's son learns that even the courage to confront one's own evil has consequences of inner-self.
Chapter 1
The study in which the slaver stood was the sharpest of contrasts to the world outside. Blue and gold wallpaper gave any room the illusion of opulence, and this one had furniture to match. Molecularly fabricated crystal was everywhere. Vases, furniture frames, and tables were all made of synthetic quartz. The room had luxury, but it was the cheap, thin kind. At least the crystals bounced the light around. At night, the world's oversized moons shone in from one of two windows and a skylight, allowing the Zygerrian, with his night-attuned eyes, to fill out financial ledgers and procurement forms. Years ago, his job was to walk the rounds in the quarry, disciplining slaves with his lightwhip, boots, and gauntlets. He still did, sometimes. At this stage of his life, however, his duties bent more toward the managerial side. Data-work was his current duty, and the dark, eerie twilight of shifting moonlight on cheap crystal helped keep distractions at bay. Besides, they said it kept a Zygerrian's eyes sharp.
However, right now the crystals did not dance. It was daytime on Yoland's World, and behind him the toil of hundreds did not penetrate the sound-dampening walls of Ferro-Haz manor. V'rell Ferro-Haz was staring at the opposite window, the one facing the laser fence of his father's meager estate.
Zygerrians were a furred race of humanoids. Sporting bat-like ears, they nonetheless had shared a similar facial structure with humans. Four horny protrusions grew from their lower jaw, except for the females, who for whatever reason, lacked these. As a civilization, they were among the most universally hated races in the galaxy. The reason was simple. Zygerrians were slavers. Few intelligent species possessed their lack of nuance when it came to the ownership of other people. Any Zygerrian who rejected slavery, quite simply, would face enslavement themselves. Speciesism was the more than an outlook to them. It was their economic backbone. Throughout much of galactic history, when slavery was illegal, Zygerrians fueled their enterprises by attacking ships from Outer Rim worlds, taking all occupants as slaves. The trade lingered on, diminished, but alive, until the Clone Wars, and shortly later, the formation of the Galactic Empire.
Now, Zygerrians had the fiscal security to not only make money on slaves, but off of them as well. They moved in on the Galaxy's farthest outcrop, the Expansion Region, for the fabled minerals many sought but few found profitable to mine. As it happened, slaves brought down production costs immensely.
A small dust cloud was visible on the horizon. V'rell pulled out a compact set of macrobinoculars. He held them to his eyes, getting a better view of the incoming guest.
The landspeeder sped across the desolate wastes of this miserable Outer Rim planet. The atmosphere was borderline, even with the help of terraforming factories. A heavy ozone layer existed, protecting the planet from the radiation of its expanding red giant. It was always a concern that one day the terraforming elements being added to the air would degrade the ozone layer, unleashing the ultraviolet wrath of that dying star. There was also the worry that it would cause the atmosphere to leak into space. For now, however, after barely a century of aggressive colonization, everything still held together. It was a given that the landspeeder in front of him was fully enclosed and pressurized. Everyone wore rebreathers outside, even the slaves, if only to increase productivity.
Completely lifeless when first prospected, Yoland's World was an arid dustball, worth only as much as the ore in her veins. The atmospheric layer was so thin that sometimes the blue sky (and it was only blue on good day) would cede to the blackness of space, blood-red sun shining happily amongst it as though nothing was wrong. A bright bloodstain in a black void. There was probably poetry there, but V'rell's mind was on other things.
To V'rell, the harsh outdoors were a reminder of the political landscape he inhabited. Rebellion had reached Yoland's World. The Galactic Empire itself had little presence on this meaningless planet. As one of their gestures of goodwill to Zygerria, the Empire granted them a virtual monopoly on the Expansion Region, as long as a percentage of what was mined flowed to them. All was not well, however. Thousands of kilometers distant was a region locked in revolt. It was a slave revolt, led by a Calibop the slaves called General Serafim. Her rebel guerillas had been raiding ore storehouses and destroying mining operations. Serafim's people took whatever product they could, and whatever slaves they could cram into their tiny vehicles. It was never much, but it was enough. The facilities themselves were always left in flames.
Each freed slave filled the rebels' ranks, and in response the Empire had dispatched a task force, led by the heavy cruiser Judland, to intervene. It was an older Victory-class Star Destroyer, the post-war stepping stone to the leviathan Imperator-class that currently stalked the Galaxy. On Yoland's World, however, it had proven more than effective. Faced with a dedicated Imperial presence, the Rebels were now hemmed inside their caves. The raids had all but stopped, and the Imperials anticipated complete victory within the next lunar cycle.
To those Zygerrians on Yoland's World left unaffected by the revolt, the Imperial blitzkrieg was a weight off their backs. And so, V'rell's father, Tu'lok Ferro-Haz, managed his estate with measured confidence. Tu'lok was both the typical taskmaster of Zergerrian tradition, and a humble plebian who disliked decadence. Tough but practical, he had groomed V'rell to be a cunning power-broker. In the past, V'rell would wonder why, considering his lowly lineage. He belonged to a strictly hierarchical society, after all, just another dilution in the noble bloodlines, destined to either inherit his father's operation, or to serve another house in some demeaning capacity.
Today, though, V'rell understood that his father's faith had not been misplaced. He was cunning. It was what brought the landspeeder to him today. It was what would change his life in the hours to come.
Tu'lok Haz sat in his study, reflecting on the imminent deal he was about to broker. More specifically, he dwelled on what it represented for his line. The Ferro-Haz house belonged to what many would consider the workhorse class of Zygerrian society. The faux-nobility. The suffix 'Haz' denoted their mixed bloodline to the true Ferros, who commanded large Ryll mines in Hutt space. Yoland's World, by contrast, was one of the planets where the nobility shipped cousins, in-laws, and anyone else of mixed blood to make themselves useful. There was no underclass in Zygerrian culture. Vagrancy was not tolerated. You either had a name or you had a patron. House Ferro-Haz, for all its obscurity, was still a name. They were but one of many familial enterprises serving the Zygerrian monarchy, and the arguably more powerful nobility beneath it.
Some faux-nobles, or FNs, through the competitive nature so many Zygerrians possessed, had managed to create large networks of holdings. Within such a stratified culture, social climbing was possible only for FNs. And even that took great cunning and ambition. Once an FN attained enough power, Zygerria's monarchy was obliged to grant noble status. After all, noble houses declined all the time, and new blood was always needed. This was the royal family's primary purpose, to steward the balance of power in Zygerria's slave empire. To achieve recognition, FNs engaged in aggressive business practices. Two thirds of all houses here had been made vassals to other families. Currently, that was the extent of Tu'lok's ambitions. To avoid vassalage.
A simple being, owning his own land was all Tu'lok ever wanted. And yet, he never wanted V'rell to follow in his footsteps. Not that he had any qualms about slavery, or the ethos of his people. He just wanted more for his son. He wanted V'rell to inherit something that would sever their ties to the Ferros, and this dustball of a world. A pathway to Zygerria, where V'rell could raise a large noble family and have offspring to branch the Haz name out into other businesses. For his line to be tied to this world forever… No. That would not do. It was why V'rell was an only child. All Tu'lok's hopes had to rest on him. That way, when V'rell did attain enough prestige to leave this planet, there would be nothing but an old skugg to leave behind. The Haz name would grow new roots, as a noble house. His legacy would have a future.
From the beginning, he knew he needed more land. After many failed prospects, Tu'lok was finally able to procure two new sites rich in ore. In this way he would avoid appearing weak to other FNs. However, the Rebellion in the eastern quadrant complicated things. Refugee houses were flooding in, and he feared that if his claims got jumped by other FNs, the courts would not support him in the interest of collective productivity. It had happened to him before, in calmer times. With sitting on claims frowned upon, the only option was to develop them. However, after spending so much capital to acquire them in the first place, the family's funds were depleted.
And so Tu'lok fretted. Was he stuck here? Was his son destined to inherit a single old manor? Or worse, as the offspring of a faux-noble, would V'rell be swallowed up by another house, losing all noble status forever? Would he, like so many others, be forced into guard duty or serve as secretary for some pompous inbred? It was a vexing situation.
Fortunately, however, that was not going to happen. His son was no more accepting of such a fate than he was. In the dimly-lit study, Tu'lok smiled.
He had raised him well.
It had all come together three weeks ago. Without a word to his father, V'rell secreted off to a surreptitious meeting in the hamlet masquerading as Yoland World's commercial center, Trade Town. In a dingy cantina there, a deal was struck. Afterward, V'rell approached his father with the news of his labors. An FN house, their distant cousins the Ferro-Di'aks lost all their assets in a rebel raid. Having escaped and reached Trade Town, they were fervently analyzing their options. The only way to retain privilege of any sort was to own property. As soon as V'rell learned this from media reports, he had explained, he contacted them with the offer of vassalage. The Ferro-Di'ak family would work for Ferro-Haz's land claims. In response to this declaration, Tu'lok huffed in derision, "V'rell, my boy," he said then, "Vassals are only worth the skin if they have means. It's money we need, not staff," He paused, noting the glint in his son's eyes, "Unless you have something else in mind?"
V'rell nodded, "They won't just be vassals. The Ferro-Di'ak house has offered their only daughter up for marriage, Seka Ferro-Di'ak," he paused for effect, "to me."
His father changed his expression slightly as V'rell continued, a half-smile now on his face, "Surprised?"
Tu'lok tilted his head upward in amusement, "You took initiative, it seems. You always did seem interested in the eastern revolts."
"Where there is conflict, there is opportunity. I apologize if it seems I went behind your back, but nothing is finalized. I confess that I wanted to impress you."
Tu'lok nodded passively. Then to V'rell's surprise, he suddenly smiled, "I had always hoped you would take charge of your affairs this way. You've proven quite the opportunist. So, tell me more."
V'rell's eyes lit up now as he explained, "Well, from the Di'ak's perspective, this is the only way they will maintain their status as owners. A marriage will obligate the Ferro nobles to dole out a dowry. Enough for us to start developing both our claims."
He continued, "The Di'aks will acknowledge Haz-Ferro vassalage, and I will be in a position to manage them directly. Seka's parents get one claim, their profits flowing through us to the Ferros, and I'll get to experience some real managerial work with Seka on the second. That's the proposal I give to you. We are already filled to capacity with slaves, father, so the new mines will become productive quickly. And besides, what better way to avoid interference from the other houses? It is good for you, good for me, and cows a weaker house into our servitude. What do you think?" V'rell finished his pitch. Hands steepled with a proud grin on his face, he looked every bit the proud slave master Tu'lok wanted him to be.
Tu'lok mused the ramifications of this, his smile replaced with a contemplative look, "I see. You are the offspring of an FN marrying the offspring of another FN. That gives you technical independence. At the same time, you revert to the lowest rung of nobility."
V'rell nodded, "But I control a vassal. It's counter-intuitive, but distancing myself from our noble house actually makes me a more attractive prospect for elevation. The Monarchy never wants to ruffle the feathers of the noble class more than they have to. Don't worry, though. I'm not going behind the Ferros' back, either. The Di'aks are keeping them appraised. My marriage and your land allows the elder Di'aks to remain productive for them, at least for a while. I'll be V'rell Haz-Di'ak, subservient to you, not house Ferro. Ferro will pressure you to keep me on a tight leash. Do so. Eventually it won't matter. When the time is right, I'll be able to cut ties completely, and become truly independent with my own vassal. With a few years of industrious expansion, I am confident Zygerria will begin to take note. I will make trips to the Zygerrian court with my wife starting with our honeymoon. Oh, they will know of my vitality. I'll be an enticing prospect to the high-borns."
Tu'lok stroked his furred cheek, then nodded once in approval.
V'rell grinned with anticipation. In his own way Tu'lok was a selfless being, not caring for his own elevation. He'd grown too attached to his manor, his work. All ambition he had was reserved for his son. He wanted to see him accrue wealth, property, and chattel, one day lifting their line off this wretched world. It was why V'rell knew his father would go for the deal.
Tu'lok returned his thoughtful gaze to his son, "The Ferros expect us to produce. As long as they think I can hold the Di'aks in line for a while, I think you are right. This will work."
"Yes," V'rell began, "Profits between our three camps will soar. I'll have the resources to expand again. And in a matter of years, I will become nobility. I know it. This is the first step."
Tu'lok nodded with a smile, "You've clearly thought this through, my clever son. So, in the end you control two claims, I continue my operation without fear of politics, and my legacy continues through you. In strength." He paused then, thoughtfully nodding his head, "We'll have to talk percentages, of course, but in spirit I accept your proposal," he said, pride now showing in his face as he continued, "Just be careful. Wives can be even more ambitious than their husbands. It is why I have abstained from such things. Matriarchs and patriarchs are of equal standing, and she may try to get the better of you with schemes of her own."
V'rell smiled and bowed, "I understand, father. I won't be outshone."
Tu'lok smiled warmly, "As I am now certain. Just… be sure to visit me often in the years to come. You've been my pleasure and pride in this household."
V'rell bowed his head once again. Familial affection was the typical extent of Zygerrian sentiment, of which Tu'lok had more than normal, "I'll never forget the being that forged me, father. I promise you I will."
In the manor's foyer, the airlock hissed open. Seka Ferro-Di'ak strode imperiously in, her triangular face plain and lacking the gilded tiara that so many other Zygerrian noblewomen wore, even the faux-nobility. One could say it befitted her refugee status. Still, her traveling robe was embroidered with bullion. She strode in with a Duros slave, her escort and driver, undoubtedly. It was irregular for a slave to be trusted with such duties, but not unheard of. Tu'lok and V'rell stood before her, bowing in greeting.
"Greetings, Seka of house Di'ak," spoke Tu'lok formally, "Welcome to the Farro-Haz mine. One of three of this house's holdings."
Seka supplicated gracefully, "House Ferro-Di'ak honors your strength and vitality, patriarch. And yours, V'rell Ferro-Haz. May the Di-ak's misfortune add to it." The Duros took off Seka's robe, revealing a form-fitting dress the color of sand, only brighter. Calligraphic swirls branched along one side, an asymmetry Zygerrians generally found fashionable.
Tu'lok nodded, clearly satisfied with Seka's etiquette, "Purpose redeems one's status, whatever the circumstance. Please, dinner is prepared. If your slave would be so good as to wait in the servant's quarters, I believe we can conduct business."
Seka motioned to the Duros behind her with a haughty upswing of her hand. The slave bowed, hung the robe he carried, and hastily disappeared through a door indicated by a nearby guard.
Dinner was tedious in the beginning. Although V'rell had initiated the deal, as patriarch it was Tu'lok's job to do all the negotiating. Tu'lok poured over the datacards Seka brought, nodding now and then. Seka sat there dutifully, eating daintily so not to have her mouth full should she be required to speak. V'rell ate little, as the weight of what he was doing was bubbling up in him. This was as permanent a deal he had ever made. His father had understated the case. Still, V'rell mulled over his situation in silence as Tu'lok pestered his consort with the details of Zygerrian merger law. He glanced out the wall-length windows. The transparisteel was on an obscured setting. All that was visible were faded outlines of the dusty quarry walls. Shadows were already creeping up it in the late of day. No outside noise, of course. The manor's construction was state-of-the-art in noise suppression.
V'rell observed Seka, still answering questions, nodding her head at the proper times, giving every sign of respect and attention. As Tu'lok wrapped up the business formalities, Seka took initiative in changing the subject.
Her formal voice bordered on shrill, "I wish I could say otherwise, but the Rebellion is not the only threat to our business. I fear the Empire is one as well. The Imperial governor tears up our property rights when his army comes to clean up after a raid. I'm sure V'rell's told you that our mine has been confiscated by them." Her voice reached another octave for sarcastic effect, "They say we have voided our contract, per some ridiculous fine print. Without money to buy it back, we are left to the wind. I've even heard that Wookiees are being imported now to the mines they take."
V'rell knew this cycle well. The homeworld had remained silent in the face of these fog-of-war seizures. After supporting the separatist Confederacy during the Clone Wars, fear of antagonizing the Empire paralyzed them. The general sense was that Zygerria had gotten off easy.
Tu'lok was about to speak on this, but V'rell felt compelled to get the first word in, "Republic, Empire," he began, "Since when have the powers-that-be truly been our friends? Even the Separatists kept us at arm's length. We didn't even have a seat on their war council."
Tu'lok spoke up now, suddenly animated, "The Confederacy was our best hope, son. The brief glory it gave us allowed Zygerria to barter with the winning side from a position of strength. But Seka, don't be so quick to condemn the Empire. My esteemed son forgets, years ago the Emperor signed an executive order that legalized our institutions. It was put in place without the senate's deliberation. The Republic never did such a thing in its entire history. I consider Palpatine a friend of Zygerria. Something none of us expected when the Confederacy fell," Tu'lok paused to sip his wine, then continued, "But even so, the Emperor is still a creature of Coruscant. Humans can make fine clone soldiers, but slave-mastery was never their talent. Really, Wookiee slaves? They won't last a month in this climate," he shook his head in contempt, "The Empire has no experience with the trade. Even without the Jedi controlling them, a government doesn't throw away their backward ideals overnight. They should see through their humanist pride and allow us free reign over the slave trade. Senate be kriffed."
Seka nodded in agreement, "The innate skills of some species can't be ignored."
V'rell raised his glass, "Indeed. Father speaks well. All I meant to say was that the Empire does what any powerful house would do. The elites on Coruscant may not care who gets ground under their heel, but of course they still need us. Most importantly, Seka, they affirm through their actions that our philosophies are true. Might makes right. The rebels that began your predicament are currently learning that. At the point of a Star Destroyer."
Tu'lok raised his glass in agreement, "Indeed so, son."
V'rell was thankful his father didn't catch on the subtext of his words. Yes, the Empire didn't care who got in their way, because they were monopolizing the slave trade. He had spoken with his father on this many times, yet he stubbornly refused to believe it. Surely Zygerrians, with their progressive beliefs and ideals, would be indispensable to the New Order. Or so the thinking went. The pride of the Zygerrian people sometimes blinded them to the obvious. Might makes right was a double-edged vibroblade. None sharper.
V'rell nodded at his patriarch's compliment without looking at him. His attention was still on Seka as he continued, "Fear not, dear friend. You have suffered much, but to join with strength in our troubled times is the only reasoned course of action."
The feast continued. Finally, when all was consumed, Tu'lok stood up, and so did Seka and V'rell. The patriarch of the Ferro-Haz manor bowed to them, "Seka, you are an able representative for you house. I will be proud to see my son wed to such a being. I leave you now to your betrothed, to further our business. I expect the finalized details by morning,"
As befitting Zygerrian culture, covetousness was more of a virtue than romantic love. Everything was about possession and control. Seka seemed unfazed by being the chattel prize of a business partnership. From a Zygerrian's perspective, this was a wise move. Young faux-nobles, V'rell included, generally lived isolated lives indoors. If he were such a position, he might even welcome being married off this way. A new home. Possibly even meaningful companionship. After all, one never knew.
V'rell perceived no schoolgirl naiveté from Seka during their discussion. As Tu'lok left, however, she flashed a half-smile to him, "Well, V'rell, my love," There was only the hint of sarcasm in her voice, but it was enough to perceive, "I believe we should get to it, don't you?"
V'rell nodded, his expression blank in spite of himself, "Yes. There is much to discuss."
The turbolift irised open, both occupants entering V'rell's study. It was adjacent to his bedroom, but there was no reason to go there. This room would do. V'rell stopped halfway to the door, and turned abruptly around to face Seka. Her expression was passive, as though expectant of some initiating act. V'rell's nervousness was gone now, replaced with an adventurous excitement. At last. He thought, as the being in front of him nodded in silent acknowledgement.
I can leave this wretched place.
V'rell bowed as low as he could, his hands placed palm-first on the carpet, "Agent Taul Hi'si," he began in a hallowed tone, "I humbly request membership into the Rebel Alliance."
The Shi'ido shapeshifter posing as the faux-noble Seka spoke in a new accent now. Unrefined, lower in tone, but infused with authority, "Membership? This isn't a club you're vying for. For now, we'll start with asylum."